we thought was going on.'
Yarden sat back and let the first video play. He folded his arms over his chest, shooting glances at Nick, as if anxious for his reaction. Nick leaned forward. The film was grainy, black and white but the angle was decent. The backpacks looked ordinary. Not trendy. Big and bulky and, from the shift in this young man's walk, heavy.
Yarden keyed up another video on a second monitor, but left the first playing.
The second young man was shaggy-headed, a bit shorter and thin. The backpack was identical.
At first glance it bothered Nick that these guys looked like older versions of his nephew, Timmy and his friend, Gibson. Clean-cut young men, ordinary with confident strides. There were no slumped shoulders. No shifty eyes or heads darting from side to side. They didn't look at all like nerds or social misfits. Nothing like perhaps Klebold or Harris who had been responsible for the Columbine school shootings.
What was even more disturbing to Nick was that they didn't look anything like he expected a suicide bomber to look. Did he expect brown-skinned Arabs? Yeah, he did. And he knew he wasn't alone. Someone suggests suicide bomber and the mind readily conjures up that racial profile.
'They aren't exactly what you'd expect, are they?' Yarden asked as if he could hear Nick's thoughts.
'No. Not exactly.' He avoided glancing at Yarden, wanting to at least appear objective. He suspected the security officer was looking for Nick's approval, hoping to bond, confidants taking sides in what could turn into a finger-pointing showdown. 'Do you have any decent front facial shots?'
'All of us have been upstairs helping.' Yarden suddenly sounded offended. 'I only had a few minutes with these before I left to pick you up.'
'Sure. I understand.'
'I thought that was supposed to be your job.'
'Yes, you're absolutely right.' Nick could play the diplomat if needed.
'I found a flash. And one of the explosions.' Yarden started stabbing at the computer keys again, ready to please and make up for not having what was requested. He fast-forwarded a video clip, shoppers in full-speed animation. Then he stopped and freeze-framed, taking a few more seconds and zooming in before he started the video again.
Nick watched, amazed that even without sound the wall of bricks exploding in front of him made him wince.
'Where is this camera?'
'All of these are third floor. This one is around the corner from the food court.'
'Play it again,' Nick asked. 'Only this time in slow-mode. And zoom out.'
'Zoom out?'
'Yes.' He didn't even glance at Yarden to acknowledge his skepticism. Instead, Nick leaned forward and waited.
The shot took in the entire stretch of the long hallway, brick walls on both sides. One side had interruptions of doorways. The other was solid. Signs hung above the doorways and in several other locations. Nick watched the wall explode again. It was the side with the interruptions.
'What's on the other side of that brick wall?'
'There's not much down this hallway. Some offices. Restrooms.'
'Play it again,' he asked.
This time just before the wall exploded, Nick pointed at the monitor. 'Stop.'
Yarden responded quickly.
'Zoom in on this sign.'
Yarden obeyed immediately, no hesitation.
The sign read WOMEN.
'Is the men's restroom next door?' Nick asked.
Yarden quickly consulted a map of the third floor that was spread out across a bulletin board.
'The men's restroom is clear down at the end of this hall and,' Yarden said, his voice higher than normal, 'on the opposite side.'
'So this explosion came from?'
'The women's restroom.'
CHAPTER 25
Before he went through the security checkpoint Asante found the airport restroom labeled FAMILY. The single room was larger than he remembered: one toilet, a sink and counter with a changing table and most importantly, a bolted lock on the door. It was perfect. No one would bother him here.
He checked his watch as he hung the garment bag on the door hook. He still had plenty of time to catch his flight. While he unpacked the essentials from his duffel bag he turned on and adjusted his over-the-ear wireless headset. He tapped a number and put aside the phone.
One ring and an answer. 'Yes?'
'Give me an update,' he said as he dug out of the duffel bag a compact, but expensive and powerful electric shaver, zipping it out of its case and setting both aside for now.
'Text messages indicate Dixon is at the hospital.'
'He's okay?' Asante chose his words carefully. But then he already knew the boy was alive. His grandfather had as much as confirmed that in his angry phone call.
'His grandmother is having emergency heart surgery. Rebecca is on her way.'
'So they're together?' He punched up the map of the mall's third floor on his computer screen.
'She asked what he got her into.'
Asante slid his finger over the small computer screen, zooming in on the map where Carrier #3's bomb had exploded. GPS devices were packed in the backpacks, but every carrier was also given a brand-new iPhone so they could track both carrier and bomb in case one of them decided to leave the backpack behind. He had chosen to keep them all on one floor, the combined blasts close to each other, causing the greatest structural damage as well as creating a larger blast area. That had been his priority. Now he checked to see exactly where Carrier #3's backpack was when it exploded. Zooming in he could see it quite plainly: the women's restroom. The young woman not only had Dixon Lee's iPhone, she had been carrying his backpack.
'Sir?'
'Continue.'
'Her name is Rebecca Cory. She's a student at the University of New Haven, a resident of Hartford, Connecticut. Her father is William Cory of?'
'Credit cards? ATM card? Driver's license?' he interrupted as he peeled off his clothes. He didn't need to know the entire portfolio they had amassed. Just those details that mattered.
'ATM card through First Bank of Hartford,' the female voice continued, pleasant and soothing as though she were reciting menu items for a special dinner. 'She took out a cash withdrawal of fifty dollars two days ago in Toledo. However, a MasterCard looks to be her choice of payment. She uses it for everyday incidentals. Up until two days ago, a daily Starbucks charge in West Haven. Connecticut driver's license.'
'Revoke all three. Immediately.'
'Yes, sir.'
'I want her feeling disabled.' He stood before the mirror now in only socks and boxers, thinking this is exactly how he wanted Rebecca Cory?stripped and vulnerable. Figuratively speaking. At least until it was safe to kill her. 'Tell Danko that he can find the girl and Dixon Lee at the hospital.'
'And if he does?'
'Extract both.'
'Yes, sir.'
Asante would find another way to use the boy. An extra cutaway when the time was right. A bargaining chip, perhaps.
'What about the other young man?' he asked.
