"Where were these photos taken?" Bolan asked.

"Manila. Two months ago."

"What's his connection with Cordero?"

"Search me..." Wilson stood up and walked to a sideboard to pour himself a coffee. "You want one?"

"No, thanks," Bolan said, continuing to study the screen.

Wilson scooped two spoons of sugar into the coffee, added a little cream from a silver creamer, then stirred. He set the spoon down with a clang and sipped noisily before returning to the table.

Dropping back into his chair, Wilson set the coffee on the polished tabletop, leaned back to stretch and said through gritted teeth, "Next one, Donny." Harding disappeared and was replaced by a shattered storefront. Paper-and-cardboard signs, torn to ribbons, fluttered in a breeze at the instant the photo was taken. "This," said Wilson, "used to be a government health clinic, set up by Aquino. Next..." The projector clicked. The storefront moved to a corner of the screen. "See that white circle, down there on the left? Watch this..." The projector clicked again, and the circle expanded to touch the four sides of the screen. "See that?"

Bolan leaned a little closer.

"It's fuzzier than most, because we got this from a Manila newspaper."

"Cordero," Bolan said.

"Right you are, boyo. Not a minute after the explosion. You can still see smoke in the other corner, just beside the storefront."

"You don't think it was a coincidence, I gather," Bolan said.

"Hell, Belasko, would you?"

"No, I wouldn't."

"And the interesting thing is that this picture was taken just forty-eight hours after that little confab we saw at the beginning.