Gordon strode through the door, closely followed by his tech expert from Washington. He looked over the assembled troops and motioned for everyone to sit. He sank into a chair as his assistant flashed some slides onto a screen.
“Several updates,” he said briskly. “As you all know, Interpol uses one of the most advanced facial-recognition programs on the planet at border checkpoints. What you may not know is that that system was recently upgraded. They just implemented a state-of-the-art software package that allows them to identify, match, and cross-check literally millions of faces a day with unbelievable accuracy. Today it identified these two men.”
Two separate pictures appeared of men standing at immigration checkpoints. Elizabeth recognized Rasheed.
“Both of these images were captured ten days ago,” Gordon said. “The man on the left is traveling under the name Martin Delgado, but you’ll recognize him as Omar Rasheed.”
“Who’s the man on the right?” Torres asked.
“As of now, he is our biggest problem.” Gordon paused and looked around. “His name is Zahid Ameen. He’s on the terrorist watch list for numerous bombings and was most recently implicated in an attack on a bus in Kabul.”
The image of a charred bus carcass flashed onto the screen.
“Sixteen schoolchildren died in this bombing, all girls, along with twelve adults. The bus was on its way to a newly opened school.”
Silence fell over the room.
“Ten days ago, Ameen boarded a flight from Athens to Caracas, Venezuela, that landed just hours before Rasheed’s flight. One week ago, Rasheed entered the U.S. with a Mexican coyote, most likely through border tunnels controlled by the Saledo cartel. We believe Ameen did the same.”
“What do the Venezuelans have on them?” The question came from Lauren, who was seated across the room.
“Nothing,” Gordon said. “Or at least, nothing they’re willing to share. Our relations with them haven’t exactly been cozy lately.”
Elizabeth’s stomach tensed as she looked at the mangled bus. Sixteen schoolgirls. There had to be a special place in hell for someone who would do that.
“If he’s on a watch list, why didn’t they pick him up in Athens?” Lauren asked.
“His passport worked,” Gordon said. “And he’s had some plastic surgery recently. Looking at our previous photos of him, there isn’t much resemblance, so it’s no surprise they missed him. But this new biometric security software they’ve got—it’s beyond anything anyone’s ever seen before. Its matches are amazingly accurate. Based on this intelligence, we are now operating under the assumption that both Rasheed and Ameen are within our borders, and they’re working in tandem. We believe they have contacts here. And we believe they’re planning an attack.”
Gordon turned to face the screen displaying the charred bus. “With Ameen involved, we know that no target is too soft—schools, shopping malls, subway stations. Heavy civilian casualties are his trademark, and he’s completely without conscience. We are pulling out all the stops to find him. Every agency in Homeland Security is engaged in this manhunt.”
“How about enlisting outside help?” Elizabeth suggested.
“We have,” Gordon said. “Interpol has been cooperative, and they’re working on the Venezuelans.”
“I meant American help. Special ops people, like SEALs. Hunting terrorists is what they do.”
Gordon’s jaw tightened. “That’s right. But what they don’t do is conduct operations on U.S. soil. That’s our job.”
“What about the DEA down in Del Rio?” Lauren asked. “Are we still working on that license plate?”
“No new leads on the plate, but we’re pursuing another angle. Our lab techs have enlarged the surveillance image and are trying to get a number off the vehicle registration sticker affixed to the windshield. If they’re successful, it could lead to a name and address of this mystery accomplice.” He looked at Elizabeth, whose idea it had been, and she felt both proud and relieved to have come up with a fresh lead.
“You think it’s the same person whose print is on the laptop?” Lauren asked.
“Could be,” Gordon said, “but we won’t know unless we get our hands on that Chevy and have a chance to recover prints. Personally, I’d rather get my hands on the terrorists.
“Meanwhile, our cyber-crimes team is focused on the chat-room angle. Torres and LeBlanc are working with the Del Rio agents, in case they come up with something new.”
A young admin stepped into the room and whispered something in Gordon’s ear. He listened a moment, nodded, and then sat forward in his chair, clearly ready to wrap up the meeting.
“Each one of you has a job to do. But I need you to be ready to move the second we get word on that car registration. SWAT is on standby if and when we get an address.” He stood up. “That’s it.”
Everyone filed out as Gordon reached for the phone in the middle of the table.
“LeBlanc, wait.” He muted the call. “You’ve been in touch with our SEAL friends, I take it.”
She glanced at the phone, wondering who was on the other end—someone important enough to adjourn the meeting. She looked Gordon in the eye. “They’re eager to help, sir. They’ve seen this sort of carnage up close, so they’re in a unique position to understand the threat we’re facing. Plus, they’re skilled at tracking terrorists.”
“They’re also skilled at killing terrorists. Your friends in particular have a personal vendetta, as one of their teammates died in the operation that started all this. Make no mistake. If those SEALs find Rasheed, they will take him out, and we’ll never even know they were there. The FBI’s objective is to apprehend these men, interrogate them, and put a stop to their attack.”
His look was intense, and she glanced over his shoulder at the burned-out school bus.
“But—”
“You have a job to do, LeBlanc, and we don’t have time to waste.”
Chapter Nine
Kelsey greeted Derek in the Delphi Center lobby with a wary smile.
“You’re back,” she said, giving him a hug. She wore jeans with dirt patches on the knees, which told him she’d probably spent her morning outside digging up bones. “Mia’s not in this morning. And I don’t think she’s done with your analysis yet.”
“I know,” Derek said. “Gage told me I’d find you here. These are for you.”
“Hmm . . .” She took the brown paper bag and peeked inside. “Peach kolaches, wow. I feel another favor coming.”
“Word is you guys have one of the best cyber-crime units in the country.”
“The best. It’s headed up by Mark Wolfe. He’s a legend in law-enforcement circles.”
“He around?”
“No.”
“Any of his people around?”
Kelsey tipped her head to the side. “I could probably scare someone up for you. You’ll need to sign in, though.”
Kelsey got him a visitor’s badge from the security guard, and Derek followed her to a bank of elevators.
“You always work Saturdays?” he asked.
“I taught a class this morning on postmortem interval and insect activity.”
“Sounds like a class I’d be tempted to ditch,” Derek said.
“Actually, there’s a waiting list.” She watched him as they stepped onto the elevator and were whisked up to the top floor. “You know, a lot of guys spend their leave drinking beer and picking up women.”
“So I hear.”
The doors slid open, and they stepped out.
“This is about that mission that went sideways, isn’t it?” she asked.
“?’Fraid so.”
She led him down a long glass corridor. It had a view of the Hill Country on one side and a computer lab on the other.
A tall, lanky man stepped into the hallway. Scruffy, goatee. He wore a Sublime T-shirt and had a computer bag slung over his shoulder.
“Damn, you’re leaving,” Kelsey said.
“What’s up?” His gaze shifted from Kelsey to Derek.
“Ben Lawson, this is Derek Vaughn, a friend of Gage’s. He’s hoping to get your input on something.”
“I’ve got an Ultimate game at ten.”
“This’ll take five minutes,” Derek said.