Sophia switched the picture to a nighttime satellite image of a city, and Nadia gestured toward the screen with widespread arms. Dressed in her geometrically cut fuchsia suit, her long black hair softly curled and draping over her shoulder, Nadia could easily have fit into any Fortune 500 corporate boardroom. All eyes were fixed on her when she moved to the center of the room. Sophia knew her friend was as phobic about public speaking as she was, and while Sophia appreciated any little break from the attention, she wished at least one of them could do this with ease.
“Our world is in crisis,” Nadia said. “We believe that our shared human history can help hold us together. It is in humanity’s best interest that we do our work at AACP. Thanks to the amazing contributions of corporations and wealthy individuals who agree with that premise, we are now making satellite-related finds a global effort.” Nadia sounded like a late-night infomercial. She was rigid, and her words came out as too formal and overly rehearsed. “AACP is about to launch a worldwide initiative to give everyone an opportunity to become space archaeologists.” Nadia stopped to smile as if it were written into the script. Then she focused on the back wall over the men’s heads. “Imagine, if you will, that this is Google Earth with exponentially more capability. Our teams will process satellite imagery, then we’ll upload them to a platform to allow laypeople to help us search.”
“I’m Gage,” the man sitting in front of Sophia said, leaning forward and pointing at the screen with his pen. “That seems like a very technical process, how is it possible for a layperson, an armchair archaeologist, to do this kind of search?”
Nadia took a step in his direction, obviously glad to be more conversational. “The plan is to give someone a small area to search—only say, twenty meters squared.” She turned. “Sophia, can you find an example?”
Sophia flipped through the images until she found what she needed.
Nadia turned to point. “They’ll be given the original image as well as an enhanced image to look at. In comparing the two examples, the patterns should pop out better, so that one can see in photo B what wasn’t clear in photo A. There will be keys that will help the amateur hone in on what’s important. The volunteers can tag the photos with notes on what they think they’re seeing. We need fresh eyes on those images. Space archaeologists suffer from eye fatigue from looking through all this data all day. And to be honest, we simply don’t have time to search for new sites when we’re so involved in saving the ones that we’ve already identified.”
Sophia clicked the button to show a picture of bombed out Aleppo.
“I’m sorry,” Nutsbe said. “Before you move on, it seems to me that the GIS—Global Information System—data is extremely sensitive. If you’re crowdsourcing the effort, doesn’t it concern you that this might be used by professional treasure hunters? Or others with less altruistic designs?”
Sophia thought the question a good one, astute. It was one of the dangers that had been discussed ad nauseam in their planning meetings. “It’s a possibility, but a remote one. The plots that we put up won’t have GPS information attached, and our software engineers are working to mask location-defining information. No one should be able to tell where on the globe their plot is located.”
Sophia flipped forward in the images to give Nadia an example. “This site is in Peru,” Sophia explained. “That’s our upcoming trip that Panther Force will be involved with. This site was discovered by a project beta tester. While we’re planning an exploration of the area, that person has no idea where it is or what we’re doing with the information they provided us.” She glanced around to see if there were any more questions. “We’re giving you the information on how we’re progressing with our site searches as background, but that’s not Nadia’s forte, nor mine. Our backgrounds are in the antiquities of the Middle East and our focus is almost solely on Syria.”
The image changed to a beautiful mosaic that had recently been unearthed. Sophia stopped and looked at it for a moment. She turned to the men, hoping that they could appreciate the enormity of its significance. The John the Baptist, Roman piece had survived beneath the dirt in pristine condition for over a millennium. “Perhaps you have read, or know through your work, that ISIS is one of the most devastating forces destroying cultural heritage since the Nazis in WWII.” Sophia knew these men were being paid to do a job, but from her experience talking to colleagues from all over the world, getting these operatives invested in their project was key to successfully saving the art and maybe even themselves. Sophia hoped she and Nadia had picked the right route to hook their interest and get them invested in AACP’s agenda.
“Syria is the seat of human history—of writing and record keeping, of science and math. ISIS is systematically destroying their ancient architecture.” Sophia gestured toward the image. “Artifacts, such as this one from around fifteen hundred years before the Common Era, are at risk. When the pieces aren’t being destroyed, they’re being sold on the black market. The sales of these antiquities are a major funding source for ISIS. You already know that ISIS is one of the best financed terrorist organizations in the world.” Sophia let her focus move around the room, resting briefly on each man. She wanted to make this point clear. This was not some tutti frutti do-gooder campaign. “Protecting artifacts in Syria cuts off a main ISIS revenue stream and helps to destroy ISIS’s ability to proliferate. This is a matter of national security. We are in the forefront of the fight against terror.”
Sophia got what she was looking for, the men had a new alertness about them. They had been polite during the beginning of the presentation—maybe even a little bit curious and interested. But now the mood had shifted.
She and Nadia had been passionate about stopping terror since they went on an ill-fated dig years ago, the very last dig they went on with their fathers. Sophia’s thoughts drifted back to the night they’d had to run to the US embassy for help. She caught herself before a full-blown PTSD flashback took hold. She pulled herself back to the present in time to hear Nadia explain, “There are over ten-thousand Mesopotamian tells in the war zone. A ‘tell’ is a hill that was created over time as people built and rebuilt on the same site. Tells are filled with important information about how people lived their lives in the past. They are also filled with artifacts that have value on the black market. That black market funds ISIS.
“Right now, there are six sites in Syria that have been designated as UNESCO World Heritage Sites. These include places like Ancient Damascus, Palmyra, Bosra, and Aleppo. Sites that are in the news every day as they’re being bombed and destroyed. There are twelve more sites that UNESCO will consider designating in the future, but that largely depends on what can be done right now to save them from pillage and destruction. ISIS hates everything that existed before the Prophet Muhammad. They have already reduced the Arch of Triumph in Palmyra to a pile of rubble. UNESCO labeled it a war crime. Stopping this destruction is another important component in fighting ISIS.”
Sophia changed the picture to one of cheering ISIS soldiers. “You see, ISIS is publishing photos like this one to show their disdain for international authority. Their methods are consistent. First, ISIS attacks the people, women and children, the elderly…men and even boys are forced into their fighting ranks or they face the firing squad. Second, they systematically attack heritage sites both for ideological and propaganda gains. And third, they sell the artifacts using crime families to move the goods from finder to buyer quickly and easily. It is our job,” Sophia said, “to document endangered sites in Syria. Nadia and I are connected with Syrian groups who, amid the bombing, are working every day to detail and protect the antiquities.”
“Sophia is focused on using GIS to track the looters and to pinpoint possible areas where we could get the good guys on scene before ISIS finds the relics. I’m working to catalogue the items that we know about, so we can prevent people from selling them on the black market, or prove the items are stolen if investigators find them in private collections. Bottom
line, our goal is to stop the looting, which in turn helps to stop terrorism,” Nadia said.
Titus had been standing at the side of the room with his shoulder pressed into the wall. His being out of her direct line of sight had allowed Sophia to put him out of mind. But now he was asking her a question, and she was having a hard time focusing on his words; she was so affected by his scowl. “Tell me more about the propaganda factor.”
After a long moment of standing mute and wide-eyed, Nadia came to her rescue, reaching out to take the remote from Sophia’s hand.
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.”
4
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 stood there looking up at him with her soft brown 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?”
Dead and Gone Page 42
