Wired In (Paradise Crime Book 1)

by Toby Neal

  “Son of a snake with two penises,” she muttered in Thai. “Everything is fine. I’m handling it.” Sophie unlocked the beautiful door.

  All was normal. Inside, the apartment was pristinely clean and looked exactly the way she’d left it that morning, so long ago. Sunset was beginning, and the dying day blazed in the bank of windows, bisected by the iconic silhouette of Diamond Head and the necklace of skyscrapers along Waikiki.

  “Hi, girl,” she greeted Ginger, rubbing the dog’s chest and behind her ears. Ginger wriggled in an ecstasy of happiness.

  The locksmith was on his way, so she turned a chair and propped it under the door handle after relocking it. She took the bug-detection wand out of her backpack. Ignoring Ginger’s bids for attention, she walked methodically through the apartment and swept for any new devices.

  It was clean.

  Sophie went into the bedroom. Her rigs were on, but locked down. She’d programmed them remotely that way, and now she activated the screens with her fob.

  The spyware scan showed No Threats. Finally, some good news.

  Sophie sat down at her rigs. Her fingers rattled on the keys as she pulled the file she’d started on Sheldon Hamilton into DAVID and expanded the background search on him. She then pulled down the file on Assan that she’d started and re-hacked into Alika’s FBI/HPD case. She set DAVID to searching for commonalities in companies and contacts between the two.

  That was enough for the computer to chew on for a while. Ginger was trotting in little circles by the door, clearly needing to go out and not wanting to use the puppy pads.

  Sophie changed quickly into her running clothes and put her Bluetooth in, loading her pepper spray, keys and phone into her pockets. She wanted to take her weapon too, but didn’t want to deal with the holster and windbreaker for keeping it covered up. She put it away in the bedside drawer.

  Sophie waited until she was on the sidewalk and Ginger was blissfully piddling on a scrap of lawn to call Lehua Wolcott.

  “I thought I might see you here at the hospital today,” Alika’s mother said without preamble.

  Sophie pushed past a stab of guilt. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t make it. A lot was happening at work today, and, it turns out, on Alika’s case. But first, how’s he doing?”

  “No change.” Lehua’s voice sounded leaden with something like hopelessness. “They say the swelling’s going down in his brain but he still isn’t waking up. Nothing but the most basic reflexes.” She rallied with an effort. “We just have to keep praying. We’ve all been taking turns reading to him. I wondered if you were coming.”

  “I don’t think I can.” Sophie had to distance herself. Can’t afford to care too much, become too entangled with this family. “I just thought I’d check in, and let you know there have been some positive developments with Alika’s case. You can check with Detective Kamuela for more information. I’ll be in touch.” And she hung up, softly, but firmly.

  Until she knew who was really behind the attack on Alika, it was best if she kept her distance. She wasn’t safe. For him, or anyone. Maybe when Assan was dealt with, and she’d laid a few more demons to rest.

  Sophie broke into a jog and took Ginger all the way to the beach again. On the way back, she bought a laulau for herself and one for the dog from a sidewalk vendor. As she was crumpling the wrapper and dropping it in a corner trashcan, her phone rang.

  Her heart sank a little when she saw it was her father. More guilt.

  “Hello Dad.” She walked rapidly, her eyes scanning the street as the Bluetooth piped in his deep reassuring voice. She never held her phone to her ear when walking; it was too much of a distraction when in the open and vulnerable. She wondered at all the people who seemed to think their phones made a cone of oblivion around them, when the opposite was true. Phones made them vulnerable: to theft, assault, or worse.

  “Sophie. You never called to check on your mother.”

  “There’s been a lot going on. We had a security breach in the apartment. I’ve had to change the locks and codes. I’m still sorting it out. And a good friend was attacked.”

  “What’s going on?”

  She sketched the basics, not wanting to alarm him. “I’m taking care of it all, but I’ve been seriously distracted.”

  “Well, then.” He harrumphed. “Perhaps I should put off my visit. I’m coming in next week.”

