by Toby Neal
“What are you saying?”
“I’m saying I won’t be anywhere you can find me.”
“That’s too bad. It might be fun to meet in person.” Might as well exploit the flirty thing to see if she could lure him into the open.
“I plan on it. In fact, we’ve already talked.”
Now the tiny hairs rose on the back of Sophie’s neck. “I think I would remember.”
“Oh, you would. If you knew who I was.”
Sophie was getting uncomfortable. It was time to put him on the defensive. “I think I figured out who the saboteur at Security Solutions is.”
Sophie waited for his response. Her mouth tugged up in a smile. She liked this dance they were doing. It had dispelled some of the fog of depression, though she could still feel the dark wings of it beating around the back of her mind.
“Do tell.”
“What do you have to trade?”
“Got some good stuff on Lee Chan.”
“I think we found all that already, and I don’t think he’s the main man.”
“Ah. What makes you think he isn’t?”
“Show me yours, and I’ll show you mine.” She was flirting again.
“You forget. I’ve seen yours. And may I say, it was nothing short of breathtaking.”
Sophie winced. He had, indeed, seen hers. “A gentleman doesn’t spy on women.”
“If you checked the angle of the cameras, it was all business,” came back almost sharply. “I’ve never been called a gentleman but I do have certain codes. Spying on you wasn’t intended.”
She paused, chewing her lip, then typed rapidly. “Nuff of this. I’m going to find you.”
“I expect no less and I’ll enjoy that. In the meantime, if you ever need any help, send me a note at this address.” An email address appeared.
He was saying goodbye. She didn’t like it, wasn’t ready to say goodbye. “Pox ridden obese pig farmer afflicted with ringworm,” Sophie muttered.
“Don’t go” she typed, and blew out a breath.
The cursor blinked. She shut her eyes. The depression reached out to clamp onto her brain.
“Why not? What do we have to say to each other?”
Sophie leaned forward, typing rapidly. “I’d like to know what you’re trying to achieve. What your agenda is. You tracked me, you know who I am, but while we’ve been able to find out a little about who you are, I don’t understand what could possibly motivate you. What’s your game?”
A long pause.
“I can’t tell you more because you might be able to use what I say to find me. What you can trust is that I’m not trying to hurt you, or anyone. In fact, I’m trying to help.”
“So you’re the saboteur?” It seemed like he was confirming that, like he’d admitted it earlier, when he said only those who deserved it got hurt.
“I’m saying I’m on your side. In every way I can be. In fact, you should consider me a friend. To you, and to law enforcement.”
Sophie stared at the screen, waiting for something more to appear, but it didn’t.
“Are you the saboteur?” she typed, pushing for that confirmation. “Are you Frank Honing? Sheldon Hamilton? Lee Chan? Or Todd Remarkian?”
“None of the above.”
He was probably lying.
“I could use help with something,” she found herself typing. “Prove you’re a friend.”
“I’m listening.”
“A man named Assan Ang, in Hong Kong, has a new young wife. He does unspeakable things to his wives. Can you get her out?” Sophie bit her lip, her breath coming in short, hard pants. She couldn’t believe what she’d just asked. On the other hand, she had nothing to lose. Assan was outside her reach, and his child bride, even more so.
The question mark at the end of the sentence pulsed to the beat of her pounding heart.
“I’ll look into it. And then you’ll owe me. Goodbye, Sophie.”
The cursor beside his moniker disappeared. The Ghost was gone.
“I’m getting used to owing people,” she murmured aloud as she saved the email address he’d given her mechanically and, moving very deliberately, shut down her rigs. She had a meeting to go to about the saboteur. She was pretty sure she’d just met him, and he’d offered to help her. He might be able to help Assan’s bride. If so, the chance she’d just taken would be worth it.
The soundproof room had come with the Hong Kong apartment as a “safe room.” It was outfitted with rings, hooks, an armoire of props and devices, and a bed. She didn’t think of the sex he acted out on her in that room as something she’d participated in. No, she’d done her best to be somewhere mentally far away.
