by Fiona Quinn
Nadia clicked a few frames ahead to a picture of a group of men swarming steps in their black uniforms. “This is the Mosul Museum. This picture was spread far and wide in jihadist chat rooms. It shows that the Western world is powerless to protect relevant sites or artifacts. There was a great deal of gloating over this large-scale cultural destruction. The messages were look how powerful ISIS is, look how unable anyone else is to stop us. That sense of power is profound when it comes to a group of young men with little education and little in the way of a future outside of the military, the police, or terror organizations.”
Regaining her composure, Sophia gestured toward the screen. “And we’d be remiss not to add that this is cultural cleansing. For centuries in this area, there has been a sectarian coexistence. When the terrorists destroy physical structures, they are destroying the texture and rhythm of the communities. This destruction will surely influence how people interact with one another after ISIS is removed. The cultural destruction is laying the groundwork for social upheaval. This will increase regional instability. It follows that saving these sites is imperative to United States security. The world needs a stable Middle East.”
Nadia moved over to the wall and flipped the switch to bring the lights up. She moved back to stand shoulder to shoulder with Sophia.
Titus joined them at the front of the room. “Thank you, Doctors, this has been enlightening. A good overview of what’s at risk, what the ramifications are, and what your involvement is in mitigating the problem. At this point, I’d like to introduce you to your team liaisons. Their job is to get to know you better, get to know how you work, and assess what security measures need to be in place for you in your travels.” He held out an open hand to the man who had turned down the lights at the beginning of their presentation. “Communications and operations will be run by Nutsbe.”
A man with closely cropped blond hair stood and nodded at Nadia. He remained standing, his hands folded neatly in front of him.
“Nadia, your liaison will be Thorn.”
Another operative pushed to his feet. Like all the men who sat in the room, he looked like he spent long hours outdoors and in the gym. These were the kinds of men who would run marathons across the desert for the fun of it. Thorn had daredevil written all over him.
“And, Sophia, your liaison is Brainiack.”
Brian Ackerman stood and faced her. So not a doppelganger. Sophia had only seen that particular shade of electric-blue eyes on one prior occasion. They made this man stand out in a crowd, and made him impossible to forget. “Brainiack,” Titus had called him. Huh. Sophia stood there blinking her eyes and chewing on the inside of her cheek until Nadia leaned over and asked for the thumb drive she was supposed to bring with her.
Sophia patted over her yoga pants before she remembered she had stowed the drive in her skirt. “It’s out in my car.” She peeked up at Titus, who was sending a considering glance between her and Brian. “I’ll run and get it for you,” she said, wondering what the commander was thinking in that moment.
“Just hand it over to Nutsbe when you come back. I’m headed in to another meeting. Thank you for your information.” Without a handshake or a goodbye, Titus stalked out the door.
Sophia followed Titus out, letting Nadia shut down the laptop and gather her things. Sophia only made it a few paces down the corridor before she heard, “Sophie, hold up.”
She squeezed her eyes tight. Brian. Shit.
“I’ll walk you to your car.”
Chapter Four
Brian
Monday a.m.
Brian reached out and caught Sophia’s elbow to direct her down the right-hand corridor, which would take them directly to the garage instead of going through the atrium. Sophia took a tentative step forward then tilted her face up to catch his gaze, raising a questioning brow as if she didn’t trust him to get her to her car safely.
“This way’s faster,” he said. It was a hell of a coincidence, Sophie showing up and being put under his protection.
She pursed her lips and kept pace with him, though there was an odd little hitch in her step and an occasional wince that made him think she was in pain. He shortened his stride, slowed his gait. It was an uncomfortably silent walk. He should say something to her. Be professional. But instead, he found himself using all his energy to stuff down the anger that rose a little higher in his chest with each step forward. He wanted to confront her, was picking out the right words, when Sophia pulled her keys from her purse and pressed the fob, making the door chirp and the lights flash on a nearby red minivan. He had been heading toward the onyx Mazda Miata sitting two cars down; it seemed more Sophie’s style—lush, sophisticated, its lines suggesting class and refinement.
