I point to the screens, where the image flurry is slowing down. “Dennis says he might have something.”
“Any luck with Langley and my C-4 taggants?” asks Rizzo, her eyes glued to the screens.
“Progress is supposedly being made,” says Mahoney. “But nothing yet.”
“I thought you were best buds with the president,” says Rizzo.
Mahoney nods. “Langley wasn’t overly impressed. Presidents come and go.”
On both monitors the images have slowed to a crawl.
Then they freeze.
One image on the right. One image on the left.
We all lean in.
I hold my breath.
The frozen image on the left screen shows a white male in a tanjacket and black baseball cap, hands in his pockets. He’s standing in a crowd, looking straight ahead.
The other image shows a white male in a dull yellow jacket and black baseball cap, hands in his pockets, also looking straight ahead. Same kind of setting. Same outfit. Same posture.
The images are fuzzy, but in both photos, the man has a strong chin, prominent cheekbones, heavy eyebrows.
“It’s the same guy,” says Rizzo softly.
“Can you sharpen the pictures?” asks Mahoney.
“Theyaresharpened,” says Chan. “I’m limited by the quality of the raw material and the degree of enlargement. This is military-grade software, but it’s not military-grade footage. We can’t count nose hairs.”
I look back and forth between the two screens, squinting and angling my head as if that will help. “Do we know who he is?”
“Not yet,” says Chan. “That’s the next step, crunching through a ton of visual data from Homeland Security, Bureau of Prisons, all the military branches, the DMVs, private security companies—and any foreign assets we can tap into.”
Rizzo smiles. “You meanhackinto?”
“Only if they refuse to play nice,” says Chan.
I reach out and tap the frozen images with my fingertip, one after the other.
“Whoever he is—that’s our guy.”
CHAPTER 43
Cross
AFTER LONG SHOWERS AND a change of clothes, Alex and Bree are sitting in the Crossroads Restaurant on the main floor of their hotel. Alex is just two sips into his wine when Melissa appears in the entryway.
“She’s here,” says Bree, waving the young woman over.
Melissa walks across the crowded dining room to their table. She’s wearing a floral dress and low heels. Her hair is pulled back into a neat ponytail. Alex realizes that it’s the first time he’s seen his son’s girlfriend dressed in something other than jeans.
When Melissa sits down, Alex notices scratches on her hands from the afternoon’s search.
“Did you get some rest?” Bree asks.
Melissa shakes her head, her expression somber. “I tried to take a nap, but I couldn’t close my eyes. Just knowing that Damon is out there …” Her lower lip starts to quiver and her eyes glisten.