  Sophie’s mind zipped through the various scenarios. Her father didn’t have his own Secret Service agent, but he was under their protection and jurisdiction as needed. Perhaps an extra security layer was a good idea right now.

  “No, Dad, come. Keep your plans. I’d welcome the company.” She got his travel details and then asked for the number of the agent assigned to monitor him. “I want to bring him up to speed.”

  “It’s a she,” he said with a grin in his voice. “Ellie Smith. Official badass.”

  “Dad. You sound like you like her.” Over the years, he’d done nothing but grumble about the Secret Service and his intermittent support from them overseas. “Babysitters and nosy as hell,” he used to say.

  “Ellie doesn’t take my crap. And she’s good at what she does. I’m supposed to call her when I get something fishy like a threat or something. I’ll tell you when I get there, some of the stuff she’s gotten me out of.” He rattled off her number. Sophie memorized it.

  “See you soon, Dad. I hope things will have settled down a little around here by then or you won’t be seeing much of me—but Ginger will enjoy having a human around. I have to take her to a doggie daycare now.” She filled him in on how the pet sitter service had contributed to the breach.

  “She’s going to love daycare,” he said. “Maybe you can find one for me, too. With ladies in bikinis.”

  Sophie laughed, but her eyes were still scanning the busy street, the dark corners. Ginger glanced up at the sound, and lolled a doggy grin.

  “See you soon, Dad.” Sophie hung up and focused on getting home. She lengthened her stride. She felt better having talked to him. Stronger. Not so alone. She wasn’t as good at being alone as she used to be.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Sophie let the locksmith in. The alarm company operative was already outside her unit, up on a ladder, installing a surveillance cam in the ceiling outside the door.

  She had run backgrounds on the companies and the employees, including calling in separately to check that the person who showed up at her door was really the one who’d been sent by the company, verifying with signatures, IDs and photos.

  “Can’t be too careful these days,” she said to the locksmith, a grizzled Portuguese man who knit his brows in annoyance at her verification process. “I’ve had security problems.”

  “No wonder, pretty girl like you.” The locksmith displayed a mouthful of tobacco stained teeth.

  If only it were that simple.

  She kept an eye on them through the open door of her bedroom as she called Ellie Smith.

  “Special Agent Ellie Smith.” The Secret Service agent answered on the second ring. Her voice was brisk but warm.

  “This is Special Agent Sophie Ang, Ambassador Francis Smithson’s daughter,” Sophie said. “I’m calling to alert you to a recent security breach at our residence in Honolulu, since the Ambassador is visiting in another week.”

  “Thank you for advising me, Agent Ang. Yes, I’m aware of his trip and your position. What can you tell me about the breach?”

  Sophie filled her in on the basic details: that her investigation into Security Solutions had led to a trace back finding the location of her computers. She outlined the steps she was taking to rectify the damage.

  “Seems like work and home should be separate locations,” Smith said mildly. “Especially given your father’s sensitive position. And yours, too.”

  “I assumed too much,” Sophie found herself admitting. “I’m taking every precaution now.”

  “Well, we’ll need to monitor the situation. Maybe there’s something we can do h
ere.”

  “I’m not sure what that would be, but I’ll keep you apprised.” Sophie dragged and dropped the info of her alarm company, building, and Security Solutions via secure cloud site for the other agent to access.

  “We’ll be in touch before your father’s visit.” Ellie Smith hung up.

  Sophie was relieved not to be solely responsible for her father’s safety when he arrived. She turned her attention back to DAVID’s caches. The file on Sheldon Hamilton was not getting any bigger since he’d started the company with his then partner, Todd Remarkian.

  She had more luck with the cross check on Assan and Alika’s shared interests. Assan’s company used the same shipping outfit that Alika used, and the same storage facilities here in Honolulu.

  That could be nothing, or it could be something.

  She needed to find more on Assan. If that led to finding more on Alika, it was better to know now than later.

