“They coulda fooled me,” Thorn said. “The thing I picked up on them most was their passion for what they do, not any underlying anxiety. It seemed a way of life for them rather than a career.”
“Yeah…that’s what you were picking up on.” Nutsbe snickered into his coffee cup.
“They’re beautiful women. No denying it,” Thorn said. “I saw you sit up and take notice when Sophia started talking about satellite imagery in that bedroom voice of hers. ‘That Global Information System data is extremely sensitive,’” Thorn mimicked Nutsbe with a chuckle.
“I could do worse. Brains. Beauty. Intrigue.”
“Prison-striped pajamas,” Thorn countered. “Remember, Finley warned us about that when Andersson was out of hearing. He fell hard for his asset once. Then she chopped off his balls and shoved them down his throat.”
“Well-deserved, if you ask me,” Nutsbe said. “Finley let his emotions get in the way of his brain cells. He made bad calls. That asset nearly died. She was right to kick him to the curb. And he’s right to put us on notice. It’s science, but not rocket science. People who are considered beautiful get preferential treatment. They can seduce people to bend to their will. Turn a blind eye. They’re held to different ethical and moral standards because humans prefer attractive people. I think it was Freud who said, ‘Anatomy is destiny.’ Yup. I like danger as much as the next guy, but in this case, I’ve already decided on a look-don’t-touch policy.”
“Conveniently, that’s also written into our contracts, so no room for confusion,” Brian deadpanned.
Thorn shook his head. “Damned shame, though. Nadia sparked my curiosity.”
“She’s so out of your league, man.” Brian tapped the printout. “Getting back to this conversation, what do you think this is—this stuff about turning up the heat and tea kettle whistling? Mean anything to you?”
“It’s a threat,” Thorn said.
“Someone’s keeping her in line? Running her?” Brian asked.
“She could be doing something under duress,” Thorn said. “I’m thinking about the fathers when the kidnappers were asking for provenance. Knowledge for someone’s safety? I’m brainstorming here. Who might be threatened in Sophia and Nadia’s lives?”
“Sophia has two children, Turner and Chance. Where’s their father?” Brian asked. “Could he be a key?” Brian had wanted that question answered since he saw the car seats and thought there was a man in the picture. Maybe that explained her behavior last fall, she was already taken. Who was Brian’s competition? As that thought came out of nowhere, Brian squashed it back down. Finley was right to warn them. Brian could easily see how Sophia could throw him off his game. Had thrown him off his game. She was a moment in time—and that moment had clearly passed. Like he told Sophia, bygones were bygones. He needed to move on.
“I’ve been putting together some background on Sophia and Nadia. Give me a sec.” Nutsbe got up to dim the lights. He punched a button on his computer. “I’m going to skip back to 2011, the summer the families were kidnapped. I put the knowns on a timeline, or as I’ve poetically labelled this file,” he changed the image to a picture of a hurricane, “Sophia Midah Abadi’s Raging Shitstorm.”
Crap. Brian kicked his feet up on the table, scooted down in his chair, folded his arms over his chest and did his best to look professionally detached.
“In the summer of 2011, according to the FBI files, the Abadi and Dajani families were kidnapped, separated, then reunited in Tel Aviv. Then they headed off to what probably felt like the safer part of their research trip.” The image changed to a map, and Nutsbe used a laser to draw a little circle out in the middle of nowhere. “They were working here along the Turkish-Syrian border, near Aleppo. There, Dad Abadi becomes seriously ill with who knows what. He has a fever of one-hundred and five. Eventually, he’s stabilized and shipped home. That information is in the US Embassy notes from Turkey. The Smithsonian was involved with trying to get the families back stateside when the airlines weren’t so keen on doing transport without a diagnosis. After that, Mom Abadi applies for SSDI for her husband. Per the Social Security files, Sophia’s father was completely incapacitated with dementia as a result of the high fever. Mom and Dad Abadi moved to Charleston, South Carolina, where Sophia’s mom’s family lives. He’s out of the picture.”
Nutsbe brought up a newspaper photograph of a football field and a man in a jersey with Campbell written across the back. Number twenty-seven. “The next thing on the list is that Sophia got married to Hunter Campbell in February 2012.”
