Chapter 525

The video in which the Mandarin claimed responsibility for the bombing had been released five hours after the attack.

The fortune cookies on the table, however, had been manufactured an hour after the explosion.

That meant the Mandarin had somehow acquired those cookies, had them delivered, and then prepared his entire video with barely enough time to spare.

Sherlock Holmes tapped his phone thoughtfully.

"Far too rushed," he said. "Based on what we know, the Mandarin acquired this box of cookies only an hour before the video was released. The first portion of his speech was obviously recorded in advance, and while that footage could have been edited beforehand and kept ready for use, someone still had to record the new audio."

Tony’s eyes sharpened.

"So in that one-hour window, he had to record the voice-over, edit the existing footage, shoot the new material, assemble the final video, and then hack into the television networks across the country to broadcast it."

"Exactly."

Tony stared at the frozen image for a moment.

"He must have gotten the take in one shot." He shook his head slowly. "You’re right. He’s not a very good terrorist. He’s a professional film actor. I’ve worked with plenty of Hollywood crews, and even they couldn’t turn something around that fast."

Sherlock nodded.

"Which is why I don’t believe this was a carefully planned terrorist attack. It looks much more like a cover story assembled in a panic after the incident occurred."

Evenson had reached the same conclusion.

If the bombing had been planned from the beginning, and the Mandarin had always intended to release a responsibility video afterward, then surely someone would have prepared the props ahead of time.

The lighting would be ready.

The sound would be ready.

The boss would be sitting in front of the camera.

And then someone would realize, Where are the cookies?

So they would throw some random fruit onto the table instead.

At least have the decency to use something that looks threatening.

Tony rested his chin on one hand and paced a slow circle before abruptly snatching Sherlock’s phone.

A thin blue beam swept across the screen.

"JARVIS, enlarge it. Increase the resolution."

Tony Stark’s image-enhancement standards were apparently just as unreasonable as everything else about him.

Within a second, the photograph expanded dozens of times. JARVIS processed the image, sharpening details that had been little more than indistinct smudges on the original.

One of those details was the barcode printed on the cookie package.

"Sir," JARVIS said, "based on the barcode, the package was purchased approximately one hour and fifteen minutes before the video was broadcast."

Tony looked up.

"Where?"

"A supermarket in Tennessee, sir."

"Tennessee..." Evenson shook his head, a laugh threatening to escape him. "He’s actually in the United States."

He couldn’t help remembering the old joke about the enormous resources spent hunting a wanted man across the world, only for everyone to discover that the bastard had been hiding in America the entire time.

The Mandarin’s situation had a similar flavor.

He wasn’t hiding in some jungle bunker or remote mountain cave.

He was right here.

In America.

"If this wasn’t a premeditated terrorist attack," Watson said, narrowing her eyes, "then the explosion was an accident. But what caused that accident?"

"You’ve identified the blind spot, Watson."

Sherlock gave her an approving nod, though his expression quickly turned thoughtful.

"But with the evidence we have, we can’t determine that yet. We need to investigate further."

"I might know why."

Tony’s voice had gone distant.

He waved a hand, and the scene projected around them changed.

A new image appeared.

A heavyset man lay sprawled on the ground in an awkward position.

Happy Hogan.

"My friend," Tony said.

Happy was officially Tony’s bodyguard, but their relationship went far beyond employer and employee. They were friends.

"He shouldn’t have been there."

Tony’s gaze remained fixed on the projection.

"Happy has absolutely no interest in theater. He doesn’t have a girlfriend, either. There was no reason for him to be at that theater. If he went there, he had a specific reason."

Evenson nodded.

That much was obvious.

Most people who went to the theater went as couples or groups. Happy, on the other hand, had absolutely no business being there.

Unless he’d developed a sudden appreciation for Broadway and forgotten to tell anyone.

"Perhaps he can tell us himself."

Sherlock studied Happy’s projected body.

His eyes seemed to be focused in one direction. One finger pointed somewhere else.

Sherlock adjusted his position, then dropped backward onto the floor until his body overlapped the holographic image as closely as possible.

He was still trying to figure out what Happy had been looking at when two blue lines suddenly extended from the projection.

One followed Happy’s line of sight.

The other followed the direction of his finger.

The lines stretched outward and eventually intersected.

At the point where they met, a dashed circle appeared, highlighting an indistinct object.

JARVIS had calculated the position from the evidence available.

Sherlock stared at it.

Then his face twitched.

"Very convenient technology."

He climbed back to his feet, looking distinctly offended.

If every clue could be found by pressing a button, was this really detective work anymore?

Tony ignored him.

"Hm."

He raised one hand and lifted the mysterious object from the projection, enlarging it until its details became clear.

It was a military identification tag.

A dog tag.

"A soldier?" Tony frowned.

He turned toward JARVIS.

"Were there any military personnel at the scene?"

"I cannot currently confirm the presence of military personnel at the scene, sir."

Tony nodded, though his expression showed that he was beginning to enjoy the investigation.

There was something addictive about peeling back one mystery only to find another underneath.

Maybe private detective work could be his next career.

Sherlock took control of the dog tag’s projection and examined it closely.

"Hmm."

His brow furrowed.

Then his eyes suddenly widened.

"Ah."

Tony looked over.

Sherlock’s expression had transformed from concentration into the unmistakable satisfaction of a man who had found a critical piece of the puzzle.

"I’ve identified the unit this soldier served with."

"Which one?"

Sherlock wet his lips.

The case had just become considerably more complicated.

"Coincidentally, this soldier belonged to the unit stationed at Ali Al Salem Air Base."

Evenson’s expression changed.

"Ali Al Salem Air Base?"

The name sounded familiar.

"That’s the military base the Mandarin attacked, isn’t it?"

Sherlock looked up.

"Precisely."

...