Exposure Page 18

  Melissa scanned the names, noting that most of them were people she also had suspected. "I take it you've already been through the list of those I'd rejected."

  "Yes," Cullen said. "And I must say you did an outstanding job. Even Harrison and his magic computer couldn't find anything you'd missed."

  Coming from him, it was high praise, but somehow it didn't matter. Everything just felt a little flat today. As if she'd spent all her joy last night, and now she was left with nothing more than middle-of-the-road emotions. "Thanks. But I'd feel better if I'd managed to get the goods on the real deal."

  "Well you've significantly narrowed it down, and that helps," Gabe said, his gaze locked on the screen. "What we've got to do now is try and track things from both sides. The UN and the nerve agent's departure from Istanbul."

  "But we have no solid evidence it was even in Istanbul, thanks to last night's failed attempt at finding the warheads."

  "The presence of guards at least seems to indicate that we were on the right track," Payton said, his eyes narrowed in thought. "Add that to the probability that the nerve agent exited from somewhere in the vicinity, even if not Istanbul directly, and I'd say we've at least got a place to start."

  "Unless these have something better to tell us." Harrison strode into the room waving a manila envelope. "The photos from the Spanish surveillance just arrived. You know, the ones they took just before they lost contact with Salvatore." He crossed to the computer and pulled a disk from the envelope. "Thank God for digital."

  "I thought the footage wasn't any good?" Nigel sat back with a frown.

  "That's what they said, but they don't know how to play with photographs the way Melissa does," Harrison said. "If there's something here to find, I'm betting she can find it." He slipped the disk into the laptop and the image on the screen changed again, this time to a grainy photo of what looked to be a Middle Eastern bazaar. "With a little help." He turned the laptop toward her, pointing to a CD case marked E.O.

  "You got my software." For the first time she felt as if she had something concrete to contribute. This was home turf.

  "Told you I knew the programmer." Harrison winked, and for a moment it was just the two of them until Nigel cleared his throat, the expression on his face enough to sober Melissa.

  "Welcome to Izmit, Turkey," Harrison said, as usual oblivious to the undercurrents. He waved at the screen as Melissa moved the mouse over the picture, adjusting hue and saturation to coax the photograph into submission. In just a few minutes, the image grew noticeably clearer.

  Payton studied the screen. "Unless I'm mistaken, the man by the fountain is the late, unlamented Paulo Salvatore."

  "We don't know for certain that he's dead." Madison leaned forward to study the photograph.

  "No," Nigel said, "but I'd make book."

  Melissa studied the man in the picture. He had that slick European look. Tailored suit, dark glasses, gold glittering at his neck and wrists. Even in the heat of Turkey he managed to look perfectly pressed. "Is this coming or going?"

  "Going," Harrison said. "There were two shots of him heading for the meet, but unfortunately they're so out of focus even you couldn't fix them."

  Melissa switched to the earlier photos and, after trying a couple of quick fixes, nodded her agreement, switching bad to the later picture of Salvatore. "This is why professiona photographers should always be used on a stakeout. It's tht only way to be certain you'll get what you need."

  Melissa was preaching to the choir, but it had always been a pet peeve. She'd been called in many times to handle the photography side of an operation, but just as often, someone less qualified had been used, often with disastrous results.

  And it wasn't as if you could just go in somewhere and retake the kind of shots necessary to get a conviction or identify a perp. Still, the CIA was a hell of a lot better than other countries—and she had the firsthand experience to back it up.

  "Tell it to the Spanish," Nigel said with a shrug.

  Melissa scanned the rest of the photos, making adjust-ments here and there. "Doesn't look like there's much here. A close-up of Paulo." She switched to the now-enhanced picture.

  "There's nothing at all there to indicate who Salvatore was meeting," Harrison said with disgust, as Melissa cycled through the photographs again.

  "Let's focus on the long shots," Melissa said, studying the one currently on the screen. "I think I can enlarge it without losing focus." She tapped out the instructions on the keyboard and the frame enlarged tenfold, the clarity if anything only improving.

