Wired Courage

by Toby Neal

  “Thirty minutes to landing,” the pilot said, and his voice vibrated obnoxiously through her earplugs. Pim Wat squinted irritably at him.

  She would call her sister as soon as she landed. Wouldn’t Malee be surprised and pleased to see her!

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Day Twenty-Seven

  “Don’t move or I’ll shoot.” Armita’s voice trembled, but the shotgun aimed at Sophie’s midsection looked rock steady.

  Sophie dropped her lockpicks and raised her hands. “Armita! It’s Sophie!”

  “Show me your face.”

  Sophie was the one with the trembling hand now, as she fumbled with the detachable face veil. The transparent black panel fell away, and Sophie pushed the headscarf back.

  Armita’s resolute face broke into a smile. She lowered the shotgun. “We were beginning to worry that something had happened to you. Your aunt and your child are in the other room, waiting for you.”

  “I can hear that.” Momi’s crying had ratcheted up a notch to a screech that brought all of Sophie’s nerves rearing up. “I want to know everything that’s happened, but first I must see my baby.” She bent to embrace Armita’s petite form, feeling the woman’s wiry strength and slender bones. “There will never be enough thanks in the world for what you’ve done.”

  Armita cleared her throat. “Go quiet your child before she wakes the neighborhood.”

  Sophie hurried past her nanny to face her aunt in the living room. Malee’s face, much like Pim Wat’s but rounder and softer, was wreathed in smiles as she joggled the howling infant. “At last, you got here! We were beginning to wonder.”

  Sophie put her arms around Malee, sandwiching the baby between the two of them as she greeted her aunt with a heartfelt hug. “I am so happy to see you.”

  Momi’s shrieking stilled as she was pressed between the two women in their loving embrace. Her scrunched-up eyes opened, and she gave a little squirm and wriggle, snuffling around, clearly hungry.

  Sophie backed away and held out her arms. “May I?”

  “Of course! She is yours.” Malee pressed the wrapped bundle into Sophie’s arms with alacrity.

  The world narrowed to the tiny face pressed against her breast, to golden brown eyes fastened on hers.

  Curly black halo of hair.

  Stitchery of tiny brows, more a placeholder than an actual feature.

  Soft, velvety, tawny-skinned cheeks.

  A little button nose.

  Pouting bud of mouth, working as if to get ready for another wail.

  She was so adorable . . .

  Momi arched her back, opened her mouth, and let out a powerful bellow that made all three women jump.

  “She’s hungry,” Armita said. “I was heating her bottle. I had a wet nurse for her at the compound, but she has been taking the formula and bottle just fine since we left.” Armita gestured to a pan resting on the gas stove. A small glass bottle of milk heated in water just beginning to steam around it.

  Sophie’s breasts ached. Maybe there was still something left for her daughter. But no. She already knew there wasn’t. As Momi wound up for another howl, Sophie blinked back tears and held out her hand. Armita slipped the bottle of warm milk into it without a word, and Sophie placed it between her daughter’s searching lips.

  The three of them sighed in relief as the infant settled, sucking hard and seeming to hum to herself as she found comforting nourishment.

  “I don’t know if I will ever get tired of looking at her face,” Sophie said.

  “You never will. I never have.”

  Armita’s hand squeezed her shoulder, and Sophie met her nanny’s loving gaze with a smile. Sophie looked back down at her daughter. She slid a finger into Momi’s grasping hand, marveling at the beauty of her tiny digits, the flexing of long fingers that were the exact shape of Sophie’s own. “I cannot believe I’m holding her again.”

  “I hurt for your suffering, being without her,” Armita said. “I could not go along once I discovered what they wanted her for.”

  Sophie frowned. “Why did Pim Wat take her?”

  “The crown prince of Thailand is sick with leukemia.”

  Sophie gasped. “Oh no! He’s just a child.”

