Snapping back to reality, the photo of the man on the wall screen registered, and Harry said, “Phillip Roach.”
“Excuse me?” SAC Williams asked.
“The man in those photos with Claire Nichols, his name is Phillip Roach. He’s a private investigator. I ran preliminary background checks on him. He has a military background and on multiple occasions he’s fallen off the grid. He did work for Rawlings. I don’t know why he’d be with Ms. Nichols now.”
“Well then, that’s on your list of things to learn.”
“Sir, why am I suddenly in Europe?”
SAC Williams smiled. “Welcome back, Agent.”
Doubt separates people. It is a poison that disintegrates friendships and breaks up pleasant relations. It is a thorn that irritates and hurts; it is a sword that kills.
—Buddha
Brent tipped the Styrofoam cup upward attempting to garnish the last drops of caffeine, praying for a jumpstart to his exhausted body and mind. He’d been sitting and watching the feed from the hotel’s surveillance cameras for hours. Agent Jackson remained with him, but the second agent occasionally changed. The one who accompanied Jackson to the hotel was back; however, he’d left for a while and been replaced with another man, wearing the same customary black suit.
Regardless of who was within their room, they sat and watched the same loop over and over. It consisted of a hallway view of Tony and the two agents leaving the suite—the three men alone in the elevator—their walk through the lobby—and all of them entering a waiting black SUV. Brent wondered if Agent Jackson expected something to change, some new information. He wasn’t seeing it; at this point, he was pretty sure he’d see the same video in his dreams—if he ever had a full night’s sleep.
Without a doubt, Tony walked away willingly. There seemed to be little communication occurring between Tony and the agents; however, without audio, that couldn’t be confirmed. Watching his friend disappear from the camera’s view, Brent wondered, was Tony being taken by the person Claire feared? The FBI insinuated otherwise. Without coming out and saying it, Brent sensed that they thought Tony’s departure—like Claire’s—was of his own free will. Regardless of the reason, Brent saw no advantage to watching the same footage a thousand times. Shouldn’t they be tracking down the SUV or something? Suddenly, Agent Jackson’s voice refocused Brent’s thoughts. “There it is! That’s what I’ve been trying to see. I knew something seemed odd.” The other agent hit pause and backed up the video; soon they were all watching the footage again.
Finally, Brent asked the question he could no longer contain, “What do you see? All I see is the man on the left sending a text.”
Agent number two replied. Brent gave up trying to learn all the different names of the different agents. Most of them looked alike. That’s what made last night’s charade so believable. He didn’t really look at the men. He momentarily thought of the movie Men in Black; they had it right by naming their agents with letters. J and K were much easier to remember.
Number Two replied, “Look at that phone. What’s the time on the feed?”
Jackson read the bottom of the screen, “01:36:58”
Suddenly, Number Two was typing feverishly on a nearby keyboard.
“Is someone going to tell me what you’re thinking? Will this help find Tony?”
Exasperation showed in Jackson’s expression; he exhaled and said, “See his phone. That isn’t an FBI issued phone. It isn’t even a smart phone.”
Immediately, Brent recognized what Jackson was seeing. Looking at the phone in the agent’s hand upon the stilled image, he saw the same kind of phone Courtney used to use to communicate with Claire. Brent nodded, “Yes! It’s one of those throw away phones. Why would an agent have one of those? Or why would he use it?”
“Exactly—why indeed? While we may not be able to answer why with 100% certainty, but I can, with 100% certainty, say he isn’t texting the bureau.”
“Here it is!”
Brent and Jackson turned toward Number Two, who exclaimed, “At exactly 01:36:59 the nearest tower received and forwarded a text message!” He continued to type, then he added, “It originated from a disposable phone, purchased at a convenience store on the east side of Boston, from the coordinates of the hotel.”
“And it went to..?” Jackson asked.
Number Two exhaled. “Another disposable phone, purchased at the same store, same time, with cash.”
“Can you see the text receiver’s location?”