Sound of a Furious Sky: FBI Agent Domini Walker Book 1

by HN Wake

  “She was quiet.”

  “What did she want?”

  “She wanted to know why we targeted her parents. She wanted to know why we were protesting them, why we threw the blood on her mother.”

  Dom’s nerves fired and her skin hummed. “The Eskimo curlew,” she said it as a statement, not a question.

  His brow furrowed.

  “The Eskimo curlew in Honduras. Hettie spotted one and was going to shut down a mining site.”

  “What?” Shaking his head, he said, “No. That’s not what we discussed with Hettie Van Buren.”

  Wait. What? Confusion braked Dom’s thoughts. “This isn’t about the Eskimo curlew in Honduras?”

  “No. It’s about Honduras, but not the Eskimo curlew. It’s a long story, so let me start at the beginning.” He settled against the chair. “Five years ago, Rittenhouse Equity bought into a Honduran mining company named Phalanx. With the investment they were able to develop a new silver mine near a small village named Rapoosa—”

  “Yes, we know that. Hettie found an Eskimo curlew in Rapoosa—" Dom’s mind was stuttering.

  “No, Special Agent. That is what I am telling you. This has nothing to do with a bird.”

  This had nothing to do with Eskimo curlews? Dom leaned back in her chair.

  “The villagers of Rapoosa did not want Phalanx mining near their homes. They had seen and heard about the environmental damage of other mines. They did not want the site. So they protested. They went to the capital city and marched outside Phalanx’s office. They put up roadblocks on the dirt road leading to the planned site. But it didn’t matter. The local law enforcement and government were on Phalanx’s side.” He clasped his hands in his lap and his face fell. “This is where the story turns tragic. Five years ago, on November eighth, the night before the ground-breaking at the site was to commence, Phalanx sent thugs to clear out the village. All the villagers were evicted and their houses were burned to the ground. Special Agent, there are very credible allegations of serious human rights abuses that occurred that night. By morning, the village of Rapoosa had been leveled and the construction of the mine began.”

  What George Gao was telling her was an entirely new story that didn’t yet add up. How did this relate to Hettie? Dom stumbled to put the new jigsaw pieces into place.

  “What we don’t know is if Rittenhouse Equity knew about the events on November eighth or about the abuses. To be clear, mining is a very dirty industry. What happens in far flung, under-developed countries with limited or corrupted law enforcement can be horrendous.”

  “Why did you protest them at the gala four months ago?”

  He raised his eyebrows. “Well, clearly, Claude Van Buren attending an event at a natural history museum is overwhelming in its hypocrisy.” He unclasped his hands. “But we wanted to send him a message.”

  “What was that?”

  “We wanted to let Claude Van Buren know that we were on to him, that we suspected Rittenhouse knew about the abuses in Rapoosa.”

  “And that message was heard by Hettie. She came here to figure out why CAN protested her parents?”

  “Yes, she did. I told her the truth. I told her that didn’t know if Rittenhouse knew. We don’t know if her father knew what happened at Rapoosa. We assume he knew but we don’t know for sure.”

  Oh lord. Hettie and Micah went to Rapoosa three weeks ago to dig up dirt on Claude. They went to investigate how much Claude knew about the abuses. “Did you know that Hettie went to Rapoosa three weeks ago?”

  He nodded sadly.

  “It’s not only Hettie missing. Her boyfriend traveled with her to Rapoosa and he has been murdered.”

  George reared back. “What?”

  She nodded.

  “Jesus.” He cleared his throat. “What Rittenhouse Equity, what Claude Van Buren knew and when, matters now as part of a much bigger story …”

  Oh lord, this gets bigger?

  “A month after the events of November eighth, a huge Canadian mining conglomerate bought Phalanx for an astronomical price—”

  “Did they know about the abuses?”

  “Again, we don’t know what the Canadian firm knew. Many of the big mining conglomerates, mostly based in Canada, deal with these issues all the time.” He placed his hands on the table and hung his head. “Her missing, the boyfriend, it all makes sense.”

  Chills coursed through her veins. “Why?”

