by Toby Neal
Going to the Big Island to help some children be reunited with their mother had been a welcome change of pace.
“The cult leader is the father?” Waxman’s voice was sharp. “We have no grounds for her kidnapping case, then. They are with a parent.”
“Sir. They are being prevented from joining their mother,” Sophie argued. “That’s parental kidnapping.”
“This is an armed compound filled with crazy religious civilians. Ever heard of Waco? We have no grounds to confront these people. Pull back. Let’s discuss at headquarters.”
Sophie bit her lip. “The children are being made to work long hours of manual labor. They aren’t in school.”
“Yes, and you see that with our migrant farm workers all over this nation,” Waxman snapped. “Also, I notice on the video that they’re being instructed and getting some kind of education, even if it’s not the kind you or I might choose. No laws are being broken here. This is a custody issue between parents. Once the mother has an injunction from family court returning custody of the children to her, local PD can show up with a custody order and get them out and return them to her.”
Disappointment curdled Sophie’s stomach. “There must be something illegal going on there, or why would they have defensive capabilities?”
“I gave you an order, Special Agent. Stand down, pack up, and report to HQ for a team meeting review.” A decisive click in her earbud made her wince as Waxman disconnected.
Ken was already stowing his binoculars in their molded plastic case. “You pissed him off.”
“Son of a goat herder’s pox-ridden three-eyed cousin,” Sophie muttered in Thai. “I know. I hate that.”
“Well, he always goes easier on you than the rest of us.” Ken slanted her a glance. “You’re his pet.”
Sophie didn’t reply. That Waxman favored her was a fact—this investigation wouldn’t have gotten even this far without that factor.
Her heart sank for the woman who’d escaped from the Society of Light and brought the case to their office via Big Island PD. A slim, narrow-hipped blonde with the kind of leathery skin that came from too much time outdoors, Sharon Blumfield had never stopped crying as she shared a story of recruitment, inclusion, virtual slavery, and degradation.
“I stayed in so much longer than I wanted to,” Blumfield told them via Skype as they considered the case. “I didn’t want to leave without my children. Jackson replaced me long ago in his bed, and I began to fear for my life. The other mothers of his children have all left the Society, never to be heard of again—I think something happened to his other women.” She’d made ridiculous accusations at that point: that the women might have been sold into sex slavery, or become human sacrifices to enrich the crops. The cult believed in “aggressive reincarnation,” a process by which people could advance further in the wheel of reincarnation through serving Jackson and sacrifice. Blumfield claimed this had led to “terrible acts by people high up in the leadership.”
Captain Ohale, commanding officer of Hilo PD, sitting in on the video meeting, shook his head at that point. “Ma`am. You have no evidence whatsoever of any of these claims. We do take your complaint seriously, but without evidence of a crime…”
“My children are kidnapped and being held against their will,” Blumfield insisted. Sophie couldn’t stand it any longer, and had spoken up for their team, assuring the woman that they would check out the situation.
And now they were pulled off the case, just that easily.
Sophie looked back toward the walled compound as she and Ken folded the camo-printed pop-up surveillance cover. “I’ll get you out of there,” she murmured to the children in Thai. “I will find a way.”
Sophie had more ways than most to get things done.
Chapter Two
Sophie strode back to her office in the Information and Technology lab. She needed to work out—she felt hot, grubby, and highly irritable from the recent rehash of Waxman’s rationale on the situation, and his final word nixing the Society of Light case.
She barely paused as she passed through the quiet, soundproofed lab, cool as a subterranean cave. Dimly lit computer work bays glowed in the light of monitors, and dense, insulated carpeting absorbed her footfalls. Sophie’s fellow agents, headsets on, eyes and fingers busy as they worked at the myriad tasks associated with computer and online investigation, barely looked up at her passage.
That was IT. Everyone was in his own little world that connected to a much bigger cyber world, and preferred it that way.
