by Toby Neal
Now she needed silence and blackout drapes to sleep at all.
That he had another victim in that room could not be allowed, no matter the cost to herself. No matter what it cost her to owe the Ghost.
Sophie had escaped through careful planning. During one of her tech classes at the university, she’d met an FBI recruiter who was impressed with her skills and the three languages she spoke. After securing a job offer, she’d waited until her ticket to a U.S. interview was available. She’d taken carefully hoarded household budget money she’d amassed over months and years, and fled one day with just the clothes on her back.
Sophie remembered walking calmly out of the sumptuous lobby with her heart pounding and body aching from Assan’s choking assault of the night before. The doorman, on Assan’s payroll, bowed respectfully even as he took note of her clothing, suitable for her computer class. Her modest leather computer satchel contained the passport she’d broken into Assan’s safe to take, along with her jewelry.
She’d ditched her cell phone at the corner and taken a taxi like she always did, but this time she directed it to the airport.
She’d made it out, and her new life had provided a powerful layer of protection. But she’d never been entirely sure that she’d made it beyond Assan’s reach. She thought of Alika in his hospital bed.
God forbid she’d been the cause of his attack.
How was the Ghost going to get a young girl, probably much less prepared than she’d been, out of that fortress of a building?
Yes. If the Ghost could help that girl, it would be worth what she’d owe him.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Sophie sipped an extra strong mug of tea as she sat down at the team meeting in the conference room at the FBI building. Waxman was already seated beneath the shiny FBI logo on the wall at the head of the table, and he’d asked Ken to take notes on the white boards as they reviewed the case.
“So where are we with this kidnapping case, exactly?” Waxman asked. “It seems like we’ve gotten diverted down a rabbit hole with this Security Solutions lead.”
“Sir, I met with the building manager this morning.” Sophie described the meeting. “I ran the number she gave me, and it came back to a burner phone, which I’d expected. But someone is renting the rooms on the fourteenth floor of that building on a regular basis.”
“That seems like something we can stake out and follow up on. Keep us posted if you hear anything from Torres,” Waxman said.
“Yes, sir. Does anyone have any new ideas about the disappearance of Sheldon Hamilton at Security Solutions?” Sophie asked.
No one answered that. Finally, Gundersohn said, “I think at this point we need to assume that the suspect with the means and opportunity to be the saboteur/information seller is Lee Chan.”
“And I take it he isn’t talking.” Waxman made a pyramid with his fingertips.
“I think I know who the saboteur is. It’s not the same person selling the confidential client information.” Sophie had taken a caffeine pill along with a deep sip of her tea, hoping the stimulant would counteract the lethargy of depression still plaguing her and give her the energy to disclose everything that had happened. “I have a lot to fill you in on, sir.” She got up, went around the table, and took the erasable marker from Ken Yamada.
“Yesterday I detected a security breach in my apartment.” She drew circles on the board and labeled them: Honing, Chan, Hamilton, Remarkian, Saboteur, Data Leaker.
“I’m pretty sure the saboteur is the one who got into my apartment and wired cameras to monitor me.” She described the situation she’d gone through yesterday and the steps she’d taken to correct it.
“I used one of the cameras Bateman retrieved after he swept my apartment to send the unsub a message. He responded, and this morning I talked to him in an untraceable chat room. He called himself a friend of law enforcement.”
Sophie explained that her apartment had been broken into by someone similar in appearance to the missing Sheldon Hamilton. She suspected that he had returned from Hong Kong and set up surveillance on her to keep ahead of her investigation into Security Solutions.
Waxman’s blue eyes were steely slits fixed on her face over his steepled fingertips. “So you think he’s the saboteur?”
“It’s my best guess.” She swallowed, looked down. “I don’t think we have any idea what his motives are. I asked him, but he wouldn’t say. Denied being any of the four main players at Security Solutions. But I think when we find Sheldon Hamilton, we’ll know more.”
“You haven’t presented any evidence that Hamilton is anything but missing and possibly the one that broke into your apartment,” Waxman said. “For all you know, it could have been Lee Chan in that chat room. Or Remarkian or Honing.”
“Well, all we have to do is see what each of our suspects was doing at nine a.m.,” Gundersohn said. “The one that was chatting online was the one who broke into Agent Ang’s apartment. That’s all we can say for sure, not who that person was or whether or not he was the saboteur. And it wasn’t the saboteur Lee Chan was so afraid of, it’s whoever is selling secrets. Got any ideas about that, Agent Ang?”
“No. There are still too many possibilities.” Sophie frowned, hands on her hips. “Working up my background on the CEO, I broke into Hamilton’s financials. He’s been rerouting all his money to a numbered account for two years. Whatever he’s doing now, he’s planned for a long time.”
“None of this makes any sense,” Waxman said impatiently. “Why would Hamilton build up this company only to abandon it to Honing and Remarkian, even if he did siphon off some cash? This company is worth a lot. And who’s Lee Chan afraid of, or is he faking all that to throw us off?” Waxman smacked his hands down with a sound like a rifle shot and stood. “You know what? Let’s do a raid on Security Solutions and gather up whomever we can and put them in interrogation and grill them about an alibi for 9:00 a.m. See what we can shake loose. Yamada and Gundersohn, get some local PD muscle to go with you, and find Lee Chan while you’re at it.”
