Page 6 of Centurion

“Confirmation of identities from the police response,” Fury said.

“Working it.” He focused on what Fury asked him to do, not because he liked the guy; he didn’t, but the cooperation was necessary because of Jewell being out sick. “Initial transcript ofradio communications coming to you now.” He sent the files to Fury and Archangel. Then he isolated the power loss and prayed the cameras were working on battery backup. He smiled when the clock continued to click. There. Flashes. He called up the sliding bar and moved the video back to the instant before the flash. He started the video again and froze each frame, advancing the footage by 0.12. He captured each flash and blew up the image as far as he could without degrading the pixels. He sent them one by one to the screen they were all monitoring.

Ronnie was sitting next to him. When she’d sat down, he couldn’t tell anyone, but she pointed to the screen. “There. That isn’t Abrasha, is it?”

“No. Abrasha’s in the white tux jacket with the red rose in the pocket,” Con said as he worked.

“So, one of the men in his group killed that guy. Two bullets to the chest,” Fury said as each picture appeared.

“A shot in the air,” Ronnie said when he posted the next frame. “Keeping the sheep from thinking about helping, no doubt.”

Fury grunted, and Con assumed it was in agreement. The final picture was the assassination. Abrasha had a gun pointed at the woman who was falling backward. The back of her brain was frozen in the air via the pixels. “That’s all I have on the video.”

“The woman. Do you have a clearer shot of her when the lights are on? The facial rec program couldn’t find a match above fifteen percent,” Ronnie asked.

“Hold on, give me a minute. I can play the video backward and see if I can grab one,” Con said, working the slide on the video. “I’ll do the same for everyone, including Abrasha’s horde.”

“Here you go.” He found a picture of the woman before she’d entered the shaded corner, just as she exited the ladies’ room. He tossed the picture up on the screen and started facial rec again. Bells and whistles chimed almost immediately. Conlooked up at the screen and swore bitterly. “Is that right? Is that her?” Things were getting ugly fast.

“Yes,” Archangel said. “I need to call POTUS. Fury, you have the helm.”

“They all have masks on. Any chance of facial rec?” Fury asked.

“If I can’t get a clear picture during the party, I can try with AI assistance.” Con stopped long enough to pull off his tux jacket.

“Do it,” Fury commanded.

Con cracked his neck and bit his tongue. Ethan sent a picture. “This is the airstrip.” He circled a jet. “It took off as soon as the limos dumped them on the tarmac.”

“Flight plan?” Con asked.

“Sending.” Con glanced at the information. “His filed plan is to Switzerland.”

“Yeah, but he’s flying due north, not northeast toward Switzerland.” Ethan’s map was a scattering of hundreds of dots on the overlay of Europe. Ethan zoomed in. “This is his squawk code.”

“Due North. To France or England?” Fury asked.

“He’s a wanted man in France, and they’re still hot about it,” Con said. “My bet is on England or Scotland.”

“Why?” Ethan asked.

“Don’t know, and that’s not our primary job right now. Ethan, take the goons with Abrasha, run the video backward, and see if we can get pictures without the masks on.”

“On it.” He could see Ethan access and copy the video, so he could work on it independently.

Con acknowledged Fury stating he was going silent but monitoring the work. He continued to monitor the police channel for information and relayed what was put into the computer system to both Fury and Archangel’s accounts.

A glass of ice water appeared before him, startling him momentarily. He looked up, and his jaw was damn near unhinged. Ronnie was wearing one of his T-shirts. It fell to about mid-thigh. Her hair was down and combed out, wavy and full. She’d taken off her makeup, and damn, she looked fantastic. “Thanks.” He took the water and downed it.

“You’ve been at that for over an hour. Are you hungry?” She walked back toward the kitchen.

He cleared his throat and answered, “I could eat.”You, he thought, then rolled his eyes at the corny thought.Horny, not corny.He shook his head.Shut upand focus. He glanced back toward the kitchen. “On your work, asshole,” he muttered to himself as he pulled his eyes from her and dropped them back to the screen. Con glanced at the position of the aircraft. “England,” he said to himself. “Ethan, anything on those AI facial reconstructions?”

“Not really. The simulation only has the bottom third of the face and the hairline of some of the smaller masks. There’s nothing coming up on the one we believe is Abrasha.”

“We don’t believe it. We know it,” Con said. “I saw him at the event. It was him. Of that, I’m certain.”

“How do you know?” That was Fury.

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