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HONOLULU remained visible.

“That vessel was registered in Liberia,” Kim said. “The registration documents list Monrovia as its home port.”

“Then why did it say Honolulu?”

Agent Morales leaned toward the screen.

“Can you enlarge the lower right corner?”

Kim expanded the image.

The photograph blurred slightly, but the lettering remained visible.

Someone had painted over the original port.

The newer paint had begun peeling away.

“There’s something underneath it,” I said.

Kim adjusted the contrast.

Faint letters emerged beneath HONOLULU.

S-A-N.

A space.

Then possibly D-I.

“San Diego?” Ben suggested.

“Maybe.”

Agent Morales wrote another note.

“We’ll have the lab work on it.”

Kim continued.

In the next photograph, the silver-haired man stood near the rear of the bridge. Another man faced him.

Only the second man’s back was visible.

He wore khaki pants and a dark blue shirt.

“Do you recognize him?” Morales asked.

“No.”

“Anything about his clothing?”

I leaned closer.

A circular patch covered the upper sleeve.

The angle made it difficult to see, but a yellow border surrounded a blue center.

“Can you enlarge the patch?”