Sophie stood with the men.
“No, not you, Agent Ang. I want to talk a little more about the security breach in your apartment,” Waxman said, his eyes the color of steel.
Sophie sat back down, apprehension tightening her throat.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Sophie sat beside Waxman as the other team members left the room, already working their phones. She wished she’d eaten something that morning because now the caffeine pill was making her queasy. It was too much to hope that Waxman wouldn’t be angry about the security breach. But at least he didn’t know that DAVID and her FBI workstation were back up and running on her home computer lab.
“You’re on administrative leave without pay. Two days. And a disciplinary note is going in your file,” Waxman’s eyes were on his computer monitor.
Sophie felt the blood drain out of her face. She’d never had a consequence like this before in her life. Her insubordination note from the DAVID usage was the first time she’d ever had anything but commendations added to her record.
She bit her lip and gazed down at her hands in her lap, schooling her face into the mask that hid her emotions.
“I can contest this with my union representative,” she said at last. “Any agent’s residence could be discovered and broken into by a skilled enough unsub.”
“You chose to withhold vital information germane to your case from a superior,” Waxman said. Sophie glanced up and could see patches of red on his cheeks, though his eyes were still on his monitor and his voice, icy. “You chose to use department resources, namely Agent Bateman, to cover your situation without going through proper chain of command.”
“I decided speed was the best course and the minute I knew my apartment had been breached, I took action. I had Bateman sweep my apartment for surveillance equipment because we were going into a meeting and I didn’t want to slow anything down by doing it myself. He knew where it was, and knew Ginger,
my dog.” She took a long, shuddering breath and let it out on the remembered stress. “My building security was advised. I called in a change of codes for my alarm system, changed the locks, and had a surveillance cam installed at the doorway, which is the single egress point. Ran full security scans on my rigs. I even notified the Secret Service, because it’s actually my father’s apartment and he’s coming next week. I dealt with it. And yes, the unsub found me through a back trace on the Security Solutions data stream I’d diverted. The programmer behind their systems is good. As good as, or better than, I am.”
“What makes you think the saboteur’s Sheldon Hamilton?” Waxman finally looked at her and now she knew why her friends Marcella and Lei had complained about being in his crosshairs—she felt like an insect under his withering stare.
“Deductive reasoning. Todd Remarkian said he and Sheldon Hamilton developed the software together, so I know Sheldon has the skills. Lee appears to be the saboteur, but I don’t like him for it because I don’t think he’s smart enough, or ruthless enough. Same reason why I don’t think he’s the information peddler.” She twisted her fingers in her lap, keeping her eyes down. “I know programmers and hackers. Lee’s a tool—an implementer, not an innovator. I don’t think he has the genius to be the man behind the remote surveillance software that is Software Solutions’ main asset. That software is verging on being artificially intelligent. It analyzes patterns, takes countermeasures, and alerts the people it decides need to know about something going on within its parameters.” She took a breath, glanced up. Waxman was still intently listening.
“I think Sheldon was in Hong Kong and heard that the saboteur was detected after our meeting with the top brass at Security Solutions. He disappeared, taking his software and assets, leaving Lee set up to appear guilty.” Sophie paused again and Waxman made a ‘go on’ gesture. She continued. “I think Hamilton’s the one because, while I don’t think Lee’s smart enough to be the saboteur, I also don’t think he’s stupid enough to load his computer full of cash and run money through a personal, traceable account in the Caymans.”
“Why don’t you think Remarkian is the saboteur?”
“Remarkian could be the saboteur, it’s true. But it’s Sheldon Hamilton who may have imitated a dog walker and broke into my apartment, by his physical description, and I verified Remarkian’s location as Hong Kong during our calls.”
“So do you know what Remarkian looks like?”
“Roughly the same height and weight as Sheldon, but blond and blue-eyed. Has an Australian accent.”
“Well. More will be revealed, and for you, that will be in two days. Give me your creds and weapon.”
Sophie pulled her gun, badge and wallet and smacked them down on the table. She stood, feeling anger waft over her in an energizing wave.
“You’re making a mistake. Ben.” She spat his name like it tasted bad, spun on her heel, and left.
Sophie went where she’d always gone when life was hard. When cases were complex. When hated emotions took over her brain. Where she went when the depression was bad, when it was gone entirely, where she’d gone in every range of need she’d had since she escaped Assan Ang and made Honolulu and the Bureau her home five years ago.
Fight Club.
After working the heavy bag long enough, the talons of depression’s hold finally began to uncurl.
Sophie looked around to find the gym going on as usual even with Alika in his hospital bed. Pairs of fighters were sparring in the warm up ring. The gleaming bodies of athletes worked exercise bikes, treadmills and ellipticals against one wall. The weight area clanked with the grind of metal on metal and the grunts of heaving lifters. The smell of leather, rubber, metal, and sweat was a familiar perfume that lifted her spirits.
Done warming up, Sophie climbed into the empty main ring, gloves on, and raised her arms in the air.