  “Yes. And you, Sophie, are a match to give him a needed bone marrow transplant.” Armita met Sophie’s eyes. “You are his second cousin. Everyone around him, and throughout the court, has been tested, and your DNA was on file after your kidnapping as a child. You are the only match that has been discovered. Pim Wat hoped that Momi might be one, so she took her. Taking the marrow sample from Momi’s hip was . . .” Armita shut her eyes. “It is a painful test with a big needle for such a small body. She is not a match.”

  Sophie’s breath caught and she squeezed the baby tightly, hardly able to endure imagining the procedure. “And after Mother found out that my child could not donate?”

  “Pim Wat decided to keep her. To try again to have a daughter.”

  “As if she were a stray puppy she had decided to adopt,” Sophie ground out.

  “I’m afraid so. I could not watch her do what she did to you, all over again.”

  “And after Armita contacted me about what my sister was doing, I told her we had to get the baby back to you,” Malee said. “We decided Armita would hide here until you could come get the two of them.”

  Sophie met Armita’s gaze. “How did you get away from the stronghold?”

  Armita stroked the baby’s soft curls as she spoke. “I have a few friends among the Yām Khûmkạn; but the truth is, the Master was not excited about having a child in the stronghold. He did not like having Pim Wat’s attention distracted from him and his missions for her. He allowed us to get away. Turned a blind eye.”

  “The Master?”

  Armita sighed. “How he came into Pim Wat’s life is a long story. But the summary is that the Master is the leader of the Yām Khûmkạn, and your mother’s lover. A very powerful man. I would venture to say, more powerful even than the king, though he is sworn to protect the monarchy.”

  “How is it that I have never heard of this man? I have researched the Yām Khûmkạn extensively.” Sophie felt drunk on her daughter’s sweet, milky smell. She tucked her nose in beside Momi’s neck for a deep inhale. She loved the feel of Momi’s weight, the tiny grunts and rumbles the baby emitted—her daughter was altogether addicting.

  “The Master stays in the shadows. He allows no photographs, has no footprint, carries no name. He is . . .”

  “Evil,” Malee said over her shoulder. She had begun washing up in the kitchen, and she splashed angrily at the sink.

  “I don’t think evil is correct,” Armita said in her measured way. “There is compassion in the Master. He is kinder than Pim Wat has ever been. But he does not hesitate to kill and to use any means necessary to control those around him. He rules absolutely.” Armita’s words were thoughtful, as if she had considered them a long time. “He’s not evil. But he is ruthless.”

  “I suspect that this Master has my men.” Sophie filled the two women in on the missing rescue party. “Now that my child and I are reunited, my attention must turn to getting Jake, Connor, and the other men back. Did you see any sign of them at the compound? Hear anything about their capture?”

  “I did not. But that isn’t surprising. It is a large place, and I stayed in Pim Wat’s apartments. Only a few women are allowed on the base, and only in just a few areas. There is little to no technology in the compound.” Armita shook her head. “Getting the men back will not be easy. The stronghold is well-defended.”

  “I have been trying to get the attention of the CIA,” Sophie said. “I have offered to become their informant if they will help me. I am in communication with our security agency in Hawaii, as well, but they have had no luck getting any help from the authorities.”

  “As for me, I am worried about Pim Wat coming after Armita,” Malee said. “I bought this house—your former home—under a shell company with your uncl
e. I did it to keep it in the family—I thought you might want to return someday.” Malee wiped down the counter with a cloth as Sophie had seen her do a hundred times. “Seemed like a good investment, to have it available next door. And it has been.”

  “I thank you, Auntie,” Sophie said. “Does Pim Wat know that you own this place?”

  “My sister thinks I am a sheep.” Malee smiled darkly. “I am not. I have many secrets from Pim Wat, this house not least of them.”

  Malee and Armita had provided the nurture that Sophie had needed as a child. Affection surged up in her for the two brave women. “I want to take you back to the island where I was hiding—but I’m concerned that one of the men may have given up that location to Pim Wat and the Master. We are better off flying directly to Hawaii when we can get transport—we will be safer back in the United States.” Momi had fallen asleep at last, and Sophie gazed at the baby’s sweet face.

  “You two go. I will stay here. My sister will never know I was involved,” Malee said.

