The two men inside were having an animated conversation, laughing and jabbing at each other as the vehicle sped along the dark road. They seemed to have completely forgotten the two American hitchhikers they’d rescued from the side of the road an hour earlier. Satisfied they weren’t being watched, Richard turned back to the computer on his lap. Carly was pressed up against him despite the fact that the heat of the day still lingered in the wind. “I’m right,” she said. “You know I am.” He focused again on the photograph filling the screen. With the exception of the man’s hand, which had blurred as he tried to cover his face, the image was surprisingly sharp. Richard examined every detail—the wavy gray hair, the pale skin, the unique slope of the nose. “Maybe it’s a relative. A cousin or something.” “So they kidnapped his cousin too?” He didn’t answer, instead clicking on the video they’d downloaded of August Mason making a speech in the mid eighties. To say that the resemblance was uncanny would be a gross understatement.