“Anybody up for a workout besides me? Bring it on!”
A ragged cheer rose from her gym mates. Minutes later Sophie was completely immersed in a fight with a Japanese jiu-jitsu champion with the attitude that women weren’t real competition. It took six hard rounds to disabuse him of that opinion, though she lost in the end.
Showering in the locker room, watching blood from her mouth and nose drain into the shower between her feet, Sophie decided the gym was what she’d been missing lately. And that it was way past time she visited Alika in the hospital.
Her eye swollen shut and her lip split, Sophie hid the rest of the damage under a concealing hoodie for her visit to Queen’s Hospital. She didn’t call first, but she stopped at the gift shop to pick up a bouquet of daisies. She held them up in front of her battered face to deflect questions on her appearance, and was surprised to be redirected when she reached the ICU.
“He’s stable now, so he’s been moved to a convalescent floor,” the nurse on duty said, peering suspiciously at Sophie’s face between the daisies. “Do you need some first aid yourself, Miss?”
“No thanks. I’m a fighter. MMA. Hazards of the sport.” Sophie’s smile hurt and didn’t seem to reassure the nurse.
“Well, okay. He’s on the fourth floor. Room 427.”
Sophie took the elevator back down, realizing she was a little lightheaded. She never had eaten anything that day, but at least the depression was back in its box.
There was still an officer outside Alika’s door, which she was relieved to see. Though she’d given Waxman her creds wallet, she still had a departmental ID badge, which she showed.
“Anyone with him?” Sophie asked, avoiding the officer’s curious eyes on her face.
“Not right now. The parents said they had to take care of some errands and business.”
His parents probably still had to work, might even have to leave the island soon. She felt a pang of worry and pushed the door handle down, bracing herself.
Alika seemed better. He was still prone and unmoving on the bed, but the swathes of gauze covering his head were down to one big bandage. The only tubes running into him were an IV and a catheter, tactfully concealed by bedclothes. His broken leg was lowered now, and his bruises had gone down, leaving his face recognizable, if still discolored.
Sophie sat in the chair beside him. “Hi Alika. It’s Sophie.”
She wriggled a bit, gazing at him, wondering if they were still supposed to talk to him, wondering if he was even in a coma anymore since it had been a while since her last update. Curious, she got up and tried to read the chart hanging on the wall, but there were no clues in the little boxes filled with squiggles and code.
“I don’t know anything about how you’re doing, but I want to tell you I’m looking pretty bad right now, too. Took a bit of a pounding this afternoon from that Japanese fighter. You remember him, right? They call him The Breaker. Well, he didn’t break me, but I lost, that’s for sure.” She fingered her swollen, split lip. “I was in the mood to take on a whole football team today. Work has been really challenging, and I needed to fight or go down. Whichever. Didn’t matter. I know you understand.”
Sophie gazed at him, still hoping for some response. There was none. She let herself really take in the sight of him.
His eyes, shut, sunken in pouches of bruised flesh left from his beating. Chest rising and falling evenly. Skin sallow and multicolored with bruising. Heart monitor blipping in the corner. He’d shrunk in mass, the muscular body seeming to melt away. It was going to be a long road for him back to health and fitness when he finally woke up.
She reached over and traced the triangle tattoo on his slack shoulder muscle.
“I can’t tell you about my case and work even if you’re in a coma, but let’s just say it’s been even more stressful than usual, and now I’m off on admin leave for the next two days. So I was in the mood to really go at it, and kudos to The Breaker. He made me work hard, and I know I gave him more of a run than he was expecting from a woman, if his insults were anything to go by.” She picked up Alika’s limp hand, brought it to her cheek.
“Feel this. Got a nice contusion here on the cheekbone, and on my eye. Looks worse than yours right now.”
His hand felt clammy and limp. It made her sad to press it against her own wounded face. She set it down among the bedclothes, still holding it.
“Anyway, I haven’t been here to visit because I’m worried about my ex, Assan. He used to make threats when I was with him, tell me what he’d do to anyone I ever tried to be with. It was five years ago, and I’d put it all behind me because after we divorced I never heard anything from him. But I never gave him cause to act on any of his jealous threats until…until you.” She hung her head, still holding his hand. “I can’t take the chance that he had something to do with your attack. We’re going after his business and I feel confident we’re going to shut it down in the States, but I don’t know how to get him locked up. From so far away, I don’t know how to get him put away where he can’t hurt anyone. And until I do, I don’t want to take a chance of adding to whatever’s going on with you. I hope you understand.”
She gazed over at Alika. No change in his face. His chest rose and fell like a metronome. He seemed peaceful, at least.
She felt the prickle of tears and used a bit of sheet to dab them away, careful of her blackened eye. “Well, this is harder than I imagined. I brought you flowers. You’d probably hate them, but here they are.” She set the wrapped bouquet on the blanket in front of him. “I should get going. I have to put some ice on these bruises before they get really bad. And get on with finding Assan again, my admin leave project. Then, maybe someday we can be together.” She picked up his hand, kissed the battered knuckles, and set it down.
She went to the door, pushed down the handle, and glanced out into the hall.