The Lost Sister (Blake Wilder FBI Mystery Thriller Book 7)

by Elle Gray

  “We’re going to need to get some of that food down there,” Astra tells me. “I’m starving and the smell of the food is distracting me.”

  I laugh softly. “That makes two of us,” I reply. “I’m going to go put in an order. Anything specific you want?”

  “Surprise me.”

  “You got it.”

  I walk out of the office and down the staircase just outside the door. Fish wasn’t kidding when he said this place was private. The staircase is the only way in or out of the office. There’s a steel security door at the bottom that’s only accessible with the electronic passkey. I close the door behind me and walk down the short corridor that ends in another electronic steel door. And beyond that door is the manager’s office in the back of the restaurant—the door itself is camouflaged to look like part of the wall. You’d have to really look for it, or otherwise know it’s there to see it.

  The woman sitting at the desk looks up and gives me a nod as I come through the door, then turns back to the books in front of her. It looks like she’s doing inventory or something. Fish must have given her instructions to pretend we aren’t really here. And I’m that sure went along with instructions to not tell anybody else we’re here either. Fish is always looking out for me.

  I go to the front counter and grab a menu. I take a few minutes and place my order with the hostess, then sit down in one of the chairs in the lobby to wait. The restaurant is three-quarters full, and the buzz of laughter and conversation is thick in the air. The walls are covered with red paneling adorned with gold embellishes. There are pictures from China—rural villages, mountains, and endless agricultural fields. Paper lanterns hang from the ceiling and tall bamboo plants in pots sit in the corners. It’s a really nice place.

  A few minutes later, the hostess comes back with a box that has our food as well as some plates and utensils. I give her a smile and hand her my debit card. She tries to wave me off.

  “No, it’s all right. Fish says it’s on the house. Whatever you need,” she says.

  “I appreciate that but he’s doing more than enough,” I reply. The least I can do is pay for our meals. Please.”

  She finally relents and runs my card. I sign for it and leave a generous tip, then head back to our secret hideaway.

  “My God that smells good,” Astra says as I come through the door.

  “You’re lucky I didn’t devour it all on my way up.”

  “Girl, you would have found yourself beaten bloody if you did not feed me.”

  We share a laugh as I set the bag down on the table and we both immediately start pulling boxes out. Neither of us speaks as we gorge ourselves on the food sitting in front of us. The food is every bit as good as it smells. I feel like I could go on eating forever—it’s that good. Eventually though, we both run out of room in our bellies and are forced to give up the ghost. There’s no way we’re going to be able to force another bite down our throats.

  I push my plate back. “That was incredible.”

  “Remind me to thank Fish for all of this,” Astra says.

  “We’ll have to get him a fruit basket or something.”

  “I was thinking about this shiny metallic electric blue suit I saw online,” Astra cracks.

  I laugh softly. “That’s awful.”

  “As awful as his suits,” she says.

  “You just wish you had half the confidence it takes to wear one of those.”

  Astra grins. “That is—accurate.”

  We share a laugh as I clean everything up and stack it all into the box. I’ll need to take it down to the kitchen later. Right now, I just want to get started. After finding Graham’s name on Mo’s list, I’ve been fired up about this. I’ve been feeling like we’re getting somewhere. Or at least, we’re starting to.

  I walk over to the side of the partner desk she set up for me and drop down into the large, comfortable office chair. I fire up the computer and log in, then run a search on Senator Graham. I don’t know what I’m looking for exactly, but I’m hoping it will jump out at me.

  “Mo is running with the Crane case,” Astra says. “She’s looking into Crane’s online purchasing history. Thinks she has a line on some meds she might have bought.”

  “Good. That’s good. Thanks for handling that,” I say. “Oh hey, did you ask Rick to look into that thing I asked about?”

  Astra nods as she takes a seat next to me. “I did. He said he’s on it,” she replies. “Said nothing is ever truly lost that can’t be found.”

