Wired Secret

by Toby Neal

  “You need to stay far away from Pim Wat. She is not who you think she is.”

  “I already know that.” Sophie stared out the window at the deep blue sky racing by, the clouds far below.

  “Pim Wat is not only a spy, she is an assassin. One of the deadliest in the world. She specializes in poisons that mimic natural causes.”

  Sophie turned to look at Connor, her heart pounding. Her eyes felt dry, her hands clammy. “How do you know this?”

  “After I left the states, I went to Thailand. I was curious about your family, and the issues of Thailand, so I put the Ghost to work checking into things. There is a wealth of corruption in that country, and at its heart is the Yām Khûmkạn—and your mother is one of their weapons. Wherever she went with your father, death followed—undetected. The Yām Khûmkạn found a way to use her that worked with her limitations.”

  Sophie gulped her tea, and it burned her tongue. The insulated metal mug rattled against her teeth. She wrapped both hands around the cup, seeking warmth. If her mother was such a great assassin, why hadn’t she killed Assan Ang and freed her daughter? “Even the CIA did not know what you are telling me.”

  “That’s true. Though they do know more than McDonald told you.”

  “So, you listened in on my meeting with Agent McDonald.” It shouldn’t feel like a betrayal, yet it did. “Did you listen to my therapy with Dr. Wilson, too?”

  “What did you expect?” Connor’s voice was sharp as he got up. “This is my world you’re in. I see and know everything that goes on in my world.” He headed into the kitchenette. “I think I will have some tea after all.”

  “You told me you wouldn’t listen to my therapy. I put on white noise.” She knew she sounded childish. She stared at the well-cut black shirt showcasing Connor’s v-shaped back and remembered how good he looked naked. She was unmoved by the imagery.

  “There are speakers embedded in the seats. Nothing goes on around me that I don’t know about.” His back was still toward her. Yes, it was always best to assume he knew everything.

  She glanced out the window. The clouds appeared as downy feathers floating above the muted blue of the ocean. “Shouldn’t we be descending already?” The plane flight from Hilo to Honolulu was a thirty-minute hop.

  “I told you I wanted to show you something. We will be flying for a while.” Connor’s back was still toward her as he fussed with the tea makings. “Taking you somewhere other than Oahu solves a number of problems. I will bring you back to see Dr. Wilson if necessary, and we’ll return for the trial.”

  Sophie’s heart kicked into overdrive. “I did not agree to come to wherever it is that you are taking me.”

  “It is for your own good.”

  “I will be the judge of that.” She indulged in a brief fantasy of fighting him, of kicking his ass MMA style—but it would never work. She was a shadow of her usual strength right now.

  Connor walked toward her and sat down with his cup of tea, calm as ever. “You are not safe to be alone. And you are not safe to be anywhere that the Changs and their thugs can find you. You’re the one who brought up your home country. I thought we should go to my place in Thailand. Perhaps you will find some of the answers you seek there.”

  Sophie rubbed the scar on her cheek. Frustration and inner conflict tied her tongue. “So, you were waiting for me to bring up my mother and the Yām Khûmkạn. You already researched her and that organization. You’ve already had dealings with them. When were you going to tell me?”

  “When you asked me about it.” Connor sipped his beverage. “I suspected your mother was going to make contact with you when I tracked her to the Big Island. But I chose not to interfere. She is your mother, after all.”

  “She’s a stone-cold evil bitch,” Sophie spat. “The Ghost could do something about that.”

  Connor sat perfectly still. “And you would forgive me for ‘doing something about’ your mother, without your consent or knowledge?”

  Sophie groaned, leaning forward to cover her face with her hands. “Yes. No. I don’t know.”

  “So you see why I waited for you to come to me about her and the situation with the Yām Khûmkạn. There was no other way for me to approach it.”

  “You could have contacted me. Told me. I would have wanted to know what you knew.”

  “And you’d have thought I was trying to turn you against your mother. You’d have hated me for anything I tried to tell you about her. It’s called ‘shoot the messenger,’ Sophie, and I knew you’d want someone to blame. No, it had to play out the way it has.” He took another maddeningly calm sip of tea.

