“I have something, but not likely as much as you’re hoping for,” Adam replied. “We’re looking at a 7.62x54mmR.”
Evan let out a long whistle. “Russian. Sniper.”
“Correct,” Adam said. “This caliber was initially developed by the Russians for their Dragunov sniper rifle. It’s been around for over a hundred years and is commonly used by terrorist organizations.”
She nodded as she stared at the phone. “Makes sense with Russia’s past connection to these groups.”
“Exactly,” Adam said. “We don’t often see it in the U.S., as the .30-06 will outperform the 7.62x54mmR if same-length barrels are used. But .30-06 Springfield firearms are generally sold with much shorter barrels than 7.62x54mmR firearms.”
Kiley honestly looked confused, and Evan didn’t blame her. He was a gun enthusiast, and he barely kept up with Adam’s statement. “Either way we’re probably looking for a shooter with sniper experience.”
“That’s right,” Adam said.
Kiley lifted the phone closer to her mouth. “What aboutprints or DNA on the casing? He might have left trace evidence when loading the magazine.”
“We ran it through trace before we started,” Adam said. “They got a partial print but not enough to search the database. They swabbed for DNA. I put a rush on it. Should have the results for you in a day or so.”
Evan wished they could push the lab, but there was no way to rush the DNA process.
“DNA tech is Veronica Jennings.” He shared her phone number.
Evan tapped the name and number into his phone’s contacts.
“We got excellent rifling marks on one of the slugs. It’ll give us a good comparison when you find the weapon.”
“Anything else I need to know?” Kiley asked.
“Other than be careful if you run into this guy?” Adam said, his tone deepening. “No. I’ll email the reports to you.”
“Thanks for making this top priority.” She disconnected and shoved her phone into her pocket.
“Firuzeh traveled in some tough circles if she brought this kind of heat from someone,” Evan said. “Most ISIS snipers—if in fact we’re dealing with one here—aren’t going to be caught. Waleed included.”
Kiley lifted her chin. “Most snipers don’t have the RED team after them. This one does, and hewillbe caught. I can assure you of that.”
He loved her confidence and enjoyed seeing the fire back in her step as she marched over to the evidence truck. She displayed her ID for the woman in charge of cataloging and storing what would be trucks filled with evidence bags by the time the investigation concluded.
Kiley looked up at the white-suited woman. “I need to see all recovered bomb fragments.”
She narrowed her eyes above her respirator. “I don’t have the authority to show them to anyone.”
Kiley planted her feet. “Agent Quinn can confirm my clearance, but why don’t you save us both the hassle of disturbing him?”
She eyed Kiley for a long moment before spinning into the truck and sliding a bin to the edge in front of Kiley. She took out the plastic evidence bags and laid them out on the floor while the tech watched Kiley as if she thought Kiley planned to steal something. Evan didn’t blame the tech. She was responsible for every item in this truck, and she was doing a good job of guarding everything.
Kiley carefully looked at each item and took pictures, then passed them on to Evan. He knew she possessed a basic understanding of explosives and would likely know what she was looking at, but as the bomb expert in the group, it was up to him to evaluate the items and look for a signature of sorts. So he took his time on each bag.
On the last one, she gave him a pointed look. He studied the Wi-Fi switch that matched the one found in the container. Excitement for the connection to their suspects mixed with worry in his gut, and he locked eyes with her. She held up an index finger. Okay, she might not be a bomb expert, but she clearly understood what she was looking at and was warning him to wait until they were out of the tech’s earshot to discuss the switch.
She took several detailed pictures of the mechanism and put everything back into the bin.
“Thanks for your help,” she said to the tech as Evan stepped away and waited for Kiley to catch up.
“Wi-Fi,” he whispered, worried someone would hear.
“Same switch as the container. I’m not sure using it in this scenario makes sense, though. There’s no likelihood the police were jamming radio frequencies here.” She moved closer, her focus intense. “What if this was simply a dry run, a test to see how well the network performed?”
He looked over the horrific scene and didn’t want to believe she could be right.
