"So before we get into the basis for your Phoenix Ministry and how you intend to change the world, tell us about your background. I mean, you spent a number of years as head of Groves Consortium, right?"

"Eighteen."

"How was that? Working with a recluse like William Groves? There's been so much written about him. What's he really like?"

"It's an understatement to say that William Groves is truly bigger than life. As was his father, grandfather, and so on. The company that was started back at the turn of the last century has been responsible for so many innovations and life-transforming technological advancements. It's hard to know where to begin. Space exploration, medicine, energy, and so much more. Whenever he finds a worthy idea, no matter how small, he funds it until it became a success. William is an extremely powerful and persuasive individual who knows what he wants and how to get it. But it's important to remember that being one of the richest men in the world, he has to be conscious of his safety and security. So despite all the rumors you hear and read, he is a perfectly normal human being who totally enjoys and cherishes his privacy. We have to respect that."

"Yes, but is it true that he won't allow anyone to touch him, that he makes his support staff wear surgical gloves and masks when they're in the same room with him? Kind of reminiscent of Howard Hughes, wouldn't you say."

Scarrow laughed. "Unlike Howard Hughes, William has a medical condition that makes him susceptible to infections that would be minor inconveniences to most of us, but could be potentially life threatening for him. So he does take all necessary precautions."

"And you're still helping to run the company?"

"Not on a daily basis. Our ministry takes up most of my time now. I stepped down last year as the president and CEO, but I still serve on the board and as a personal advisor to William."

"What got you interested in the concepts you profess in your book?"

"Since you've read The Grand Alignment, you know that I stress the importance of universal harmony. By that I mean that as creatures of the same universe, in order to achieve happiness and fulfillment, we must all be in synchronization in our thoughts and in our actions. We must be as one in our goals and objectives, and stop isolating ourselves in different sects. I don't believe we are meant to separate ourselves from others. That breeds hatred when our true endeavor is just the opposite. We must have a vision that looks beyond the present, beyond our little niche and cocoon, and be able to chart a map of the future."

"In your book, you stress a non-religious belief."

"Correct. I'm not talking about religion, but a belief system that lets us all focus on the same goals. All the great prophets have delivered the same message of loving one another and the act of giving of oneself."

"So you don't support one religion over another?"

"No. If the common goal of all the world's religions is universal welfare, why do we need so many? Why not set the goal that we must achieve harmony in our lives and come together as one to attain it without being labeled under the banner of one religion or another?

"After all, aren't the basic instincts of all people the same-the striving for peace and brotherhood? Isn't this the core of all religions? It's what ancient Indian philosophy calls dharma. All that's needed to be in balance with our surroundings is to have a welldeveloped life science which produces harmony between body, mind, and soul. A higher truth.

"Everything in creation vibrates. Our thoughts vibrate and are sent out into the universe. Our objective is to attune our vibrations. All of us want better, happier lives, but too many of us don't know how to bring that about in our daily existence. We think those things manifest in possessions and riches, but where has that gotten us? What have we given back to a universe that has sustained us since man first walked the Earth? We must strive to come together, to give back, and mentally bring all of nature in alignment. We must be one in our universal thoughts. We must be as one.

As he paused, the audience broke into applause.

Jay grinned into the camera. "Wow, that's got a definite, woowoo, New Age ring to it."

"That's an interesting term. But the fact is, there's no more of what you call woo-woo than any present or past religion practiced around the world. We are talking about a new way of thinking, not a new religion. And this is a new age. It's time to change our way of thinking. In one instant, one singular moment in time, we have the ability to annihilate the human race. Why have we worked so hard at discovering the perfect way to destroy ourselves? A new age has arrived, and we must change if we want to survive and not become the next extinct species. I believe that it's time to let go of that old attitude."

"Well said." The audience erupted in applause. Jay waited for them to settle down. "Now, you also say in your book that everyone needs to make sacrifices. I think you touched on that when you mentioned giving back. Can you elaborate a little more on what you mean?"

"By sacrificing, I mean giving up something in our lives. No matter how much or how little we have in our lives, there's always a portion we can give back to the universe. Whether it's money or time or prayer, we can give something back that will then be passed on to the collective universe which serves us all. The yield of our sacrifices will be reaped by generations to come." Scarrow turned and looked at the audience.

"There's certainly nothing wrong with that concept." The applause built again. "So where do you head from here? I know you're gearing up for a two-year world tour. I understand your destinations span the globe."

