Wired Truth

by Toby Neal

  Weirdly, he missed the warmth and power of the coals. They’d strengthened him.

  Connor raised the staff he’d ripped away from an opponent high overhead. He walked forward to the Master seated on his dais, the roar of applause ringing in his ears. He bowed, lowering the staff to the ground at the Master’s feet. He dropped to kneel before the man with his hands open, palms up and resting on his knees.

  At last silence fell. Connor felt the collective straining of the trainees to hear the voice of the Master.

  “You have done well in your studies.” The Master’s voice, that mellifluous instrument of influence, washed over him like a benediction, along with a snow-white robe he draped over Connor’s shoulders. Connor looked up into the man’s distinctive, dark purple eyes. “You have proved yourself worthy of the number you have been given.”

  Back when Connor had joined Thailand’s clandestine spy agency, the Yām Khûmkạn, he had submitted to his head being shaved and a number inked onto the back of his scalp. Hair was allowed to grow over the tattoo until the time of graduation, and he still didn’t know what that number was. Recruits who graduated were renamed by that number and the function that the master assigned them. Recruits who did not graduate never knew what their name might have been—it was branded off of their scalp when they were ejected from the fortress.

  Everything Connor had been taught and challenged to do was more intense than what was asked of normal recruits. He had spent more time with the Master in personal training than any other. He was being groomed for the partnership they’d forged, bringing together their unique talents to influence world order.

  Connor kept his eyes shut as the Master drew his knife. He did not allow his heart to speed up, his palms prickle with anticipatory sweat, even his scalp to tingle as the Master wetted the knife in a bowl held by one of the ninjas, and slid the blade over the patch of hair covering his scalp tattoo: once, twice, three times. He felt coolness as the hair fell away, and then the Master’s hand, fingers spread, upon his head. “You are number One, my successor.”

  Connor’s eyes flew open and he met the Master’s gaze. “What?”

  Behind him he heard a whisper, a rustle, from the onlookers.

  He would not be a popular choice—he was an outsider, a white man, too mature at the time of his recruitment to have been a part of the ancient culture of the Yām Khûmkạn, whose usual recruits were teens.

  The favorite to succeed, a man named Pi, was seated on the stairs of the dais. Pi excelled in every physical task and many of the intellectual challenges as well. His graduation the week before had been a course as challenging as Connor’s.

  “They will not like this,” Connor whispered.

  “You question me?” The Master’s dark brows flew up, then his deep purple eyes narrowed. “Perhaps you would like another opportunity to prove your worth, Number One.” He stepped back and gestured to Pi. “Men, choose your weapons. The match is to the death.”

  Chapter Three

  Pim Wat: Day One

  Pim Wat tried to close her eyes, but someone was holding one of her eyelids open. A light, bright and painful as a lance, pierced her brain. She screamed, a hoarse croak like a carrion bird. She writhed, feeling restraints on her arms and legs. They’d stripped away the secret, gray place she’d gone to in her mind! Terror rose in her in a red wave of anguish, and she thrashed harder.

  “She’s awake,” the doctor said above her. “The electroshock treatment seems to be working.”

  Pim Wat tossed her head from side to side. “No! I want to sleep!”

  “We need information,” someone else said. Fingers grasped her jaw, forced her face around. “Talk to me. Tell me about the Yām Khûmkạn. What is their priority?”

  Warm breath, smelling of American barbecue, fanned Pim Wat’s cheeks. She wanted to retch. She clamped her eyes shut, refusing to see whoever her latest interrogator was, refusing to listen to his loud, demanding voice.

  “Doctor, make her look at me.”

  The eyelid retractors took a while to put on because she fought them, biting, snarling, thrashing. All the while, her mind pulsed out a beacon: Help me, help me, help me, my Master! I need you!

  Why was her beloved Master taking so long? Why was he letting her suffer? Why didn’t he come for her?

