Another beat of silence, and then Jackson said, “Five minutes after you called me, I heard from someone pretty high up in the Bureau. He reminded me that it was a felony for me to locate a cell phone without a court order. I could go to jail.”

“I’m sorry I put you in that position,” Connolly said.

“I just wanted you to understand.”

“Tanya,” Connolly said. “Was it Emmett Kalmbach, by any chance?”

“I—I can’t answer that,” Jackson said.

But she didn’t have to.

“You’re in luck,” Bruce Ardsley said. He was beaming.

“Dragan Stefanovic is the shooter?”

He nodded.

“How certain can you be?”

“Ninety-seven percent probability of true verification.”

“Bruce, that’s fantastic.” Take that, Kalmbach, she thought.

“The probability on the other one’s lower, though.”

“The other one?”

“Maybe seventy-eight percent probability.”

“Which other one are you talking about?”

Ardsley swiveled around in his chair, tapped at a keyboard, and a large photographic image came up on the flat-screen monitor mounted on the wall in front of her. It was a close-up of a dark-haired man in his 40s wearing a dark, expensive-looking business suit. He had flat, Slavic facial features.

“Where was this taken?”

“A surveillance camera outside a men’s room in Concourse D at Dulles.”

“Who is it?” she said.

“Nigel Sedgwick.”

“Who?”

Ardsley struck another key, and a second photo popped onto the screen next to the first.

“A British businessman. From Bromsgrove, in Worcestershire. That’s England. Or so his passport said. Here in D.C. on a buying trip for his hot-tub business.”

“Looks like it was taken at passport control,” she said.

Ardsley turned around, shrugged modestly, smiled. “Right.”

“How’d you get it?”

“I hacked into Homeland Security. Well, not hacked, really. Just used a backdoor into Customs and Border Protection’s database.”

“So who is this guy really?”

A third image appeared on the screen next to the other two. She immediately recognized the photo as one of the mug shots of Agim Rugova’s men that Padlo had emailed her.

“Vukasin,” she said.

“He entered the country last night on a British Airways flight from Paris. Using a British passport.”

Connolly nodded. “I guess Homeland Security doesn’t have facial-recognition software, huh? Or they’d have stopped him.”

“Oh, they have the software, believe me,” he said. “Plus, this guy Vukasin is on one of their watch lists.”

“Maybe their software isn’t as good as ours.”

“Or maybe someone knew who he was and let him in anyway.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” she said.

“A lot of what Homeland Security does makes no sense,” Ardsley said.

“What are you saying—you think he was flagged as a bad guy but let through anyway?”

“Yes,” Ardsley said. “That’s what I think. But I’m only a video tech, so what do I know?”

“Jesus,” she breathed.

“So let me ask you something,” he said.