by Fiona Quinn
“Kaylie?” My eyebrows were in my hairline. “Could you have heard this story about Kaylie?”
“It’s the right timeline, but the wrong physical description. This woman was of African descent. But it’s possible that this woman was in the research group. I say that because permaculture is—as I remember reading about it—a distinctive way to farm. If the research group was teaching permaculture as they moved across Africa, she could have been one of the native speakers that they hired to teach, or it could have been one of the women who had learned. But it seems to me that it would be unusual otherwise for this woman to know the techniques. I’m reaching back in my memory, I remembered how shocked I was that the woman telling the story was fine with the enslavement of the woman who grew the tomato, and rather incurious about how she’d been transported from Africa to Iraq.”
“Do you know more about the kidnapping?”
“There were two trucks that drove a group north toward Niger. I can tell you that there is a—there was a very active slave route out of Niger to the ISIS fighters. Work has been done to disrupt the movement. There are fewer Africans being brought to the Middle East now.”
“Thank goodness.”
“It doesn’t solve the problem. It simply shifts to different victims. The ISIS fighters want the reward of their sex slaves. The ISIS command gets those slaves where they can. Thousands of Yazidi have been gathered up and enslaved.” She swallowed. “If they don’t comply, the women and girls are beheaded or burned to death like those nineteen Yazidi girls in the cage last night.”
I nodded. It all felt so overwhelming. “I guess the best we can hope for is that we can destroy ISIS in Syria and free the women.” I thought about all the mental health help Sophia and I were getting and how hard it would be to be a victim of such atrocities and have no medical help at all. No medicines. No counseling. No resources.
“ISIS is one of the wealthiest terror groups that’s ever existed. Slave trade, black market conflict relic trade, drugs. All they’ll do is pick up and move their headquarters to another country. It doesn’t have to be Syria. Africa will be next. That’s what I think.” She shifted around. “Back to my story. The people were kidnapped and in the back of two trucks. The trucks were ambushed. The tomato-woman thought that the ambush was a rescue mission, border guards that had come to save them. The men were in uniforms. It was bad. The kidnappers were all killed in the fight. The men from the group of hostages were lined up, then they were all shot and left for dead. The women were loaded into the trucks and the uniformed men drove them away. The tomato-growing woman was given to an African man as a fifth wife, along with two of the other women who were with them.”
“Seven wives,” I said as a chill ran down my spine.
“I was telling you that in many places a man can have up to four wives and the slaves that they add are called fifth wives, no matter the number. Four wives and three slaves can be legal.”
“As I was going to St. Ives, I met a man with seven wives.” I had already postulated that going to St. Ives meant that I would go on a hazardous journey. Meeting a man with seven wives could very well mean that I’d come across a slave holder.
It was possible.
I’d meditate on that later.
“Then she was sold?” I asked.
“She was given as a gift to show deference to an ISIS leader. The leader brought her to Iraq. It happened to so many women. But only so many women would have skills in planting tomatoes in this unique way. Whether or not Kaylie had any part in that tomato story, she had to have known the risks of working in this region. Just like the nurse you mentioned earlier, Kaylie was working in a volatile and very dangerous country as she did her research.”
“Like you.”
“Hardly. I sit at my desk and observe the horrors from afar. I can’t imagine being brave enough to go over to the war zone.”
Chapter Nineteen
As I hung up with Sophia, a tap sounded on the door frame of the Puzzle Room.
“Hey there.” I waved to Prescott. “Come on in. Shut the door behind you if you don’t mind.”
He held a briefcase in one hand and a to-go cup of coffee in the other. “Morning.”
I lifted an open palm toward the chair next to mine. “Did you see Zoe this morning?”
He set his things on the evidence table and came to sit. “I did.”
“How’d it go?”
“Zoe being Zoe, she had a badge waiting for me at security and had an updated machine sitting on her lab counter.”
I chuckled. “That woman has mad brain skills.”
“She said that she figured that you’d convince me to go after the kids, make me think it was my idea, and I’d be heading over to Iraq like it was the best thing that ever happened to me.”
I sat back with a grin. “No, she didn’t.”
“I swear on my mother’s grave.”
“Your mom’s not dead.”
“Fine. Still. I’m telling the truth.”
“Why did Zoe have a different machine for you, why not just use the prototype you were experimenting with for the FBI?”
“I was part of a working group that was helping Zoe understand how things functioned in the field, what the wear and tear would be on the machines, what circumstances we would be operating under. We were in the developmental stages when the effort was shelved at the request of the CIA.” He looked down at my bare feet. “Thinking mode, huh?”
“I go with what works.” I grinned. “Zoe told me the CIA was afraid that if the FBI used the information in a courtroom, that a judge could order her to explain how blood markers worked and that information would then be available to the public. It could then come out that there was a collection center. The fear was that once BIOMIST became public knowledge, it would complicate the CIA’s effort to populate the data system.”
“Exactly. She was working on a plan to get the machines back in the hands of the FBI to see if they could be effective. And that was two-fold. One, to create protocols for using the system that would not leave it open to discovery in preparing a defense case. Two, to make it so the machine couldn’t fall into anyone else’s hands for reverse engineering.”
