by Toby Neal
Wired Rogue
Paradise Crime Book 2
Toby Neal
Contents
Title Page
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Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Acknowledgments
Excerpt Wired Hard
About the Author
More Titles From Toby Neal!
Connect With Toby
Wired Rogue
A Paradise Crime Novel
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By Toby Neal
Copyright Notice
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
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Copyright © Toby Neal 2016
http://tobyneal.net/
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ISBN-10: 0-9973089-2-3
ISBN-13: 978-0-9973089-2-1
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ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author/publisher.
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Cover Design: Jun Ares [email protected]
Format Design: Author E.M.S.
Created with Vellum
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Toby Neal’s Website
“Unraveling external selves and coming home to our real identity is the true meaning of soul work.” ~ Sue Monk Kidd
Chapter One
Children shouldn’t be treated like slaves. Anger tightened Special Agent Sophie Ang’s hands as she adjusted the binoculars a little more to focus in on ten kids of various ages, bent over in a water-filled patch of land planted in the deep green, heart-shaped leaves of the Hawaiian kalo. They wore bathing suits and palm frond hats as they worked in the hot sun, an adult supervising from the shade of a nearby palm tree.
Taro farming was backbreaking work, and it looked like the Society of Light cult was using their smallest members to work with the submerged tubers, a staple of the Hawaiian diet. Sophie’s partner in the operation, Ken Yamada, shifted restlessly beside her in the camouflage surveillance tent on a rise of ground across the river from the compound. “Ten is more children than we were told about,” he murmured.
“We have to locate the two targets,” Sophie said, for the benefit of their SAC, Waxman, monitoring through their comms. “Can’t identify the children positively yet.” The homemade hats hid the red blond hair the children’s mother had told the agents to look for. Sophie widened her scan, and took in the rest of the cult’s property.
A high wooden wall provided cover and security for the compound deep in the Waipio Valley on Hawaii. Surrounding their location were the vast, steep, green-jungled walls of the largest, deepest valley on the Big Island. Rising to breathless heights, bisected by a giant waterfall at the end, Waipio was a beautiful and untamed place where wild horses roamed and people lived as they had a hundred years ago. Midday sun overhead increased steamy humidity, and gnats and mosquitoes buzzed over the FBI’s pop-up cover in a noxious cloud. Coconut palms and tropical trees broke up a sweep of pastureland before the compound, dotted with livestock grazing beside the wide, jade-green river.
The site seemed to have been chosen for maximum defensibility. Set deep in a valley that was accessible only through a single steep one-lane road, the complex was walled in wood and topped with razor wire. From their vantage point, they could look down into the grounds. Yurts were clustered like chicks around the hen of a big, metal, barn-like structure, probably where the cult met as a group. Its functions would be revealed as their surveillance progressed. “See any armaments?” Sophie whispered.
“Yeah. Nine o’clock. Sniper tower disguised as a tree,” Yamada said.
Sophie’s earbud crackled with their Special Agent in Charge’s cool voice. “Get me eyes.”
“Roger that, sir.” Sophie turned and opened a plastic case. She took out the small, high-powered video camera with its instant wireless streaming abilities. The reverse camera showed Sophie’s image as she screwed the camera onto a tripod and aimed it at the area Ken had identified. Her golden skin looked sallow in the little square, her large brown eyes haunted—but at least her cropped hair was too short to be any different than usual. Sophie applied her eye to the viewfinder and adjusted the high-powered lens.
A small platform, camouflaged with branches, was built into the tall avocado tree in the far corner of the compound. A man wearing green camo gear sat in the lookout, a rifle resting on the narrow parapet around the nest.
“Seems pretty extreme. Why would a peaceful cult out in the boondocks of this valley need to be walled and guarded with firepower?” Ken said.
“And yet here we are, surveilling them,” Sophie muttered.
“Right. Just because you’re paranoid, it doesn’t mean they aren’t watching you.” Ken’s severely handsome face was unforgettable when he smiled. Good thing he was gay. The last thing she needed was to be attracted to a partner. A devastating breakup with her almost-boyfriend Alika six months ago had left Sophie lonely, prone to wondering if she’d always be that way.
“Stay focused. How many unsubs?” Waxman’s crisp voice brought her back on task.
They continued to gather data all day, counting thirty adults, mostly white, in the twenty to forty-year-old age range. They tracked the flow of behavior patterns: children, supervised by a single adult, worked the taro fields in the morning while adults did other tasks among animals and gardens. A noon meal was held all together in the main building. Another shift of afternoon work by adults in fields, gardens, and outbuildings went on as the children were seated in a circle for some kind of instruction, in the shade of the sniper tree.
The cult leader, Sandoval Jackson, distinctive in orange robes trimmed in gold, walked the grounds, trailed by a woman attendant. Flowing silver hair and a full beard distinguished him from the severely buzz cut hairstyles of the other adults, all wearing various shades of orange robing.
“What does this cult believe in?” Ken kept his binoculars to his eyes as Sophie filmed the children, holding small whiteboards, participating in school-type instruction.
“The Society of Light promotes a blend of Sufism and Hindu beliefs.” Sophie had put together a quick case file before they took the chopper out of Honolulu that morning. “Jackson apparently had a revelation that led to his development of the Society. He’s been recruiting members of the well-heeled yoga set.”
Sharon Blumfield, mother of two, a Society member that had
“escaped,” had initiated a case against the cult to get her children returned to her. It had come to the FBI after the Big Island PD had asked for their help in investigating the child kidnapping complaint.
“I don’t see any abuse happening from the data you sent, or from the visual surveillance.” Waxman’s voice sounded tinny and detached. “Where is the father of the children?”
“They were fathered by Sandoval Jackson, the cult leader.” Sophie’s throat tightened on her reluctance to speak the words. She wanted this case. She’d pushed to get out from her computer lab and into the field to check out the complaint. The endless series of computer file reviews and hard drive reconstructions that made up the bulk of her work had been hard to concentrate on and find fulfilling, after the drama of her last case.
For the first time in her life, Sophie felt restless ‘wired in’ to her computers. She wasn’t allowed to use DAVID, her data analysis program. She missed Alika and worried over his recovery from injuries, even though they weren’t a couple and she was having no luck locating the enigmatic online vigilante, the Ghost, whom she’d uncovered on that last big case, though they continued to chat and flirt online.
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.”
