Orlando flicked back and forth between the two. Same dates, same names, same ink marks in the margins. She moved on to document seven. A copy of the second page of the Turkish report. Only…
“The last two paragraphs,” Nate said. “Look.”
As Orlando toggled between documents seven and two, it became clear that while most of the information in each document was identical, the last two typed paragraphs were completely different.
Moving on to document eight, they could see that the five signatures at the bottom were the exact size and in the exact same position as those on doc three. The paragraphs above them, however, did not match.
Files nine and ten were the English version again, but they looked nothing like the previous translations. Just from the format, it was obvious they’d been prepared by someone else entirely.
The new version did not tell the story of a driver who’d lost control of his car, but rather of a driver who’d been shot in the head and died before the car even reached the edge of the pavement, leaving the passengers unable to prevent the crash. An investigator found the bullet lodged in the backseat of the car. Given the angle it would have had to travel from the man’s head into the cushion, the investigator was able to determine the likely spot the gunman had fired from. A search of the area revealed only ground that had been brushed clean.
“Dear God,” Liz said. “Is this the correct report? Or is it the other one?”
“Depends on what you mean by correct,” Quinn said. “Official? That would be the first one.” He left the rest unsaid and told Orlando to keep going.
Files eleven and twelve were typed notes — addresses, names, thoughts — ending with a list:
N. Lionel
Kablukov
BJD
Mossad
Jude Eisner
Lon/Tec
Darvot
SVGX
Klaus Pounder
Herman Raver
P12
Most of the names were familiar to Quinn. Many referred to intelligence agencies, some associated with a specific country and some not, while the individuals he recognized also played in their world. So what was this? Peter’s suspect list? That was the first thing that came to Quinn’s mind.
They could come back to it later, though, so he nodded to Orlando that he was ready to move on.
File thirteen was the beginning of the pictures. The first five had an embossed stamp in the lower right corner that Quinn guessed meant they were official. Each was a different shot of the crash, victims and all. Miranda had apparently been sitting in the backseat on the passenger side, which was probably the only reason she remained recognizable. In contrast, the face of the woman who had been sitting in front of her was a bloody and unrecognizable pulp, most likely because it had been bashed repeatedly against the dash and windshield.
Not surprisingly, the picture featuring the driver avoided any angles that would reveal his fatal wound, and instead concentrated on his crumpled form.
File eighteen was another crime scene photo, only this one was missing the official seal. It showed the center section of the backseat cushion, complete with bullet hole. To either side of the picture, you could see a portion of Miranda and the woman who’d been sitting beside her, leaving no doubt the picture was from their accident. The next two photos were of the driver, each showing the entry wound above his right eye, and confirming what Quinn had already suspected — the second report was the accurate one.
Next came a map with a circle around the area where the accident had occurred, while the final two files were pictures again. The first was a wide shot of the crash scene, also without a seal. Several people were looking through the car, while more huddled in smaller groups, talking. The last image was a close-up of the group that had been farthest from the camera. It wasn’t a new shot, but a blowup of the previous one, which, because of the magnification, meant the subjects were blurry. The main focus seemed to be on the man in the center. He had short brown hair and appeared to be more Caucasian than Turkish, but that was pretty much all Quinn could make out.
“Go back,” he said.
Orlando clicked back to the group image. Though the area blown up in the final image was considerably smaller now, it was actually easier to make out some details. No, the man was definitely not Turkish. He was talking to an official-looking man in a suit. Perhaps the lead investigator?
“Anybody recognize him?” he asked.
“I don’t,” Orlando said.
Nate shook his head. “Me, neither.”
“Who do you think he is?” Liz asked.
“Someone Peter was interested in, I guess,” Quinn replied. “But other than that, I don’t know.”
“Maybe he was from the US delegation, there to ID the bodies,” his sister suggested.
“That would be done in a morgue, not while the bodies were still in the car. Besides, I doubt they would leave the bodies there very long anyway, so the pictures had to have been taken shortly after the police arrived on scene.”
“Maybe he’s with the police,” she said.
“I don’t think so.”
“Because he’s white? I’m sure there’s some fair-skinned Turks.”
“I’m sure there are. But look at his haircut. Look at what he’s wearing.” The man was dressed in khaki pants and a black polo golf shirt. “If he’s not American, then he’s pretending to be one.”
“Then he could be from the delegation,” Liz argued.
Quinn shook his head. “If he were, Peter would have known, and wouldn’t have blown this picture up. Whoever this guy is, I’d bet he’s tied to what happened to Miranda and her friends.”
“I might be able to clean the picture up some,” Orlando said. “Then maybe…send it around. See if anyone recognizes…him.”
“Yeah, maybe after you take a twelve-hour nap,” Quinn said.
“I’m okay. Just need to rest for a minute.”
“I’ll help her,” Liz said. “She can tell me what to do.”
Quinn disliked that idea only slightly less than having Orlando do it on her own, but the truth was, getting that picture would help. He nodded. “E-mail me copies of all the decrypted files first, then see what you can do.”
He motioned for Nate to follow him, and left.
In the corridor, he said, “Peter said it in the video I saw. Whoever’s responsible for killing him killed Miranda, too.”
“It would be a hell of a coincidence otherwise.”
“Exactly. You saw the list in Peter’s notes, right?”
Nate nodded.
“I’d bet everything that the person or group we’re looking for is on there. We need to pull the pieces together, and figure out which one it is.”
“And how are we going to do that?”
To answer, Quinn pulled out his phone and called Daeng.
“News?” Daeng said.
“Nothing yet,” Quinn replied. “I need to talk to Misty.”
“Sure. Hold on.”
A short pause, then Misty said, “Hello?”
“How you holding up?”
“Well, you know. Okay, I guess.”
“I have a question for you. Peter once mentioned there was an organization that took over for the Office. I’m pretty sure he knew the person in charge.”
“Yes, he did.”
“I had the impression Peter trusted him.”
“Very much. But it’s not a him. It’s a her.”
CHAPTER 28
Helen Cho grabbed the pot of coffee off her credenza and filled her cup.
When she was settled behind her desk, she pushed the intercom button and said, “Send in Director Stone.”
Across the room the door to her office opened, and Gregory Stone, current director of O & O, stepped in.