“Acid.”
“Just like her micro-robotic WASPs only on a larger scale. She has the newest iteration of the analyzer rigged so if anyone tries to access it without a certain thumb print, mine for example, then the machine melts the hard drive.”
“In movies the bad guy would kill you and hack off your thumb.”
He stilled and blinked. “Thanks for that.”
“A pleasure.” I laughed. “This machine, you can take over to Iraq without the CIA getting miffed?”
“Zoe got their blessing. They actually want to see if the apparatus can stand up to environmental pressures as well as spit out analysis on the spot. They think that might help them if they capture enemy troops. They can use the information as pressure.”
“Wait.” I ran through those words again. “Like, they could get the names of the detainees close kin and threaten their kin?”
“It could be an effective tool.”
“I can think of about ten reasons why that particular tool would be a bad idea. But that’s not my field of expertise. It does, however, correlate to point number four on my list.” I reached over and scratched out that item. “Point number four—” I focused back on Prescott. “When Zoe ran the search for me yesterday, the data base was looking for a familial match to Kaylie. The output found the three kids. Given the parameters of the search, the BIOMIST system could not show who the fathers were from Kaylie’s blood. But—”
“Zoe could do a BIOMIST search on each of the children and see if she can’t identify familial biomarkers from close family members. With that information, we might be able to track those family members down and ask them questions if not find the children.”
“Exactly. I must be off my game or I would have seen it earlier.”
“I didn’t thin
k of it either, don’t beat yourself up about it. I’ll call over and ask Zoe to do that after we’re done here.”
“You have the equipment, what’s next?”
“I have a green light to go to Iraq as a four-person team. If the children we find have Kaylie’s biomarkers, we’re supposed to get a DNA sample for comparison.”
“Iniquus can do that in-house and move it to the front of the queue,” I said.
“Good, I was depending on that to shorten the time. We’re working on a plan for next steps if we identify any of the children as Americans. Our lawyers are consulting on the situation.”
“Which child are you looking for first?” I asked.
“Child number two. The three-year-old male. His last known location is closest to an Army base. The baby is in disputed territory. It’ll be harder for us to get there. The oldest child has the most time between intake and now.”
“With the volatility and population movement, that might prove to be an obstacle. Having more family names from Zoe could help us over that hurdle.” I picked up a pen and tapped it against my thigh.
“All three locations on the list are remote. The villagers would have had little in the way of outside interaction. That and a smaller population might make it easier. We’ll only know once we’re boots on the ground. If we can prove one child has a DNA match—well, DNA is something we can talk about publicly, and BIOMIST most certainly is not—then we can get Melody in and give her the information. I’m not sure how the family will react.”
“Understood.”
I pulled over my list from my searches last night and handed it to Prescott.
He scanned down my notes, nodding his head. “Can I have this?” He raised his brow. “I’ll want to take this back and have my team work on these items.”
“That’s your copy.”
He stopped with his finger resting on an item. “What’s the URL?”
“An audio of a story Sophia told me.”
He nodded and kept reading. “How’s she doing?”
“She’s doing better now that the domestic crazy has been scraped off her plate. She’s still in the fight to stop ISIS’s exploiting the Syrian relics. And on that subject, Sophia told me she’s going to spend some time with the satellite images today. She’ll contact me if she sees anything that we might find helpful. She’ll also be quietly reaching out to people to see if anyone knows about Kaylie. I mentioned that Kaylie might be hiding her nationality as a way to stay alive.”
Prescott slid the notes into his briefcase, nodding to keep me talking.
“I saw in the file that the researchers’ passports were all found in the tents,” I said. Whoever drove the group away, didn’t have proof of their nationalities. That Kaylie was in such a diverse group might have helped her with her subterfuge. Sophia won’t mention country of origin as she’s checking her resources, simply that we’re looking for an educated woman who might have been kidnapped out of Africa about a decade ago.”
His focus went to the wall as he processed.
“She was adventurous, obviously. From the photo you showed me with the child, she looks not just fit but like someone who is comfortable using her body—climbing, hiking—is that right?”
“When I knew her, yes. Of the kids our age in my neighborhood growing up, she and Melody were the only girls. Melody stayed inside playing the piano while Kaylie played with us boys. She went at it as hard as we did—and I mean everything: tree climbing, bike riding, wrestling, fort building, football tackles. Nothing intimidated her.” He chuckled under his breath. “Her nickname in our neighborhood was Trouble. Or as my mom would say, ‘her poor mother, that child is trouble with a capital T.’ Not,” Prescott qualified, “because she did anything bad. She was a good kid. She was fearless, and I guess most of the mothers thought Kaylie should try to act more like her sister—bake cookies, sew doll clothes. Kaylie was a paradigm buster.”
I paused before speaking, getting a picture of Kaylie’s personality and how she might have responded the night the research team disappeared. “That could work in her favor in a survival situation. Is Kaylie multi-lingual?”