There were no windows in that room. When he turned the lights off, it was so dark inside that she couldn’t see her hand in front of her face. She’d come to dread being imprisoned in that room more than any of his carefully concealed beatings—Sophie could take a beating. Those didn’t get to her like that room did, with its darkness and isolation. She’d eventually taught herself to go to sleep whenever he locked her in there.
Now she needed silence and blackout drapes to sleep at all.
That he had another victim in that room could not be allowed, no matter the cost to herself. No matter what it cost her to owe the Ghost.
Sophie had escaped through careful planning. During one of her tech classes at the university, she’d met an FBI recruiter who was impressed with her skills and the three languages she spoke. After securing a job offer, she’d waited until her ticket to a U.S. interview was available. She’d taken carefully hoarded household budget money she’d amassed over months and years, and fled one day with just the clothes on her back.
Sophie remembered walking calmly out of the sumptuous lobby with her heart pounding and body aching from Assan’s choking assault of the night before. The doorman, on Assan’s payroll, bowed respectfully even as he took note of her clothing, suitable for her computer class. Her modest leather computer satchel contained the passport she’d broken into Assan’s safe to take, along with her jewelry.
She’d ditched her cell phone at the corner and taken a taxi like she always did, but this time she directed it to the airport.
She’d made it out, and her new life had provided a powerful layer of protection. But she’d never been entirely sure that she’d made it beyond Assan’s reach. She thought of Alika in his hospital bed.
God forbid she’d been the cause of his attack.
How was the Ghost going to get a young girl, probably much less prepared than she’d been, out of that fortress of a building?
Yes. If the Ghost could help that girl, it would be worth what she’d owe him.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Sophie sipped an extra strong mug of tea as she sat down at the team meeting in the conference room at the FBI building. Waxman was already seated beneath the shiny FBI logo on the wall at the head of the table, and he’d asked Ken to take notes on the white boards as they reviewed the case.
“So where are we with this kidnapping case, exactly?” Waxman asked. “It seems like we’ve gotten diverted down a rabbit hole with this Security Solutions lead.”
“Sir, I met with the building manager this morning.” Sophie described the meeting. “I ran the number she gave me, and it came back to a burner phone, which I’d expected. But someone is renting the rooms on the fourteenth floor of that building on a regular basis.”
“That seems like something we can stake out and follow up on. Keep us posted if you hear anything from Torres,” Waxman said.
“Yes, sir. Does anyone have any new ideas about the disappearance of Sheldon Hamilton at Security Solutions?” Sophie asked.
No one answered that. Finally, Gundersohn said, “I think at this point we need to assume that the suspect with the means and opportunity to be the saboteur/information seller is Lee Chan.”
“And I take it he isn’t talking.” Waxman made a pyramid with his fingertips.
“I think I know who
the saboteur is. It’s not the same person selling the confidential client information.” Sophie had taken a caffeine pill along with a deep sip of her tea, hoping the stimulant would counteract the lethargy of depression still plaguing her and give her the energy to disclose everything that had happened. “I have a lot to fill you in on, sir.” She got up, went around the table, and took the erasable marker from Ken Yamada.
“Yesterday I detected a security breach in my apartment.” She drew circles on the board and labeled them: Honing, Chan, Hamilton, Remarkian, Saboteur, Data Leaker.
“I’m pretty sure the saboteur is the one who got into my apartment and wired cameras to monitor me.” She described the situation she’d gone through yesterday and the steps she’d taken to correct it.
“I used one of the cameras Bateman retrieved after he swept my apartment to send the unsub a message. He responded, and this morning I talked to him in an untraceable chat room. He called himself a friend of law enforcement.”
Sophie explained that her apartment had been broken into by someone similar in appearance to the missing Sheldon Hamilton. She suspected that he had returned from Hong Kong and set up surveillance on her to keep ahead of her investigation into Security Solutions.