Sophie stopped at her own bay, quickly activating her faithful computers Amara, Janjai, and Ying, and setting up the video camera’s data from the case to download. She grabbed a weighted jump rope and large exercise ball out from under her desk and took the items to the carpeted “lounge” area in the corner of the room, with its floor-to-ceiling tinted windows. Sophie always wore stretchy black pants, athletic shoes, and a tank shirt under her regular button-down so she could really move; now she stripped off her regulation shirt and got going on the rope.
Used to Sophie’s exercise breaks, no one so much as looked up as she jumped, the whirl and slap of the rope on the padded, tight-napped carpet the only sound besides her even breathing.
Gradually the frustrated whirl of her thoughts calmed like a shaken snow globe settling. The rhythm of the rope, her breathing and heartbeat brought a temporary peace that she couldn’t access any other way.
The lab began to empty out as six p.m. passed, but Sophie continued, finishing half an hour on the rope and switching to a workout using the large rubber exercise ball, as she mentally ticked over the steps of the case.
They’d taken the FBI chopper, painted in low-key matte camo paint, back out of the valley and stopped in at the South Hilo Station to speak to Captain Ohale, letting him know that the FBI had declined the case. Sophie had given the captain a copy of the video footage and surveillance data they had collected.
“I’m not sure if there’s grounds for a child abuse or neglect case,” Sophie said. “But our SAC recommends Ms. Blumfield pursue her concern through family court.”
“Back on us, then.” Ohale rubbed his chin with a thick finger. “You say the place is armed?”
“Yes.” She’d described the sniper nest and security enclosure. “Can’t tell if the wall is to keep people in, or out.”
“Blumfield says both.” Ohale had scrawled the woman’s name, email address, and number on a memo pad from the Hilo PD. He handed it to Sophie. “You get to talk to her and tell her the bad news.”
Sharon Blumfield was not going to take it well. Upon their return to the office in the chopper, the team meeting hadn’t yielded anything but more frustration as they reviewed why this wasn’t an FBI case, and she and Ken got a lecture from Waxman on unnecessary investigative expenditures, such as pilot time and helicopter fuel.
Sophie shut her eyes and speeded up her sit-ups on the ball in annoyance. Ohale wasn’t going to do anything more than he absolutely had to, and she really didn’t blame him. She couldn’t use DAVID, her rogue data-mining program, at work to dig up anything else actionable on the cult. But when she got home, she could access it from her replica work lab…
“Sophie.” Waxman’s voice was right above her, and she almost fell off the big plastic ball in surprise.
“Sir.” Sophie managed to turn the slide into standing, bouncing to her feet. She glanced around. The lab had emptied as everyone else left and she stood facing her boss alone.
“Leave off the ‘sir.’ It’s Ben, remember?” Waxman reminded Sophie of Anderson Cooper, the journalist, with his prematurely silver hair and steel-blue eyes. He was always immaculately turned out, and today’s mist gray suit fitted his well-maintained body flawlessly.
“Ben.” Sophie set her hands on her hips and didn’t soften her tone. “What can I do for you? I thought the meeting was pretty thorough.”
“I came down to speak to you privately. I know you didn’t like the outcome of today�
�s investigation.”
“I’m not sure what talking about it will achieve, sir.”
Waxman slid his hands into his pockets and jingled some change there. “I’ve noticed you get emotionally involved in cases regarding children,” he said mildly.
“Is that a problem?” Sophie widened her stance and crossed her arms, tightening her biceps. She’d practiced this pose for her MMA fights, to maximize her physical presence. “I notice you get particularly agitated whenever we have cases involving—oh. Wait. You never get agitated. The perfect wax man.” She was being insubordinate, but he’d invited her to call him Ben, and right now she was past caring if she got written up. Waxman’s brows rose in surprise as Sophie forged on. “I care about children. Nothing is going to happen for those kids now that we won’t take the case.”
“You don’t know that. Ohale could still do something through Child Welfare or the mother’s appeal to family court.”
“You and I both know he’s not going to take on that sniper tower.”