  “Yeah, that sounds like him.”

  “He really goes out of his way to sound like he’s profound,” she says.

  “You like him. Just admit it.”

  Astra chuckles. “Maybe a little bit,” she relents. “But if you ever tell him that I will knock you out cold.”

  “Good luck with that,” I say.

  She laughs as she turns to her computer and pauses. “So, what are we looking for exactly here?” she asks.

  “I’m doing a deep dive on the names on the lists—concentrating on the first hundred and fifty,” I explain. “We need to find something we can use to include or exclude them from the list of possible members of the Thirteen.”

  “And what’s the criteria we’re using?” she asks. “What gets somebody on the inclusion or exclusion list?”

  I sigh and shake my head. “I’m still trying to figure that out,” I admit. “I will say though, right now, I’m almost positive that Senator Daniel Graham is part of the group. He delivered a warning to me when I was in DC. It was subtle and veiled, but he was definitely warning me to back off this.”

  “Well, that sounds fun,” she mutters. “I’m shocked you didn’t end up in jail for assaulting a Senator. You must be getting soft in your old age.”

  “Yeah well, I know how to control myself when something as important as our team is on the line,” I say. “I step out of line or give them a reason, and they are going to fire me and blow up the CDAU. That’s what dragging me into the hearing was about—putting me on notice.”

  I haven’t had a chance to sit down with Astra since I got back from DC, so she doesn’t know about my conversation with the good Senator. I take a few minutes to fill her in. She listens to it all and nods along, an expression of annoyance crossing her face.

  “Kathryn Hedlund is just the gift that keeps on giving,” she remarks sardonically.

  “Right?”

  “So, how are you going to dirty her up?”

  “Not sure yet,” I admit. “Not sure I even want to play that game. But I have to figure something out or Graham is going to shut us down.”

  “I see why you hate politics.”

  “I think our best option at the moment is to prove Graham is part of the Thirteen,” I say. “So, we start with a deep dive on him, turn up the names of his closest associates. I’ve got a feeling he’s only going to really pal around with others in that rarified air.”

  “Yeah, that’s probably right. Snakes tend to congregate with other snakes,” she nods. “So, do you think Graham is the leader of the pack?”

  I shake my head. “I don’t think so. I don’t see him being the leadership type,” I say. “Not of a group like this.”

  “And what’s the profile for a group like this?”

  “The profile is very similar to a cult leader—and the Thirteen does almost operate as a cult. But for a group like this, one that operates in the shadows, the leader is going to be strong and charismatic, yes. Powerful. But he’s not going to be out in the open about it,” I say. “To function, a group like the Thirteen will rely on secrets and shadows. The inner workings are only known to its members. In that way, the group takes on the personality of its leader. In this case, the leader will be reclusive. Secretive. He’s going to be somebody who not only doesn’t seek out the limelight, he actively runs from it. Somebody who prefers pulling the strings without being seen. He’s the Wizard of Oz—the man behind the curtain. And that is most definitely not Daniel Graham.”<
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  Astra laughs. “No, that man is a peacock. An absolute preener,” she says. “There is not a camera that man doesn’t immediately run toward.”

  “So, while he may be part of the group, he is not the leader.”

  Astra rifles through the pages in the file in front of her like something just occurred to her. She pulls a page out and looks at me, holding it up.

  “How does Willem Mangold hit you?” she posits. “He seems to fit that profile you just gave.”

  “Willem Mangold,” I say to myself.

  The name rings a bell, but I can’t place it right off. And then it hits me.

  “The tech guy?” I ask. “What’s his company again? Platinum Precision Tech, right?”

  She nods. “One and the same,” she says. “Founded one of the country’s largest tech companies with a specific emphasis on military-grade technology—rocket guidance systems, unmanned drones with missile strike capabilities, driverless tanks. Things like that.”

  “That sounds pleasant.”

  “Oh, he’s also beginning to focus on consumer applications for his tech,” she adds. “Trying to make life easier for the little woman at home raising the kids.”

