chain. Right hands of the president. Commanders. Generals. He had the Filipino staff working in the U.S. Embassy on the payroll. That's how he knew everything that was going on."

Inspector R had long since left the case by the time we met, but he remained troubled—if not surprised—by the ease with which Le Roux seemed to have bought his way out of any threat. "He's always in my head," Inspector R said. "Paul Le Roux can get away, maybe. Maybe. But God will find a way."

There was one person who I hoped could still shed light on the Jones murder, and on the chain of disappearances that followed: John Nash, the Subic Bay enforcer and former Ocean Adventure security chief who was one of the last people to see both Jones and Zuñiga alive. But Nash, too, proved out of reach—for a different reason.

On a late Friday afternoon in May 2015, Nash had been headed down a narrow beachside road near Baloy Beach, just outside the Blue Rock Resort in Subic Bay. Suddenly, an SUV appeared in front of him, blocking his path. Before he could reverse, another closed in on him from behind. A half dozen agents from the NBI leaped out, weapons in hand, and ordered Nash out of his vehicle. Within moments, they'd hustled him into one of the unmarked SUVs and were on the highway for the drive back to Manila. Sus- pecting that Nash had sources in the police, the NBI had kept the operation secret—so successfully, in fact, that the next morning the local police announced that Nash had been kidnapped by un- known armed men.

The reason for Nash's arrest was perhaps even more peculiar than its circumstances. When the NBI began pursuing Nash as a person of interest in the Zuñiga case, they checked his American passport with the U.S. embassy. The identity turned out to belong to a long-deceased American named John Nash. The embassy can- celed the passport and the NBI made the arrest.

By the time I sat down with Agent Lugay, Nash had been in NBI