  “But you told me she’s an assassin, not just a spy.” Sophie glared at him, knowing he was right.

  “That was so that you could be safe. I wouldn’t put anything past Pim Wat. She wants you now, for her own purposes. But just like the CIA, I don’t trust that those purposes have your best interests at heart.”

  “And you do? Have my best interests at heart?” Sophie couldn’t help the words that burst out of her. “Because it sure didn’t seem like it when I wept at your memorial service until you walked up to give your own eulogy.”

  “Everything I do has a purpose. And ultimately, you are a part of that purpose. I wish you would let that whole thing go and trust me.”

  “How could I?” Sophie looked out the window. “It’s easiest to just assume that you’re manipulating everything for one of your games. Including me. Including my mother, and the Yām Khûmkạn, and the CIA, and maybe even the Changs…”

  “You give me a lot of credit.” He grinned. “I like it. Wait and see about your mother, and the Changs, and even this contract on your life. Things have a way of working out.”

  Secrets hid behind Connor’s brilliant white smile, and Sophie knew she’d learned all she was going to for the moment.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Byron Chang stared into his brother Akane’s dark brown eyes. Objectively, he knew they were the same as his: slightly almond-shaped, a brown so dark the pupil was hard to see, with rounded, thick black brows. Yet the expression in Akane’s eyes was so different: flat, dead, as if there were a spark missing.

  When had that spark disappeared? Had jail stolen it, or had it been gone for years? Truth was, Byron couldn’t remember the last time he had spent time alone with his little brother.

  Akane had bulked up in the shoulders from working out, and a new tattoo, likely some gangster symbol, peeked out of the collar of his orange jumpsuit. He turned his head the better to display it, and Byron recognized the crude shape of a shark wrapped around his throat. His brown skin was reddened with irritation around the tattoo site, and Byron worried briefly about infection.

  Worrying about his little brother was an ingrained habit he needed to lose.

  “Like what you see?” Akane raised his brows. “It’s my aumakua.”

  “We don’t have an aumakua.” The Changs were part Hawaiian, but the cultural belief in an ancestral guardian spirit had never been a part of their family history.

  “Speak for yourself. Mine is a tiger shark.”

  “Tats have never been my thing.” Byron narrowed his gaze. “I haven’t visited you in here.”

  “I noticed.”

  “There was a reason.”

  “I figured. Big bruddah always has a reason for everything.” Akane’s voice dripped sarcasm. He wasn’t chained or cuffed; the county jail was not a high security facility. They were separated by a metal table and had been given a private room; that was all the pull Byron had been able to exert for this meeting. “You can tell me your reason whenever you’re ready. I’ve got all day.”

  “I needed to distance myself, and our business, from the media shitstorm around your arrest. Things have died down a bit, thank God. I’m doing all I can to get you out.”

  “Doesn’t seem like it from my end. The lawyer you sent is a bitch.”

  “She’s the best defense lawyer in Hawaii. You have to be patient with t
he process. And, given how far from the family’s interests you’ve gone, you’re lucky I don’t just leave you in here to rot.” Byron’s fists clenched at the scrutiny Akane’s penchant for murder had brought to the Chang operation. “I shouldn’t have to clean up your shit, bro, and you shouldn’t shit where you eat.”

  Akane tipped his head back and laughed, a full belly laugh of genuine amusement. The sound brought “chicken skin” up on Byron’s arms. “What’s so funny?”

  “You. Telling me to do your dirty work, and then objecting to the way it gets done. You made me what I am, bro.”

  The hair on Byron’s arms had not settled. His mind flashed to Terence Chang, in his office, asking who was going to manage a rabid dog without being bitten.

  “Don’t make me regret all I’m doing to get you out of here,” Byron hissed, leaning forward. “I can still say the word and you’ll be shipped off to federal prison in Nowhere, Nebraska for multiple life sentences. It would be no more than you deserve, you sick fuck.”

