Chapter 20
20
Elise looked at the newspaper in Finn’s hands, the nightmare of the previous night summed up in the photograph of people scattering across the museum floor, the men who’d shot at them visible only as black shadows.
They’d followed coverage on social media the night before, but seeing it in black and white was surreal.
“That’s him,” Finn said, pointing at the photograph of an old man under the headline RECLUSIVE PHILANTHROPIST TARGETED AT BOXGROVE GALA?
“How can you be sure?” Ronan asked. “You said you barely got a look at him.”
“Because I recognize this.” Finn unfolded the paper and pointed to another picture, this one taken just outside the museum’s door.
In the picture, four men in black suits were rushing for a black SUV, a small, bald man barely visible behind their broad shoulders. Elise hadn’t seen them making their escape — she’d been too busy hitting the floor, trying not to get shot — but Finn had told them about the bodyguards who’d ushered their charge out the door.
“These are the same guys I saw making a beeline for the doors when the shooting started,” he said, handing the paper to Ronan. “And two of the terrorists went after them.”
“Doesn’t look like they caught them,” Ronan said. “It says here the guy’s name is Aldrich Cromwell, and he got away without injury.”
“Hang on a sec,” Julia said, setting aside her coffee. They’d ordered two pots from room service that morning and had been talking about ordering a third when the newspaper was slipped under the door by the hotel staff.
She disappeared into the bedroom she shared with Ronan. When she returned she was holding her laptop. “Give me that name again.”
Elise sat next to her on the suite’s sofa.
“Aldrich Cromwell,” Ronan said. He spelled it for her and they waited while Julia tapped at her laptop.
“He’s exactly what you’d expect him to be,” she said. “Some rich guy with an interest in history, a member of the Boxgrove Historical Society. Unmarried, no kids.”
Elise could see Ronan’s mind working as he rubbed his chin.
“What are you thinking?” Finn asked him.
“Just running through the details, thinking about the possibilities,” Ronan said.
“We could use some possibilities,” Finn said.
“The invasion at the museum makes sense even if you take it in a vacuum. The terrorists were protesting the exploitation of developing countries, which tracks given the Boxgrove Historical Society’s connection to archeological digs. I’d be willing to bet a lot of the Boxgrove donors give to similar causes in other countries.”
“But?”
“It’s too much all together,” Elise said. “Eudorus using the word Boxgrove right before the gala, the attack, the one man with a private security team…”
Ronan nodded. “Exactly. Even two of those things might be coincidence, but all of it together?” He shook his head. “I don’t buy it.”
The pieces of the puzzle fit together. They just hadn’t figured out how yet.
“They didn’t go after anyone else,” she said.
“She’s right,” Finn said. “The terrorists knew who Cromwell was. They went after him.”
“We can’t be sure they didn’t go after anyone else,” Ronan said. “We couldn’t look everywhere at once.”
Elise knew Ronan was being cautious, keeping them from getting ahead of themselves and the facts, but she hadn’t seen anyone else with a security team, and none of them had seen the terrorists chase anyone else as they made their escape, even though plenty of people had been running for the doors.
That meant Cromwell was important. Either that, or he had reason to believe he might be a target and had come prepared.
“True,” Finn said. “But we know they went after Cromwell.”
Finn’s eyes were lit with possibility and Elise said a silent prayer that he wouldn’t be disappointed again. She didn’t know how much more he could take.
Ronan exhaled. “We need more information.”
Finn picked up his phone. “I’ll call Clay.”