  Melissa searched the crowd, looking for anyone who seemed out of place. "It's possible they managed to catch someone in these crowd scenes. It's just a matter of searching through them for familiar faces."

  "Good idea," Cullen said. "Can you slowly pan through; each shot?"

  "Sure." Again she tapped on the keyboard, the result being a slow sweep of the first photo. "Anyone see anyone they recognize?"

  "Nothing." Nigel shook his head.

  "Can you sweep through it again?" Payton asked.

  Melissa obliged. "Gabe?"

  "No. But that doesn't mean there isn't someone there. I see mug shots from our watch list on a regular basis. But I haven't been out in the field internationally for quite some time. Pay-ton, you and Nigel are better bets at spotting someone."

  "And Melissa," Nigel insisted. "She's got as much field experience as we do."

  "Well, at least as far as visual identification." She shot a grateful smile at Nigel. Whatever did or didn't happen between them, he did care, of that she was certain. "Beyond that, I think your skill set is well beyond mine."

  She turned back to the computer, framing a new photograph, first enlarging, then clarifying. "How about this one?"

  They studied the photo inch by inch, but found nothing. The same was true for the next six pictures. Melissa was beginning to think her idea hadn't been all that brilliant, when something in the next photograph caught her attention.

  This one was taken from a greater height, affording a different view of the crowded bazaar. From this vantage point, it was easier to see the café where Paulo had supposedly taken his meeting. Melissa scanned the crowd slowly, letting her eyes follow the natural ebb and flow within the photo. Something about a grouping on the far left of the picture tickled at her brain.

  "Wait a minute." She signaled the others. "Let me zoom in on the area around the cafe' tables."

  "You think you see something?" Payton asked.

  "Maybe." She moved the mouse and selected the adjustment she needed, waiting for the image to change. Obligingly, it clarified, this time showing a closer view of the front of the cafe. It was typically Turkish. Scattered tables decorated with colorful silk and a spray of almond blossoms. It was the man at the farthest table that captured her attention.

  "There." She pointed at the monitor. "Can you see him?"

  "I'm sorry, it's still too grainy." Madison shook her head in frustration.

  "Hang on." Melissa chewed on her lip, enticing the computer program to work its magic and fill in missing pixels. "There. Got it."

  Everyone stared at the Arabic man on the screen. Broad of face, with a slightly bulbous nose and a thick black mustache, he was much like others in the bazaar. Neither old nor young, the heat of the desert had creased his face well in advance of his years. His clothes were nondescript, a tunic and pants. Middle Eastern certainly, but not Turkish.

  He sat with a friend, one fist clenched on the table, every muscle taut, waiting. He could have been anyone—except for his eyes. Here the photographer had inadvertently captured a glimpse of the man inside. Angry and haunted. As if he carried ghosts with him wherever he went. It was a quality she'd seen before in countless ravaged places throughout the world.

  "I've seen him before," she whispered. "I know it."

  "I wouldn't be surprised." This from Nigel. "I recognize him. His name is Khamis al-Rashid. An Islamic extremist of the first degree, he's rumored
to be connected to al-Qaida, but no one has ever been able to tie him directly to one of their operations. Most likely his association is through a splinter organization. But there's no doubting the fact that he's deadly."

  Melissa stared at al-Rashid, trying to remember why he seemed so familiar. Maybe it was just his expression. She'd worked the Middle East in some capacity for most of her time with the CIA. And she'd photographed a hell of a lot of people over the years. Maybe he was simply an amalgamation of all that she'd seen.

  "I recognize him, too," Payton said. "Maybe seven years ago now, I infiltrated a smuggling operation in Uzbekistan. They were dealing in old Soviet weapons, including nuclear warheads. It was in everyone's best interest that they be stopped, but politically everyone's hands were tied."

  "So you drew the short straw." Gabe tipped his chair back against the wall, his attention on Payton.

  "Depends on how you look at it, I guess." He reached over to take his wife's hand. "At the time I thought it was a good way to keep my mind off other things. Anyway, the biggest buyers were from Middle Eastern countries."