Waxman’s blue eyes were steely slits fixed on her face over his steepled fingertips. “So you think he’s the saboteur?”
“It’s my best guess.” She swallowed, looked down. “I don’t think we have any idea what his motives are. I asked him, but he wouldn’t say. Denied being any of the four main players at Security Solutions. But I think when we find Sheldon Hamilton, we’ll know more.”
“You haven’t presented any evidence that Hamilton is anything but missing and possibly the one that broke into your apartment,” Waxman said. “For all you know, it could have been Lee Chan in that chat room. Or Remarkian or Honing.”
“Well, all we have to do is see what each of our suspects was doing at nine a.m.,” Gundersohn said. “The one that was chatting online was the one who broke into Agent Ang’s apartment. That’s all we can say for sure, not who that person was or whether or not he was the saboteur. And it wasn’t the saboteur Lee Chan was so afraid of, it’s whoever is selling secrets. Got any ideas about that, Agent Ang?”
“No. There are still too many possibilities.” Sophie frowned, hands on her hips. “Working up my background on the CEO, I broke into Hamilton’s financials. He’s been rerouting all his money to a numbered account for two years. Whatever he’s doing now, he’s planned for a long time.”
“None of this makes any sense,” Waxman said impatiently. “Why would Hamilton build up this company only to abandon it to Honing and Remarkian, even if he did siphon off some cash? This company is worth a lot. And who’s Lee Chan afraid of, or is he faking all that to throw us off?” Waxman smacked his hands down with a sound like a rifle shot and stood. “You know what? Let’s do a raid on Security Solutions and gather up whomever we can and put them in interrogation and grill them about an alibi for 9:00 a.m. See what we can shake loose. Yamada and Gundersohn, get some local PD muscle to go with you, and find Lee Chan while you’re at it.”
Sophie stood with the men.
“No, not you, Agent Ang. I want to talk a little more about the security breach in your apartment,” Waxman said, his eyes the color of steel.
Sophie sat back down, apprehension tightening her throat.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Sophie sat beside Waxman as the other team members left the room, already working their phones. She wished she’d eaten something that morning because now the caffeine pill was making her queasy. It was too much to hope that Waxman wouldn’t be angry about the security breach. But at least he didn’t know that DAVID and her FBI workstation were back up and running on her home computer lab.
“You’re on administrative leave without pay. Two days. And a disciplinary note is going in your file,” Waxman’s eyes were on his computer monitor.
Sophie felt the blood drain out of her face. She’d never had a consequence like this before in her life. Her insubordination note from the DAVID usage was the first time she’d ever had anything but commendations added to her record.
She bit her lip and gazed down at her hands in her lap, schooling her face into the mask that hid her emotions.
“I can contest this with my union representative,” she said at last. “Any agent’s residence could be discovered and broken into by a skilled enough unsub.”
“You chose to withhold vital information germane to your case from a superior,” Waxman said. Sophie glanced up and could see patches of red on his cheeks, though his eyes were still on his monitor and his voice, icy. “You chose to use department resources, namely Agent Bateman, to cover your situation without going through proper chain of command.”
“I decided speed was the best course and the minute I knew my apartment had been breached, I took action. I had Bateman sweep my apartment for surveillance equipment because we were going into a meeting and I didn’t want to slow anything down by doing it myself. He knew where it was, and knew Ginger, my dog.” She took a long, shuddering breath and let it out on the remembered stress. “My building security was advised. I called in a change of codes for my alarm system, changed the locks, and had a surveillance cam installed at the doorway, which is the single egress point. Ran full security scans on my rigs. I even notified the Secret Service, because it’s actually my father’s apartment and he’s coming next week. I dealt with it. And yes, the unsub found me through a back trace on the Security Solutions data stream I’d diverted. The programmer behind their systems is good. As good as, or better than, I am.”