  Akane laughed again.

  Byron shot to his feet. “Shut up!”

  “Follow your conscience, bro, if you still have one. I’ve done away with mine. Found it cramped my style.” Akane stood up, turned his back on Byron in blatant disrespect, and pounded on the door. “Guard! We’re done here.”

  Akane had to know who was boss.

  Byron launched himself across the room, grabbed Akane by the back of the neck, and banged his brother’s head into the door just as the guard struggled to open it.

  Akane threw back his elbow to hit Byron in the solar plexus. As Byron bent, gasping, Akane spun and hit him with an uppercut.

  Byron reeled, then hurled himself at his brother, pummeling. All was a chaos of whirling, grappling, and crashing into the walls and the bolted-down table as the brothers fought.

  Suddenly Byron lost all motor function—his body convulsed, his eyes rolled back, and he crashed to the ground, twitching, bolts of lightning flashing red behind his eyeballs.

  When he came around, Byron was lying on the floor. His ears rang. His head pounded. His bowels felt suspiciously loose. He hoped he hadn’t shamed himself. He tried to sit up but his limbs refused to cooperate.

  He blinked bleary-eyed at the corrections officer leaning over him. “Take it easy. You’ve been tased. You’ll feel better soon,” the guard said. “You’re lucky I’m not keeping you overnight and slapping you with assault charges. You can thank my uncle Neville with a little bonus in his paycheck.”

  The CO, whom he recognized as related to one of his meth factory workers, helped him up off the floor. “Thanks.” Byron forced his lips to form words. “It’s done.”

  “And I’ll further spin it that you kicked the shit out of your nutbag brother,” the guard said. “But that’ll be extra. Because from what I saw, it was Akane kicking your ass.”

  Byron couldn’t find words to respond. It was true. A few minutes more, and Akane would have knocked him out, likely killed him if he could.

  This could not get out. It would damage his reputation as head of the family. Some would say he wasn’t strong enough to lead; some might even want Akane in his place. And that would be a terrible thing. For everyone.

  “Got you covered,” Byron lisped through numb and tingly lips.

  The CO stood aside. “Glad we could help each other.”

  Byron shook his head slowly and shambled for the door. Outside the jail, he fired up the black Tundra he drove and cranked up the AC. He was sweaty and trembling, his body still sending out jangled distress signals, his mind abuzz with terrified thoughts.

  “Son of a bitch,” he muttered. “Holy shit.”

  Akane was going to kill him the first chance he got. Kill him, and take his job running the family—and Akane didn’t have the business sense of a coqui frog. The man had cunning, but no smarts. Byron couldn’t let that happen.

  Heart rate finally calming, Byron fetched his phone, stowed in the locked glove box. Text messages blinked at him. He worked his way through them, the process of resuming the reins of his authority calming him. He was important, needed. He was the boss.

  A final text message. He thumbed it open. “Call off the hit on the woman, or you won’t have a family left to protect.” UNKNOWN showed in the phone’s window.

  Byron’s heart thudded like a sledgehammer. No one had this phone contact info but his most trusted lieutenants—not even his wife had this number!

  “Shit.” He had already decided to pull the job on the woman. Akane needed to cool off in jail—maybe forever. But if he pulled the plug, would he lose face with an unknown enemy? Would threats and blackmail attempts come his way because he appeared to comply, showed weakness? “Give an inch and they’ll take a mile,” his uncle, patriarch Terry Chang, used to say.

  Byron stared at the phone in his hand as he groped for a solution.

  He had to contact the Lizard.

  His skin crawled at the memory of the letter opener at his throat. He’d hoped never to speak to that piece of filth again. And what if the Lizard refused to cooperate?

  But either way, this call had to be made. He would spin the fallout as best he could.

  Byron pressed a preprogrammed number and put the phone to his ear, listening to it ring.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Thailand’s air was balmy, and even more humid than Hawaii’s. Fragrances, strangely familiar in spite of the reek of jet fuel, tickled Sophie’s nostrils as she stood at the open door of the jet. The sun overhead was bright after the dim, climate-controlled environment inside, and she squinted, shielding her eyes to look around.