Sophia stopped suddenly, throwing her hands in the air. “Are you freaking kidding me?” She looked skyward. “That’s enough for one day, okay?” she seemed to bargain with the heavens.
Brian thought he heard defeat in her voice. She sounded nothing like the polished professional who had his team engrossed in this morning’s meeting. He took a step forward and followed her gaze to see that her back tire was flat. Another step showed the front tire sat dangerously low.
Her phone buzzed, and Sophia fished it from her pocketbook. “Dr. Abadi,” she said as she unlocked the back of the van and pulled up the hatch to reveal a brand-new tire laying on its side. She raked her fingers into her hair and lay her forehead on the metal body, listening. “Thank you, I’m on my way. Tell Chance that Mommy loves him. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
Mommy? Brian looked through the open hatch to the middle row where he saw two car seats: one facing backward, one facing forward. He checked her left hand to see if there was a ring there and found her only jewelry was a slender gold bracelet with an unusual clasp. “Is your son okay?” he asked as she tossed her phone back in her purse and dropped the purse to the ground.
She was breathing a little too deeply, a little too fast. She reached into the van to lug out the tire.
“Hey, hey, hey.” Brian put a hand on her arm to stop her. “That’s not going to help. You’ve bent your wheel. You must’ve been driving on the flat. Didn’t you notice it this morning when you came in?”
Sophia moved to the side of the car and squatted in front of the rear wheel. She closed her eyes, muttered something in Arabic under her breath, then righted herself.
Brian caught her by the arm, spinning her around to look her square in the eye. “It’s going to be darned hard to protect you if you’re not willing to talk to me.” His mounting frustration was on display, but he regretted his tone immediately. What he saw in her eyes was nothing less than desperation and exhaustion. Obviously, this wasn’t the time for him to get answers. He dropped his voice, warmed it with concern. “Sophie, let me help. Is your son okay? What do you need?”
She looked at her purse, her tire, the safety seat, and then back to Brian. “I need a Lyft,” she said and pulled away from him, moving to the driver’s door. “Let me get you that flash drive before I get caught up in this next fiasco.”
Brian stooped to retrieve the cellphone from her purse, reaching around the can of Lidocaine, which rested on the top of her neatly organized bag. He quickly stood and pocketed the phone as she moved back to him. She was fishing in the pockets of a stained skirt and pulled out a flash drive. Now that he was standing next to her, he realized she was wearing yoga pants with her heels and blue satin blouse. “Seems like you’re having a bad day.” He gestured toward the skirt.
Sophia locked her jaw.
“Look, we’re assigned to work together. We can figure out how best we can do that later. Right now, let’s start with a plan for today. All right?” Brian’s mind was on hyperdrive, searching for the best way to handle this situation. He knew that the meeting this morning with the two women was only a thin slice of the pie. The FBI was in the Panther Force war room waiting for him to join the team and get briefed on another side of this case.
Sophia sto
od there looking up at him with her soft doe’s eyes and those insanely long lashes. He got the feeling that if he made one wrong move, she’d bolt.
He dropped the volume of his voice to sound calm and reassuring “My car is one row over. I’m going to go get it. We’ll move the safety seats, and you’ll use my car to get to your son. Okay? I’ll have our mechanics come and get your wheel situation straightened out, then I’ll bring your van to you.” He paused and waited for a confirmation.
Sophia seemed to be weighing the situation.
“I understand that you work out of a home office,” Brian pressed. “If it’s convenient, when I get there, you can show me your setup. If not, at least I’ll know where to find you.”
She turned suddenly to slam the hatch closed. “Desperate times call for desperate measures,” she muttered, turning back toward him and brushing dirt from her hands. “Thank you.” She made an effort to smile, but the emotion didn’t make its way to her eyes. “It would be quickest if I use your vehicle.” She canted her head. “You’re not afraid I’ll disappear again, this time with your car?”