“What makes you think the saboteur’s Sheldon Hamilton?” Waxman finally looked at her and now she knew why her friends Marcella and Lei had complained about being in his crosshairs—she felt like an insect under his withering stare.
“Deductive reasoning. Todd Remarkian said he and Sheldon Hamilton developed the software together, so I know Sheldon has the skills. Lee appears to be the saboteur, but I don’t like him for it because I don’t think he’s smart enough, or ruthless enough. Same reason why I don’t think he’s the information peddler.” She twisted her fingers in her lap, keeping her eyes down. “I know programmers and hackers. Lee’s a tool—an implementer, not an innovator. I don’t think he has the genius to be the man behind the remote surveillance software that is Software Solutions’ main asset. That software is verging on being artificially intelligent. It analyzes patterns, takes countermeasures, and alerts the people it decides need to know about something going on within its parameters.” She took a breath, glanced up. Waxman was still intently listening.
“I think Sheldon was in Hong Kong and heard that the saboteur was detected after our meeting with the top brass at Security Solutions. He disappeared, taking his software and assets, leaving Lee set up to appear guilty.” Sophie paused again and Waxman made a ‘go on’ gesture. She continued. “I think Hamilton’s the one because, while I don’t think Lee’s smart enough to be the saboteur, I also don’t think he’s stupid enough to load his computer full of cash and run money through a personal, traceable account in the Caymans.”
“Why don’t you think Remarkian is the saboteur?”
“Remarkian could be the saboteur, it’s true. But it’s Sheldon Hamilton who may have imitated a dog walker and broke into my apartment, by his physical description, and I verified Remarkian’s location as Hong Kong during our calls.”
“So do you know what Remarkian looks like?”
“Roughly the same height and weight as Sheldon, but blond and blue-eyed. Has an Australian accent.”
“Well. More will be revealed, and for you, that will be in two days. Give me your creds and weapon.”
Sophie pulled her gun, badge and wallet and smacked them down on the table. She stood, feeling anger waft over her in an energizing wave.
“You’re making a mistake. Ben.” She spat his name like it tasted bad, spun on her heel, and left.
>
Sophie went where she’d always gone when life was hard. When cases were complex. When hated emotions took over her brain. Where she went when the depression was bad, when it was gone entirely, where she’d gone in every range of need she’d had since she escaped Assan Ang and made Honolulu and the Bureau her home five years ago.
Fight Club.
After working the heavy bag long enough, the talons of depression’s hold finally began to uncurl.
Sophie looked around to find the gym going on as usual even with Alika in his hospital bed. Pairs of fighters were sparring in the warm up ring. The gleaming bodies of athletes worked exercise bikes, treadmills and ellipticals against one wall. The weight area clanked with the grind of metal on metal and the grunts of heaving lifters. The smell of leather, rubber, metal, and sweat was a familiar perfume that lifted her spirits.
Done warming up, Sophie climbed into the empty main ring, gloves on, and raised her arms in the air.
“Anybody up for a workout besides me? Bring it on!”
A ragged cheer rose from her gym mates. Minutes later Sophie was completely immersed in a fight with a Japanese jiu-jitsu champion with the attitude that women weren’t real competition. It took six hard rounds to disabuse him of that opinion, though she lost in the end.
Showering in the locker room, watching blood from her mouth and nose drain into the shower between her feet, Sophie decided the gym was what she’d been missing lately. And that it was way past time she visited Alika in the hospital.
Her eye swollen shut and her lip split, Sophie hid the rest of the damage under a concealing hoodie for her visit to Queen’s Hospital. She didn’t call first, but she stopped at the gift shop to pick up a bouquet of daisies. She held them up in front of her battered face to deflect questions on her appearance, and was surprised to be redirected when she reached the ICU.
“He’s stable now, so he’s been moved to a convalescent floor,” the nurse on duty said, peering suspiciously at Sophie’s face between the daisies. “Do you need some first aid yourself, Miss?”
