“So that’s it, huh?” Howard asked.
Quinn turned the box, taking a good look at it for the first time. The lid was hinged and clasped shut. Carved across the top were two rows of vines paralleling the edge. More vines were carved into the sides, while the bottom was smooth and unadorned.
Quinn flipped the clasp and opened the lid. Almost the entire interior was taken up by black packing foam, like the kind used in cases that carried electronics and musical instruments. Cut in the very center was a small round hole, and in that hole a chrome metal cylinder.
He pulled it out. It was no more than a half-inch long, and flat on each end.
“That doesn’t look like a thumb drive to me,” Daeng said.
“No,” Quinn said. He looked closely at the top and saw it was a movable lid, pinned at the edge. “It’s a canister.”
Gently, he moved the top away so he could look inside. Tucked within the cylinder was a roll of something that looked like thin plastic. He turned the canister over, and the roll fell easily into his palm.
“What is it?” Daeng asked.
Quinn held it out so the other two could see it. “Microfilm.”
“Microfilm? That’s kind of old school, isn’t it?”
“Very.”
Quinn twisted the roll around, examining it. There were no signs of age, and it felt flexible between his fingers. Still wary that it might be a relic from Peter’s past, he carefully took hold of the end and unrolled the first inch. It felt strong and gave no sign it might break, so he held it up to the light. All he saw was black, so he unspooled another inch and raised it again. There were brighter frames now, with little black squiggles running through them.
Words, he guessed. Documents or notes.
Instead of unrolling only another inch, he kept going until the entire strip was open. More documents. Then frames with color. Pictures, maybe? He couldn’t make out anything.
He lowered the film. “Either of you have glasses? Reading? Prescription? Anything?”
Daeng and Howard shook their heads.
“I do,” Misty said, raising her head off the bed. Apparently she hadn’t been asleep, as he’d thought. “Reading glasses. They’re in my purse.” She started to sit up, then stopped and closed her eyes, her shoulders drooping. “Which is under the seat in my car.”
Her car was still parked near Peter’s place.
“I think we passed a Target store not far from here,” Daeng said.
Quinn put the film back in the canister. “Can I borrow your keys?” he asked Howard.
“Of course.” Howard handed them to Quinn. “You want some company?”
“No, you two stay here.” Though he didn’t expect another group of armed men to break into their hotel room, there was no sense in taking chances, and two watching over Misty was better than one.
As he headed toward the door, Misty swung her legs off the bed and stood up. “Is there something I can do? Anything?”
He stopped. “The most important thing you can do right now is rest.”
“I can’t sleep. I just keep thinking about Peter and the video.” She looked lost, helpless. “Can I see what you found?”
“Sure.” He handed her the metal canister.
She opened the top but didn’t dump out the film. “Just like Peter. There were certain things he liked physical copies of.” She handed the cylinder back, her eyes half full of tears.
Quinn wanted to comfort her, but he couldn’t find the correct words, so he said, “I won’t be long,” and left.
Daeng had been right. There was a Target right around the corner. Instead of hunting for reading glasses, Quinn went directly to the office supply area and found a magnifying glass. He pulled out the microfilm and did a quick test. The glass blew up the images enough so that if the text had been readable, he should’ve been able to make it out. Unfortunately, it was illegible. What he saw were lines made up of tiny squares — some alone, some connected only at their corners, some side by side. It was like they wanted to be text but weren’t.
He looked around to make sure he was still alone before unrolling more of the film. When he reached one of the color frames, he checked it. More squares, clearly not randomly sequenced, but impossible to decipher.
Peter had warned that the information would be encrypted, but Quinn had hoped he could comprehend something.
He rerolled the film, put it back into the canister, and returned the magnifying glass to where he’d found it. He would have to figure out a way to get the frames digitized so he could then have them decoded.
On his way out, he made a quick stop in the drugs section and picked up a bottle of Tylenol PM, thinking maybe it would help Misty get some sleep. At the checkout counter, the cashier had just started to ring him up when his phone vibrated. He pulled it out and was surprised the call was from Nate.
“Seven seventy-eight,” the clerk said.
Quinn raised his phone to his ear. “Nate?”
“You’re going to want to head back,” Nate said.
“What happened? Is there a problem?”
“Sir,” the cashier said. “Seven seventy-eight.”
“Not a problem,” Nate said. “But…”
“What?” Quinn asked as he fished a twenty out of his pocket and handed it to the cashier.
“Orlando. She just woke up.”
For half a second, the world disappeared.
Awake?
As happy as the news was, Quinn was also angry. He had wanted to be there. Needed to be there. Needed to be the first thing she saw.
“Excuse me, sir.”
Quinn snapped back.
The cashier was holding out his hand. “Your change?”
“Oh, thanks.”
Quinn grabbed the change and the bag holding the pills, and headed for the door.
“When did this happen?” he asked Nate.
“Five minutes ago.”
“Did…did she ask for me?”
“She hasn’t said anything yet.”
Why not? Quinn wondered. Was there something wrong? Had something affected her speech? Or worse, her mind?
But he didn’t ask. The only thing important now was getting back to her side.
“Tell her I’m on my way.”
At the client’s request, Central dispatched a second forensics team to the house in Arlington Ridge. He was sure it was a waste of time, but the client was insistent, and it wasn’t Central’s place to question. What was Central’s place was going above and beyond for clients whenever feasible. In other words, if you had people sitting around doing nothing, and there was an angle on a client’s job that could get done, do it. Director Stone always said showing the client they were willing to go the extra mile was a good way to make sure the client used O & O again.
As Central went over the reports from the previous day, he had noted a hole in one of their operations pertaining to this client. The assignment in question was the forensic follow-up at the Georgetown apartment. While the apartment itself had been thoroughly checked and deemed clean, the area around the building had been neglected.
Though unlikely, it was possible the intruders had left clues to their identities outside during the chases. There was also the matter of transportation. While the group had left on foot, it was not known how they had arrived. Sure, if they had driven there, chances were the vehicle would have been retrieved by now, but it was something worth checking.
And Central did have a two-man recon team available.
He mulled it over for less than a minute, but could think of no serious argument against doing it. So he located Teig’s number on his computer and clicked CONNECT.
“Hello?”
“Teig? This is Central. I have an assignment for you.”