  “That is so very kind of him,” I roll my eyes. “Just what we need. A tank in every garage.”

  “Anyway, Mangold, despite being this tech giant, is reclusive. I don’t think he’s been seen in public for years,” she goes. “He operates his vast empire from his probably computer-operated home. But by all accounts, the man is charming. Charismatic. And borderline paranoid about his security. He’s a secretive squirrel according to some things I’ve read.”

  I nod as I take it all in. “He certainly sounds like he could be our guy. Potentially,” I say. “Let’s do a deep dive on him. I want to know everything there is to know about Willem Mangold. Specifically, I want to know if he’s tight with one Senator Daniel Graham. I want to know if there’s a link between them because if there is, it would most definitely snap some things into place.”

  “Good thinking,” she says. “So, let’s get to it.”

  “Absolutely,” I reply and wheel back to my computer.

  It’s a good place to start and as I key in Willem Mangold’s name and start digging up all the relevant information I can find, that almost weightless feeling of momentum in the pit of my belly takes hold. The rush of feeling the pieces of the puzzle coming together is second to nothing. I feel like we’re starting down the right path.

  We potentially have two of the key pieces in this conspiracy, and I’m hoping that once we start pulling on them, the entire thing will begin to unravel. I just need to keep Graham off my butt until we get to a point where he can’t touch me. It’s precarious right now. We’re balancing on a razor’s edge. We can’t afford one wrong move, or we might find ourselves out of a job real quick.

  Fifteen

  Kensho Tea House; Capitol Hill District, Downtown Seattle

  I was surprised when I got a call from Fish early that morning asking to meet. It was only a couple of days ago that I asked him to dig up what he could on Willem Mangold in addition to any link between Kit and the Thirteen. I didn’t expect that he’d get back to me so quickly. But the note of concern I heard in his voice over the phone has me feeling a little tense.

  Astra and I have been digging as deep as we can on this guy. But we haven’t been able to find much. The guy really is a hermit with little to no digital footprint. It’s unusual given the fact that he’s such a titan in the tech industry. But then, given that he’s so tech-savvy, I suppose it’s probably not that difficult for him to keep himself hidden away in cyberspace.

  Or maybe he’s just the sort of guy who doesn’t enjoy Tweeting every five minutes or doesn’t feel the need to post pictures of every meal he takes. Not everybody needs to be on social media like some people do these days. It says a lot about the state of our world when somebody who doesn’t feel the need to broadcast their life twenty-four/seven is seen as a freak or an oddball. I remember a time before we were living our lives out loud. A time before we were performing for everybody to see.

  The hostess, a short, dark-haired girl with delicate features and a beautiful smile, escorts me into a room in the back and sits me down at a table.

  “Mr. Zhao will be here shortly,” she says. “May I start you with something to drink? Perhaps a snack?”

  “No, I’m fine,” I say. “I’ll wait for Fish—Mr. Zhao.”

  She gives me a nod. “Very good.”

  She leaves the room and slides the paper door closed behind her. Soft instrumental music drifts from hidden speakers, filling the room with a peaceful atmosphere. The room itself is in need of some work. The walls could use a new coat of paint, the faux bamboo is a little frayed around the edges and could stand to be replaced, and the tables are a bit nicked and scarred. But there’s an undeniable charm to the place.

  I can see the potential of the teahouse idea and I think Fish is right. Once he gets this place refurbished and up and running, I think the hipsters in Capitol Hill will flock to it. He is right in saying the younger crowd, the hipsters like Rick, will go nuts for a place like this. They like new and different experiences. I think Fish’s teahouse could be just that sort of experience they’re looking for. I make a mental note to tell Rick about this place when I get back to the shop. He’ll love it.

