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He closed his eyes to again bring the night back into focus. The tilt of the head. The coldness of the eyes as Chris’s weapon aimed in the boy’s direction as Bassam shouted that Diana would die if Chris fired.
He hadn’t believed the threat. After all, Diana was their prize and still alive for a reason, which was why he’d been confident that if Diana hadn’t cooperated with the brothers, he and Kramer would’ve had no problem completing her rescue.
But she’d taken control of the brothers and the op, and now he needed to decide if Jamal was in any of the photos before him.
He opened his eyes and pointed to the image on the right side of the middle row. “That’s Jamal.”
His declaration was met with silence, and he reconsidered the idea that only Freya knew how to maintain a poker face.
Finally, Freya said, “Are there any other pictures of him?”
He shook his head, but then pointed to the photo on the bottom left. “That’s his brother, Bassam. I’m guessing it was taken when he was younger, closer to the age Jamal is now.”
It wasn’t a photo taken from the drone footage, which was almost a relief because it would only raise questions if Freya Lange had access to Top Secret military images and video.
“How’d he do?” Amira asked.
Freya scooped up the photos. “Passed with flying colors.”
“Where did you get these?” Chris asked again.
“I’ve been digging into where the brothers came from originally. Diana suggested they might have been taken in one of the attacks on a school. We looked at a number of such attacks across the region. Two years ago—before Rafiq’s supposed death—one raid in Beirut led to the disappearance of over a dozen children, including brothers named Bassam and Jamal. Their sister, Farah, was also taken.”
“Diana never said anything about a girl.”
“No. She would have been enslaved or killed early on. Possibly separated from the brothers once their cooperation with the Islamic State group that took them was established.”
“Why are you showing me this now?”
“We needed a positive ID so we can get our friends with facial recognition capability to start searching databases to see if Jamal has entered the US, or to stop him if he tries to do so. We were fairly certain these were the right boys, but needed someone who’d seen them both in person to confirm it.”
“Why not ask Diana?”
“The Intelligence Community would suspect her identification in a way that they won’t yours,” Morgan said. “I’m not sure you realize just how dire Diana’s situation is. The Kingdom is on the cusp of demanding she be extradited back to Jordan. If we can’t find a way to prove Rafiq is alive, the State Department will likely comply in keeping with our nations’ extradition treaty. Diana could face prosecution and imprisonment in Jordan for looting the archaeological site.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Dennis Gardner answered his hotel room door with a scowl on his weathered face. “You’re late, Miss Edwards.”
She gave him a tight smile. “Dr. Edwards.” She cocked her head for him to open the door wider, as she could hardly pass through the narrow opening while using crutches, wearing a loaded backpack with her new cane strapped to it.
She was tired and frazzled and it had taken her longer to walk the block and a half from the Metro because she’d opted to use the elevator instead of riding the escalator, but the line had been long on a Friday afternoon. “The time you selected for this meeting wasn’t convenient for me, Mr. Gardner, but I did my best to accommodate you. You’re welcome.”
There was a slight cough from inside the room, and Gardner stepped back, letting her see who else was attending this meeting.
She hobbled into the room on three legs and faced Dennis Gardner’s son, Mason, and another man she’d never met before.
Mason was a chip off the old block, a younger version of the sixty-five-year-old third-generation retail magnate. The Gardners were both white and just under six feet tall. The younger son was tanned and fit, with thick dark hair, while the elder was pale with streaks of gray and thinning hair.
The male genes ran strong in this family, as she’d seen the portrait of Dennis Gardner’s grandfather, who’d opened the first Gardner Holdings store in the 1950s in Virginia. Now the ever-growing empire showed all signs of being passed on to Mason to keep the vast array of stores in the same family’s stewardship for a fourth generation.
Several months ago, they’d broken ground on a new flagship store for their most prominent chain, Historie. The art replica retail giant was best known for the Gardner family’s Signature Line of replicas—artifacts of which the Gardner family themselves owned the originals. Every year, they sold a limited run of one-to-one-sized replicas handmade out of the same material as the original for thousands of dollars. In the new store/museum, the originals would be displayed along with a replica in a setting that was also a replica of the type of site where the item had been found.
Given that Mason Gardner’s name was all over the press releases for the new store, she gathered it was his baby, his way to show the world he was ready to take over the family business. Still, he’d faced every meeting with Diana with as much enthusiasm as one faced changing a kitty litter box—a chore that was unpleasant whether one loved the cat or not.
She was fairly certain Mason did not like the cat in this instance. The new store and museum might be his pet project, but he was not an animal lover.
She turned her focus to the stranger in the room, guessing he was probably another company man who was not thrilled to be here. At least he was easy on the eyes.
