“Who the hell is that?” Clarissa looked around the table, but no one reacted.
Whoever it was had avoided the surveillance cameras, at least with their face. There were shots of a leg here, a back there, but never a clear view.
She tried to make it be the Saudi Ahmad.
Or not be.
But couldn’t conclusively do either one.
As much as she hated to suggest it, she knew what they had to do.
“Send it to Miranda.”
