Dead and Gone

by Tina Glasneck

  Brian sat down behind her, wrapped his body around her and held her physically together while they waited for the police to arrive.

  Thorn was sitting in her living room with the detectives, taking notes about what was being asked and answered. She was wrapped in a blanket, but still shook like a leaf. Brian sat shoulder to shoulder with her. It kept her in her body and kept her upright.

  Their other liaison, Nutsbe, had swung by and picked up the package heading to Syria. How Brian had remembered that with all this going on was a miracle. But Brian had promised it would get to Iniquus in time for its journey home.

  “Sir,” Thorn said. “Sophia was having trouble with someone puncturing her tires. We were able to get several samples of fingerprints from construction materials. After her flowers were stolen, Brainiack sent a trowel found on scene to our forensics lab. Sophia Abadi’s fingerprints were not on it. There was no sign that the tool was wiped, and fingerprints that match the construction materials were found. That evidence is available at Iniquus. We can’t identify the prints, they aren’t in our databases.”

  Joe Rochester came back in the room. He was holding himself together pretty well for a guy whose dad had just turned up buried in a shallow grave in front of her house. The detective sent a speculative glance his way.

  “I have a forensics app. If you’d like, we can rule Joe’s fingerprints out right away,” Thorn said.

  “What?” Joe asked. “Yeah, let’s rule me out. I didn’t kill my dad and plant him in Sophia’s garden.”

  Thorn swiped at his phone and brought up a fingerprint screen.

  Sophia looked at the clock. “Am I under arrest?” she asked the detective.

  “No, ma’am,” he replied. He’d been going over and over her story since this morning.

  They’d had a break for the pizzas that Nutsbe had brought in. But time was ticking by. “I have to get ready for a meeting. A colleague is flying in from Turkey, and I’m supposed to meet him at Dulles. Excuse me.” She pushed the blanket from her shoulder and stood up. She turned toward Brian when she felt his eyes on her. The look she found was impossible to interpret but something was there. Something that made a shiver crawl up her back. A scalding hot shower is what I need. She wanted to wash this mess away. All of it.

  31

  Sophia

  Monday Afternoon

  “You know, I’m an extremely brave person to be in the same car with you,” Nadia said as she wove over to the ramp that would funnel them to Dulles.

  “Brave enough to have me in your car, not brave enough for me to do the driving.”

  “I don’t see any reason to tempt fate. You’re like Sisyphus, only in your case, you push your boulders up the hill then you roll down to find another one waiting for you.”

  “Mr. Rochester died and was buried before I handed over the ring to Brian. He said it would be back in the cave in less than twenty-four hours. I only have to hang on for twenty-one more hours and counting.”

  “That mindset is nuts.”

  “I can’t say I disagree. But by tomorrow, things in my life should improve—with or without the curse lifting.”

  “Do you want to elaborate on that?” Nadia flicked a glance Sophia’s way.

  “No. Not really. Look, there’s a spot right by the door. See? Already my luck is changing.”

  Nadia glided smoothly into the spot and put the car in park. “That’s apophenia in reverse.”

  “Ha! Who knew apophenia could go in reverse? Now, let’s go find Jael.”

  There was no one in the well-appointed private hangar when they walked in. They milled around for a minute before a man in a blue uniform with a gold-winged pin and a name tag approached them and gave them directions to the meeting room where they could wait for the diplomatic envoy. The plane had landed ahead of schedule and was already on the runway.

  “See? Good fortune,” Sophia said. They walked into a room that held a beautiful cherry table and well-padded armchairs. To the side there was a table laden with snacks, a bowl of fresh fruit, and a beverage station if one wanted a cup of coffee or some tea. Sophia was buzzing in happy anticipation.

  “Nadia, after Jael takes off again, we need to go back to my house. I need to move the computers to your place for now. Get our equipment set up over there. I’ll pack some bags for me and the boys. I’m not staying at that house anymore.”

  “But I thought the lawyer said you had to stay there until the trial.”