  After she’d been briefed on her enhanced alarm features and the extra front door deadbolt “rated to withstand 2000 pounds of pressure” and the security services left, she sat down, put on her headphones, and called Marcus Kamuela.

  He answered on the third ring. “I’m off duty, at home with Marcella. This better be good.”

  “I’m sorry to bother you. But I ran a cross check on Alika’s business contacts and the ones of a suspected drug shipper, and I came up with a couple of mutual contacts. Might be worth a drop by search with dogs.”

  A short silence. “Don’t recall asking you to work this case. In fact, I recall that you were specifically excluded. And what’s this cross check program? Not that rogue software, was it?”

  Sophie chewed her lip. “Boils on the devil’s backside,” she muttered.

  “What was that?”

  “Just a little Thai. I’m keeping in practice. Can you put Marcella on?”

  “No.” Marcus was no softie, and that bite she’d come to know was in his voice. “If you recall, this is my case. The FBI is just providing support as appropriate. And this doesn’t seem appropriate.”

  “I’m sorry.” She realized that made two apologies so she restrained herself from a third. “I just thought you might like to check out this lead. It could be something, expose a part of the smuggling ring.”

  “I need probable cause,” Kamuela said.

  “I can’t help you with that part.”

  “Okay then. Lay it on me.”

  She told him the company names, addresses. “There’s one for shipping, one for storage.”

  “Who’s this known drug dealer?”

  This was where it got really challenging, because she didn’t actually know Assan was smuggling. Maybe she should go to the docks and search herself.

  “You know what? Never mind,” she said. “Forget I called.”

  “No. Spill. Tell me who.”

  “No, I’ll just go check it out myself.”

  “Just tell me, for God’s sake.”

  “Assan Ang.”

  A long pause. “Relative?”

  “My ex.”

  “Oh. Crap.” Marcus’s voice held a combination of sympathy and chagrin.

  Sophie swallowed, and finally spoke. “The thing is, I don’t know for sure he’s smuggling. But I strongly suspect it. He had unsavory characters over to our place in Hong Kong all the time, and really too much money for just a medium sized import-export business. I wonder if there’s any way to go…you know, just look around?” She bit her lip.

  Another long pause. “You mean an illegal search?”

  “I bet you could come up with a legitimate reason to be on the docks, with Alika’s case and all. And if you find anything, you could call in a raid.”

  “This is pretty thin.”

  Sophie heard Marcella’s voice in the background. “Let me talk to her.”

  “No. She called me.” Marcus had a note of satisfaction in his voice. “Sophie, at least, knows who’s in charge here.” Sophie heard a smacking sound and knew that Marcella had slapped the big detective’s shoulder.

  “Assan needs to be stopped.” Sophie was in no mood for joking around. “He’s an abusive sadist and likely a drug wholesaler.”

  “Well, I’ll take all this under advisement and get back to you. Now, here’s Marcella.” He handed the phone over to Marcella.

  “Girlfriend. What shit pot are you stirring now with that program of yours?”

  “I think this is a real lead.” Sophie repeated the crossover information. “Just promise you’ll take me if you guys go investigate.”

  “I’ll promise no such thing. Your presence could taint any case we might have, involved as you are with both the suspects,” Marcella said.

  “Please. I don’t need to be anywhere around when you make arrests.”

  “Marcus is on the phone right now with the vice task force that has the K-9 drug dogs. Wait, and we’ll call you back.”

  Sophie hung up and, too nervous to settle, dressed in her FBI clothes and athletic shoes. Putting the second part of her idea into motion, she took out one of the surveillance cameras and turned it on by depressing a tiny button on the back. She pointed the camera at her face.

  “This is Special Agent Sophie Ang. You violated my privacy by planting surveillance equipment in my apartment. I suspect you’re involved with Security Solutions and I want to speak with you. I’m going to give you a secure encrypted email address. Send me a link to a chat room of your choice and a time to be there, and let’s talk. I respect your abilities.” She gave a flirty smile, batted her eyes—but not too much, it couldn’t be overplayed. “It’s not often I’m outmaneuvered at my own game. No risk to you, just a chat. You pick the location. Here’s my secure email.” She rattled off the email address. “Hope I hear from you.”