“All of our vehicles are tracked by GPS. You could try to run, but I’d find you.”
Chapter Five
Brian
Monday a.m.
“You’re late,” Titus barked.
Brian handed over the flash drive and gave a curt nod. Titus didn’t need excuses from him. The point was made.
Panther Force was spread around the war room. The table that had moments earlier held Dr. Dajani’s computer now had two chairs facing their team. A man and a woman who reeked of Quantico training filled the seats.
“This morning, we heard from the archaeologists working for the AACP,” Titus began. “Iniquus has signed contracts with that organization to guard newly acquired sites outside of war zones and to protect their upper level employees when they’re travelling internationally. Iniquus has also signed a contract with the FBI.” He nodded toward the special agents.
“With the AACP’s blessing, of course. Our colleagues at the Bureau are interested in the black-market antiquities and the monies that are going to fund ISIS and terrorism. I would like to introduce you to two of the special agents with whom we will be working. This is Alandria Andersson from the arts division, and Steve Finley with terror.”
As their names were announced, they stood, nodded, and returned to their seats.
Finley began. “Gentlemen, you’ve just met two suspects that have been flagged by the FBI for conspiring to fund ISIS terrorism. It’s our goal to identify if Dr. Sophia Abadi and/or Dr. Nadia Dajani are in fact culpable, and to what extent they are entwined in the black market sale of Middle Eastern conflict antiquities.”
Brian’s muscles contracted. Titus turned assessing eyes on him. But Brian had already fought his expression into a mask of stoicism and adjusted his posture to calmly absorb the information.
Andersson took the reins. “During the Iraq war, it came to the Bureau’s attention that a United States business, Crafts&More, was possibly involved in acquiring looted artifacts from the region.” Andersson’s disdain was easily read from the tightness in her facial muscles and the squint of her eyes. “This religious based company is developing a Museum of the Holy Bible right outside of DC, in Maryland, to be opened in 2018.”
Titus stood in his usual place toward the front of the room with his shoulder against the side wall where he had the vantage point. His face held its natural scowl. “This group is populating its archives with black market pieces?”
“We believe so,” Andersson said. “And interestingly, it was Nadia Dajani, Sophia Abadi and their fathers who brought this to our attention. First, a little background on our marks. These two women come from a long line of prominent archaeologists. Sophia’s father was Dr. Amad Abadi, who was born and trained in Turkey, and Nadia’s father was Dr. Farid Dajani from the University of Damascus. Both men immigrated to the United States. Both men became United States citizens at a young age, married American women, and had American children. Nadia and Sophia spent their summers in the Middle East from the time they were very young. Both are fluent in Arabic, Farsi, Turkish and Hebrew. The last dig where they accompanied their fathers happened in 2011. At the time, the two women were pursuing archaeology degrees at their universities. Sophia was getting ready for her senior year of undergrad, and Nadia was beginning her doctoral work. Nadia is four years older than Sophia.”
“Are the father’s implicated in this case?” Titus asked.
“Sophia’s father is incapacitated with dementia, and Nadia’s father had a stroke that left him unable to speak clearly or use the left side of his body. We’re quite sure they’re not involved. But the women have all of their fathers’ contacts in that region. It’s a close circle of academics that form an extended family.”
Titus shifted against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest and staring down his nose at the special agents. “But the 2011 dig is significant.”
“Yes, their research group was based out of Israel that summer. It was at that time that a shipment headed for Tulsa, Oklahoma was seized by US Customs in Memphis. The shipment held two-hundred and fifty tablets that were inscribed in cuneiform a thousand years ago, when modern-day Iraq was called Assyria. These tablets were headed to a compound owned by Crafts&More. Since that time, Crafts&More has been under investigation for illicitly importing Iraqi cultural heritage to the US for display in their religious themed museum. We estimate around 40,000 artifacts were purchased by the Gilchrest family, who own the privately run Crafts&More business.”