  “Because of the court case.”

  Dom’s heart pumped frozen slush. “What court case?”

  He spoke to the table top. “That Canadian mining conglomerate …”

  “Yes?”

  “That bought Phalanx?”

  “Yes.”

  “They are going on trial. For human rights abuses. To answer questions about how much they knew about the human rights abuses in Rapoosa. In Toronto. On Monday.”

  Slush froze to ice. She leaned in. “Will this trial examine what Rittenhouse knew?”

  “Yes.”

  “Was Hettie going to testify?”

  “It is a closely guarded secret, but yes, Hettie is going to testify.”

  From across the table, George seemed very far, as if, in the last millisecond, her perspective had changed completely, and the blurry missing pieces of the jigsaw puzzle sharpened into focus as they drifted into view. The crimes weren’t committed to save $76 million a year. The threat was much larger than that. This was now a threat to mining conglomerate. “If Claude Van Buren knew about the abuses, it would be very damaging to Rittenhouse and this Canadian behemoth?”

  George nodded.

  “Both their reputations could be devastated. At a bare minimum it could destroy Rittenhouse?”

  He continued to nod.

  Instead of killing Hettie, as they had done Micah, Rittenhouse Equity had kidnapped her to prevent her from testifying. “If Hettie had proof that her father knew about the abuses, she could present this at trial?”

  He nodded.

  From the earlier meeting in the apartment overlooking Central Park, Yvette’s strange words repeated themselves, “Reputation is important in this town, Agent. It’s everything.” Hettie and Micah had proof that could bring down Rittenhouse Equity. “If Claude knew about the abuses, this could put Rittenhouse Equity out of business. It would destroy his firm and his reputation.”

  The corners of George’s lips turned up in an ironic smile. “Indeed. It’s what we’re hoping.”

  With an enormous crashing sound, the surface of the frozen lake broke and a million icebergs ricocheted apart.

  THURSDAY NIGHT

  Then the thunder burst a second time and a violent but invisible blow blasted two of the biggest feathers from one of his extended wings. The impact twisted him completely over in midair and he thudded into the earth at the female’s side. Terrified and bewildered at a foe that could strike without visible form.

  —Fred Bodsworth, “Last of the Curlews”

  43

  30,000 feet over South Carolina

  Before the plane left Honduras, while they were still on the runway, the pilot had spoken in Spanish through a tinny intercom. She thought he had explained the rituals of preparation for flight, but she wasn’t sure because he spoke very quickly and her Spanish as not good since she had left school when she was ten years old to help her aging parents. Then the pilot had spoken in English and she became very nervous. Was she missing key information about the flight. About how to prepare? She glanced left, but the older gentleman had closed his eyes. On her right, the teen boy with spiked hair stared absently out the window at the runway’s lights. No one appeared nervous. A woman in a uniform was making her way down the center aisle checking people’s seat belts with a smile. The smile made Maria feel a bit better.

  That was two hours ago. Now the stiff seat between the two men felt confining. She couldn’t move her arms. She hadn’t been confined in years and she wanted to get up and run down the aisle. Was no one else in this flying aluminum ca
n, pried into these uncomfortable, narrow seats quietly suffering like a goat with a tether wound tightly around an ankle? The cold wormed through the woven threads of the big sweater and ate at her skin. She had not imagined the blue sky that housed the beaming sun would be so cold.

  One aisle forward a mother tried to soothe a fussy infant. The baby was small, only a few weeks old, with dazed eyes trying to focus on the lights in the ceiling and a tender cry. The baby was not as small as Ines was at that age. The midwife had warned her that Ines may not survive she was so little, that such tiny lungs may not be capable of filling the blood with oxygen. Old village grandmothers that came to visit had warned about holding baby Ines’ head, don’t let it roll or it may break the neck. She had been so sure that Ines’ round head would tumble and break her thin neck before the lungs had time to grow that for weeks she had been filled with fear to pick up her daughter. But every day tiny Ines had sucked the milk greedily, had burped with a sigh, had fisted long hair in a tiny hand, and had transferred strength to her mother, building a fierce mother wolf. It was not the only thing that had taught her strength.

