Jack leaned closer, squinting at the screen. ' 'Looks like the same mark."
''It is. Did I mention the gunsmith lived in Sparta, South Carolina?"
"You did."
"And that William Barrett Travis grew up, went to school and opened his first law practice in Sparta?"
"No, You saved that bit for last." Grinning at her air of triumph, he played devil's advocate. "Okay. I'm a betting man. I'd say you could lay odds Travis carried a gun made for him by a smith in his hometown into the Alamo. But someone could have picked up the gun when Travis went down and carried it out, including any one of a thousand Mexican soldiers."
"As a matter of fact, Deaf Smith, a scout for Houston, captured a Mexican courier a month later using saddlebags monogrammed W.B. Travis."
She swiveled her chair sideways, her eyes alive with the enjoyment of an intellectual debate.
"Who's to say those saddlebags weren't taken off a horse found wandering beside a creek five miles south of the Alamo? We're, uh, hoping DNA testing will help...you know...confirm..."
She stuttered to a halt. They were close. Too close. Almost nose to nose. Jack could see the gold flecks in her eyes. Feel the warm wash of her breath on his skin. If he leaned forward an inch, just another inch...
Abruptly, he jerked back in his seat.
Ellie made the same move at precisely the same moment. Chagrin, dismay and a touch of irritation chased across her face. She opened her mouth, only to snap it shut again when the small device in Jack's shirt pocket gave off a high-pitched beep. He pulled out the phone, glanced at the digital display and swung to his feet.
"Renegade here. Go ahead, control."
Mackenzie Blair came on the line. "I ran the Expedition's tag. It's registered to a Mr. Harold Berger, 2224 River Drive, Austin, Texas."
"What have you got on the man?"
"Nothing much, seeing as Mr. Berger died two years ago. His wife reports that he never owned an Expedition, black or otherwise."
Jack's glance went to Ellie, still seated in front of her computer. The tension that had jolted through him seconds ago returned, doubled in intensity.
"Interesting," he muttered.
"Isn't it?" Mackenzie replied. "I did a screen of credit cards issued to Mr. H. Berger at his Austin address. I found an American Express and a Visa card, issued six months after he died."
Jack paced the sitting room, the phone tight against his ear. ''What about the Expedition's driver? Did you get a picture of whoever emerged from the vehicle after it hit the truck?''
"Negative. He didn't get out of the vehicle. Not at the scene, anyway. He backed up, peeled off and squealed into a five-story parking garage about a mile away. Unfortunately, our spy satellites can't look through five layers of concrete, so I didn't get a shot of him exiting the vehicle. I contacted the San Antonio police and asked them to check it out. They found it abandoned and wiped clean of prints."
"Figures."
"I thought you should know one of their gun-sniffing dogs alerted on it. They found traces of gunpowder residue in the front seat."
Jack wasn't liking the sound of this. A stolen identity. Gunpowder residue. No prints. His gut told him they weren't talking a short, balding museum director here. Or a highly credentialed member of a scientific team. They were talking a pro.
"I'm going to send you a batch of digital images," he told Mackenzie. "We'll put names to the folks we know. I want you to run complete background checks on them and screen the rest for anyone or anything that looks suspicious."
"No problem."
''When can I expect results?''
"I don't know. How many images are we talking about?"
"Hang on." He cut to Ellie. "How many digital files have you got stored on the computer?" "About six hundred."
''How many of those do you estimate include images of people?"
Her forehead wrinkled in concentration. "Live persons, I'd guess about two hundred. If you include the skeletal remains, another hundred or so."
"We'll start with those folks who are still breathing," Jack drawled. "Get ready to send copies."
Her brows soared. ''Of all two hundred?''
"All two hundred."
"Two hundred!" OMEGA's chief of communications gave a groan. "And here I actually planned to beat the traffic home tonight, order a pizza and sneak in a little tube time."