"Yes, our first stop is going to be Munich, Germany, followed by Saudi Arabia, and then on to the Holy Land."

"So you weren't kidding about working with peoples of all faiths. What are we talking here, Buddhists, Muslims, and Jews?"

"And Christians. As I said, Jay, the Phoenix Ministry has nothing to do with religion. Some of our largest groups of supporters are already established in those countries."

"Amazing. Well look, I know you've gotta run. We wish you the best of luck." He held up the book one more time. "It's called The Grand Alignment and it's in stores now. Javier, will you come back and see us after you've finished your two-year road trip?"

"I'd be delighted."

They shook hands.

Leno pointed at the camera. "Okay, don't go away. After the break, Alicia Keys performs right here."

Groves sat in the darkened bedroom suite atop the Burj Al Arab Hotel in Dubai and stared out of the smoked plate-glass windows overlooking the Persian Gulf. He had been watching the satellite feed of the Tonight Show. When it went to a commercial, he aimed the remote at the television and pushed the off button. As he leaned back in his chair and rubbed his face, he whispered, "What have I done?"

BODY SNATCHERS 2012, MIAMI.

SENECA SAT AT THE writing desk in a corner of her bedroom waiting for her desktop computer to finish booting. She'd have much rather been settled on the couch with her laptop and a Diet Coke. But the laptop was among the items lost in the Mexico City bombing. She rested her forehead in the heels of her hands, elbows propped, staring at the keyboard. Where was she going to get the money for a new laptop, another camera, her mother's care? Her email program opened, and she looked at the scrolling list of new messages. Moaning about her situation wasn't going to get her anywhere but into a funk. The best thing to do was make an allout effort to patch something together for her editor.

She scrolled through the emails, deleting most as spam, opening a few, and skipping the ones she would read later. Just as she was about to close out she heard the familiar ping that alerted her to new email. It was from Matt.

She clicked on it.

Hi Seneca, Hope you got home safe. I was sitting here trying to work on my book but have been distracted, replaying our ordeal. I have to say, you are a truly amazing lady; that was clear the moment I met you. You certainly proved it during-what should we call it-our mangrove adventure. We are lucky to be alive! When I think of that and then all you have been through, I don't have much to complain about. The loss of my boat is trivial compared to you losing your fiance in Mexico. I'm sure he's proud of you and your courage in getting through the terror of last night. I'm honored to be your friend.

I've been thinking about those tombs and the missing remains, and I really believe we might be on to something. It just seems like too much of a coincidence.

Anyway, hope to hear from you soon.

All best, Matt Seneca hit the reply button.

Great to hear from you, Matt. Yes, I arrived safely. Driving in Miami was a breeze after this weekend's "mangrove adventure." Talk about being in the wrong place at the wrong time! I'll have a great story to tell during dinner conversations.

I'm going to do some digging myself about the tombs. I just sat down at the computer to get started.

Thanks for your kind words. They mean a lot.

Talk to you soon.

PS. I'm proud to call you friend, too.

Seneca reread her message before hitting the send button. Daniel would have liked Matt, she thought.

She deliberately switched her thoughts, not allowing herself to dwell on Dan. The best thing was for her to pour herself into her work and let that absorb her.

"Okay, then."

She Googled famous grave robberies and found over ninetyseven thousand results. Most of the first sites were about Egyptian tombs, but as she dove deeper into the Web she found more interesting morsels, like the numerous attempts to steal Abraham Lincoln's remains. The body had been moved seventeen times to stop repeated attempts. Finally, in 1900, his coffin was buried ten feet underground in a cage and encased in four thousand pounds of concrete. Well, yeah, she thought, that ought to put an end to it.

Seneca ran across other grave robberies of famous people, like Oliver Cromwell. His grave had been desecrated, and all of his teeth and some of his hair were stolen.

The next site was more grisly. Its focus was on a present-day, ghoulish and macabre industry that was booming. Apparently with the phenomenal growth in biotechnology, pharmaceutical industries, and transplant surgeries, there is a huge global demand for body parts, which in turn spawns a growing unlawful trade in them. This new industry in the illegal trafficking of body parts was shocking. One detective described his job of opening coffins to verify the contents and finding bodies with missing skin, bone, tendons, and organs. Typical was plumbing pipes substituted for missing bones and sawdust filled empty abdominal cavities.

