The Vanishing Gary Brown (booksvooks TXT) 📖

between the three photos such as cranial structure, sameness in the eyes, nose, mouth, and so on, especially any dominant abnormalities. Based on its findings, it’ll give us a ranking.”

“English, please?” Cynthia said.

“It will give us a final decision.”

As though caught in the web of an electronic spider, the images on the screen waited for the matrix of intersecting lines to cease their search pattern. In seconds, the word RANKING flickered on the screen, quickly followed by the word MATCH.

“There you go, babe,” Justin said. He extended his hand to the computer screen in a greeting gesture. “Same girl as in the other two photographs. Cynthia Rowe, meet Amanda Prescott.”

“Incredible.” Cynthia said.

“Yes, I know,” Justin said with a grin. “Though you’ve got to give the computer some of the credit.”

“Not you, smartass,” Cynthia replied as she tapped the computer screen with her finger. “I took this picture two weeks ago. And I spoke to this girl.”

“You spoke to Amanda Prescott?”

“Yes.”

“Where?”

“West of here. In Rohnert Park, on the campus of Sonoma State University.”

“Jesus,” Justin said. “That’s too close for comfort. If we don’t mobilize on this right away, we could lose her. We might never pick up her trail again. You better let Mark know about this right now.”

Cynthia snatched up her knapsack and headed for the door. “On it,” she said.

34

CYNTHIA BURST INTO Mark’s office. “We need to talk,” she said, waving the biometric printouts in her hand.

Mark lowered his feet from his desk. “Don’t you believe in knocking? What’s so important you need to break the door down to see me?”

“Sorry,” Cynthia apologized. “This is important. You know the UC I’ve been working upstate?”

“The undercover intelligence gathering at Sonoma State.”

“Yes. Justin just showed me the profile of the new client’s sister, Amanda Prescott.”

Mark shrugged. “So?”

Cynthia laid the printouts out on her boss’s desk and tapped her finger on the first and second comparisons. “These are the profiles generated by the computer. I took the photo on the right two weeks ago. See the girl standing beside the guy handing out the leaflets? That’s Amanda Prescott. The computer confirms it.”

Oyama picked up the printouts, examined them closely. “Jesus,” he said. “You’re right. Do we have identification on the other subjects in the photo?”

“Not yet. I’ll have Justin get to work on it.”

“Good. I want to know who these people are. Every one of them.”

“Right away,” Cynthia said. She collected the papers off Mark’s desk and turned to leave the room.

Mark called after her. “I want you to put your other cases on hold,” he said. “Since you’ve made peripheral contact with the subject, your input could be invaluable. This case is high profile. Amanda Prescott had been all but given up for dead. Now that we’ve got a handle on who she’s involved with, I have no doubt we’ll get the go ahead to proceed with a hard target extraction. I’m going to need my best operatives on point when it goes down.” Oyama leaned back in his chair. “I’m calling a meeting in the morning. I want you to assist me in organizing the team. Just make sure Dan Raines and Karen Lassiter are on that list. They’re ex-FBI, like me. Dan commanded Los Angeles SWAT when we worked together at the bureau. Nobody’s more field qualified than he is. Karen’s an excellent negotiator and marksman. If they’re on any other assignments, tell them to be ready to be pulled at a moment’s notice.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And one last thing.”

“Sir?”

“That was great work. Considering your caseload, to pull that photo out of memory is about as damn professional as it gets. Go get some rest. You’ve earned it.”

“Thank you, sir,” Cynthia said. “That sounds like a pretty good idea.”

35

VIRGIL PEERED THROUGH the crack in the doorframe and watched as Fallon’s ghostly countenance drifted past the outside window as the light inside the storeroom faded to black. He let go of the air trapped in his lungs and breathed a sigh of relief. He was safe. Voices echoed through the floorboards above, and the sound of purposeful footfalls increased in intensity. The empty service corridor would only provide temporary refuge. Fallon was still out there somewhere, and Virgil knew him well enough to know he would not easily give up the search. He had to get back to his room and tell Sky. Could it be true? Could Prophet have murdered Amanda’s parents? No, that was simply impossible. He was a disciple of God, entrusted with the lives of those who needed him for spiritual guidance and leadership. God had chosen Prophet to seek a better life, devoid of the chaos and evil the outside world read about every day on their computers and watched on the six o’clock news. He had come into their lives to show them they had been called to serve a higher purpose. Until now, Virgil had believed him without reservation. Now he was unsure what to believe. Sky would know. He had to get to back to his wife and daughter. Most importantly, he needed to tend to the gash in his leg, then rejoin the others before his absence arose suspicion.

The room behind remained bathed in darkness. Virgil wondered if he should return the same way he had come. Fallon had gone and had not detected him. He thought about the maze of wooden chairs and tables he had successfully negotiated moments ago in the last flicker of light from Fallon’s lantern. He could do it again, re-trace his steps, follow the route he had taken through the room, make it out the door and into the night. He could slip around the corner, avoiding the woodpile this time, and follow the stone path, staying in the shadows of the buildings, keeping a watchful eye open for Fallon.

Virgil opened the door and slipped back into the storeroom. His damaged leg flared to life, as though the devil himself had grabbed him by the wound with a hand of fire, intent on holding him