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George’s twin spoke. “Along with our operative, we’ve found two men dead—one at the door and one in a room. So far.”
I really felt like shit. A serious concussion? I slumped back onto the car seat. Could Billy have gotten to her before he appeared at the door? Or the mystery man?
A Kevlar-vested agent emerged from the front door and called, “All clear!”
George lifted a hand in acknowledgment. I wondered what happened to the nameless man with the onyx eyes and weathered brown face.
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
Kevin
So it had come to this. The group’s plans had been revealed and the secrets were unfolding. Kevin smiled. It felt good to know he was in control. He held a power no one could thwart.
But the question remained—would the Feds be able to pin anything on the group?
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
Jessica
“We’ve been over and over this,” I said. “I don’t know his name.”
Homeland Security, the FBI, and God-only-knows who else had debriefed me for hours at the FBI headquarters office in D.C. So much for asking only a few questions.
I’d been through two books of photos and recognized Lucius, but I didn’t see the nameless man with the black holes for eyes.
“Can you describe him?” a ferret-faced man asked.
“Again,” I said, pausing for emphasis. “He was reed thin, tall—maybe close to six feet—with tanned skin, wrinkled like he worked outdoors. His eyes were pitch black—beady, ugly.”
“The hair. Dark brown? Light?” George asked in a softer voice.
I tried to remember. “I . . . medium brown, maybe? It’s hard to recall. The light blinded me. And mainly, I remember those dead black eyes.”
“How old would you say he was?” The ferret-faced man continued undaunted.
I shrugged and shook my head. “He could have been an old-looking forty or a young-looking sixty. I don’t know. Middle-aged?” Middle-aged men all looked the same to me.
George and Ferret Face seemed to ponder this.
“Whoever he is, we need to find him. How’s that sketch coming?” Ferret Face directed the remark to a younger man, who’d worked up a pencil sketch and was clicking modifications into a computer-generated face. Answering questions had distracted me from the fact that he was there.
The artist stopped and showed me the monitor. The rendering wasn’t perfect, but it was close.
“His face was thinner around the mouth.” I said. “Chin more pointed.”
The artist made the changes and showed me again.
“Yes . . . .” I said, the memory blossoming into a clearer image. “I’m starting to remember now.”
As the artist put the finishing touches on his rendition, George and Ferret Face conferred with a gray-suited man who exuded the air of a superior. George nodded and murmured in response to what the man said. What were they discussing?
The gray-suited man dismissed the two with a curt nod, before striding from the room.
George came over and asked, “How’s that sketch coming?”
“I think we may be finished here,” the artist said. “What do you think?” He held it up for my inspection.
I looked it over. “That’s amazing. It looks almost exactly the way I remember him.”
