CHAPTER 52
Baltimore, MD
After the attack, Henry had relocated Patrick, Danny and himself to Dom’s bomb shelter. He told the rest of the staff to take a week off. The Chandler Group was currently closed for business.
Henry, however, was still plugging away, although he debated whether or not to call it a night. He pushed back from the computer monitor and rubbed his eyes. God, am I tired.
He’d been running the picture Laney had sent him through recognition systems since he’d gotten off the phone with her. Two hours later, he had nothing to show for it.
He knew Danny would probably be able to do it faster. He couldn’t, though, bring himself to wake him. Danny was asleep in one of the guest rooms down the hall after Henry slipped a sleeping pill into his tea earlier in the afternoon. He hadn’t wanted to, but Danny needed sleep. When he’d brought Danny into the Chandler Group, Henry had hoped to protect him against the violence that he’d been exposed to in his early life. Today, he’d failed at that task, and it was eating him up inside.
“To sleep or not to sleep, that is the question,” Henry muttered as he watched the program complete its run with no matches. He stared at the email icon on the bottom left of the screen. He thought about the file Dom had sent him about the present incarnations of the angels.
“Oh, what the hell.” He double-clicked the icon.
The file contained two large folders. One labeled “Twentieth Century and Later” and the other, “Nineteenth Century and Earlier”. He clicked on the twentieth century folder and over two hundred files listed on the screen in front of him. He quickly read through the names and a number of them jumped out at him: Rasputin, Mengela, Bundy.
Okay. This was stupid. These names were well known. Their guys were not. He was about to shut down the computer when he saw some names that were dated for the latter half of the twentieth century.
He rubbed his eyes. I check these dozen and call it a night.
He clicked on one of the Word files and a bio of a general in the Egyptian army appeared. The .jpeg file with the same name showed a tall man with dark hair, a scar across his cheek, and a look of complete menace in his eyes.
Definitely not a nice-looking man, but also not the man I’m looking for.
He clicked through about eight more files and thought he should just forget it. This was ridiculous. He clicked on the ninth photo and his hand stilled. The man staring back at him had high cheekbones, crystal blue eyes, and soft brown hair. His eyes flew to the photo Laney had sent him. The man in Dom’s picture was a little younger, but undeniably the same man.
He quickly clicked the Word file and read the bio. He scanned past the early history to his more recent involvements. Suspected of being involved with Chechen rebels fifteen years ago, the Syrian government about eight years ago, and now he was believed to work for Senator Kensington.
Now they had a link between the attackers – Russian nationals – and their unknown man.
He scrolled farther down the file. Dom had tracked down some reports on people who’d worked with the man. The reports all differed except for one common trend: the man was a ruthless killer who seemed to have almost supernatural fighting skills. He went by the name Gideon but Dom had made a note about what he believed to be his real identity.
“Azazyel.”