  The door slides open behind me and I turn to see Fish stepping through. He whispers a few quiet words to the hostess, and she gives him a smile before departing. Fish slides the door closed and takes a seat across from me. He’s dressed down today in black jeans, boots, and a black turtleneck, reminding me of how Kit dresses when she goes out at night on her mysterious errands. What concerns me the most, though, is the expression on his face. He’s not his usual smiling self.

  “How are you, Fish?” I ask. “Everything all right?”

  “I suppose that would depend upon your definition of all right, Agent Wilder.”

  “Okay, you’re kind of freaking me out here.”

  “I apologize. That is not my intent. But there—”

  He bites his words off as the door to our room slides open again and the waitress steps in. She sets a tray down between us and pours us both a glass of tea, filling the room with its aroma. I inhale deeply and smile.

  “I smell raspberries,” I say.

  He nods but still doesn’t smile. “It’s raspberry infused with honey and blueberry, with a special blend of vitamins and antioxidants.”

  I laugh softly. “Oh yes. The hipsters are going to love this place.”

  “Once we get done with the remodel, I certainly hope so,” he says. “We’re going to put in a karaoke lounge and selfie wall as well, to appeal to Instagram and TikTok.”

  “Smart. You most definitely have your finger on the pulse of society,” I note.

  I pick up the cup and blow on it, trying to cool the tea before I take a sip. When the liquid hits my tongue, I wince. It’s still a little too hot, but the flavor is amazing. I’ve never been much of a tea person, but I could get used to it with exceptional flavors like this.

  “This flavor will provide you with an immunity boost as well as energy,” he says, and even though he’s glum, I can’t help but hear the note of pride in his voice.

  He takes a sip of his tea and sets his cup back down. His expression is inscrutable, but he’s just giving off an air of worry.

  “What’s going on, Fish? You’re not yourself,” I observe.

  “No, I suppose not,” he admits. “But that is because I am worried about you, my dear. I fear you’ve unwittingly kicked a hornet’s nest.”

  “How bad is it?”

  “I’ll tell you the good news. I dug as deep as I could but found no connection between your sister and the Thirteen,” he tells me. “Of course, I cannot guarantee that connection doesn’t exist—But if it does, I was not able to find it.”

  “If you weren’t able to find it, I’m confident it doesn’t exist.”
/>   “Be careful with your assumptions, Agent Wilder,” he says softly. “They could prove to be your undoing one day.”

  I think back to the assumptions I made about Kit in the beginning—that she’d been trafficked, specifically. I couldn’t have been more wrong about that, so yeah, he’s got a valid point. I do need to take care with my assumptions.

  “So, what’s the bad news, Fish?”

  His face grows even darker and he looks down into his teacup. He seems to be considering his words carefully. As if he’s unsure where to start. That’s unusual, because if there’s one thing I know about Fish, it’s that he is rarely ever at a loss for words. His confidence is overwhelming—his outrageous fashion sense can attest to that—and I’ve never known him to parse his words. Whatever he has to say is going to be heavy and I’m not going to like hearing it. I can just feel it.

  “There are two bits of bad news I must share with you,” he starts. “I’ll start with the less bad of the two.”

  “Save the super horrible news for the end. Smart.”

  A faint smile touches his lips but doesn’t reach his eyes. I suddenly feel my stomach churning. Fish is more reticent than I’ve ever seen him before, and it scares me.

  “I looked into Willem Mangold as you asked,” he says. “And he is far scarier than you even imagined. He is not a man you want to tangle with.”

  “How so?”

  “He craves power. Who lords it over the weaker,” he says.

  “That much I knew already.”

  “Did you know that he hired private contractors to eradicate an entire village in South America to make way for a factory he built down there?” he asks. “There is a mass grave just outside the campus of his factory.”

  I stare at him with wide eyes and my mouth hanging open. “Are you kidding me?”

  He shakes his head. “I wish I were, Blake,” he says softly. “Almost eight hundred indigenous people dead so he could build a factory to exploit cheap labor and incredibly lax regulatory laws.”

  “Eight hundred people,” I gasp.