by Toby Neal
“So criminal is a good word if you suspect this vigilante or saboteur is capable of murder.”
“Oh, certainly capable. If you count all the bodies he’s incited to kill each other, it’s quite a mountain. But as far as I’ve been able to tell, he’s never actually killed anyone himself.”
“So, you don’t think it’s murder. What he does.”
Sophie squirmed on the bench. She felt a chill breeze waft over her. “Not exactly, no. It’s not always killing, either. Sometimes the perpetrators turn each other in. It’s a kind of justice.”
A long-distance crackle as Sophie waited.
“Sounds like rationalization to me,” Dr. Wilson said.
“Anyway.” Sophie didn’t want to discuss that further. “The only other thing I feel kind of at a loose end about is the little girl, Anna Addams.” She filled Dr. Wilson in on the kidnapping operation, and the lack of answers. “I’ve been wanting to visit her, return the rabbit she gave me.”
“That’s a great thing to do,” Dr. Wilson said. “She probably needs to see you as much as you need to see her.”
“Okay, I’ll visit her.” Sophie said. “And I have a couple of other places to stop by, too.” She ended the call. She needed to get home and look under the Takeda Industries shell corporation, and she wanted to get into that mysterious apartment in the Pendragon Arches building, 9C. No one seemed to know who lived there or what it was used for. Could that be Sheldon’s hideout? And she wanted to swing by Lee Chan’s apartment. It was worth one last try to find him, warn him.
That reminded her to check her messages.
The Ghost had responded to her email. Her heart hammered as she clicked on the message box.
“I am working on a plan to get the target out. Do you want me to get rid of Assan, too?”
Sophie blinked. That casually, the Ghost was asking if she wanted to participate in murder. She clicked Reply.
“Let me know if there is any information I can give to assist in her escape. I know, for instance, that Assan pays the building staff to report his wife’s activities to him. He also has a locked safe room where she may be held prisoner. You probably have one chance to get her out.” Sweat beaded on Sophie’s forehead and under her arms as she remembered the ways Assan had punished her own early attempts to flee. “But leave Assan alone. He’s mine to deal with.”
She pressed Send.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Sophie rested a hand on the glossy brass rail inside the rosewood-lined elevator of the Pendragon Arches building as it rose. She had a funny feeling in her gut, the kind of tingling that told her something was close to breaking on a case. After an hour of digging under the Takeda Industries shell corporation, she’d finally unearthed a physical address—and it was 9C Pendragon Arches, the suite she’d already been planning to visit.
What did it mean? There was no way to tell until she saw inside.
The doors whisked open and Sophie stepped out into a long, expensively carpeted hallway. The lighting was subdued with ceiling spots highlighting art prints on the walls. She looked for the direction of the alphabet, and walked down to where a pair of heavy brass urns flanked the glossy black door of 9C.
The building’s doorman had let her go up after she’d shown her ID. “Not official business, just interviewing one of your residents for a background check,” she’d said, and it had been enough.
Sophie found herself tight with nerves, wishing she’d at least called Ken Yamada to let him know what she was doing, but he was busy with the stakeout of the kidnapping apartment building, anyway. She smoothed her black pants and straightened the plain white button-down she wore, with her spare weapon and a gray linen jacket over it.
Glancing around, she spotted the shiny recessed dome of a mirrored security camera.
Her visit was not going to go unnoticed.
“Blighted offspring of a split-tongued serpent,” she muttered, and pushed the doorbell.
No one answered.
She pushed it again.
Still nothing.
“Cursed twin typhoon devils.” She hadn’t packed her lock picks.
It was severely anticlimactic to go back down on the elevator. At the help desk, she asked for the building manager. She was led to his tiny office, identified herself again, and then inquired as to the inhabitants of 9C.
“I’m investigating on behalf of Security Solutions, who leases that apartment. There’s been some confusion and changes in the company, and they’ve lost track of which employee is actually living there.”
“Interesting that they had to send an FBI agent to find out who’s in their apartment,” the rotund building manager said, squinting skeptically at her. “Especially since they’re a security company.”
“It’s part of a bigger investigation. Confidential.” Sophie held her neutral expression. She wished she had some of the quick glibness that Ken and Marcella demonstrated in the field.
“Well, okay.” The manager activated his computer console and tapped a few buttons. “I can’t let you in without their permission or a warrant, though. Residents are listed as the upper management team of Security Solutions: Frank Honing, Lee Chan, Todd Remarkian and Sheldon Hamilton. I don’t think any of them live there. It’s a job perk kind of thing. They use it here and there when they want to.”
“Thank you.” Sophie considered leaving a message for Todd Remarkian, who must be returning from Hong Kong soon. But no, it might be better not to. “Do you happen to keep any video footage of the hallway?”
“We do.”
“Well, I’d like to review that, if you wouldn’t mind.” She deployed her smile. “It would save a lot of time and back and forth with other agents if you’re just able to give me a copy of the hallway surveillance footage.”