  It occurred to her that having survived Tegucigalpa, she had now also conquered a big city. She had stared down it’s belching cars, thunderous market places, teeming sidewalks, and superior, well-dressed dwellers. It no longer felt as threatening as before. Funny how that worked. When the unknown becomes known, it is no longer a threat.

  Maybe she should take Ines to the city. Let it be known and understood. She did not want her daughter to be afraid.

  Funny what you realize while freezing in a flying can.

  44

  “Hettie discovered information”— Dom gasped, leaning on her knees to catch her breath, —“that could bring down Rittenhouse Equity.”

  Rain drops slapped against the windows of Fontaine’s office. Light from streetlights flickered against quivering rivulets. Behind his desk, Fontaine’s hard eyes were inscrutable.

  Ten minutes earlier, Dom had sprinted out of the CAN office, gunned the Lancia through traffic, squealed into an illegal spot by the security post, and raced through the halls of the Javitz building.

  “The information”— she panted—“that Hettie discovered will destroy Claude Van Buren’s reputation. It will destroy Rittenhouse Equity’s reputation. They will go out of business.”

  Fontaine steepled fingers against his lips with impenetrable thoughtfulness.

  Hettie, I’m coming. I’m so close now. “Five years ago, a Honduran mining company cleared a village for a new mine. Rittenhouse was an investor. The company evicted the residents, burned the homes to the ground, and physically abused the villagers. Later, Rittenhouse sold their shares of the mining company to a Canadian conglomerate. Now the Canadian conglomerate is on trial for the crimes.” She stood and placed hands on her head to open her chest. “We think Hettie confirmed Claude knew of the crimes.”

  He stared at her.

  She dropped her arms. “It’s all about the trial. It starts on Monday. They killed Micah and stole Hettie to prevent their testimony.”

  “How confident are you?”

  Hettie, I’m coming. No matter what, I’m coming. “Very. Everything fits together. Hettie and Micah went to Honduras. They found out about the crimes. Hettie threatened Claude and Rittenhouse. It pushed them over the edge.”

  “Them?” He held up a finger, his eyes locking in on her face. “Do you know who orchestrated the crimes?”

  She shook her head. “Not yet, I don’t.”

  “Do you have admissible evidence linking Rittenhouse directly to the crimes?”

  “Not yet. No. But all the clues are adding up.”

  He squinted. “What is the status of the investigation?”

  “I’ve made the offer of a deal to all four. One of them will break. Tonight.”

  It was a moment of truth. Would Fontaine bow to political pressure and pull her off the case? The monsters don’t get to keep you, Hettie. She would continue the search no matter what Fontaine or the Bureau instructed. Fidelity, bravery, and integrity.

  He turned to the window and watched the rain.

  “Sir, one of them will break. I’ll get her back. I’ll get Hettie back.”

  His nod was sharp and definitive. “Okay, agreed. We wait for one of them to break. You get her back. Make sure you have something admissible for court.”

  I’m coming, Hettie! She bounded from the room.

  As Dom rushed across the cubicle floor, Lea shook her head.

  Dom slowed as she reached the desk. “Nothing? None of them have made any calls?” She was sure the Rittenhouse principals would have broken while she was in with George Gao at CAN and Fontaine upstairs.

  “Nothing,” Lea said softly. “None of them have used their cell phones since this morning. Even fools are thought wise if they keep silent. Proverbs.”

  “You’re watching them?”

  Lea pointed to the left screen. “Fuck, yes, I am!”

  “Okay, now it’s a waiting game.” Dom settled into the seat. It was instant relief on her throbbing toes. In the photo taped to the computer screen, Hettie’s smile was full of happiness, confidence, and love. “Damn it. I thought at least one of them would have panicked by now. They should at least be lawyers.”

  “Maybe they need more time?”

  Dom pressed her palms into aching eyes. “Still. Now we know that at least one of them is guilty as sin.

  “I found an article that confirms CAN’s story about the trial.”