  “You are being punished, Beautiful One, for the evil you’ve done,” the Master’s voice said in her mind. She knew exactly why he hadn’t come for her. “Take your punishment, serve your time, give them nothing . . . and when the season is right, I’ll come for you.”

  Thinking of the Master’s hypnotic purple eyes calmed Pim Wat.

  They could not keep her here, in the conscious world, if she did not want to be here. There was no technique that could hold her or force her to do their bidding. She had a world within herself to dwell in, where they could not reach her.

  Pim Wat relaxed, going completely limp.

  They fastened on the eyelid retractors. They shone the light in her eyes. The interrogator’s voice pounded at her like a fist . . . but Pim Wat had gone away.

  She’d traveled once again to that gray place where she wandered among her memories, waiting for the Master to come for her.

  Chapter Four

  Sophie: Day One

  Kendall Bix had been the Director of Operations at Security Solutions since Sophie had come to work for the company. The man shook his neatly barbered head and frowned. “No. You can’t work this case, Sophie. We’ve got an entire theft division that hasn’t had enough work lately.”

  “I’m not asking, Kendall.” Sophie set the tray of tea things she and Childer had used back on the credenza.

  She’d tangled with Bix for control of the company on and off since Sheldon Hamilton had left Sophie his estate, position, and majority shares in Security Solutions. The enigmatic billionaire CEO/owner of the company had disappeared in Thailand, and was in the process of being declared legally dead. Sophie wasn’t surprised by Bix’s periodic challenges to her authority, nor did she resent them. Bix had been abruptly and mysteriously passed over by Hamilton’s appointment of Sophie, who at the time of her promotion was a contract operative, untested in any kind of leadership. She’d relied on Bix to guide her and speak his mind, and she usually went along with his opinions.

  Not this time, however.

  “I’m in need of a change of pace.” Sophie smiled engagingly at Bix. “I’d like you to finish the quarterly reports and give me a week to work this case.”

  Bix chuckled. “Rank hath its privileges, m’dear. We’ll compromise. You can have your case, and the quarterly reports too.”

  “All right, then. Fair enough. I’ll take the reports home with me tonight. Momi is at her father’s this month, so I have time in the evenings.” Sophie shared custody of her two-year-old daughter with her child’s father Alika Wolcott, on a month-on, month-off basis. Alika resided on the island of Kaua`i, and Momi’s nanny, Armita, traveled with the toddler back and forth between the islands, providing consistency in her care.

  Sophie downloaded and copied the papers that Childer had signed into a fresh case file in her tablet. “I would like a new partner. Do you have anyone from the theft division I could work with? Two pairs of hands and eyes will be better than one with time pressure like we have for this case.”

  Bix raised his brows. “Funny you should ask. Remember Jake Dunn? He just picked up some of our contract work. He might be available.”

  Sophie frowned. “Anyone but Dunn.”

  “Oh, right. I forgot you two were in a relationship.” Bix had forgotten no such thing. He just liked to needle her now and again.

  Sophie kept her expression neutral with difficulty. “Do you have someone else to suggest?”

  “Have you met Pierre Raveaux? We hired him not long ago on a contractor basis. He’s a retired detective from the French police, living in Hawaii and France. He’s turned out to be quite good with art theft and high-end cases—a perfect fit for this diamond
heist.”

  “Raveaux sounds qualified.” Sophie sat down behind her desk. “I’ll work on the quarterly reports until you send him up.”

  “Sounds good, boss.” Bix gave an ironic little salute and shut the door of her office behind him.

  Sophie waited until his steps had receded down the carpeted hallway, to open her desk drawer. She reached inside and took out a yoga mat. She always wore movement-friendly clothing to the office to accommodate the exercise breaks that were so important to her working life. She rolled out the flexible, brightly colored foam rectangle onto the open space beside her desk.

  She pushed in her chair and dropped into a series of memorized asanas, moving through them smoothly and automatically.

  Just breathe. Feel your body moving. You’re okay. Tears welled up as she moved through the structured movements.

  She still missed Jake so much.

  Sophie stood by what she had told her ex-lover when she sent back his ring more than two years ago: “I wish you every happiness.”

