Maggie braced herself for A.D. Kunze’s reaction. From Patrick’s initial telling she knew he might have information that could be helpful. She just wasn’t sure Kunze would see it that way. Charlie Wurth saved her again. He called Chief Merrick and asked him to send a police sketch artist instead of an arresting officer.

“It might not do any good,” she told them. “If the man Patrick saw is the Project Manager he’ll make sure that he looks different.”

“I won’t forget those eyes,” Patrick said. “Or the way he walked.”

“Unfortunately, he can change both.”

“He may not even be there if he uses another group of young people,” Kunze reminded them.

“I don’t think he’ll use cutaways this time,” Maggie said, cautiously watching for Kunze to disagree. He cocked his head to the side, encouraging her to continue. “He doesn’t have to go to the trouble. He’s already set the stage. Another bombing this soon. Everyone will be looking for young, white, college-aged males.”

It was just the five of them: Maggie, Patrick, Nick, Kunze and Wurth in the room set aside for the investigators. Ceimo was scheduled to join them. The sun was out today, streaming through the window, a welcome sight. Maggie couldn’t help but notice how beautiful the glittering snowy landscape was.

“So what are you predicting he will do?” Wurth asked.

When she turned away from the window and back to them, they were all watching her, waiting.

“The bomb expert,” Wurth continued. “She said the detonator he used was similar to the plans she saw for a dirty bomb. Should I be telling my people that’s what we might have here?”

Maggie crossed her arms over her chest. She had changed into trousers and a knit sweater but left her matching blazer in her room. Now she wished she had it. They were looking to her for instruction, for guidance. What if she was wrong? Even Kunze was waiting for her to give them some direction.

“I don’t think it’ll be a dirty bomb. He’s looking for psychological impact, not total carnage. He had the opportunity here at the mall. There could have easily been hundreds killed.” She stopped, expecting comments. There were none. “My best guess is that it will be a suitcase bomb. He’ll bring it in himself and leave it somewhere in the crowded ticket area or in baggage claim.”

“If he puts it on a baggage carousel there’s no way we’ll find it in time,” Wurth said, shoving his shirtsleeves up. “Christ almighty, this is not good.”

“That’s why we need to catch him as soon as he enters the airport.”

“But you said yourself, he’ll look different. Even if we have a sketch,” Kunze said.

“I know I’ll recognize him.” Patrick startled all of them. They had forgotten about him, waiting in the corner for the police sketch artist to arrive. “Just put me someplace where I can watch.”

“You’re not going to Phoenix with us,” Maggie said and immediately regretted that she sounded like an overprotective big sister.

She had already explained her rationale for Sky Harbor being the target. Wurth hadn’t disagreed with the logic, but said he was putting federal air marshals in every airport on the list.

“You said yourself,” Patrick argued, “that he thinks he doesn’t need to use anyone else now because they’ll be looking for young, white, college guys. So maybe he won’t walk differently. Maybe he won’t need to disguise himself. I’m telling you, I’ll never forget those eyes.”

“It couldn’t hurt,” Wurth said. “I say we bring the kid along.”