  "And al-Rashid was one of the arms dealers?" Cullen asked, staring up at the enlarged photograph.

  "No. He was a customer. But as such, we researched him thoroughly. Like Nigel said, his connections were solid, and he was looking to buy a hell of a lot of merchandise. Particularly rifles and machine guns."

  "And you sold them to him?" Madison asked.

  "Absolutely. He wasn't the target. Sometimes the war on terror gets a little gray. Anyway, I do know that over the years, al-Rashid began appearing on more and more watch lists."

  "Is he on ours?" Sam asked.

  "I'll run the name. I don't recognize it offhand, but you have to understand these people are very good at using both disguises and aliases."

  "Well, it wouldn't hurt to send a heads-up through proper channels, just the same." Cullen as usual was the voice of practicality.

  "Already done," Harrison said, taking command of the laptop again.

  "But we don't know for certain that this man is involved with the R-VX." Sam crossed her hands over her chest, her eyes narrowed in thought. "We don't really even know that Paulo Salvatore was involved. It's all just speculation."

  "But it's a start," Cullen said. "I'll make sure that the right hand and left hand are coordinated on this. We want everyone and their brother on the alert for this guy. If for no other reason than to pinpoint his location and prove he isn't our man."

  "He usually travels with a man named Malik Barzani. He's really the one we ought to locate. His expertise on munitions is on par with Sam's. If someone wanted to make sure the R-VX delivered bang for buck, he's your man."

  "There's a man sitting with al-Rashid, but the shadows are too thick to see him clearly. Anything you can do to help, Melissa?" Madison asked.

  Melissa pulled her attention from the screen. Something about al-Rashid seemed so damn familiar. "I can work magic, guys, but not miracles. I can't put a face on screen when there isn't one in the photograph. Sorry." She shrugged.

  "Doesn't matter. You've given us enough to go on," Cullen said. "We'll take this as a two-pronged attack. Harrison and Madison can work on trying to find out more about Khamis al-Rashid and his friends, see if they can find a solid connection between them and the R-VX. In addition we'll work to pull out all the stops and try to find the man. And in the meantime, I want to continue to follow up on the possibility that someone working for the UN is involved. Which means we need to investigate the remaining names on Melissa's list. Gabe, I'll let you do some of the legwork there since you've got contacts through Homeland Security. Payton can help."

  "Nigel, I want you to check out Hakan Celik. Search his office, apartment, whatever you need to do. I want to know if there's any truth to the allegations of his involvement in trafficking illegal goods, and if so, who his contacts were. If it's true, and we can find his associates, I'm betting we've got a shot at finding the R-VX before it's too late."

  "What about me?" Melissa knew she wasn't a permanent member of the team, but surely she rated an assignment in light of the fact that her good name had been dragged through the mud thanks to these people.

  "I want you to stay here out of sight. Let the others handle the legwork."

  In other words, she was supposed to continue to play the role of princess in the tower. Like hell. But she wasn't about to take it up with Cullen. She was far better off waiting until later and then approaching Nigel. It wouldn't be an easy sell, but then she'd always liked a challenge.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  THE SOUND OF the beating helicopter blades was almost hypnotic, reminding Nigel of countless identical departures. Only this time, he wasn't entirely certain he wanted to leave. There had been no time for private conversation, and he was regretting his early-morning defection from Melissa's bedroom.

  At the time it had seemed best to avoid the inevitable questions about what next. But he'd not thought they'd have gone without any discussion at all. He'd seen the question in her eyes and felt her withdrawing. And although he knew that should have brought relief, in actuality he felt nothing of the sort. Instead he had the distinct feeling that he'd sucker punched himself.

  At least he had something to do. Maybe if he could figure out who'd really been helping Hakan Celik, he'd not only be able to get a bead on the location of the R-VX but he'd be able to clear Melissa's name once and for all.