  Sophie nodded, settling the sleeping baby close. She had no desire to set the infant down. Ever.

  “Momi still needs to be burped,” Armita instructed. “Otherwise gas will wake her up later.”

  Sophie lifted her daughter up against her shoulder and patted her back carefully, unwilling to wake the child after all of the stress of her screaming.

  Malee’s phone buzzed, startling the baby, and Sophie glanced over to see Malee gasp as she checked the caller. “It’s Pim Wat!”

  Sophie stood up carefully, preparing to flee to another room if the baby cried, as Malee took the call.

  “Sister!” Malee said cheerfully in Thai, pulling a face that would have been funny if the stakes hadn’t been so high. Sophie appreciated Malee’s effort to minimize Pim Wat’s threat—but she wasn’t fooled. Pim Wat might well take pleasure in killing Armita, to begin with. No telling what she’d do to Sophie, Momi, and even her own sister if she discovered she had been double—crossed . . .

  Malee had put Pim Wat on speaker, so that the three of them could hear her husky voice clearly. “Malee. I’m on my way to see you. I need a break.”

  “A break from what? Your busy round of art openings and fashion shows?” Malee continued to clown, rolling her eyes, communicating clearly that she was keeping up the fiction that she didn’t know anything about her deadly sister’s real lifestyle.

  “I’ll tell you all about it when I get to your place. I just landed in Bangkok and I should be at your house in about half an hour.”

  Three pairs of eyes widened in alarm. Sophie squeezed the baby inadvertently, and Momi let out a sleepy belch at last.

  “I can’t wait to see you, sister! We’ll do pedicures,” Malee said with forced cheer, and ended the call.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Day Twenty-Seven

  A gong sounded somewhere in the depths of the stronghold, waking Connor. The recruits in the barracks room he’d been billeted with got up in silence, rolling their bedclothes into neat bundles and dressing in all black gi.

  Connor had slept poorly. He’d been tied, loosely enough to sleep, but too tightly to make any attempt to escape; the other men ignored him. He was a white-skinned pariah lying on his little pallet in the corner.

  Connor waited, his bladder painfully full, as they departed in silence. That must be part of their daily ritual. Finally, the ninja who’d helped Connor before returned to untie him.

  Connor studied the man’s shorn head—a Thai number was inked onto the back of his naked scalp. “What is your name?” Connor asked, in halting Thai.

  The man looked up swiftly. “You speak our language.”

  “A little.” Connor held up a finger and thumb with a narrow space between them. He tried a disarming grin.

  “My name is Nine of House. You can call me Nine.” Nine was dead serious and focused on undoing knots in the natural hemp rope that had tightened during the night.

  “Nine. That is an unusual name.”

  “We take a new name when we join the Yām Khûmkạn. We have a designation, and the area we serve. I serve the House—the living quarters of the Master and our leaders.”

  “My name is . . . Connor.” He surprised himself by speaking the truth. Only a handful of people in the world knew his real first name, but his stratagems, so necessary elsewhere, seemed irrelevant here.

  “Come, then, Connor.” Nine tugged Connor up by his arm once the ropes were off. “Hurry. You must be clean and ready to be in the presence of the Master.”

  Connor didn’t like the sound of that, but resistance would get him nowhere—he was outmanned and outmaneuvered. He followed Nine down empty stone hallways lit by slits high near the ceiling. Bars of stark white sunlight beamed through them into the gloomy passageway. Some of these sun spots were cleverly directed, using polished brass mirrors set on the floor and tilted to light different areas, a low-tech way to keep the interior lit. The Egyptians had used such techniques in the Pyramids.

  Nine led Connor down several sets of cut stone stairs to a large bathhouse. Water from hot springs formed sulfurous steam in a man-made pool. Nine showed him a bowl of soft vegetable-based soap, and gestured. “Get clean. Dress in a robe over there.” He pointed to a wall lined with pegs where black gi hung in rows.

  The mineral-rich water stung a bit, but also soothed Connor’s cuts and bruises. He cleaned himself and dressed. Following Nine back up the stairs to meet the Master, Connor felt his abs tightening with apprehension.

