“Whose custody?”
“Anyone’s. We turned him over to the Afghans because he was wanted in connection with an attack in the capital. Two days later, he escaped.”
He tipped his head back. “Jesus Christ.”
“They’ve been searching for him, but no luck.”
“Yeah, don’t hold your breath on that. Those guys are so corrupt someone probably walked him right out the jail. What the fuck were they thinking turning him over?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did they at least question him first?”
“He wasn’t talking.”
Derek shook his head. “Unbelievable. The one living person we had in custody who could shed some light on this plot, and we let him go.” He scrubbed his hand over his face. “We lost a man on that raid, Liz. He took a bullet loading out this intel.”
“I know.” She touched his arm. “And I’m so sorry. I—”
A rap at the door had her turning around. She glanced at Derek, then went to answer it.
It was Torres, wearing the rumpled remnants of his business suit and holding a McDonald’s cup.
“You ready?” He glanced past her, and his expression darkened.
“I’m coming.” She scooped up her computer bag, then gathered the files from under Derek’s nose and slipped them in with her laptop.
Derek took his cue to leave.
“Sorry I can’t talk more,” she said, stepping out of the room. “We’ll catch up later, maybe? After this case.”
He eyed her computer bag, then looked at Torres. “Yeah, good luck with that. You guys have your work cut out for you.”
* * *
Stepping into Gordon’s suite, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. Her cheeks were flushed. Big surprise. Whether it was anger or frustration or simple nerves, Derek always managed to stir up her emotions. Had Torres noticed? How could he not? And what did he think about finding her alone in her hotel room with one of the SEALs they’d come to interview?
Maybe she should strike up a conversation and mention that she’d met Derek the previous summer. But it was really none of his business. The main person whose opinion she cared about was Gordon, and he was well aware that she knew Derek, because he’d been in charge of the murder investigation in which Derek’s SEAL teammate was a suspect.
Everyone was gathered around a table, and Elizabeth claimed a chair beside one of the Washington agents, Gordon’s expert in all things technical. He had his laptop open and looked to be setting up a secure Internet connection. He glanced at Gordon.
“We’re good to go, sir.”
Gordon scooted his chair forward. “Okay, some new developments. First, you’ve all been sent an e-mail from our team at headquarters, which has been working on visuals of Rasheed.”
Elizabeth booted up her computer. Her colleagues were doing the same. The group Gordon had picked to accompany him to California was a mere fraction of the group he had working on the case. Most of the others were back in Houston, the presumed site of the intended attack.
“They’ve created these pictures to show you how he might look with an altered appearance,” Gordon said, “which we can assume he’d need to get through immigration.”
She clicked open the attachment to find a clean-shaven, Americanized version of the missing terrorist. He was shown with various looks: bald, long-haired, with glasses, without glasses. One version even showed him with a false nose.
“This wouldn’t really cut it, though, right?”
Elizabeth glanced at Torres, who was studying the pictures on his screen.
“You’re right,” Gordon told him. “Our facial-recognition software is designed to see past simple disguises and even plastic surgery. It’s based on distance between pupils, earlobes, nostrils—physical characteristics that are nearly impossible to change. Which brings us to our next problem.”
Elizabeth held her breath as Gordon scanned the faces around the room.
“Our techs have been busy analyzing the laptop recovered by the SEALs, and they discovered a fingerprint we can’t identify. It doesn’t belong to Rasheed, and it also doesn’t match any of the kidnappers taken out during the raid.”
“What about Khalid?” Elizabeth asked.
He shook his head. “Not a match.”
“What about someone who could have handled the computer casually?” Torres asked. “Maybe when it was sitting around.”
“This isn’t just a casual fingerprint,” Gordon said. “This laptop was equipped with a biometric fingerprint pad. It was programmed to recognize two separate prints: Rasheed’s and this person we’re calling Tango Two.”
Tango, as in military slang for terrorist. Elizabeth glanced around the room, wondering if everyone else caught the ominous implication.
“So I assume we ran this print through all our databases?” she asked.
Gordon nodded. “We ran it everywhere. No hits, which means we’re dealing with someone new. Which also means the odds of that person being in our faceprint database are much lower.”
“And the odds that he could slip into the U.S. undetected are much higher,” Elizabeth said.
“Exactly.”
“What about the computer’s previous owner?” Potter asked. “Didn’t your lab say this laptop was stolen?”
“Before turning up in Afghanistan, the laptop was in the possession of a tailor in Dubai. Which leads us to believe maybe Rasheed swiped it last time he was in his home country. Our techs recovered the erased files, and they all have to do with what appears to be a legitimate clothing business. Besides the deleted business records, we also found detailed plans for three Al Qaeda attacks: the UN convoy and two bombings in Kabul. But that’s it. All the information pertains to attacks that have already happened.”
Elizabeth made a few notes on her pad. “What about e-mails?”
“No e-mails on the system,” Gordon said. “Looks like it wasn’t used for outside communication.”
“Any prints on the thumb drive?” Torres asked.
“Only Rasheed’s. It contains the video clip showing Ana Hansson’s execution.”
A sour taste rose in Elizabeth’s throat. She’d seen the footage and hoped to God the girl’s family never got a look at it.
“Maybe the surviving hostages know something,” she suggested.
“The doctor doesn’t. Hailey Gardner had more interaction with the kidnappers but insists she only saw four different people—Khalid, Omar Rasheed, and two of the guards who were killed during the raid.”
Interaction. What a way to put it.
“Someone should talk to her again,” Elizabeth said. “Wasn’t she drugged part of the time? Maybe she’s remembered more since her last interview.”
Gordon tapped his pencil against the table, watching her. “She’s in seclusion. She was being hounded by the press, so her parents sent her away somewhere and announced that all future interview requests must go through their family lawyer.”
“Even us?”
“Even us.”
That didn’t mean they didn’t know her whereabouts. Elizabeth had no doubt the Bureau knew precisely where she was. But it still might be tricky to talk to her.
“What about those names the SEALs had?” Torres asked.
“Dead ends,” Potter said. “Just as they suspected. Looks like Khalid made up info to get them off his back.”
“This whole trip has been a dead end.” Torres folded his arms over his chest. “Five agents all the way out here, and what do we have to show for it?” He shook his head. “The SEALs don’t know anything. The hostages aren’t talking. This has been a waste of time.”
Elizabeth looked at Gordon. As usual, his face gave nothing away. But he didn’t look like a man who thought he’d wasted two days of his valuable time. He had a good reason for bringing them out here. Elizabeth just hadn’t figured out what it was.
Chapter Four
Derek slid into the passenger seat and was greeted with a yelp.
“God, you scared me!”
“Look alive, LeBlanc. No sleeping on the job.”