"Sorry, Mac. Have your pizza delivered to the Control center and charge it to me."
"Don't think I won't," she grumbled. "Okay, I'll stand by to receive. Tell Dr. Alazar to fire off those files when ready."
They started popping up on the Control Center's screens fifteen minutes later. Dr. Alazar had converted the images contained in each file to JPEG format, thank goodness. JPEG files took a little longer to load but produced clear, sharp pictures.
Mackenzie worked the easy ones first, those with flags indicating Dr. Alazar had identified the individuals in the photos. One by one, she fed the names into a program linked to financial, government, merchandising and criminal databases worldwide. Within moments, she'd know whether any of these scholarly looking individuals had ever been cited for jaywalking, rented porn movies or fudged on his income taxes.
"Anything I can help you with, chief?" Dragging her eyes from the screen, Mackenzie glanced at her subordinate. John Alexander had put in at least five more years at OMEGA than she had but cheerfully cited his wife and four kids as reason for remaining as a mid-level tech with semi-regular hours instead of moving up to the chiefs job when it had come open. With all his experience, John was a good man to have at headquarters and a wizard in the field when it came to planting bugs that absolutely defied detection.
''As a matter of fact,'' Mackenzie said with a grin, ''I was just going to send the cavalry to search for you. Renegade sent us a tasking."
She got him started on the unflagged files. Since they didn't have IDs on the folks in those photos, John would have to scan the images one by one and run them through a program that captured each subject's skin, hair and eye color, estimated weight and height and any discernible scars, tattoos or disfigurements. The physical characteristics would then be fed into FBI, CIA and national crime information center computers for potential matches. Information extracted by this method wasn't as accurate as fingerprints, DNA sampling or retinal scans, but the matches ran something close to seventy percent. If nothing else, they provided a starting point.
"Geez," John muttered as he opened the first file. "There must be ten or twelve people in this shot.
They look like a bunch of tourists. Do you want me to scan all of them?"
"Let me see."
Mackenzie rose out of her seat and bent over the console to view his screen. That was how Lightning found her when he strolled into the control center a moment later, a pizza carton held shoulder-high and balanced on his fingertips.
He paused for a moment, unabashedly enjoying the view. Most days, Nick looked, acted and thought like an American, but he'd been born in Cannes and possessed a Frenchman's esteem for the finer points of the female form. And Mackenzie's round, trim rear certainly qualified as fine.
Unfortunately, the same rules that prohibited an agent from becoming involved with a subject during operations applied in triplicate to OMEGA's director and his chief of communications. As long as one of his agents was in the field, Lightning couldn't allow himself or anyone on his staff to become distracted. Still, his eyes glinted with masculine appreciation as he made his way across the control center.
"This was just delivered downstairs," he said casually. "I assume you ordered it."
Mackenzie scrambled off the console. "If it's a sausage, double pepperoni and jalapeno special, I did."
Nick's eyes closed in something close to real pain. Dear Lord. Sausage, double pepperoni and jalapeno.
"Have you ever tasted pizza the way they make it along the Riviera?"
"My last cruise in the Navy was to the Med," Mack
enzie informed him, lifting the lid to sniff appreciatively. "We dropped anchor just off San Remo. As I recall, the northern Italians doused everything, including their pizzas, in white cream sauce. Yuck!"
"A good cream sauce can be one of life's most decadent pleasures," Nick replied with a lift of one brow. "You'll have to let me take you to one of my restaurants sometime so you can sample it done right."
And that would be, Mackenzie thought, right about the time she developed a severe death wish.
She didn't play in Nick Jensen's league and knew it. If her short, disastrous marriage had taught her nothing else, it was to avoid smooth, handsome charmers like this one at all costs. Now if only she could keep her nerves from crawling around under her skin when he came to stand beside her.
"What are you working?"
"A request from Renegade. He's forwarded a series of images and asked for IDs and background checks."