  She turned the camera off, with a feeling like she’d just pointed a radio signal at outer space with little hope that an answer would come back.

  She was stowing the evidence-bagged cameras in her small safe when her phone rang.

  “We’re going down to the docks with dogs,” Marcus Kamuela said. “Meet us at Pier 28. Wear Kevlar and a helmet if you have one, so no one recognizes you. And you owe me. Big time.”

  “I owe you. Yes.” Her heart gave a welcome bump of excitement and dread. “That’s fine. I’ll see you there.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  The Drug Enforcement Agency personnel, with three working dogs, had spread out along the warehouses of the dilapidated docks of Honolulu’s industrial shipping area. Marcella, gorgeous even dressed in FBI black body armor, strode toward Sophie, who gave her friend a shoulder bump in greeting.

  “I know you’re responsible for Marcus letting me come. Thank you.”

  “You owe me,” Marcella said.

  “I’m getting used to that. What’s the plan?”

  “The dogs are just working around the company’s buildings you put us on to. This is all perfectly legal. We’re hoping to get some probable cause, and then we can go in for a full search.”

  As if on cue, one of the dogs, a huge German Shepherd, let out a short, sharp bark in front of one of the steel-fronted doors. The other handlers brought their dogs, and when all three signaled, the agents brought a door cannon and three blows later, the DEA team and Marcus were flowing into the darkened warehouse.

  “You know this could end up implicating Alika,” Marcella whispered as they moved along the edge of the building toward the dark well of the door.

  “Better to know,” Sophie said. “No matter what we find.”

  Marcella gave a nod, and they stepped inside, weapons in ready position.

  Bright lights exploded in their retinas.

  Sophie crouched against the wall, blinking. The lights coming on had been so overwhelming it felt like an explosion—but they were just huge overhead arc lights in the cavernous building, glaring down in hot bowls of radiance on stacks of crates and piles of storage. Marcus Kamuela was nearby on his phone. The dog handlers and DEA agents had spread
out through the warehouse.

  “So this is one of the companies Alika uses?” Marcella asked.

  “Yes. And my ex, Assan.”

  “That piece of shit. You’ll pardon me if I’m hoping it’s him we get.”

  “That’s why I’m here.” Sophie grinned at her friend behind her helmet, but Marcella couldn’t see it, too busy tracking the action as the team searched the warehouse, pulling out random cartons and boxes and letting the dogs sniff them.

  Suddenly, the German Shepherd sounded at a big steel container. One of the agents brought a pair of bolt cutters and in moments the lock was off and the door was opened. Rows and rows of decorative ceramic boxes filled the container, padded with bubble wrap. One of the agents, gloved hands moving fast and expert, unwrapped one of the boxes and took the lid off.

  A bag of powder fell out with a faint thud onto the floor.

  “We got ’em!” he yelled. The shepherd sat, looking proud, its ears pricked.

  “Who’s that container registered to?” Sophie hustled forward, snatching the clipboard with the inventory on it and running a gloved finger down until she came to the numbered steel container.

  “Ang Enterprises,” she read aloud, with satisfaction.

  The search went on. Now that they’d found something, the agents went through every box, crate, pallet, and barrel in the warehouse and came back with several more containers full of drugs, some even nested inside bags of scented potpourri, which had been the most difficult for the dogs to detect.

  Marcus Kamuela clapped Sophie on the shoulder. “Nice lead, Agent Ang. Glad you had it in for your ex.” He grinned broadly.

  “It’s not a laughing matter,” Sophie said, with dignity.

  He wiped the smile off his face. “You’re right. That was out of line. But the good news is, we haven’t found anything tracing back to Alika Wolcott. Working with this storage company could be how he ran into the Boyz, though—if he didn’t want to play with them in this sandbox, they didn’t want him around.”