  Yes, she stood by that wish, and Felicia, his new girlfriend, was the one to bring him that. Sophie had never brought him anything but torture and heartbreak.

  The yoga wasn’t helping. Her old depression flapped its ugly black batwings around her mind, tugging her toward darkness. She rolled up the mat and pulled out a drawer in her desk. A folded, yellow flannel square rested at the bottom of the drawer.

  Momi’s first blanket.

  Sophie’s child had been kidnapped when she was only twelve hours old. That blanket had been a comfort during the harrowing time of getting her daughter back. She unfolded the square, sat down, and buried her face in it. The fabric no longer smelled of her infant as it once had, but the softness on her cheeks reminded her of Momi’s velvety skin.

  She had loved and lost three men. Two of them were with new partners, and one was unreachable.

  Sophie let the tears come.

  She’d learned the value of unleashing her emotions, of knowing that they couldn’t be swept away and ignored, and that expressing them helped her keep them managed.

  Eventually done with her “sobfest,” as her friend Marcella would’ve called it, Sophie wiped her face on the precious flannel square. She tucked the blanket in her bag to take home and wash. She splashed water on her face and composed herself in her executive bathroom.

  There was nothing to be done but keep going.

  Sophie was seated, having a go at the quarterly reports again, when Raveaux knocked lightly on the door frame. Sophie glanced up and gestured for him to come in.

  Raveaux was lean and dark, around six feet tall, with a presence that made her sit up and pay attention as intelligent eyes the color of kalamata olives took her measure. “Madame Smithson.” He extended a hand. “I am pleased to meet you.”

  Sophie stood up and shook his hand—cool and hard, good grip strength. “Welcome to Security Solutions. I’ll be your partner on this recently acquired case.”

  “I am delighted to have an opportunity to work with you. I have long been a fan.”

  Sophie quirked a brow in surprise. “A fan?”

  “Oh yes. I have studied your career, Madame.” Raveaux wore black trousers, Italian loafers without socks, and a white linen shirt, open at the neck, that showed a triangle of bronzed skin. He seated himself in the chair before her desk, crossing an ankle over one knee.

  Sophie resented noticing that triangle of skin and ignored his flattery. “We have an interesting situation before us. Bix spoke of your experience with high-end theft; I hope he represented your abilities accurately.” She depressed a toggle on her desk. “Paula, can you bring in a printed copy of the newest file?”

  “Right away,” Paula said through the intercom, her voice cheerful. There was a lot of appeal to having someone respond to her every wish with such prompt positivity. She didn’t blame Jake for falling for Felicia, she really didn’t . . .

  Paula, a statuesque Hawaiian woman, carried in the file and set it on Sophie’s desk.

  “Paula, have you met Mr. Raveaux? He will be working closely with me in the coming weeks,” Sophie said.

  “I’ve met him, yes,” Paula said. “Hello again, Mr. Raveaux. Glad to have you with us.” Her voice was a little too bright.

  “Good to see you again,” Raveaux murmured.

  Sophie smoothed an automatic frown from between her brows. She’d have to question Paula later on what she’d heard about Raveaux—she valued her assistant’s opinions on the various staff members they worked with.

  Paula removed the used tea tray, still resting on the sideboard, as Sophie spread the file open on the desk between her and Raveaux. “My strength is with computers. We need to pore through every security video involving the diamonds to see if we can identify where the set disappeared between the submission of the parure, and when it was stored. There is bound to be a digital footprint, either in the videos and security footage, or buried somewhere in the company’s appraisal process.”

  Raveaux flipped through the meager pages Childer had submitted. “Agreed. We have several people to follow up on: the manager who takes in the items, the diamond assessor, and of course, the staff on hand at the time. I’d like for both of us to go in and evaluate the premises today, to see if we can develop an angle on how this was done. Once we do that, we may have more leads to follow.”

