Survivor in Death (In Death 20)

“Data incoming.” Whitney checked his unit. He removed the images currently on-screen, replaced them with the new data.

“Eighteen years in,” Eve read. “Went in a fresh young kid. Why didn’t he do his twenty? Yeah, yeah, there it is. Special Forces, covert ops. Grade-five rating.”

“That would be termination grade.” Baxter lifted a shoulder. “My grandfather does a lot of yapping about this stuff. Non-wartime termination level. Means you can off somebody outside of a declared situation. You can be ordered to assassinate targets.”

“Continue, Lieutenant. Split screen, Isenberry data.”

“They served together. Based in the same unit in Baghdad. He’s listed as her sergeant during her covert training. Bet they were good pals. War buddies. Jilly and the good old Sarge. They both stepped out of uniform about the same time, too.”

“They both have a couple of conducts not becoming,” Feeney pointed out.

“Dallas,” Peabody interrupted. “There are no siblings listed under Kirkendall’s data. No male cousins.”

“We’ll need to study this further. I have to see what Yancy’s got for us, and I’ve got a meet.” Eve checked her wrist unit. “Feeney, I’ve got the go-ahead from Tully for EDD to check all her communication equipment at home. Off chance Isenberry might have used it to contact someone involved in this. Also, I’ve requested an expert consultant, civilian, to work on other electronic traces.”

“If it’s your usual ECC, no objections.”

“Baxter, Trueheart, Linnie Dyson’s funeral is starting shortly. Attend as reps from the department and keep your eyes peeled.”

“Kid’s burial.” Baxter shook his head. “We get the choice assignments.”

Nothing,” Yancy told her. “Nothing above a seventy-two percent match, so far. I’ve got another hour or two to run, but I’ve gone through IRCCA—so no criminal matchups.”

“We’ve got cooperation from the military. Request Whitney contact them re doing a search for a match with members of any of Kirkendall’s units during his stint. Guys with the same training as his. Ah, start with the inactive and retired. These two don’t have time to answer reveille.”

“Okay. But I’ve been thinking. Doing this sort of search gives you plenty of time to think, to speculate. Look at these guys again.”

He brought them up on a secondary screen. “These faces are close. Twin close.”

“We’ve agreed on that. Most likely brothers, but Kirkendall’s got no bro. Hirelings maybe.” But she didn’t like it. Where was the rush if you paid someone to do the job?

“Well, thinking twins, identical faces—but not identical heights. That’s not a stretch, but what don’t you see when you look at them?”

“Humanity.”

“Besides. I spend most of my time with faces. What you don’t see, Dallas, are lines or scars, bumps, flaws. You said they’d had strong physical training, most probably military. Seen action. But you don’t see action on their faces. You don’t see wear. She’d have given it to me,” he said almost to himself. “Ophelia would, because you nudge them along there instinctively. You want identifying marks when you can get them. But other than the one favoring his leg, they were perfect.”

“I considered droids, but the probability’s low. Two of that caliber would cost, and it’s difficult to program one for wet work, for covert and assassinations. That’s why the military doesn’t use them for intricate work.”

“I’m not thinking droids. I’m thinking sculpting, surgery. They could look so much alike, so unmarked and identical, if they paid for it.”

“Shit. Shit. The height, the weight of the first one runs with Kirkendall’s data. The coloring’s close.”

“The face isn’t,” Yancy continued. “But if he had it built up here . . .” He pulled out a copy of Kirkendall’s ID photo and began to change it. “Widen, square off the jaw, plane down the nose. Build up the lower lip. It would take a top guy, mucho dinero, but you could do it. I know the eyes don’t match, but—”

“They were wearing shades, you were going with probables.”

“You can have the shape changed, too, and the color.”

“I got a friend changes her eye color as often as she does her underwear.” She paced away, paced back. “It makes more sense to me. Why go through all the years of planning, the perfecting, the anticipation, then not be in on the kill?”

“If we’re right, who’s the other one?”

Eve studied the twin images. “Good question.”

16

LEAVES, GOING CRISP, SKITTERED ACROSS THE sweep of the drive as Eve drove through the gates. New sets of possibilities, probabilities, and the action required for both circled in her mind.