  Somehow the jet had been able to land on a short runway bordered by grass, palm trees, a dazzling white sand beach, and an aquamarine ocean.

  Connor handed her a pair of sunglasses and a hat. “You’ll have to watch out for sun stroke.”

  “You forget. I was born here.” Sophie felt a sort of humming recognition in her bones. Though she’d never seen this particular place, her spirit recognized home. “Which island is this?”

  “It’s called Phi Ni. My private island.” Connor shrugged, elaborately casual. His voice was gruff, but she heard something new in it, a note of pride and underlying excitement.

  Why would she be surprised? Of course, Connor would have a private island here in Thailand. Her homeland contained many places far from the prying eyes and reaching tentacles of any government.

  Sophie descended the steps and he followed her, carrying a couple of duffel bags. He handed her one of them. “I picked up a few things for you before we left the States. Some clothing appropriate to your Mary Watson persona. I thought you could be her while you’re here, pass yourself off as my personal assistant.”

  At least he wasn’t setting her up to appear as his girlfriend. “That is acceptable.” Sophie took the duffel bag and followed as Connor led her to a parked Jeep. “No limousine?” Her lips twitched in a smile.

  Connor smiled back. “I save that for when I’m trying to impress a lady. You’re a lost cause at this point.” The hint of humor took the sting from the words, and they were nothing more than true.

  Sophie smiled. “Does this mean we can be friends now?”

  “No. I intend to pout a while longer.” He stuck his lower lip out comically, and Sophie remembered the playful personality he’d cultivated as Todd Remarkian, and how much she’d enjoyed that. He really was a chameleon, and one in a billion. Too bad he’d broken her love for him.

  Sophie craned her neck to take in the sights and smells as the Jeep bumped down a crushed coral road. Grasses gave way to jungle and coconut trees. The air was filled with barely remembered birdsong and the high-pitched calling of tree frogs and an occasional monkey shriek. “Does anyone else live on this island?” Sophie clutched Mary Watson’s sun hat as they hit a bump.

  “Not if I can help it.”

  “Don’t tell me you got all this with honest money?”

  He slanted a glance at her. “Let’s just
say the money was never missed and is doing more good here than it would have done there.”

  “Ah-ha. I got a glimpse of that skim you were running on those nefarious accounts when I was in the Ghost database.”

  “Those accounts will never miss a few billion. I was careful. Most of it went to charity. This place was my gratuity.”

  “Quite a gratuity,” Sophie said, as they crested a ridge and his house came into view.

  Built of bamboo and native woods in a combination of Balinese and plantation styles, the house was perched on the edge of a cliff overlooking a half-moon of crystalline bay. Sharply peaked roofs surrounded a central courtyard in the Thai style, while a wide, wraparound porch with large windows overlooking the bay below embraced the Western aesthetic.

  “It is beautiful, Connor.” Sophie got out of the Jeep where Connor parked it beside a large barn filled with recreational vehicles of various kinds. “So this is where you’ve been when you were Sheldon Hamilton, international man of mystery.”

  “Yes,” he said simply.

  The front door, an imposing structure of deep red wood carved in intricate patterns of fish, animals, and flowers, was opened by a smiling older man in a simple smock and pants. Stone lions in the Asian style flanked the door, snarling in defense of the gracious home.

  Anubis squeezed past the manservant and bounded down the carved stone steps, his whole body vibrating with happiness to see his master. Sophie couldn’t help smiling as Connor knelt and embraced the usually dignified Doberman. “I missed you, too, boy.”

  Anubis wheeled to press his lithe body against Sophie’s legs, his cropped hind end wagging, and her eyes stung as she stroked the Doberman’s sleek head. She’d cared for the beautiful dog for some time, and they’d formed a bond. Still, petting him reminded Sophie of her dog. “I miss Ginger. She would love this place and being with Anubis.”

  “I could send the plane,” Connor said. “Call your father and let him know. I’ll send a guy to get her.”