The more Seneca read, the more astounded she became. One of the most alarming accounts was what became of Alistair Cooke's remains. He was ninety-five years old when he died of lung cancer that had metastasized to his bones. This morbid ring of body snatchers paid funeral directors $1,000 per corpse, and then sold the remains to tissue-processing companies. The documentation accompanying Cooke's remains had been altered, changing his age and also falsifying his cause of death as a heart attack. Even the spelling of his name had been changed. Alistair Cooke's brittle, cancer-ridden bones were sold for $7,000. They had been disarticulated, fragmented, and some portions ground and pulverized to be used in a variety of orthopedic procedures, transplants, and oral surgeries, which horrifyingly endangered the recipients' lives. It is suspected that his diseased remains may reside in fifteen to twenty people, depending on the procedure.

The article went on to say that the primary demand for illegal body parts came from the United States, but the list of other countries was extensive.

She scanned a few more articles, stunned at each, especially when she found information that it was easier to ship a private refrigerated truck full of human heads than a truckload of frozen chickens across state lines. After all, the latter needs government inspection.

Seneca sat back mulling over the possibility that maybe the tomb robberies were all about selling body parts for money. Or bones, anyway. If so, what did that have to do with the Mexico bombing? And that angle wasn't going to help her sell her story idea to her editor. Simply by surfing the Internet there were clearly enough articles and documentaries out there on the subject. She needed a new twist. Why not take Montezuma's treasures if money was the motive? Why go to such trouble with his tomb and Elizabeth Bathory's and the others? Could the price of body parts exceed that of the gold and gems in Montezuma's tomb? That was hard to believe since it involved bones that were hundreds of years old. And wouldn't any local graveyard be an easier target. There were thousands of remote cemeteries across the globe that could be robbed without immediate discovery.

Seneca drummed her fingers on the desk as she ran through what she and Matt had discussed.

Startled, she jumped when the phone rang.

"Hello."

"You'll never guess what just came over Reuters." It was Matt. He didn't wait for her to answer. Excitement filled his voice. "Ever heard of Maximilien Robespierre?"

"Sure. The French leader of the historic Reign of Terror."

"Right. And founder of the Cult of the Supreme Being. A man so despised that when the state executed him, they guillotined him face up so he could see his death coming."

"And?"

"His remains were recently discovered stolen from the Catacombs of Paris."

BAND OF BUTCHERS 2012, MIAMI.

SENECA SAT IN THE Air France waiting area of Miami Interna- tional Airport and people-watched. The majority of the passengers around her conversed in French. It was such a fluid language, she thought. Much more lyrical than English. She had intended to learn an additional language or two to assist her in her writing and travels. Being around Daniel had helped her with conversational Spanish. He encouraged her all the time to use it. She twirled her engagement ring around her finger.

She felt uneasy moving on with her life so soon after losing Daniel and knowing that others were going to judge her. But they didn't understand. Daniel was the reason she kept going, the only reason. She would avenge him first. She had the rest of her life to mourn. As every day passed, the trail grew colder. Besides, Daniel had a different take on what people did when someone died. He refused to attend funerals, not out of disrespect, but like her, he abhorred the thought of death and what he considered the morbid celebration of one's passing. His famous saying was that he intended to live as long as he could so he would be dead as short a time as possible. Unfortunately, his mantra didn't come true, but it did rub off on Seneca.

She glanced at her watch. Fifteen minutes until boarding. Matt was late. The drive up from the Keys was always a gamble. Looking up, she saw him coming toward her through the crowd of travelers-forest green, long-sleeved T-shirt tucked into jeans, a knapsack slung over his shoulder-he waved as he approached.

"Hey, lady." He bent and planted an affectionate kiss on her cheek before dropping into the seat beside her. "Sorry to be late. My insurance agent was faxing over some papers for me to sign for settling the payment of the boat loss. Had to wait for that or there would be a delay in getting a check."

"So Groves Avionics is really paying for a new boat?"

"Looks that way. And the amount they offered will buy a much nicer one than the one they shot up."

"Speaking of Groves Avionics, is William Groves still alive?"

"I'm pretty sure he's still around. But he's a recluse. I don't think anyone has seen him in years."

"Anything I've ever read or heard about him paints him as a very strange bird."

"Actually, I believe the current William Groves is the fourth generation of strange birds, each one more eccentric and secretive than the last. You should do a feature story on him. Might be interesting to meet the most famous man the world has rarely seen."

