‘Randy had time on his hands,’ Ethan shrugged. ‘An attention seeker will go to great lengths to achieve perfection in something like this.’
Ethan began opening more of the files, and each held another image of a huge footprint compressed into soft mud, sand or even gravel. Any of them could have been faked, if not by Randy then by somebody else: maybe even local kids who knew of Randy’s obsessions and who silently taunted him from afar with their pranks.
Ethan clicked on another image, this one showing a trail of prints crossing a creek and heading off into deep forests beyond. He was about to close it when his finger froze on the mouse and he stared at the photograph.
Beside him, Lopez peered at the image.
‘That one’s got scenery in it,’ she observed.
The photograph had been taken to show the trail of prints, and in doing so had caught the horizon line and soaring mountains beyond that dominated the sky in a row of jagged peaks. Ethan frowned, and turned to Lopez.
‘Where’d you think this was taken?’
The answer came from behind them.
‘That’s the Pioneer mountain range,’ Sally said. ‘I’d know that skyline anywhere.’
She walked over to join them, her arms folded protectively around her and her gaze fixed rigidly to the computer monitor’s screen, as though she didn’t want to look at the rest of the room around her.
‘How’d you know?’ Lopez asked.
‘Cletus loved it down that way,’ she replied. ‘I recognize that mountain: Pyramid Peak. It’s near Fox Creek.’
Fox Creek was where Jesse alleged that he and his brother had been attacked, and Gavin Coltz killed. Ethan scanned the image one last time as a new train of thought formed in his mind.
‘Randy was a recluse,’ he said, turning to Sally. ‘You said he didn’t get out much.’
‘He wasn’t a woodsman like his father and brothers,’ Sally replied.
‘Then who took this photograph?’
Sally looked at the image for a moment and seemed momentarily surprised.
‘I hadn’t seen these pictures before on Randy’s computer.’
‘But you knew his passcode,’ Lopez said.
Sally sighed and nodded.
‘I worried about Randy, not gettin’ out and all. It wasn’t healthy, him stayin’ in his room all hours of the day and night. I worried about what he might be getting up to, so I…’
Sally broke off, and Ethan offered her a reassuring grin.
‘Parental concern isn’t something to be ashamed of,’ he said. ‘You were looking out for him is all.’
‘I was spyin’ on him,’ Sally protested, but her regret faded in the wake of a smile that briefly lit her features. ‘But I never found anything more incriminating than friends he’d chat to from other countries and science-fiction fans forums that he subscribed to. And those files, his research.’
‘You ever ask him why he had these images on his computer?’ Lopez asked.
‘Couldn’t,’ Sally confessed. ‘I’d have had to tell him I was watchin’ on him. I couldn’t do that.’
Ethan looked at Lopez.
‘Randy didn’t take those photographs. His brother Cletus must have shot them while he was out in the forests.’
Lopez raised an eyebrow. ‘Really? Maybe Randy went wanderin’ now and again.’
‘Never,’ Sally said. ‘He’d have gotten lost before he’d set foot out of Riggins. The Pioneer range is at least twenty miles drive from here, most of it off-road, and Randy didn’t get his license yet.’ She looked at Ethan. ‘You think that they were working on something together?’
‘I’m hoping so,’ Ethan replied. ‘We’ll need to download these files so that we have a copy. We might find something else on them that could help us. Is there anybody else we could talk to who might be able to help?’
‘You could try Olivia, Cletus’s wife.’ Sally’s face fell again. ‘Widow.’
15
Nobody knew much about agents working for the Central Intelligence Agency. They thought that they did, their supposed knowledge provided by a wealth of television dramas depicting elaborate underground facilities with satellite links and hotlines to the White House and beyond.
Mr. Wilson knew better.
The nondescript dark-blue Cadillac Catera in which he drove ensured that he drew absolutely no attention to himself whatsoever. The windows were lightly tinted, just enough to shield his face from traffic cameras and casual observers. Virginia plates, a child-seat in the back and a Virginia Cavaliers sticker in the rear window completed the illusion that it was a family car. He pulled into the sidewalk near the corner of 4th and Independence, opposite a Presbyterian church. His close proximity to the building allowed him to exit and be inside in the shortest amount of time. Mr. Wilson liked to observe the world around him without himself being observed. Where possible he traveled at night, a shadow flitting like a dangerous thought from one pool of darkness to the next. Today, however, was a special day.
Mr. Wilson climbed out of the car and strode across to the church. A handful of anonymous pedestrians on the sidewalk parted either side of him like chaffs of wheat gusted by a passing tornado. Whether by instinct or knowledge, people had avoided Mr. Wilson for as long as he could remember, as though somehow they sensed the undiluted violence veiled behind his unassuming exterior.
He reached the church, where on the north side a narrow iron gate led to a concealed path hidden between the church walls and rows of trees and bushes lining the sidewalk. Wilson vaulted lithely over the gate, into the shade of the trees and out of sight from the road.
Wilson walked only a few paces along the path before a man emerged ahead from where he had been leaning unobtrusively behind the church’s ornate brickwork. Wilson stood in front of him and, unlike the pedestrians before, he saw no signs of intimidation in the man’s eyes as he removed a pair of expensive Ray-Bans.
‘You were able to get out without alerting suspicion?’ Wilson asked.
‘It’s not a problem,’ came the reply. ‘They work flexible hours in there. It’s like a holiday.’
Wilson did not smile. The agent before him was extremely capable and used to operating in far harsher and more dangerous climes than the center of the district.
‘Our program has been stepped up,’ he announced. ‘Collateral is no longer an obstacle.’ Wilson hesitated, and then added: ‘Within reason.’
‘None of the staff is a problem,’ the agent replied. ‘Only one is doing any real digging, Natalie Warner. I’m not sure what she’s after but it’s beyond her remit.’
‘Keep a sharp eye on her,’ Wilson ordered him. ‘If she becomes an issue, ensure that she is removed from play.’
‘Time-scale?’
‘The problem at hand will be resolved entirely within twenty-four hours, probably less. All you are required to do is ensure that the GAO does not collate enough evidence to warrant Congressional intervention in CIA programs. If they should do so, then you are to prevent that information from reaching either the committee or the inspector general.’
The man nodded. ‘Where will you be?’
‘Here in the district. I’ll maintain a watch on the key figures personally. If any should show signs of making a case against the agency, then we will make every effort to prevent them from doing so.’
The man raised an eyebrow.
‘That might be easy out here on the street, but taking down a Congressional aide in the accountability office is another matter entirely. It will be difficult to maintain cover.’
‘Use your imagination,’ Wilson replied. ‘As soon as our task is complete you will be extracted and placed far from any inconvenient inquiries or investigations.’