  Sophie liked that he was taking the initiative—too often, she’d found that the operatives she worked with waited for her to take the lead. “Your English is excellent.” She sat back in her chair and made a little steeple of her fingers, a habit she’d intentionally developed to keep from touching the gunshot scar on her cheekbone. “I would have made the same initial assessment of the case. I think we will work well together.”

  Raveaux didn’t smile, but crinkles appeared beside his dark eyes and they seemed to warm. “Such a compliment, Madame.”

  “I am no madame.” Sophie’s words came out more harshly than she intended. “I am not married.”

  “But you are hardly a naïve young mademoiselle.” His gaze was unwavering.

  “Just call me Sophie, and we will settle the issue once and for all—Raveaux.” She didn’t want to use his first name; “Pierre” seemed too casual, too intimate, while her own name felt like a declaration of feminism.

  Raveaux scooped up the file. “Let us go to the auction house then, Sophie. And on the way, I will tell you about my career investigating stolen artworks, forgeries, and other distressing illegal activities during my time in France’s law enforcement.”

  Chapter Five

  Raveaux: Day One

  Raveaux settled himself in the passenger side of Sophie’s pearl-colored Lexus as she got into the driver’s seat.

  He hadn’t lied—he’d studied her career. Sophie Smithson had an impressive résumé: she was the inventor of the Data Analysis Victim Information Database, a much fought-over crime solving software that searched for trends online, using keywords. She’d had a five-year career with the FBI and an excellent closure rate on cases there—and then she’d joined Security Solutions, taking down criminals and leading the company to further growth and expansion.

  What he hadn’t counted on was that his boss would be so compelling in person. He’d heard she was beautiful, but he hadn’t expected her lithe grace and long-legged height. The hint of sadness in her large, light brown eyes intrigued him, as did the way the line of a scar running down her cheek drew his gaze to her full mouth.

  This was a woman with a past; she had a darkness in her that matched his own.

  Sophie glanced his way as she turned on the engine. “What do you know about Finewell’s? Have you had dealings with them abroad?”

  Raveaux scrolled through information on a tablet as they pulled out of the Security Solutions parking garage into traffic. “They rival Christie’s auction house for market share. The company’s mission, according to their website, is to “bring the best of antiquity into the modern world.” Their proce
dures are time-tested—they have been in business since 1923, and I was able to find no record of any breaches to their security in the past.”

  “Ha. There’s bound to have been something. I will dig deeper.” Sophie’s smile was a humorous flash.

  Raveaux was tempted to smile back—an unfamiliar sensation. “I expect you will use your DAVID software. I’d like to see that, if you don’t mind.”

  “Perhaps,” Sophie said neutrally. Hacker types loved their privacy—she wasn’t likely to show him anything until she trusted him, and even then, it wouldn’t be much. “Tell me more about yourself. Bix says you’re retired from the French police?”

  “Indeed. I was a member of the police judiciaire, and the head of a special task force handling investigations into high-end crime on the Riviera. I specialized in . . . sensitive cases.” Raveaux kept his eyes forward, on the road ahead. Blue skies and palm trees passed by his view, but he paid scant attention. He needed to tell her enough to assure her of his expertise—but he really didn’t want to tell her anything at all.

  She flashed those golden-brown eyes at him. “Tell me more.” Not a question—a command. “Why are you here, in Hawaii?”

  “Why indeed?” Raveaux lifted his hands in a Gallic shrug. “I wanted a change of scenery.”

  “From the Riviera?” Sophie snorted. “I can find out anything I want to about you, Raveaux. You might as well tell me what you’re hiding.”

  An icy shiver touched him between the shoulder blades. She was telling the truth. “I specialized in high-end cases, as I said. Theft and kidnappings involving the rich and important. Murders of celebrities and billionaires and politicians. Wherever there was a . . . tricky case, I guess you would call it? I was brought in.” Raveaux looked down at his hands. Scars puckered his olive skin like melted fabric, twining all the way up his arms. “I angered the wrong person. Someone high up in organized crime. There was a car bomb. It took my wife and daughter.”