  “She did, but that was before there was a dead body in my yard. I mean, it was crazy before, but this is getting into Twilight Zone territory. I won’t be staying there until the killer is found.”

  “He could have died of natural causes and then someone just buried him. Like a dog who finds a bone.”

  “Nadia, that is all kinds of messed up. Seriously.” Sophia felt the floor shift and the room start to oscillate. She’d managed to avoid a seizure through all of this and she couldn’t handle one now, just as Jael was arriving. Nadia’s hug stopped the spinning, and allowed her to focus on the concern in her friend’s eyes. Sophia fastened her consciousness onto the pressure of her friend’s hands, the smell of flowers in her hair. She worked to find things around her that her senses perceived in the here and now that could help keep her from slipping away. It was the technique she’d worked on in therapy. It had kept her seizure-free for over a year. In this last week, things had spiraled too fast, too frequently. She hadn’t had a chance to ground herself in the moment, her brain had slipped into its defensive posture and held her there.

  Nadia reached out and arranged Sophia’s hair. “You can bunk with me until we find you a suitable place, but I don’t have room for you and the boys. You know that.”

  “No, I’d never impose. I’m planning to get a motel room somewhere at least for the next few days—the trial is in one week. Then I’ll have more options.”

  The door swung open, and there stood Jael with a grin across his face and his arms spread wide. Nadia was up and launching herself toward him. He lifted her off the ground and spun in circles with his head thrown back, laughing. He set Nadia back on her feet. She was flushed and happiness lit her eyes. Jael kept her tucked in his arms as he met Sophia’s gaze and winked.

  “We did it.” He raised his arm, and Sophia high-fived him then laced her fingers with his.

  “Thank you. This means everything to me.”

  Nadia pulled back and turned from Jael to Sophia. “What does?”

  “Oh, seeing Jael looking so well,” Sophia told Nadia, then turned her attention to Jael. “How was the trip?”

  “Good. Too short. They’re refueling, changing pilots, and we’re heading right back to where we started from. Good thing the seats are comfortable enough for sleeping.” He peeked at the food table. “They didn’t feed us very well. Nadia, could I impose on you to make me a cup of tea? Perhaps a plate of something to eat?”

  Nadia sent him a confused glance then went over to the snack station.

  Jael leaned closer to Sophia’s ear. “The transfer of property has been made. I met Josh Gilchrest himself out on the tarmac. I watched them load it onto his corporate jet, I’m assuming they’re taking it to Tulsa.”

  “It went through customs okay?”

  “Not a hitch, your provenance was perfection.”

  “Do you want cream and sugar in your tea?” Nadia called over.

  “Yes, please,” Jael said with a smile.

  “The monies were transferred?”

  Jael pulled out his phone and scrolled forward to the forms that Gilchrest had signed. He swiped his finger and showed the bank deposit in the off-shore account.

  “So it’s done.”

  “It’s in the bag.” Jael put his hand on her shoulder with a grin.

  The door popped open and FBI SWAT stormed into the room. Jael pushed Sophia behind him as he took in the scene. The room swarmed with men in black battledress with automatic pistols in their hands. Jael, Sophia, and Nadia were grabbed
and forced to the ground where they were frisked. Sophia’s arms were wrenched behind her back and cuffs were snapped into place. All she could think was that the police had decided she was guilty of killing Mr. Rochester. But why would they be arresting Jael and Nadia?

  They were hauled out of the airport and each placed in a separate black SUV. Sophia had trouble negotiating the step up with her hands behind her back. The FBI guy helped get her in. As soon as she was in place, he held her securely against the seat with his forearm across her chest while a guy on the other side crawled in to shackle her ankles and attach the chain to a bar on the floor. Her arms behind her back were cramping at her shoulders due to their unnatural position. The man who had helped her in the car pulled the seatbelt into place and cinched it down tightly before he drew the balaclava off his head. He looked like just a normal guy without it. Someone who picked up his kids at daycare just like she did. Her boys were at the forefront of her thoughts. She’d promised to pick them up at daycare tonight. She’d have to find a way to get in touch with Lana.