Nick's blond brows drew together. In the blink of an eye, he transitioned from every woman's ultimate sex fantasy into OMEGA's cool, take-charge director.
"I don't like that business with the Expedition this afternoon. Give Renegade whatever he asked for and then some."
Whipping to attention, Mackenzie snapped him a salute. "Aye, aye, sir!"
He eyed her for a moment, his expression inscrutable. She held the exaggerated pose until he left the control center, then turned to her assistant with a wry grin.
"Guess that answers your question, John. Scan every warm body in those photos."
Chapter 5
Ellie's team returned to the hotel from the excavation site a little past six that evening. The first team member to rap on her door was a tab, rangy, twenty-something male with a shock of dark red hair. He looked surprised when Jack answered his knock. Even more surprised when Ellie introduced the newcomer as an old friend.
"Jack's in the security business," she explained. ''He flew in this morning to help us deal with some of the nastiness we've been subject to recently. Jack, this is Eric Chapman. He's one of my graduate students at the University of New Mexico."
Chapman's handshake was casual enough, but Jack picked up on the subtle signals that only the male of the species would recognize. Unless he missed his guess, the kid had a bad case of the hots for his professor and didn't particularly like the idea of another man poaching on his territory.
"So are we having a team meeting tonight, Ellie?"
"Yes. Eight o'clock, here in my room. Pass the word along to the others, would you?"
"Sure. How about dinner? Want to go down on the river and grab a quick bite?" His glance drifted to Jack. "If you two don't have plans, that is."
"We do," Jack answered, preempting Ellie's response.
She threw him a cool look but didn't contradict him. "I'll see you at the meeting, Eric. Tell the team I'd like a complete report of the afternoon's activities."
"Right."
When the door closed behind him, Ellie returned to the sitting room and regarded Jack with a slight frown. “I think we better establish some ground rules here, the first being that you consult with me before making arbitrary decisions."
"Like where you'll have dinner and who you'll have it with?"
"Exactly."
“Were you really that eager to go back out in the heat and chow down with the kid?" he asked, suddenly, acutely curious.
The intensity of his need to know whether she reciprocated Chapman's interest both surprised and irritated Jack. Somehow, he'd just skidded right past professional into personal. Very personal. Why the hell should he care if Ellie was providing the kid with private instruction after hours? Unless their relationship impacted Jack's ability to protect her, it wasn't any of his business. Technically.
Ellie evidently shared that opinion. Her voice chilly, she set him straight.
"No, I'm not all that eager to go back out in the heat. I simply prefer that you not make decisions for me. Or undermine my authority with my team," she added pointedly.
"Then you'd better make up your mind how you want me to interact with them. As your bodyguard or as old friend."
The chill didn't leave her eyes. If anything, it deepened. Toying with the silver bracelet banding her wrist, she debated her response.
Jack understood her hesitation. He'd piled up enough experience as an embassy guard and as a freelancer after leaving the Corps to appreciate how much take-charge executives hated to admit their fear. Hated, too, the helplessness that came with becoming a walking target. People in Ellie's position were used to calling the shots, not dodging them.
"Why don't we just stick with the explanation I gave Eric?" she suggested after a moment. "You are an old friend. You're also an expert in the security business. You flew in to assess the seriousness of the threats against me and my team."
"Fine. We'll go with that. Now, about dinner. Mind if we order room service? I want you to give me a complete rundown on your team members before they assemble."
Mackenzie would provide in-depth background dossiers once she'd screened the files they'd sent earlier, but Jack wanted Ellie's take. She'd worked with these people. She knew their strengths and weaknesses.
Now that she'd had time to think about it, she might also have some insight into whether one of them had deliberately leaked her controversial preliminary hypothesis to the media.
She didn't.
Flatly rejecting the idea that that a member of her group might be trying to sabotage the project, she spent the next two hours alternately detailing their impressive credentials and passionately defending them.