“That seems like odd timing,” Thorn said. “Wasn’t she still in school?”
“Right, well there’s a good reason. Sophia gets back from Turkey and heads in for her senior year. She was dating Hunter Campbell, star quarterback.” Nutsbe traced a line under the guy’s name with his laser pointer. “November of that year, Campbell took a major hit on the field. Brain trauma. He had to drop out of school. Sophia was in her last semester of undergrad when she got married. She graduated summa cum laude. And on June 8, 2012, baby Turner makes his debut. He’s a full-term baby with no medical issues.”
“Why did you stipulate that?” Thorn asked.
“Don’t jump ahead in the book. It spoils the plot.” Nutsbe put up a picture of the graduation ceremony.
Brian did a quick count on his fingers. “She was pregnant before her boyfriend got hurt. Did he recover?” Brian wanted to get all the cards on the table. Just what was he dealing with here? Wrong damned question. He should be asking what Sophia had been dealing with.
“Wait for it. One step through the turd field at a time. Sophia continues her education with a master’s program. She’s listed with the university as a teaching assistant, which pays for her tuition and housing. Hunter was awarded SSDI in April 2012. The brain injury permanently disabled him. Searching the database from her university address, I found phone calls to 9-1-1 for violent outbursts where Sophia is screaming into the phone for help. Campbell was frequently hospitalized for long stretches of time—this is all related to the head injury. And before you ask, Brian—because I can see it sitting there on the tip of your tongue—no, there is no money coming in from a lawsuit. The university cannot be held responsible for their athletes’ injuries. The students are just shit out of luck if they get hurt playing for their school.” Another photo of a graduation ceremony went up. “Against what I can only imagine are daunting odds, Sophia is awarded her master’s degree in May 2013.”
“Where’s the husband’s family?” Thorn asked.
“At that point they’re in the area, and I’m assuming she’s getting some help from them, because up until that fall, her finances are fairly clean.” Nutsbe shot a look to Brian. “Actually, Sophia is living in their house right now.”
“With them?” Brian asked.
“Stay with me, we’re getting to them in a second. In October 2013, Sophia was working toward her PhD. She takes out a personal loan for ten-thousand dollars. That took some digging, but it turns out it was to pay an attorney in Colorado. Her brother’s serving a life sentence for killing a guy in a drug-deal-gone-bad gun battle.”
“Is there any sign that Sophia could be involved with drugs?” Thorn asked.
“Zero. But that doesn’t mean anything. If I were her, I’d be on drugs, that’s for damned sure.” Nutsbe looked over at Brian. “Seriously, dude, when you sweep her house, I’d look for drug paraphernalia. Given what she’s been through, she may be self-medicating. I checked the brother’s court documents. He testified that in October 2011—please note that date—he was in a motorcycle accident and sustained a back injury. The doctors put him on opioids, but after a while Abadi was having trouble getting the docs to refill the prescriptions. Abadi was addicted and turned to street drugs to keep himself going. He recognized the problem and was on the waiting list for a bed at a detox. But then a deal he was doing went bad. The dealer accused him of being a cop and pulled a gun on him, yada yada yada. If you’re following along, that’
s kidnapped in July, Dad’s brain fries in August, brother’s back breaks in October, and boyfriend’s head gets busted in November.”
“Sophia is ten-thousand dollars in debt, has a baby, a violent husband, no income, no family support, and she does what?” Thorn asked.
“Sticks with her PhD.” Nutsbe switched to a picture of the AACP logo. “She was hired by AACP. She’s been on their research team for years. They paid for her tuition and room provided she do her dissertation on space archaeology, focusing on their work in the Middle East. AACP said that once she had her PhD, she’d have a guaranteed job.”
“Finally, a flicker of hope,” Thorn said.
“Amen to that,” Nutsbe agreed.
Brian picked up his now-cold coffee and took a sip. “You still haven’t told me if Hunter Campbell could possibly be a key.”
Nutsbe scratched his brow. “Well, he’s dead. So I’d say no.”