  Dom squinted at the screen and the article in Canada Today with the title, Orion Extractives Faces The Music. Lea had highlighted the last paragraph.

  “The defendants will argue that the Canadian company, Orion Extractives, has a responsibility for environmental and human rights abuses perpetrated by foreign subsidiaries. The trial will attempt to uncover who knew what and when. The defendants will argue that those who knew about these crimes are responsible under Canadian—not Honduran—law. For perhaps the first time in the tragic history of the world’s mining sector, someone will be held accountable. Orion Extractives is an enormous corporate entity with annual revenues of $41 billion. The trial is expected to be explosive.”

  Dom shook her head. “So much sloshing money, so much motive.”

  “Your riches are corrupted,” Lea intoned, “and your garments are moth eaten. James. So what do you think Hettie and Micah found? What evidence?”

  “It has to do with her father knowing about the crimes in the village. It’s got to be.” Dom cracked her neck.

  “Who is this museum chick that called you?”

  “Her name is Mila Pascale. She knows Hettie from work. An odd little duck. A research intern at the museum. She made the connection to CAN. She found a video from a gala three months ago. It’s what provoked this whole thing. I haven’t seen it yet. Have you watched it?”

  “Not yet. I’ve just pulled it up.” Lea clicked the video open.

  They both watched as snowflakes swirled in a light breeze against the backdrop of a muted sunset. Along Central Park West, a line of thirty cars dropped off guests. Women in long coats and gowns laughed with men in tuxedos as they proceeded up the grand stairs carpeted in red. Bright spotlights blinked on, illuminating the festivities as the sky darkened.

  In the lower right corner of the screen three individuals appeared. Dom whispered, “The CAN protestors.”

  Blinking coronas of light hovered around streetlights in the distance. The three were dressed in dark colors and walking slowly but determinedly toward the stairs. They positioned themselves in the shadows by the base of the stairs. Cars thinned against the blackness of the night. A snowflake settled on the camera lens and a gloved finger wiped it off. Throughout, the three dark figures stood like statues in the shadows. Eventually there were no more cars. But the figures remained.

  A dark Mercedes appeared at the end of the block, pulled slowly to the curb, and a valet ran to open the driver side door. Claude emerged
. Dom straightened.

  Claude walked around the sedan and collected his wife dressed in a long fur coat against the cold.

  As the Van Burens reached the shadows, a protestor stepped forward with a downward slice of an arm. Liquid splattered across Yvette’s fur coat. Claude, oblivious, strolled toward the steps. Yvette paused and turned toward the shadows.

  Dom whispered, “Pause that.”

  Lea clicked the mouse.

  “Rewind and play in slow.”

  On the screen, the movements crawled. The protestor’s arm swung in slow motion. A wavering dark clump sailed through the air. Yvette jerked as she felt the liquid hit her coat. Startled, Yvette turned toward the shadows, peering into the dark. She said something before she took a step toward the shadows.

  “Stop,” Dom whispered. “Rewind.”

  The wavering liquid splattered across Yvette’s fur coat. She turned toward the shadows. She peered into the darkness. She said something. She took a step off the red carpet toward the darkness. Yvette had taken a step toward unknown assailants hidden in shadows.

  Dom bolted from the chair as adrenaline punched against the dull, thick thinking of exhaustion.

  Yvette had stepped toward dark shadows where an unknown assailant had thrown something at her.

  Intuition whispered into the fog of Dom’s fatigue. She walked slowly to the dark window. Rain hit the glass with a spat-spat-spat. From deep inside her eardrum, a faint hiss emerged. The gears in Dom’s mind nudged into motion. Yvette had stepped toward an assailant. The hiss grew louder. Yvette’s fearlessness was out of character, the audacity in the video did not correspond to the emotionally broken woman from earlier today.

  Dom’s eyes ricocheted across the room noticing the indentations in the white painted bricks as craters on a moon, the dried drips of paint as tears trapped in time. Mothers were capable of many things. What had Yvette said? Reputation is important in this town, Agent. It’s everything. What had she said next? It keeps your friends close and your enemies at bay. It keeps the family moving into the future. It ensures progress.