“How do Nadia and Sophia play into this?” Nutsbe asked, his wrinkled brow showing that things weren’t adding up for him.
Brian was glad to cut to the chase. Why were they going after Nadia and Sophia?
“Provenance,” Andersson said. “Provenance in the art world is the written history of the object. It’s the who, what, where and when of the piece, giving as complete a history as possible. Think of it as a chain of custody. The story, as we understand it, is that the two young women—Sophia, then aged twenty and Nadia, twenty-four—got into a taxi headed for a restaurant. Instead of going where it was instructed, the taxi took them to a warehouse where Sophia and Nadia were held hostage. Their fathers were told to create fake provenances for the tablets that would pass without question through customs, or their daughters would be killed.”
“I’m Thorn, Nadia’s liaison. I think it’s important that we understand what happened that night. Do you have details?”
Finley rubbed a hand across the back of his neck. “Some. The crime was never solved, so the picture is cloudy. Nadia and Sophia were gone for almost seventy-two hours. They said they were blindfolded and tied up throughout that time. The place they were held was filthy and they were lying in dirt. They had a bucket to use as a toilet. They were fed once a day and threatened continuously with sexual assault.” Finley paused. “It does not appear that that threat was followed through. We can’t be sure; the women refused medical exams and left the country. The person who brought the women their food woke them up in the middle of the night and got them out of the building. A motorbike was waiting at the street corner. Their rescuer—a female—got the girls on the back of the bike. The person driving had on a helmet and gloves. Nadia and Sophia couldn’t say if it was a man or a woman. The person never spoke to them. They were taken to the US Embassy and left at the gate. The US Embassy contacted local law enforcement, who went to the residence to check on their fathers. As the police breached the door, the captors who were holding the men fled. The families left for Turkey the next day. Between the girls’ account of what was overheard, and what the fathers were asked to provide, our embassy contacted US Customs and the FBI.”
“The fathers had been told their daughters would be held until the packages successfully passed through US Customs and were delivered to the right people,” Andersson explained. “Amad Abadi and Farid Dajani were able to convince the kidnappers that th
ere was no provenance possible that would cover the tablets, since it’s against international law to remove cultural heritage items from their country of origin. They offered another solution that their captors put into play.”
“Wait, the shipment was sent and the criminals didn’t try to silence the families immediately?” Gage, the newest Panther Force member sounded incredulous. He had been a Marine Raider, a member of the elite Special Forces for the US Marines, in the Middle East. He knew as well as the rest of his teammates, all retired from US elite forces, just how violent that area of the world was for everyday citizens, particularly women.
“We’re having trouble with that outcome as well. We assume that something else happened, some other threat was made, and that it was at this point that one, or both of the women became criminally involved with the black market.”
“The tablets were confiscated by customs though, right?” Brian asked.
“Right. The fathers explained to the captors that the only way to get antiquities from their country of origin to the United States was to lie about what was being shipped,” Andersson said. “Not so long ago there was a Picasso worth upward of $15 million dollars that a woman, posing as a tourist, brought through customs by saying it was a $37-dollar handicraft. That charade was what the Gilchrest family attempted. They declared that they had ordered replicas of ancient tablets to be manufactured to spec in Israel. They were shipped FedEx and labeled, ‘handcrafted clay tiles.’”
“Which is accurate,” Steve Finley put in. “That’s exactly what they were. What wasn’t honest was the price tag of $3,000, when they’re worth millions. The case is still under investigation. The Gilchrests say they don’t believe they’re antiquities, but instead the tiles they ordered to be made for the museum. Both criminal and civil charges are possible if the decision is made to prosecute. That prosecution is problematic, in that the Gilchrests have a great deal of money and political clout, they’ve invested in a lot of political campaigns over the years—things are moving along slower than they might under different circumstances.”