Brian stilled, processing that last answer. His respect for Sophia was climbing by the minute. How was she holding herself together through all this crap? “Dead how?”
“Yeah, that’s going to take a little more digging. I’m not really understanding the circumstances.”
“But there’s a death certificate,” Brian pressed.
“That’s not the interesting thing. There was a 9-1-1 call from Sophia’s apartment on December 16th, 2013. It was Hunter’s mother saying her son had tried to kill himself. Guess what else happened December 16th?”
Thorn and Brian sent him blank stares.
“Chance Campbell was born. Per the birth certificate, Chance’s birth happened an hour before the 9-1-1 call. Sophia goes in to the hospital to have a baby, and Hunter is home trying to kill himself. Happy fucking birthday, right? The baby was born at thirty-three weeks and put in the NICU. Lots of hospital bills.”
Thorn threw himself back in his chair. “Holy crap, he killed himself.”
“No, he didn’t. At least not that day. He didn’t die until August 11th, 2014, at the hospital. The same hospital where his dad died fifteen minutes later, by the way. There’s something weird in that. All of that is to say, Hunter and Chance Campbell racked up tens of thousands of dollars in medical bills. Sophia is swimming in debt. A few select artifact sales might just put her back on solid financial footing.”
“Has she made any large payments? Is there any shift in her financials?” Brian asked.
“Small monthly payments to a collections agency. Also, she’s scheduled to be in court the second week in June. That’s as far as I got with my research.”
“Where’s Mama Campbell? Is Sophia living with her? It makes sense if she’s swimming in debt.” Brian thought about yesterday’s issues fetching Turner. Why wouldn’t the mother-in-law help?
“Her mother-in-law died on Chance’s birthday this year, December 16th. The second anniversary of her son’s attempted suicide.”
“From what?”
“Myocardial infarction. She was only forty-eight years old. Kind of strange. Just seems odd to me. I’ll keep digging.”
“It’s one hell of a story. Sophia’s twenty-six now?” Thorn asked.
“Yes, twenty-six. Nadia is thirty.”
“What do you have on Nadia?” Brian asked.
“She was quick and easy. PhD in 2012, she started working right away with AACP. She bought her house in 2014. She bought her car at the beginning of the year. She pays off her credit cards monthly. She likes to travel for long weekends to New York, Miami, Chicago. She has a 401k. She’s made conservative investments. Her financials all add up. Her mother and father live in upstate New York. Her sister, Lana, lives around the corner from both Nadia and Sophia. Lana is a stay-at-home mother to three young boys. Nadia’s squeaky clean. I can’t see how anyone would have leverage over her or her life.”
“Lana Dajani. We didn’t hear that name from the FBI.”
“Lana Taylor is her married name. I talked to Nadia about her sister,” Thorn said. “Lana is a homebody. She never wanted to go on digs with her father. She stayed back in the United States with their mother. She has a bachelor’s in English Literature. Her life revolves around her family and reading. There’s nothing in that direction.”
Brian examined the pen he was holding. “It seems kind of cut and dry. Sophia is a woman in crisis. But let’s not get tunnel vision. Evidence lies. Clues, like statistics, can be manipulated to show what we want them to show. If Sophia’s culpable of terrorist activities, I’ll be the first one to slap those cuffs on her wrists. But until we have a crystal-clear picture of who, what, where, and why, let’s stay away from assumptive thinking. The FBI believes that something happened in 2011 when the women were kidnapped. Why would that something affect one of the women and not both? Why would this be going on for nearly five years? And is it possible that there’s an unsub somewhere who hasn’t shown up yet?”
8
Sophia
Tuesday a.m.
As her minivan thumped over the bump at the top of her drive and Sophia steered her way down the steep hill, Brian came into view. He was sitting on her stoop, his long legs stretched comfortably out in front of him, resting back on his elbows. Sophia thought for sure he’d have given up and left by now.
She threw the gear into park and slowly pulled her keys from the ignition, stalling her walk of shame. She wore blue night shorts covered in leaping sheep. Her t-shirt read “Sweet dreams, I love ewe” and wasn’t made of a thick enough material to mask the fact that she’d left the house without a bra, or any underwear, for that matter. Her hair was mussed, her face sweaty. She was covered in grime and her thighs still had the bright red marks of yesterday’s burns.