“Well. Be that as it may, I won’t reiterate the reasons this is not our case. I actually came down to tell you something else you won’t like.” Waxman folded his arms, imitating her posture, so Sophie dropped them. She wasn’t falling for his matching body language mind games. “Remember I was going to get back to you about the presentation to the bureau chiefs about DAVID?”
Sophie nodded. In a final attempt to get Bureau approval, she’d put together a PowerPoint on the Data Analysis Victim Information Database, and how the program worked by searching law enforcement information data storage using keywords and a probability algorithm to predict outcomes of case hypotheses.
“They reviewed the information we provided and the cases in which the program was used. I’m sorry to tell you, the program was disapproved for use by the Bureau. Permanently. Furthermore, it’s being confiscated as a security and liability risk.” Waxman’s jaw bunched.
“You can’t do that.” Sophie’d had these arguments with the Bureau already, and not that long ago. Her voice rose. “My patent application is pending. I own that program. You can’t take it from me.”
“Sophie.” Waxman shook his head. “It’s not me taking anything. I am in favor of DAVID, you know that. These decisions are being made above my head.”
“Doesn’t matter. DAVID doesn’t belong to the FBI. And I don’t either.” The frustration boiling in Sophie’s chest spilled over. “I won’t work for an agency that doesn’t see a good thing when it punches them in the nose.”
Waxman froze, eyes widening. “We can work this out, I’m sure of it.”
“I don’t think so.” Sophie paced back and forth in front of Waxman, hands on her hips. “Confiscated as a security and liability risk sounds pretty final to me. And I’m tired of these short-sighted restrictions and limitations. Like the case today.”
“Those two things are completely different issues.”
“That’s undoubtedly true, but both of them illustrate the FBI’s tendency to lose sight of the forest for the trees.” She was proud of how calm her voice was, how adeptly she’d worked in that American idiom. “I’m sure there are plenty of security firms in the private sector that would be happy to have my talent on their team.” Sophie refused to meet Waxman’s eyes. He’d been more than a boss to her, and this conversation was painful—she didn’t want to see in his face how it was for him. She bent and retrieved the jump rope and the ball. “I’m sure you’ll need to have my resignation in writing. I’ll have it on your desk by the morning, and given the hostile circumstances of the FBI’s confiscation of my program, I’m sure you’ll forego my two weeks’ notice.”
She walked back to her workstation and sat down, refusing to look at Waxman as he followed her.
“Sophie. Please.” He set his hand on her shoulder but she shrugged away from his touch. Waxman spoke to the back of her head as she shut down her computer rigs. “I’ll appeal this decision about DAVID. I will do everything I can to get it turned around.”
Sophie blinked several times, hard, before slanting a glance up at Waxman. His cool blue eyes were sincere, his mouth pinched. “This team needs you, Sophie. I need you.” Waxman took a breath, blew it out. “I’m sure I’m not that good at hiding how I feel.”
Sophie pushed the wheeled chair out from her desk and stood to face him, apprehension tightening her chest. “What do you mean?”
“I mean that I care about you. I…” Waxman ran a hand through his immaculately barbered hair. “I don’t want you to leave. Please stay.”
Sophie backed up a step. “All the more reason, then, that I need to leave.” She softened her tone. “Ben. I don’t feel the same. And I never could.”
Silence drew out for several long moments as they gazed at each other. The warm light in Waxman’s eyes died out, leaving them an ashy gray.
“I understand. I’ll look for your resignation in the morning.” Waxman drew himself upright and walked out, shoulders squared. The light over the doorway lit his silver hair briefly.
Regret twisted Sophie’s gut. He’d been a good boss, a great mentor, and a sometime friend—but she wasn’t attracted to him that way.
The long-simmering situation with DAVID and the hidebound attitude of the FBI had finally brought things to a head. She found a box and packed her few personal items.
Just like that, her time at the FBI was over.
Chapter Three
Ginger, Sophie’s yellow Lab, leapt out to give her an ecstatic greeting as Sophie unlocked the red lacquered door of the penthouse apartment owned by her ambassador father. Ginger had been at doggie daycare all day with plenty of exercise and company—but the dog never failed to act as if they’d been parted for weeks any time Sophie returned.