She hadn't changed much in that regard, Jack thought when he left her to prepare for the meeting and went next door to grab a quick shower. She'd defended a certain hardheaded Marine just as fiercely to her uncle... until Jack killed her arguments and her passion by rejecting both.
He'd taken the right stand, he told himself as he leaned against the shower tiles and lifted his face to the stinging needles. The only stand he could have taken, given the circumstances. Ellie had been so young then, with her whole future ahead of her. Jack couldn't see any future beyond being sent home in disgrace to face a possible court-martial, with all its potential for publicity.
The paparazzi would have eaten it up. The niece of the president of Mexico. An American Marine with a father whose name was a question mark and a mother who could be turning tricks in Detroit for all Jack knew. He'd never cared enough to track her down.
Then there were those searing, stolen hours in Mexico City. If the sensation-hungry media had gotten wind of those, the shitola would have hit the fan for sure. Jack had been insane to give in to Ellie's urgings, crazy to think he could give her release while holding back his own. On fire with impatience and need, she'd taken matters into her own hand. Literally. Even now, Jack could remember how her hot, eager fingers had brushed his aside and tugged at his zipper.
The memory slammed into him, hitting like a fist to the gut. He stiffened, felt himself get hard. Painfully hard. Cursing, he reached out and gave the shower knob a savage twist. Ice cold pellets shot into his skin from his neck to his knees. Gritting his teeth, Jack ducked his head under the stream.
His skin still prickled when he rapped on the connecting door fifteen minutes later. So did his temper, but he disguised his edginess behind a bland expression as Ellie's team began to congregate.
There were three besides Chapman. Orin Weaver, a noted forensic anthropologist who, Ellie explained, frequently acted as consultant for local, state and national law enforcement agencies. Janet Dawes-Hamilton, an archeologist from Baylor University. Sam Pierce, a field archeologist on the staff of the National Park Service, which owned the land on which the remains were discovered.
All except Chapman possessed Ph.D.s and an impressive string of published credits. All, including Chapman, eyed Jack with varying degrees of wariness. Like Ellie, they seemed to think the addition of a security specialist to their little group a
dded a disturbing note of authenticity to the ugliness swirling around them.
"Sorry I didn't make it back to the site this afternoon," she said once the team had made themselves comfortable. "We were on our way but got involved in a high-speed chase through the streets of San Antonio."
The dry announcement produced the expected reactions. Gray-whiskered Orin Weaver blinked. The red-haired Chapman demanded to know if she was serious.
“Who was chasing whom?'' Dr. Dawes-Hamilton asked in a cool, clipped voice.
"Person or persons unknown were after us," Jack answered. "We don't know who or why. Yet."
Pierce frowned and leaned forward, his callused hands clasped loosely between his knees. The National Park Service staffer didn't come across as a man out to harass his colleague into abandoning a dig or a particular theory, but Jack wasn't going to cut him any more slack than the others.
"I'll have to notify my headquarters about this latest incident," he said to Ellie. "They're already concerned over the adverse publicity our project has generated. One more mishap or media frenzy and...well..."
"The director may decide to shut down the dig," she finished for him. "With funding for future projects up before Congress," she explained to Jack, "he's nervous about offending the powerful Texas Congressional delegation."
"Not to mention the equally powerful President, who just happens to hail from the Lone Star state," Pierce put in dryly.
Jack kept to himself the fact that it was the President who'd requested OMEGA send an agent to San Antonio with instructions to protect Dr. Alazar and defuse the situation, if at all possible. From what he'd observed in the past eight hours or so, it might not be de-fusable.
Which is what he reported to Lightning later that night.
It was late, well past midnight. The meeting had broken up a little past ten. Jack waited until he was sure Ellie had settled into bed before slipping out to make his rounds. By the time he'd tested the hotel's security systems and satisfied himself as to the night staffs alertness, he was ready to drop into the rack himself. First, though, he gave Lightning his initial take on the situation.
Texas Hero Page 5