Luke held his breath. Finally Zain grabbed a tablet off the desk and turned toward the large, blank wall, his mind made up.
A low hum preceded shutters descending over the windows, plunging them into momentary darkness. An overhead projector flickered to life.
"Here's what we know. Seven days ago, this man planted explosives in your client's suite." Zain flicked his wrist and a grainy image of a man wearing a scarf around his head outside of the hotel Abigail and the others had stayed at appeared on the wall screen.
"His thobe is wrong." She took a step closer. The image was too low-quality to make out the man's face, but...
"His-what?" Luke asked.
"Here." She crossed to tap the front of the man's shirt. "You can tell he's not Jordanian by the collar. The headdress and garb don't matc