Ginger’s slobbery affection was a balm. Sophie dropped to her knees in the doorway and embraced the dog’s sturdy neck. “Oh, hey, girl. I need a hug today.”
She fetched the dog’s leash off the hook beside the door and they rode the elevator down to the ground floor as Sophie called her best friend, fellow agent Marcella Scott, to tell her the news.
“I’m quitting the Bureau,” she said baldly when Marcella answered. She endured the shriek of negation and the peppering of questions. Sophie took Ginger outside to do her business on the scrap of lawn beside the elegant edifice as they talked. She was still on the phone when Jenns Rudinoff, head of building security, contacted her. She ended the call with Marcella to take the call.
“Ms. Ang, there’s a detail from the FBI here with a search warrant.”
“What?” The sentence wouldn’t compute. Sophie yanked Ginger’s leash and sprinted back toward the entrance. “Where are they?”
“At the check-in desk.”
Sophie strode through the double doors into the elegant lobby, Ginger tight to her side. Fellow IT operative Special Agent Bateman, doughy and pale, and Ken Yamada stood at the security desk. “What the hell is this?”
“Let’s speak privately.” Ken’s austere face was pale with strain. Bateman carried a black briefcase of tech tools and looked shifty-eyed.
“I hear you have a search warrant.”
“I would prefer we spoke privately,” Ken repeated. Sophie walked to the elevator and stabbed the button. They got on, Ginger panting and wagging with excitement to see her mistress’s friends. As the doors closed, Sophie pointed to the dome of the security camera in the corner, so they rode up to her apartment in tense silence. Arriving at the small square foyer area with two doors to the penthouse apartments, Sophie whirled on them. “Ken! What the hell!”
“Waxman called me back in to work. Said you’d quit and that I was to serve you with a warrant for the retrieval and removal of company property. Namely, your DAVID program.”
“I’ve been through this already.” Six months before, Bateman had verified that DAVID was removed from Sophie’s home rigs; she’d offloaded it to the Cloud for safekeeping and retrieval. With this latest development, Sophie hadn’t had time to ev
en take a shower let alone prepare for the swiftness of Waxman’s response.
“Then you have nothing to worry about.” Bateman’s face was blank.
“Show me the warrant.”
Ken produced it and handed it to her, his eyes downcast and movements slow. “Waxman told me you quit. Please tell me it’s not true.”
“True. And with this monkey shit going down, I’m obviously making the right decision.” Sophie’s hands shook so badly that she couldn’t get the door keys into the lock. Ken took them from her and opened the door. Sophie deactivated the alarm as Ken gestured with his chin to Bateman.
“Go. Do what you have to do and don’t take a minute longer.”
Bateman headed for Sophie’s bedroom with its triple bank of computers, set up to mirror her FBI workstation.
“Bateman won’t be able to get in without this.” Sophie pressed a button on her key fob that activated the triple-protected workstation. She turned away, facing the grand sweep of windows that was one of the nicest features of her father’s swanky apartment. Tears pressed against the back of her eyes as she balled her fists at her sides. “This is so wrong. I own that program.”
“I’m sorry this happened. I was in shock when Waxman called me to come in and serve this on you. What happened between the team meeting and now?” Ken’s voice was soft with compassion.
“Waxman told me DAVID was denied for use by the FBI and was being ‘confiscated.’” Sophie made air quotes with her fingers. “A security and liability risk. On top of today’s fiasco with the Society of Light case, I’d had enough.”
“I’m surprised Waxman let you resign.” Ken’s straight brows had drawn together in concern.
Sophie covered her face with her hands. “Like he can stop me. To top it off, Waxman apparently has…feelings for me. I told him they weren’t reciprocated. I had to leave, with all of that.” Sophie stuck one of her fists in her mouth and bit down on her thumb to keep the pain inside. “Everything I worked for. Everything I built…”