As she moved up the sidewalk a grin spread across Brian’s face. “This is going to be a good story.”
“No, it’s not.” She rattled through her keys until she found the one for her front door and climbed past Brian to unlock it. “I apologize for being late.”
“That’s all right.” He followed her through the door, not offering to come back another time the way she wished he would. “I had some things I needed to think through. It was a good opportunity.”
Sophia moved from her office to the Florida room door, and over to her stack of tires. “Before I get sidetracked, I need to put one of these in my car.” Please go home, Brian. She reached up to maneuver the top tire off the stack.
Brian reached over and helped her out. “You had another flat?”
“Don’t sound so incredulous. I’m the queen of flat tires.” She gestured toward her pile. “The guy at the tire store felt so bad for me, he sold me a dozen at cost, so I could have them on hand.” She reached over to roll the tire out, but Brian held it in place. She shifted her gaze to his face where she thought she’d find amusement at the ridiculousness of her problem, instead she saw animosity. She didn’t know what to make of that. “I’ll admit, though, that I played the ‘single mom with two little kids’ card. I asked for a good customer discount.”
He turned toward the stack. “After this, there are only seven left.”
“Like I said, I’m the queen of flat tires.” She tried again to pry the tire away from him. He held it fast.
“Have you always been?” he asked.
Sophia stood upright and combed her fingers through her hair. “No, not always, just since I moved here last June, right after the car accident.”
He settled the tire against his leg and reached for her arm, turning it over. Sophia worked hard not to snatch it back.
He ran a finger over the long scars that ran down her inner arm. “Where did you get them?”
The gentleness and concern made her breath catch. Sent her already tenuous equilibrium spinning. She turned away from him to step into the office, forcing him to let go of her. “My mother-in-law was driving when we got t-boned.”
Brian hefted the tire over his arm and rested it on his shoulder as he made his way toward her car. “And that’s why you’re late today? You were on the side of the road
, in your pajamas, changing your tire?”
“In a church parking lot. But yes.” Sophia hustled after him, pressing the key fob to make the hatch open.
“Do you always go out like that?” Brian had put the tire in place and was closing the back when his eye focused across the street.
Sophia followed his gaze to the upper window, where one of the Sheppards was staring at them. Sophia turned and headed toward the house. Yesterday she was in her nightshirt, today, sheep shorts. She wondered what the Sheppards thought of her.
Brian kept pace. “I want to talk to you about these tires. You being out like this on the side of the road is a safety hazard. I’ve been tasked with your security.”
“When I’m on a dig.” Sophia shut the door behind them and crossed her arms over her chest for modesty’s sake.
“I’ve been tasked with your security.” Brian’s blue eyes crackled with electricity. “Yesterday, the guys at Iniquus’s garage said there were construction bolts in the front and back tires.”
“I assumed. I don’t know how I find them. I’ve tried different tires, different routes, different times of day for driving. I seem to magnetize construction materials to my car.”
“Only your car. Not Nadia’s, for example.”
“No, she’s never had a flat tire in her life.”
“You weren’t having flat tire issues when you lived at student housing. Then you moved here…”
“After the accident, I moved in to help my mother-in-law out. That month I had my first flat. Then once a month like clockwork I could cross ‘fix a flat’ off my to-do list. In the last few months, it’s just become obnoxious. Beyond obnoxious.”
Brian considered her for a long moment. “You look tired.”
The concern in his voice caught at her mask and tried to pry it loose. Sophia scraped her teeth over her lip.
“Is Chance okay? Is that why you’re in your pajamas?”
“Chance is doing better, the antibiotics are working, thank you.” Sophia tried to use a professional voice to build a wall between them. “I was up late working on a project, I got to bed after three, but then my house alarm went off an hour later, so it took some time to calm down. This morning I slept through my wake-up chimes. Lana, Nadia’s sister, is keeping my kids for me today. I thought I’d run them over and slip back in the house to shower and change, and leave a note for you to let yourself in.” She offered up a rueful smile. “So much for plans and good intentions.”
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