After our early-morning breakthrough, I went in search of a razor while Skylar went for a run. A run. I’d offered her the bathtub, certain that she’d want to indulge in a long hot soak as she had after her interview with Tom. I certainly would have felt the urge, both for a bath and a bottle of Bordeaux. But despite the humidity, she’d opted for exercise.
Skylar wasn’t even stymied by her lack of workout clothes. She just bought a bathing suit from the drugstore that supplied my shaving tackle and headed out to run barefoot on the sand.
I shaved, then hit the hotel business center. When I returned to the room after a couple of hours on the computer, I expected to find Skylar sawing logs. But there was no sign of her. Instead of searching, I updated the note explaining my whereabouts and left for the mall.
Entering our room upon my return, I heard her singing in the shower. She’d moved the bedside clock radio into the bathroom and was belting it out along with Adele. Unbelievable what endorphins could do.
I knocked twice, cracked the bathroom door, and slid one of my shopping bags into the steamy room as the singing stopped. “I got you some clothes and a few toiletries.”
“Thanks. Be right out.”
I went to the balcony with the hope that the sun would soon bring the humidity under control, and booted up my new computer.
Skylar joined me ten minutes later. She looked radiant. Even in basic jeans and a plain cotton shirt. Very healthy. I resolved to get more exercise.
“You’re good with sizes. You even nailed the shoes. And the bra.”
“I checked your tags. Apologies for the privacy invasion. I weighed the options and pragmatism won.”
“No worries.” She gestured toward the iPhone on the end table. “Did you get Tom’s picture from the cloud.”
“I did. I sent it off to Lesley.”
“Lesley?”
“Lesley Franna is the friend at the agency I referred to earlier. A crack analyst.”
“How long before you hear back?”
“Depends on how busy she is. I gave her the parameters she’ll need for an efficient query, so building it won’t take long. But she has to get to it first and I won’t be a top priority. Then the computer will take a few hours to do its thing. It will give her matches, beginning with the one the program considers the best match, then the second, and so on. Could be a very long list, and she won’t be able to share it with me. She’ll have to review it, so again that will be a time sink.”
Skylar grabbed the empty chair. “What do we do while we’re waiting?”
I answered her question with one of my own. “What do you think?”
“I think we look for me.”
I pulled a second MacBook Air from the bag at my side. I had been amazed when the charge went through. Perhaps the credit card company knew they had me hooked and was just feeding me more line. “You’re exactly right.”
She hesitated to take it. “I could use the computer downstairs.”
“We can’t skimp on equipment or settle for inefficiency if we’re going to beat Tom. And Apple has a 30-day return policy,” I added.
Her eyes brightened with understanding. “Thank you.”
She accepted the laptop and lifted the lid. “Where do we look? I don’t suppose you have some special CIA database at your disposal?”
I did, but I wasn’t about to mention it, as that particular resource wouldn’t help here. “The FBI has the best database, the Facial Analysis, Comparison, and Evaluation Services Unit, or FACE. But it’s not at my disposal. Not directly.”
“What does that mean, not directly?” Skylar asked, working through the setup screens.
“I can’t access it from my computer, and I certainly can’t hack the FBI. But my FBI friend Owen has it on his laptop.”
“So you want to send him my picture?”
“No. I can’t ask him to commit a crime.”
Skylar crinkled her blonde brow. “But with Lesley?”
“With Lesley, I had a legitimate, reportable reason. Tom was impersonating a CIA officer. I made her aware of that, as it’s well within her purview to run a related search. Reporting the results back to me is where things get a bit sketchy. Kinda depends on what she finds. If Tom actually is a CIA officer who’s running something either undercover or off the books, she’ll never tell me. On the other hand, if Tom’s just some guy off the street, particularly a foreign national, sharing with a former colleague might not get her more than a wrist slapping.”
“So how does your FBI friend help you indirectly?”
“Owen could give me a demonstration of FACE, as a professional courtesy. He doesn’t know I’m no longer with the Agency, so by asking him I’ll be walking a thin line, implicitly impersonating a CIA employee. It’s a gray zone since I’ll never actually make the claim, gray enough that he wouldn’t be likely to cry foul even if I weren’t a friend.”
Skylar’s laptop emitted a welcoming bong. She stopped typing and looked in my direction. “So what’s next?”
“I take your picture from a few angles. Then you go to work using those find my twin dot-coms while I call Owen and see if he’s available to meet after work.”
42
Twin Peeks
I CHECKED MY NEW WATCH as I pulled the hotel key from my back pocket. Almost 11:00 p.m. I’d been away visiting my FBI friend for nine hours, and the Do Not Disturb sign was now hanging from the knob. I worked the lock as quietly as possible, but the electronic click was unavoidable.
It didn’t matter. Skylar was still up and I even caught the smell of coffee in the air.
She wasn’t at the desk where she’d been when I left, but she was still glued to her computer. She was belly-down on the bed with her chest propped up by a couple of pillows and her ankles crossed in the air. Gone were the jeans I’d purchased that morning, but everything else was still on. She probably wanted to air her wounds. Looked like they’d been salved.
She glanced over at me, then hit a few more keys before turning her head. “How was Quantico?” she asked in an upbeat tone.
I snicked the bolt and swiveled the security guard. “Went smoothly. I showed up with a six-pack of Fierce and we worked through it while he demoed FACE.” While she watched with wide eyes, I held up the catch of the day, a flash drive. “We found fourteen Skylar Fawkes lookalikes.”
“Fourteen! Wow, I only found one.” She rotated her laptop in my direction.
My bed was too far from her screen, but I didn’t want to sit on hers when she was dressed like that, so I wheeled over the desk chair and sat such that I wouldn’t be looking at her long, bare, tan legs. “Sandy Wallace in Miami. The chef. She’s on my list too.”
“That’s an encouraging sign. Show me the others.”
I handed her the flash drive.
It was an awkward arrangement, with her on a bed and me on the only chair. “I’m sorry. I should have thought to buy you pajamas.”
“Don’t worry about it. Not a top priority. Now, if you’d forgotten a toothbrush, that would have been problematic. I hate it when I can’t clean my teeth. But seriously, most guys wouldn’t have gotten anything at all, much less thought to check my sizes. Of course, you set the bar pretty high last night. On service, I mean. I’m very grateful to you, for everything. And I’m rambling. I do that too, when I have nervous energy. I’ll shut up now.”
“No worries. But I must say that I’m surprised you didn’t burn up all your energy running. You were gone a long time this morning.”
“I got a swim in this afternoon too, but no cycling, obviously. I might see if they have a stationary bike in the gym before turning in.” Reading my expression, she added. “I know I’m not a professional athlete any more. But the habit is ingrained and I’m addicted to the endorphins. Plus I like to eat and I don’t want to get fat. I’m rambling again.”