She was able to get him to make a copy of last week’s footage on a quickly burned CD. Back in the Lexus, Sophie cued up the CD on her laptop, curious to see who, if anyone, was using the place.
The first sign she saw of anyone approaching the door happened several days prior. A messenger service dropped off a package, sliding it through the elegant little slot at the bottom of the door.
She froze the image and zoomed in on the package.
It wasn’t large, just a white cardboard envelope. There was no name on it, just the address.
She fast-forwarded, but frowned and paused the video as a man appeared within the hour of dropoff. The man in the video wore a white belted robe and a baseball cap. He kept his face angled away from the camera, obviously well aware it was there, and unlocked the apartment door. He retrieved the package, relocked it, and walked away.
The man could not be Todd Remarkian, who was in Hong Kong at the time. She checked the datebook feature on her phone. The time and date stamped on the recording was the day she’d started streaming data from the Security Solutions transmitter she’d planted in their building.
The robe the man wore at first looked like a bathrobe. Could this be some other resident in the building? Perhaps someone authorized by Todd to pick up mail? She froze the image of the man, door open, reaching inside to pick up the package.
Sophie took hasty notes in a text box on the side of the screen as she tried to gather every detail she could.
She blew up the still photo from the video and studied it. All she could see was a hard jawline in the shadow of the ball cap. Skin was consistent with Caucasian ancestry. Hair was hidden by the cap but appeared to be a medium shade in the black and white video, either dark blond or light brown, and short. Height was around six feet. Build, athletic.
The man was wearing white pajama-style pants that matched the robe and simple rubber slippers, common Hawaii wear. She blew up the image more. The weave of the robe was the rough cotton of a martial arts gi, and what had at first appeared a bathrobe tie was, in fact, a black fabric belt tied martial arts style. While not the dishabille at first indicated in the video, the outfit was not the kind of thing people wore walking around on the
street.
This unsub did martial arts, lived somewhere in the building, had a key to the apartment and was authorized to pick up mail. She was quite possibly looking at the man who called himself the Ghost.
It couldn’t be Todd Remarkian or Sheldon Hamilton. They’d been in Hong Kong at the time date-stamped on the video. But this person could be whoever had tracked her computer’s location, because as she traced back her own movements, she realized that package could contain the transmitter from Security Solutions that had resulted in her breach.
She had one more apartment to visit before the day was over. She couldn’t shake a sense of urgency about finding Lee Chan.
Sophie got into the Lexus after dropping off Ginger at the apartment. The Bluetooth in her ear toned, and she checked her phone—it was Marcus Kamuela.
“Hello, Marcus. Got some news about Alika’s case?”
“That’s why I’m calling. He got discharged from the hospital this morning and his parents took him back to Kaua`i for his own protection and his recovery. He seemed fine with going.”
“Oh.” Sophie’s hand had been on the key to turn on the Lexus. Now it fell limply into her lap. Getting hit by a truck must feel like this. She leaned her forehead on the steering wheel and shut her eyes, suddenly feeling the effects of the bout with The Breaker. “I’m sure that’s best, especially when he’s got so much rehab ahead.”
“Well,” Marcus cleared his throat. “I didn’t want you to try to go visit or something and find out that way. And more good news on that front. We’ve closed our investigation into Alika’s business. He’s clear.”
“Great,” Sophie made herself sit up and put some enthusiasm in her voice. “I always knew he was clean.”
“Can’t say the same for your ex. Marcella told me she filled you in yesterday on how things were progressing against him. We shut down everything he has in the States and put in a case on him with Interpol, but chances of extradition seem slim to none.”
“I expected as much.”
“That’s why it’s interesting that Interpol let us know that his new wife has come forward as a witness to the drug trafficking. She is pressing charges against him with the Hong Kong police for domestic violence, too.”
“What?” Sophie sat back so hard that she hit the headrest. “What did you say?”
“She got out. And she’s trying to take him down.”
Relief felt like joy. “I can’t believe it. How’d she do it?”
“More like a commando team did it. Full frontal break-in to Ang’s apartment in Hong Kong, and extraction under guard. A crack team of mercenaries for hire pulled it off. They dropped her off at the police station and disappeared.”
“Security Solutions has commandos,” Sophie said.
“I guess it’s possible it was them. The Interpol guy didn’t have any more information than that they’d rescued her, she was safe, and she was prepared to press charges on Assan Ang.”
“Good. I hope they’re providing protection.”
“Her family’s doing that. They have plenty of money. Anyway, I just thought you’d want to know,” Marcus said.
“Thanks for the news. I really appreciate knowing this. I’ll follow up and see if there’s anything I can do to assist. What’s the contact information for Ang’s Interpol case?”
He gave it to her.
“Thanks again for calling. You do good work.” The words felt stilted but she knew from the warmth that came into his tone that he appreciated them.
“Takes one to know one,” he said. “You do some nice work yourself.”
“Takes one to know one,” she murmured, unsure of the phrase. Marcus took her repetition as acknowledgement.
“Well, I’m sure I’ll see you soon.”