“She speaks English, which is the official language of Nigeria, high school and college French, Kiswahili from her time in Tanzania. I imagine she picked up some words of local dialects as she moved east across the continent. But there are over five hundred languages spoken in Nigeria, alone. Why?”
“Language and survival often go hand in hand. You can’t ask for help or ask someone to turn a blind eye if you don’t have the language. While they speak English in Nigeria, the dismembered parts of her fellow researchers were found on the Niger border. If she got across the border, she’d need French. If she’s in Syria, the Kiswahili would help her quickly learn Arabic and that would help her to survive in Syria. You said the photographed woman was in the north. She’d need to speak Kurdish there. But in my experience, once your brain figures out how to learn one language, to listen and speak it, then others are learned quickly.”
“To be honest, Lynx,” Prescott said, “up until you landed on Zoe and BIOMIST, I couldn’t imagine this case going anywhere. But that’s why I asked for you. You sometimes seem plugged into the universe in a way that us mortals are not.” He gave me a half-smile.
I stiffened. “Your sarcasm is unappreciated.”
“That’s not sarcasm.”
Pressure built in my chest. If I did what he thought I could do, it would mean sending a rescue team into Syria. My findings could put an entire task force right into ISIS’s hands. Iniquus, or CIRG, or both. I’d better be damned sure of myself before I put lives at risk for a shadow.
I pushed my hair behind my ear.
Prescott caught my gaze and squinted his eyes. “You look exhausted. Full workload?”
“I’m fine. I just haven’t had my coffee yet.”
He shifted his weight from left to right in his seat.
“Spit it out,” I said.
“It’s coming up on the anniversary of your husband’s death. I’m sorry for your loss.”
I canted my head. How the heck would Prescott know about my husband?
“Becky is having trouble sleeping, too.”
“Becky?”
“Becky Baldwin.”
“Peanut’s wife,” I whispered. “He was in the truck that followed behind Angel’s.”
“Peanut and I were in the Army together, since his entire team…well, it’s landed on the people who knew him before he joined the Rangers to look out for the families. An honor for us to step up.”
“Small world.” I nodded. “Can I ask you a question?”
He lifted his chin as a yes.
Normally, I didn’t bring up peoples’ personal lives when I was functioning as an Iniquus employee, but Prescott had opened the can of worms with his noticing I looked like crap. Enough so that he felt compelled to check in. “Did you go to Peanut’s funeral?”
“I was there.”
“Was it open coffin or closed coffin?”
“Open. The guys over at Dover did a stellar job. They always do. Why?”
“Nothing. Just… did you know any of the other men? Did you go to any of the other funerals?”
“No. Is this heading somewhere? I can see thoughts whirring.”
I wasn’t sure why I had wanted to ask him that. I decided to change the subject. “Panther Force came in yesterday morning from their mission. I saw Brainiack last night at Sophia’s.”
“I’ve worked with Panther Force before.” Prescott shot a surreptitious glance at the wall clock. “Do you think they’ll be the team assigned to go after Kaylie? General Elliot won’t put boots on the ground until they have solid intelligence.”
“Right. Yes. I wasn’t thinking that. I was actually thinking about Sophia and Brainiack, Zoe and Gage. I was thinking about Tanzania and Randy. I was thinking about Honey Honig and most recently Thorn. Do you know what all of those missions have in common?”
“Lives o
n the line, I’m guessing.”
“Scientists,” I said. “Scientists who applied their brains to puzzles of world importance like Kaylie.”
He scrubbed a hand over his face and exhaled. “It’s jarring to hear you use the present tense, when I’ve thought of her in past tense for almost a decade.” He planted his hands on his knees and leaned forward to stare at the tip of his shoe. “I could have done more. I obviously should have done more.”
“Like what? You were acting under orders.”
He nodded, unconvinced.
“The scientists that Panther Force cases have involved weren’t just smart, they had a knowledge base. They had creativity. And they had fitness. That’s an equation that adds up to a better shot at survival. Kaylie was alive eleven months ago. Granted, eleven months is a long time in a war zone. But it’s possible we can get to her in time.”
Without saying a word, Prescott stood, pulling his lips tight. Briefcase in hand, he turned and strode off. Two steps toward the door, and he called back over his shoulder. “It’s like rocket fuel.” He pointed at the to-go cup he left sitting on my table. “Maybe you should lay off the coffee for a little while. I tried to drink that cup on my way up to see you, and I don’t think I’ll ever be able to sleep again.”
Chapter Twenty
I twiddled my pen in my fingers, reviewing what Prescott had said about me.
People were noticing I wasn’t on my game. I lived with and slept (sort of slept) with Striker, of course he saw what others didn’t. But Margot? Prescott? Not just noticing, but it being so obvious that they felt compelled to share their concerns over my welfare.
My not asking Zoe to do separate searches of the kids? That was a ridiculously obvious next step. Why didn’t I catch it while I was at her lab?
I had to fix this.
Me.
I had to fix me.
I checked the wall clock. It wasn’t quite time for me to meet with General Elliot, but I was going to head up there now.
I slid my feet into my kitten-heeled shoes, closed the Puzzle Room door behind me, and decided to take the stairs as I walked to the Commanders’ wing.