  Now that the door had been slammed into place, all Sophia could think was that if there were an accident and the engine caught on fire, she would be left to burn alive. She couldn’t imagine how excruciating it would be to burn to death.

  Time seemed to blur. She had been hyperventilating in the airport parking lot and now they were pulling up in front of the Iniquus compound. They stopped and showed their ID at the guard tower. The gates opened, and they powered in. Sophia turned to see the other vehicles following suit. She was thoroughly confused. At least Brian and their other Panther Force liaisons would be here, they’d help figure this mess out. But why come here to Iniquus and not the police station or FBI headquarters? Maybe this wasn’t about Mr. Rochester—that was a police matter. Maybe this had to do with Marla, she had been arrested by the FBI.

  Sophia was hustled into the building and moved into a room. There were mirrors lined along parallel walls, and Sophia thought, having watched her fair share of cop shows, that there were likely people watching her from the other side. The room was white. There was no other color except the silver of her handcuffs, which were laced through a hook on the table. It was freezing cold. The goose flesh on her bare arms was as much about the overabundance of air conditioning as it was about fear.

  A woman and a man walked into the room. They moved to the other side of her table and sat in the two empty white seats waiting for them. Sophia noted that they were both dressed warmly for the nearly ninety-degree day. They must have known it was going to be a refrigerator in here. This must be a tactic.

  “My name is Special Agent Alandria Andersson. I work for the FBI in their Arts division. This is my colleague, Special Agent Steve Finley with Terror.”

  Sophia nodded. It made sense that they’d want to talk to her, since she had expertise in both. The cuffs still didn’t make a lot of sense, though.

  “We’d like to talk to you about a tablet that was delivered to Joshua Gilchrest, CEO of Crafts&More.”

  “All right,” Sophia said.

  “Do you recognize the provenance that was attached to the customs forms?” Alandria laid the paper in front of Sophia.

  Sophia’s scanned down the paper to her signature. She swallowed and looked up. “Yes. I wrote this.”

  “It’s illegal to bring antiquities from their country of origin into the United States, but you already know this, given your job,” Special Agent Finley said.

  “That’s true. But it’s not illegal to bring in copies of antiquities, and you will see that I very plainly described the piece as such. Since I’m handcuffed and here against my will, I’m assuming I’m under arrest. I think it would be best if I had a lawyer here representing my interests. If you would please get in touch with my employer, AACP, they can arrange for someone to come.”

  “You misunderstand your standing in this meeting, Dr. Abadi,” the female special agent said. “You are being investigated as a terrorist. As such, we will not be calling a lawyer for you. A different set of rules applies.”

  32

  Brian

  Monday p.m.

  Brian shut his eyes and willed Sophia to be cooperative. To bend and fold. To do whatever she had to do to save herself. He imagined her at intake with a prison jumpsuit and shower shoes, shuffling to her cell with her month’s supply of toilet tissue and toothpaste. His stomach churned. He tried to play this calm, but he noticed Nutsbe and Thorn were riled too. The only one who was cool about this was Titus Kane. He sat with his hands folded on his stomach, his normal scowl across his face.

  There was a knock at the door, and Lynx poked her head in. Titus nodded in her direction. She gave the team a finger wave as she made her way in and took her place in one of the captain’s chairs that lined the small room facing the two-way mirror. “Titus asked me to be here to give my opinion on Sophia’s body language. He also wants a heads up if I think she’s starting a seizure. None of us wants that.”

  Brian agreed with that. Sophia needed her wits about her, and getting her brain scrambled with a seizure would be problematic on several fronts. She’d need a good rest afterwards to get her wiring back in place, for one. Brian wondered what would happen if Sophia short-circuited and the FBI kept pressing her. The thought tightened his jaw. Lynx caught his eye and read him like a book. She sent him a warning look then turned her attention to what was happening in the interrogation room.