"I doubt I'll ever get near him, but it's not a bad idea to try." Seneca made a mental note to look into doing a piece on the guy the media called the Last Tycoon.

"I'm glad you decided to take this trip. I know it's a hard time for you."

Seneca glanced at her ring finger. "It's rough. But I'm struggling to move on. I have to." She looked at Matt. "This trip means more to me than just my job. I have my own agenda as well."

"I understand. Good for you."

"I appreciate that."

They sat in silence for a moment, then Matt spoke. "So, what's the game plan once we land at Charles de Gaulle?"

The momentary sense of heaviness let go of its hold on her. "We get in around eleven in the morning. I've requested early check-in at our hotel. That way we can rest up for tomorrow night. My magazine has arranged for a special after-hours tour of the catacombs. A sister publication in Paris has lined up a guide that will take us to the area where the robbery took place. And we're allowed to take pictures-something that's normally forbidden. I lost my Nikon in the Mexican explosion, but I brought a digital point and shoot-eight megapixels. Had to max out my card to get it. Better than nothing. So anyway, we have dinner, then go meet the guide and head for the tunnels."

"I hope you don't mind me asking, but are you okay moneywise with this trip?"

"Normally, I wouldn't be. But Al showed up with airline tickets in his hand and insisted I take them. They were nonrefundable. I felt kind of funny accepting them-but, what the hell. He's doing everything he can think of to make up for lost time."

"I'm surprised he didn't want to come along."

"Oh, he wanted to, but I told him I really needed to take this whole father-daughter thing slow and easy. Having him on a roundtrip transatlantic flight would be way too much at this stage. He was considerate."

"I think he has the best of intentions, Seneca."

She shrugged.

Matt swiveled in his seat to partially face her. "So what's the big news you promised on the phone this morning? I've been wondering about it all the way up here."

"Let's wait until we get on the plane."

"Come on, just give me a hint. It's the least you can do after what we've been through."

She spoke just above a whisper. "There are more tomb robberies than we thought. A lot more."

The Boeing 747-400 achieved cruising altitude, and the seatbelt sign switched off. It was already getting dark over the Atlantic as the flight attendants started moving the refreshments carts down the aisles. Matt sat at a window seat with Seneca beside him. He turned away from the window. "Okay, time's up. Tell me everything."

"As you know, my long-lost father showed up in my life after no communication all these years. Now he's calling me almost every day. He wants to help us in any way he can. So he called some of his buddies in his hush-hush black ops fraternity and got information on past tomb robberies where it involved a famous person and only the remains were taken."

"Does he think there's anything to make of it?"

"Not really. He said there's no obvious threat from someone collecting old bones. He added that at worst, it was ghoulish and creepy, but not a threat to anyone. Still, he was eager to help."

"He's right, it is creepy. So what did he come up with?"

She bent over and pulled a folder from her carryon bag. "I just hope all this pans out and we find a connection to Montezuma's tomb. Then we'd know who was responsible for the explosion in Mexico-we'd know who killed Daniel and the others." She sat up and opened the folder. "Okay, not including the Aztec Emperor, there have been eleven other tomb robberies over the last two years that fit our criteria. We've already discussed Bloody Mary, Elizabeth Bathory, and Tamerlane. And we're headed to Paris to investigate the missing remains of Robespierre. That leaves seven more. This whole thing seems to have started about twenty-four months ago when the unmarked grave of Ilse Koch was opened and her remains removed. The grave was in an unattended prison cemetery in the small town of Aichach, located not too far from Munich."

"I don't remember anything about that in the news."

"Other than locally, it wouldn't have attracted much attention outside Germany."

Matt appeared in thought for a moment. "Ilse Koch. Wasn't she a Nazi at a concentration camp?"

"Wife of the Buchenwald commandant. Among other things, she had inmates with interesting tattoos killed so that their skin could be made into lampshades for her home. Totally drunk on power and sadistically cruel toward the prisoners, they called her the Bitch of Buchenwald. She was one of the first prominent Nazis to be tried by the US military. A war crimes tribunal sentenced her to life in 1947. She committed suicide by hanging herself at Aichach women's prison in 1967."

"Human lampshades." Matt shook his head. "You can't make up stuff like that. Okay, she definitely qualifies for our ever-growing club of mass murderers. That leaves six more. Let me guess. Ted Bundy?"