A Conspiracy of Bones (Temperance Brennan #19)(49)

My personal favorite, from a British sportscaster, asserted that anyone holding a position of power was actually a bloodthirsty, extraterrestrial, shape-shifting reptile. A+ for creativity.

Eventually, I stumbled across a reference to Nick Body. Lacking a better idea, I went to his website Body Language and listened to several of his archived podcasts. Hell, I’d already paid the fee.

In one, Body asserted that the FDA and big pharma were conspiring to keep people sick by withholding cures discovered via their research. In another, he claimed that the accident that killed Princess Diana was a set up by British intelligence acting on behalf of the royal family. In another, he argued that the concept of global warming is based on science distorted for ideological or financial reasons.

In another, he suggested that many of the alleged survivors of mass shootings are actually paid “crisis actors.” Such may have been the case, he implied, at the Pulse nightclub in Orlando, the Mandalay Bay Resort and Casino in Las Vegas, the Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School in Parkland, the Santa Fe High School in Santa Fe, the Tree of Life synagogue outside Pittsburgh, and the Borderline Bar and Grill in Thousand Oaks.

I recognized the obscure reference made by Duncan Keesing in an almost unintelligible harangue inspired by Strava, a mobile fitness app used by cyclists and runners to keep track of the distances, speeds, and routes they travel. Several years back, it was discovered that Strava’s global heat map feature had inadvertently revealed the location of secret military bases throughout the United States. Body was incensed that the government would conceal the existence of such facilities from those living nearby.

In a particularly revolting diatribe, Body insisted that the Holocaust never happened. That there was no anti-Jewish government policy. That no gas chambers were used. That those killed numbered far fewer than the historically accepted figure of 5 to 6 million.

Listening to Body’s voice rasp like sand through mesh, I tried to imagine the level of gullibility required to buy into the viciousness he was spewing into the world. To understand the mystique of his popularity. The appeal was clearly not his insight or intellect.

I hopscotched through additional podcasts, choosing topics randomly, listening to snippets.

Big oil. The industry was keeping prices high while holding back massive reserves to create the illusion of scarcity.

9/11. The towers couldn’t have come down due to impact and jet fuel alone. The U.S. government had assisted with the attack.

Directed-energy weapons. The devastating fires in California in 2018 were started by government lasers.

On and on. Zionists, shadow governments, Freemasons, Illuminati. Each time a different enemy but always one unifying theme. Some person or entity was out to hurt the little guy. Or to take over everything.

Returning to the home page, I chose the link to Body’s “General Store.” Five “aisles”: Survival Gear, Wellness and Health, Security, Educational Media, and Support Our Efforts. I tried Survival Gear. Inventory included storage containers designed to outlast a nuclear winter, water-filtration equipment, countless types of radios, flashlights, dual-panel portable solar LED lanterns, packaged foods, and myriad other items, most of which were available at Home Depot or Amazon.

Body’s Educational Media comprised the expected array of antivaccination, antifluoride, anti-climate-change, and antiliberal conspiracy books and DVDs. Not surprisingly, his own podcasts were available for purchase on CD or as MP3 files.

The Wellness and Health offerings included an assortment of organic herbs, plants, powders, and oils promising far more than they could deliver. The Security aisle listed gadgets guaranteed to make you and your home safe, others that allowed you to spy on others. Knowing it was a money grab, I skipped the final option.

Next, I cruised through Body’s blogs. Found more of the same themes.

Disgusted, I was about to log off when I noticed an obscure reference to a URL such as those Mama had mentioned. Within the long string of letters, numbers, and symbols was the word DeepUnder. The domain suffix was .onion.

I clicked on the link. The site took time to load. The home page had a banner saying DeepUnder and a background image of an inverted cone, like a dormant volcano tipped upside down. Centered in the cone was a blinking rectangle demanding a password.

Crap.

I tried conspiracy, Body, and the usual variations, frontward, backward, and so on. Body Language, featured words, and phrases from Body’s podcasts and blogs. Roswell, Area 51, vaccine, global warming, 9/11, dozens of terms Body had used in his diatribes.

The rectangle blinked on.

Holocaust. Zionists. Strava. Pharma. Twin Towers.

Nope.

I was typing in Moon Landing when the lights flickered, died, then cut back on. A glance at my phone told me it was going on midnight. Conceding that I had a zillion-to-one shot of lucking onto the password, I gave up and went to bed.

I lay in the dark, conspiracy theories sliding through my overwrought brain. Eventually, I drifted off. Woke two hours later, damp with sweat and tangled in my sheets.

Failure chews at me. When blocked, I can’t rest. Can’t let it go. I’ve always been wired this way. When young, I was the ultimate high achiever, the one who had to earn the highest grades, attend the best university, swim the fastest times, win the most tennis matches. Nature? Nurture? Because I was the firstborn?

Though I rarely allow myself to pick at the memory, I know, deep down, that my brother Kevin’s death had an enormous impact on the formation of my psyche. Watching, helpless, as the tiny toddler whom I loved so dearly weakened, then died. Witnessing the crushing pain felt by my parents. Suffering the breakdown of my once happy family. I have no doubt that this tragic turning point in my eight-year-old world left scars that still drive me today. Especially with regard to missing and murdered children. I’ve been there. I know the agony caused by the loss of a child. Sometimes on a conscious level, sometimes less so, that knowledge is the motivator behind my battering-ram doggedness.