The Planck Factor

Chapter 48

Jessica Evans

"We've been over and over this," I said. "I don't know his name."

Homeland Security, the FBI and God-only-knows who else had debriefed me for hours at the FBI headquarters office in D.C. So much for asking only a few questions.

I'd been through two books of photos and recognized Lucius, but didn't see the nameless man with the black holes for eyes.

"Can you describe him?" a ferret-face man asked.

"Again," I said, pausing for emphasis. "He was reed thin, tall—maybe close to six feet—with tanned skin, wrinkled like he worked outdoors. His eyes were pitch black—beady, ugly."

"The hair. Dark brown? Light?" George asked in a softer voice.

I tried to remember. "I ... medium brown, maybe? It's hard to recall. The light blinded me. And mainly, I remember those dead black eyes."

"How old would you say he was?" The ferret-faced man continued undaunted.

I shrugged and shook my head. "He could have been an old-looking forty or a young-looking sixty. I don't know. Middle-aged?" Middle-aged men all looked the same to me.

George and Ferret Face seemed to ponder this.

"Whoever he is, we need to find him. How's that sketch coming?" Ferret Face directed the remark to a younger man, who'd worked up a pencil sketch and was clicking modifications into a computer-generated face. Answering questions had distracted me from the fact that he was there.

The artist stopped and showed me the monitor. The rendering wasn't perfect, but it was close.

"His face was thinner around the mouth." I said. "Chin more pointed."

The artist made the changes and showed me again.

"Yes ... " I said, the memory blossoming into a clearer image. "I'm starting to remember now."

As the artist put the finishing touches on his rendition, George and Ferret Face conferred with a gray-suited man who exuded the air of a superior. George nodded and murmured in response to what the man said. What were they discussing?

The gray-suited man dismissed the two with a curt nod, before striding from the room.

George came over and asked, "How's that sketch coming?"

"I think we may be finished here," the artist said. "What do you think?" He held it up for my inspection.

I looked it over. "That's amazing. It looks almost exactly the way I remember him."

"Good. We need to get that sketch to our people out West." George seemed fidgety, his eyes lit with apparent desire to act.

"So, can I go?" I silently prayed he'd say yes.

"That depends."

What the hell kind of answer is that? I wanted to scream. Instead, I said, "What do you mean?"

"This man?" George pointed to the sketch. "We think he may have returned to Colorado, to try to salvage his operation. Or, at least, destroy evidence of the group's plan."

"Okay," I said. Hadn't a notion what more I could do to help.

"We need to find this man," George continued. He went on for a bit about the group's operation and the evidence. I was starting to tune out, until he mentioned Fred.

"What about Fred?" I asked.

"The police picked up someone at the airport that the Boulder Police suspect in Fred's murder. It's possible that he may be the one who killed Fred. Probably following orders from the unidentified man in charge."

"What makes you say that?"

"The Boulder police also found a gun. Ballistics show it's the one that killed your friend. Now, if we can link the gun to that suspect or this man." He held up the sketch. "Or get a witness, to place him at the scene."

"I can't help you." I thought about the old lady who lived across from Fred. "There is someone who might be able to, though."

"If we can connect one of these men to the gun, that'll connect them with the murder. And your identification would connect the murder to the plan, which takes the crime to a federal level."

Great. I'd gone from spy-in-training to possible witness for the prosecution.