  In all probability it was too little too late, but he always felt better when he was working, and the present situation was no different. He ducked low and ran underneath the undulating blades, climbing aboard the helicopter with the ease of familiarity. He signaled the pilot when he was buckled in and felt the customary jerk as the machine lifted off the ground.

  Maybe he wasn't really being honest with himself. A part of him did want to avoid the potential disaster of a relationship, the danger of a loved one being leveraged against him. But another part was also afraid of getting hurt again. Melissa had left him high and dry once before, and in all honesty, he'd not handled the loss well. And once he had recovered, he'd sworn never to repeat that particular mistake.

  Yet here he was. Maybe distance was a good thing.

  He leaned back against the upholstered seat, trying to order his plan of attack. There'd be a car waiting at the heliport, and from there he'd head for Celik's apartment. Cullen had se-cured the necessary approval for the search, but to be on the sale side, Nigel wasn't planning on announcing himself. Bet-ter to get in and out without raising curiosity from neighbors or anyone else who might have an interest in the building.

  If they were right, and someone had framed Melissa, then Celik's was an obvious place for surveillance, if for no other reason than to be certain the ruse was working. Nigel leaned forward to look out the window, satisfied to see the cloud-studded skyline of Manhattan directly ahead. Almost there.

  He sat back again, for the first time noticing that there was something oddly familiar about the pilot—the curve of the shoulders, the stray strand of long auburn hair.

  Nigel moved forward with a speed that surprised even himself, landing in the seat adjacent to Melissa. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

  "Flying the helicopter."

  "Well, that much was obvious. I meant what the hell are you doing here?"

  "Coming with you." She shot him a saccharine smile and turned back to the instrument panel.

  "I assume you're certified to fly this thing?"

  "Yup. Learned the hard way—after my pilot was killed in a bush fight in Namibia. I either had to fly the thing out or walk. Considering people were shooting at me, I thought that flying seemed the better option. It was touch and go, but I made it. And after that it seemed prudent to learn for real."

  "Bloody hell, is there anything you can't do?"

  "Not much." This time her smile was more genuine.

  "I assume you didn't hurt Cullen's pilot?"

  "Quite the contrary, I lef
t him quite happy." Nigel frowned and Melissa laughed. "You've got a dirty mind. I told hirn Cullen was giving him the day off."

  "I see," he said, counting to ten under his breath. The woman drove him absolutely, positively mad. "And Cullen— does he know about any of this?"

  The skin on Melissa's nose wrinkled in protest. "Of course not. Do you think I'm crazy?"

  "Yes, actually I do." And he wasn't the slightest bit cer-tain if he loved the fact or abhorred it.

  "Look," she said, keeping her attention on the instrument panel, "I couldn't stand another second in that fortified prison It's my life on the line and I need to do something to make certain we find the answers we need to clear my name."

  "Well, it won't do much good if you're dead," Nigel snapped, more than aware that had he been in the same position, he'd have done the same thing.

  "No one is going to kill me, Nigel. I'm with you." Her faith would have been touching if her voice hadn't been laced with sarcasm.

  "I'm more than capable of taking care of you, and you know it."

  "Great, then there's nothing to worry about." Again with the nauseatingly sweet smile.

  "The hell there isn't. This hasn't been approved by anyone. You've essentially stolen Cullen's helicopter, with me as an accomplice." He was talking nonsense, but she made him crazy.

  "I've done no such thing. And you can tell Cullen it was all my fault when we get back. I just couldn't sit there staring at Harrison's computers while everyone else was out doing something useful."

  "Harrison is more than useful, Melissa—his work is crucial."

  "I didn't mean Harrison." Her eyes flashed with frustration. "I meant me. I'm the one who hasn't been doing anything useful."

  "You finessed the photographs, and identified Khamis al-Rashid. That's something."

  "It's not enough, and the man has nothing whatsoever to do with what's happening to me. Except maybe a subsidiary connection if he is in fact using Celik's network to transfer the stolen nerve agent. Anyway, unless you're going to force me to turn this baby around, or ditch me at the helipad, we're in this together."