He took his time looking at each photo, comparing the two men’s heights and, she supposed, such things as shape of head, whatever he could have noticed at such a distance. She didn’t see how he could make a definitive ID under such circumstances, but this was about narrowing down the possibilities.
Each image was numbered, twenty-three in all. There was no identification of the people in any of the photographs; he wasn’t concerned with that. Axel would know who they were. Morgan paused at image number eight, scrolled down through nine, ten, eleven, twelve, paused at thirteen, then scrolled through the remaining nine. He went back to thirteen, then back to eight. Thirteen again. Eight. He went back and forth a couple of times, then tapped the screen. “Eight.”
She had no idea what parameters he was using. To her none of the men resembled each other, though they did all have gray hair. Number eight’s hair was kind of iron gray, neatly cut and shaped to his head.
“That’s the most likely prospect, huh? What made you decide?” Eight and thirteen looked nothing alike facially, so there had to be something else that had made him go back and forth between the two.
“The shape of the head, and the way his ears are set.”
“Damn, what kind of eyesight do you have?” she said, both startled and amazed. From the distance he’d said he was at, detail had to be at a minimum—at least for her, and she had twenty-twenty eyesight.
“Twenty-fifteen in my right eye, a little better than that in my left eye. Comes in handy.”
“Wow. I can see that. I can also see I need to put on makeup every morning before you get up.”
He slipped his hand around her right thigh. “No, you don’t. You look great. Besides, if you’re naked, I’d never notice if you have on makeup or not.” He didn’t look up at her, but she could see a grin tugging at his mouth.
She rolled her eyes and gave him a light slap on the shoulder, though inwardly she was pleased that he liked her naked. “Thanks a lot. Anyway, back to business. Do you know who this guy is?”
“Not a clue. I’m not in the information-gathering side of the business.” He reached for his cell, and it rang right on cue. He hit the button and put the call on speaker.
“Why the fuck didn’t you answer the phone?” Axel barked.
“Couldn’t get to it,” Morgan said neutrally.
There was a pause, then Axel erupted in a yell: “You son of a bitch, are you screwing my sister?”
The surge of rage made Bo feel as if her eyes were popping out of her head. He’d always had that instant effect on her. She leaned over, slammed her fist down on the desk and yelled back, “I’m not your damn sister! And, no, he isn’t screwing me! I’m screwing him! I’ve worn him down to a dried-up husk of his former self! I—”
“Did you put this call on speaker?” Axel interrupted, his tone aghast.
“She’s the woman you trusted to save my life,” Morgan retorted. “Damn right I did. Plus she’s in it now, so she deserves to know what’s going on.” Annoyance and laughter were fighting in his expression, though Bo was at a loss to guess exactly what was triggering what. She’d called him a dried-up husk. Axel had called him a son of a bitch. The call could go either way. “Are you interested in which photograph I identified, or are you going to continue butting into something that’s none of your business?”
“It’s my business if—which photograph was it?” Axel’s tone changed in mid-sentence, illustrating exactly what was most important to him.
“Number eight.”
“Shit.”
“Shit, what?”
“Of all the possibilities I sent, that’s probably the worst outcome. Are you sure?”
“Not a hundred percent. I’m going by the shape of the head, the ears. I’m sure that of the pictures you sent, that’s the closest match.”
“Okay, good enough. Those are the ones we couldn’t get a definite location on for that time frame, so I’m calling it a hit.”
“Russian?”
“Yeah. Keying on them was a good idea. He’s Foma Yartsev, high-ranking SVR. A secret meeting with someone on the HASC is definitely something they’d kill to cover up.”
“Maybe Yartsev was the one who ordered the hit if he didn’t want it known who he was meeting.”
“Possible. Definitely something I’ll look at. But if so, we have an even bigger problem because that means the SVR has penetrated our data system.”
“You still haven’t been able to trace it back?”
“If I’d been able to trace it back, I’d have a lead, now, wouldn’t I?” Axel said irritably. “Hell, no, whoever did it was genius. And when we catch him—or her—we’ll likely recruit the bastard.” He sounded aggrieved at the prospect; even when he was younger, negotiation had never been his first choice. He preferred to hammer home his point, go for the most drastic punishment.
“Or the person you have looking for the hack is the hacker,” Bo couldn’t resist pointing out, knowing her comment would drive him crazy.
The absolute silence on the phone told her she’d guessed right. His brain had flipped into squirrel mode, worrying the possibility from every angle.
Morgan lifted his brows at her and she smirked, shrugging. “You could be right,” he murmured. “Nothing is impossible.”
“Shit!” Axel’s expletive was sharp. “I’ll have to go out of house, have someone else recheck my guy. I can’t see him being a bad actor. Of course I did some deep checking on him, but if he’s good enough to be the hacker, he could build any background he wanted.”