  What was going to happen today? More torture? As he’d tossed and turned on his pallet, thinking over what the Master had said the day before, he’d come up with a plan—but just thinking about implementing it dried his mouth.

  Nine led Connor out of the main building, through a courtyard filled with practicing ninjas, and down a short flight of stairs to a walled terrace garden.

  A gravity-fed fountain trickled into a koi pond lined with water lilies. Smooth grass encircled the pond; beds of herbs and flowers lined the stone walls. A table and chairs were set under a flowering tree.

  And across from the pond, the Master sat balanced on the top of a six-foot high plinth made of glowing tiger’s eye.

  The column of beautifully carved gemstone caught the morning light, glowing as if lit from within. There was no visible way the man could have gotten up there, and the pillar upon which he sat was no more than a foot in diameter.

  The Master was absolutely still, cross-legged in a meditation pose, his fingers held in a mudra, his eyes closed. He looked like a statue in his white gi atop the post.

  Nine inclined his head toward the seating area under the tree, and left. Connor walked over and sat down at the table. Tea steeped in a porcelain pot; covered bowls on a tray emitted delicious smells. Connor’s belly rumbled.

  “If you train with me, you will learn to control all aspects of your bodily functions.” The Master’s voice carried clearly, though not amplified in any way Connor could discern. “Including the sounds of your belly.”

  The Master planted his hands between his crossed legs on the top of the plinth. Slowly he extended his legs, lifting his lower body off the plinth. He rolled his head forward and down, and then, in an act of extreme strength and controlled grace, lifted himself up into a handstand. Completely vertical above the plinth, the Master stayed perfectly still.

  He held the pose beyond what seemed humanly possible—and then, in a whirl of movement almost too fast to follow, flipped and landed on the grass.

  The Master walked over to Connor and looked down at him. “Pour the tea.”

  The man wasn’t even winded.

  Connor poured the tea. The Master uncovered bowls of fruit, scrambled eggs, nuts and fried rice that made Connor’s mouth water.

  Connor waited until the Master had served them both and taken a bite, before he dug into his breakfast with a pair of chopsticks. The food was delicious. Once again, he had to try not to eat too quickly—but he’d been hungry for a long t
ime, and last night’s dinner had burned off already.

  When they’d mostly finished their meal, the Master spoke. “Have you thought over what I asked you yesterday?”

  “What was the question?” Connor sipped his tea and kept his gaze averted, buying time—the Master always seemed to see more than Connor wanted him to.

  “I asked you if you wanted to learn.”

  “I can’t just stay here. I run a multimillion dollar company. I have responsibilities . . .” Connor ran out of steam. If the Master knew he was the Ghost, he likely knew the rest too.

  He had no family. No lover. He had Sophie, but only as a friend. He had his many interests, not least of them righting the scales of justice. He had a company, an island, a dog, a neglected violin, and a lot of money.

  “No one will miss you. You have nothing to lose,” the Master said gently.

  Connor suppressed a wince. “I have a life, little as you seem to think of it. What do you want from me?”

  “I want you to bring Sophie here to donate bone marrow to the crown prince.”

  “I have been thinking about that. But I won’t ask her to come here, to this fortress. Instead, I could ask her to go to the hospital in Bangkok. It’s likely she will, as I said before. She loves children, and the prince is family.” Connor set down his teacup. “But I have some things that I want in exchange.”

  “Such as?” The Master raised a brow.

  “I want you to let Jake go. Sophie needs him. And I want you to make Pim Wat leave Sophie and her daughter alone after she gives the prince her bone marrow. If you do those two things, I will stay here and learn with you.” Nervous sweat broke out on Connor’s body in an uncomfortable, prickly flush, but it gradually faded as the Master stared at him.

  Those damn purple eyes . . .

  “You love Sophie. That’s why you’ll trade yourself for her lover.”

  There was no point in lying. “Yes.”

  “Then, I find your offer acceptable. I will let Jake go.” The Master turned away and stared out over the pond contemplatively. “Finish your breakfast—you will need your strength. Training will begin this afternoon.”