“Indeed you will.” She hung up, touching the Bluetooth at her ear.
The Ghost had fulfilled the favor she’d asked. And now she owed him.
It was worth it.
She turned the Lexus’s key with a definite movement and punched on the air conditioning, pulled out her laptop and opened it up, finding her email.
She checked to see if the Ghost had replied to her earlier note.
He had.
“Mission accomplished. Sorry you didn’t think it was a good time for Assan to go to hell where he belongs, but I bow to the greater debt he owes you. Until next time. ~ the Ghost.”
Sophie typed rapidly.
“Thanks for what you did for that young woman. She deserves to have a life. But just because I owe you doesn’t mean I’m going to let you go. I’m going to find you. Count on it.”
Prick his vanity. Provoke him, and lure him into the open.
Sophie put the vehicle in gear. She needed to talk to Lee Chan.
In the surveillance video, Sophie Ang glanced up and down the hall, her tawny golden-brown skin reduced to a medium gray, the white of her shirt crisp in the grainy tones of the recording. For one long second her unforgettable face, still distorted with bruising, gazed directly at the camera.
She rang the bell. Muttered something. Rang the bell. Muttered again. Looked up and down the hall, annoyance clear in her body language. Finally, she walked back to the elevator.
The Ghost amplified the audio feature. Played her muttered comments. They sounded like something in a foreign language. He frowned, clipped the section out of the audio and fed it into a translation program.
Sophie’s inventive swearing in Thai played back to him in the tinny, perfectly flat, automated voice of the translator. He tipped his head back and laughed, feeling the release of genuine humor.
“My God, this woman,” he said aloud to Anubis. “Just when I think I’m getting to know what she’s about, she surprises me again.”
That moment of humor gave him the energy to launch into the preparations for what he needed to do next. It was time for his final play.
“Check, and mate.” He got up and left his workstation.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
The familiar beige hallway outside Lee Chan’s apartment was deserted. Her own team had not expended much effort to find the tech after he’d been cut loose the first time because his claims were so vague, and her search of his work and home computer had come up empty. That meant exactly nothing, because they’d never found a laptop. Lee probably kept everything worth anything close to him in one safe place.
This drop-by was probably a waste of time, but worth a try. People were creatures of habit and tended to return to the familiar. She glanced up and down the empty hall, her nose prickling with its slightly musty carpet smell. She didn’t see any security cams, and she’d brought her lock picks this time. First, she knocked on the dark brown door, feeling its peephole on her like an eye.
“Chan? Lee Chan?”
Nothing.
She knocked again. “Open up, Lee. This is the FBI.”
Still nothing. She rattled the handle with one hand while reaching into her pocket for the lock picks with the other—and the handle turned. The door drifted open before her.
Sophie’s scalp tingled. “Lee Chan?” she called into the darkened space.
She knew they’d locked the apartment after their earlier search. Without breaching the doorway, she pulled a pair of latex gloves out of her back pocket, snapped them on, and drew her backup weapon.
Using a finger, she reached over and flicked on the light.
The sterile little apartment was as bare and tidy as she remembered, but she thought she could smell something metallic, foreign. She could see into the spotless kitchenette from the doorway, and it was as shiny and empty as before.
There was only a bedroom and bathroom to check. Suddenly impatient with herself and this case of nerves, she strode into the room and over to the bedroom, turning the handle and throwing it wide forcefully. The door flew inward and bumped the wall.
Nothing. The pristine twin bed, made as tightly as any recruit’s in boot camp, seemed to mock her. It was exactly as before. Lee Chan was long gone, pro
bably with a fake passport.
The bathroom door was closed, too. She opened it, pushing it forward. The light was off, and she flicked the switch beside the door.
A horrific visual hit her, and a blur of movement. A blow hammered down on her extended weapon hand. Sophie cried out, the Glock dropping from her nerveless fingers, as a blade flashed toward her. She flung herself back, reflexes barely saving her, as a gloved hand, holding an open straight razor, slashed where she’d just been.
Sophie stumbled backward from the doorway, hitting the coffee table with the back of her legs as the assailant launched out of the bathroom after her. His free hand shot out and grabbed her by the throat, his momentum bearing her back, the coffee table levering into the back of her knees. She sprawled backward over it, borne down by the attacker’s weight landing on her.
Stars spun in her vision, obscuring the man’s face as she tried to break his hold with her good hand, writhing beneath him. He’d landed on top of her, sour breath inches from her face, his fingers squeezing her throat. The razor sliced down toward her, and she squeezed her eyes shut.
“Sophie.” He breathed her name in the voice of nightmare. He didn’t cut her.
She opened her eyes. She was looking into Assan Ang’s face, congested with rage and adrenaline, his panting breaths burning her skin, his bloodshot eyes inches from hers.
His hand tightened and her breath shut off. His weight on her body and his practiced grasp on her throat were as effective as ever. A slow grin twisted his full lips.
“My Sophie.” The razor caressed her cheek. “I didn’t dare hope it would be you coming after me. This is just too good.”