DIA Headquarters
Joint Base Anacostia-Bolling
Washington, D.C.
0942 Local Time
As it turned out, it didn’t take long at all. Eighty-one minutes and twelve seconds, to be exact, from the time that MAADN’s new search was initiated to the moment it got a solid hit.
An alarm sounded at the main workstation—with a typical programmer’s irreverence, the blare of a submarine dive Klaxon. Craterly was in the hot seat behind it.
“We’ve got a hit,” he announced. “Facial recognition on Klaus with the highest degree of confidence.”
Katie and Kyle hurried over, one standing behind each of Craterly’s pudgy shoulders. They all studied a five-second loop of video.
“That looks a lot like the photo of Klaus you sent me in Bodrum,” Katie said.
“Oh, that’s him,” Kyle said confidently. “MAADN’s facialrecognition is orders of magnitude more accurate than our human eye. But…what the hell?”
The extended clip of Gunther Klaus was more baffling than the short version that had verified his identity. He was sitting on a donkey, one of four that were being guided by a grizzled old Moroccan. The tiny caravan trundled into view, and then Klaus very deliberately pulled back his hoodie, removed his sunglasses, and looked straight at the camera lens from fifty feet away.
“Where is this?” Katie asked.
Working a secondary screen to run geolocation, Craterly said, “He was in front of the American Legation Museum in Tangier. Happened roughly nine hours ago, which would have been early morning there.”
“The American Legation Museum?” Katie echoed. “What the heck is that?”
Kyle, clearly having the same question in mind, typed in a query. “Looks like it’s a small museum in the old medina.” He paused to read more, then added, “It’s actually United States territory, given as a gift back in the 1800s.”
To Katie it made perfect sense. “Sovereign property of the United States government. There’s no more likely place in the city to find security cameras that would be monitored on this side of the pond.”
“Clever,” Craterly said. “But what good is it for Klaus to just show us his face?”
Katie studied the video more closely. “What’s that by his leg?”
The others looked to where she was pointing.
“Zoom and enhance!” Kyle said excitedly.
The image was blurry at first, but soon sharpened underenhancement algorithms. A piece of cardboard the size of a standard envelope was backdropped by the ribs of an old mule. On it was a message written in black marker:ALT TODAY COB.
“ALT?” Katie said aloud. “Like alternate?”
“Alternate what?” Craterly mused.
“Wait,” Kyle said. “There was something in the file the CIA sent over.”
He called up the full report on the agent named Fulcrum. Kyle stepped through records until he found the mission report from the final meeting between Fulcrum and his handler. “Here it is. It says, ‘Fulcrum was given primary and alternate meeting points. Made contact at primary, marked bench in park east of Place de la Ligue Arabe. No surveillance noted…”
“There was an alternate meeting point,” Katie said. “Does the report say where it was?”
Kyle, who’d always been able to read at lightning speed, pored over the rest of the file. “Doesn’t say.”
“His handler would know. We can find out from him.”
“True.”
“What about COB?” Craterly inquired.