  “Fine. What do you need to know?” Sophia asked. To his eye, she looked calm for someone who was being accused of terrorist acts. Aside from her shaking with cold.

  “Titus, did the special agents require Sophia to be put on ice?” Lynx asked.

  “Standard operating procedure,” Titus said.

  “It seems to me that putting her in a physical and mental state of discomfort, while normally effective, might be counterproductive in this situation. Would you please bring the temperature up to something that would be comfortably cool for her?”

  Thank you, Lynx. Brian sent the message mentally, but refused to catch her eye.

  Alandria Andersson moved to the door and brought in a trolley with a tablet resting on it. She placed the trolley next to Sophia. “Tell me what you know about this piece.”

  Sophia licked her lips and turned her head toward the stone. “Sure. This is about a point-one-eight square meter marble slab that weighs approximately fifty-three kilograms. It is inscribed with a script called Samaritan, which was an early form of Hebrew. It is believed that the original slab adorned a Samaritan synagogue or perhaps a private home in Jabneel, Palestine. That area is now called Yavneh in modern Israel. The original tablet would be significant to the Jewish, Christian, and Islamic faiths, in that it lists nine of the Ten Commandments from the Book of Exodus.”

  “Why not ten?” Andersson asked.

  “There are ten listed on the tablet in total, but only nine that are familiar. My professional guess would be that they wanted to keep the number at ten so they omitted one and replaced it with another. This tablet does not say, ‘You shall not take the Lord’s name in vain.’ Instead, it commands people to worship on Mount Gerizim, which is in the West Bank.”

  “Tell me more about the slab,” Andersson pushed.

  “It was uncovered in 1913 during excavation for a Yavneh railroad station in Israel. It is believed to be the only tablet version of the Ten Commandments to have survived intact into the modern age. The workers who dug it up had no idea what they’d found. They sold it to an Arab man who used it to form the threshold that lead to his inner courtyard. When the man placed the stone, he did so with the inscription facing up. That’s why the letters of the central part of the inscription are all but obliterated. They can be made out under the right lighting, and with the right technology.”

  Finley stood and moved over to the stone. “This is smooth because some guy let people trod on the oldest known version of the Ten Commandments?”

  “This, no,” Sophia said. “This is a copy of th
e original.”

  “Made at a later date?” Andersson asked. “How old is the original?”

  “The Samaritan Decalogue is one of five Roman-Byzantine era stone inscriptions that we know about. The dates for the piece are thought to be between 300 and 640 CE—around the time of the seventh century CE Muslim invasion. A man named Kaplan bought the original in 1943. He was a municipal archaeologist at the time. Kaplan and Ben-Ziv wrote papers on it and worked to develop a provenance.”

  “And so what date would you assign to this artifact?” Finley asked.

  Sophia shot him a strange look. “I don’t know, sometime in the last year, maybe?”

  Andersson rolled her eyes. “It says on the provenance that you sent along with the piece that it is a copy of the original.”

  “That’s right.”

  Lynx moved to the edge of her seat.

  The air in the observation room shifted perceptibly. Everyone was feeling the strain of the unfolding drama.

  Finley handed her a photograph. “We have Jael Cohen’s computer. He showed you a bank statement for eight-hundred-and-fifty-thousand American dollars that was transferred from one offshore account to another.”

  “Yes,” Sophia said.

  “That money came from…”

  “My understanding is that it came from the Gilchrest family.”

  “And the other bank account belongs to you,” Finley said with authority.

  Sophia swung her head toward Finley. “How…” She didn’t finish her sentence, just looked down at her hands, her body going still. Even from this angle, the team could see the thoughts racing through her mind.

  Brian’s phone vibrated against his thigh. He checked the app that monitored Sophia’s place, thinking the police were knocking on her door again. But it was Lana tapping in her new code and going into the house. “Have any of you noticed that Lana likes to go over to Sophia’s house when she’s not there?”