Chapter 11 Pierre #2
“They believe in a sacred power—sakti—that flows through royal bloodlines and their possessions like an invisible current.” Pierre pulled up a document dense with references.
“The organization is always led by a Master, someone who’s supposedly achieved enlightenment through combat and ritual.
Members train from childhood in martial arts, philosophy, and what we might call mysticism. ”
“You’re describing warrior monks,” Sophie’s curls had escaped their pins, framing her face. “To think I knew Connor before he got mixed up with them. He ascended fast within their ranks.”
“Yes. His position with them is highly unusual. And, not only are they something of a cult . . . they’re also an organized crime syndicate.
” Pierre’s fingers flew across the tablet, pulling up information he’d harvested from encrypted forums. “Data I found on the dark web shows that, though Thailand as a whole has moved away from poppy cultivation, the Yām Kh?mk?n maintains hidden fields. Much of their financial power comes from heroin production and distribution networks that span the Pacific.”
He pulled up another document—a grainy scan of a report from a French intelligence officer in 1960s Indochina.
The paper looked water-damaged, the ink faded but still legible.
“Here’s what’s most relevant to our current investigation.
According to multiple sources, the organization teaches that power can be transferred between objects and people.
Royal artifacts don’t just represent authority—they contain it, store it like batteries.
And there are rumors . . .” He hesitated.
Sophie raised her eyes to his. “Tell me.”
“There are rumors of ritual cannibalism. Consuming the flesh of defeated enemies to capture their strength.”
Sophie’s expression remained carefully neutral, but she stood abruptly, still cradling her teacup with both hands. She paced, her bare feet silent on the dense carpet, her lithe form graceful.
He cleared his throat; it must be devastating to know that her lover was this shady organization’s current Master.
“I know it sounds insane, but multiple sources mention cannibalism. Always in the context of defeating a powerful opponent. The ritual supposedly transfers the vanquished enemy’s power to the victor. ”
“Connor certainly never mentioned it.” Sophie set her teacup on the tray with deliberate precision. “I’m having a hard time imagining him participating in something like that.”
“Maybe the faction Connor represents has modernized, moved away from old practices. Could be why this more radical group is breaking away—they want a return to past traditions.” Pierre attended to his tablet, spreading out more records with practiced gestures.
“Here’s something more. Look at the pattern.
Every major Thai antiquities dealer has ties to certain families.
Families that trace back to known Yām Kh?mk?n lineages and connections.
It’s a kind of hidden network, a shadow economy. ”
Sophie returned to sit beside him. He could feel tension and warmth radiating from her. “They keep their antiquities close. In-house, if you will.”
“Yes. It seems to be part of how they preserve their beliefs, and their obsession with royalty and sacred power.” Pierre pulled Sophie’s manila folder closer, tapping the photos of Hawaiian artifacts.
“Now think about what Hawaiian ali‘i pieces represent. Mana made physical. Power you can hold, wear, possess. This belief aligns with that of the Yām Kh?mk?n.”
“The feather capes,” Sophie breathed. “Worn by kings. Made from birds that no longer exist.”
“And lei niho palaoa—the hook pendants worn only by royalty. Also, war weapons that killed rivals and supposedly absorbed their mana. To the Yām Kh?mk?n, these items wouldn’t just be artifacts. They’d be considered spiritual batteries, charged with royal authority.”
Sophie swore softly in Thai. He wished he understood what she was saying, but her tone conveyed enough.
Pierre continued. “If this is an old guard faction trying to overthrow Connor and seize control, they’ll want every piece of transferable power they can acquire. The Bishop Museum’s collection would be like a spiritual arsenal to them.”
Sophie leaned in, peering at the tablet; her bare arm brushed his sleeve. “Pierre, this research is incredible. How did you find all this?”
“I can’t take all the credit; I had help.
A colleague in Paris who specializes in Southeast Asian secret societies.
He’s been tracking Yām Kh?mk?n references for years.
” He gestured at the spread of digital documents.
“They’ve been hiding in plain sight, using global trade and their shadow network to move power—both literal and figurative—for generations. ”
Sophie leaned back against the couch. Pierre did too.
“This is not a group you want to have as an enemy,” Sophie murmured.
“No. But you didn’t choose any of this,” Pierre said.
“I did choose Connor, though. And he brought the Yām Kh?mk?n to my doorstep.”
Pierre cleared his throat. “I’ve also put together a dossier of sorts on all the artifacts that were stolen. And additional ones that might be at risk.”
He opened a new digital file. “I worked with Dr. Yoshimura today to gather provenance records, authentication documents, and even statements from cultural practitioners about each piece.”
“That’s great. Not sure what we will need that for, but I have a feeling it could be useful. Merci, Pierre. You were busy today.”
The house had gone quiet around them except for the electronic hum of Sophie’s tech equipment and the distant rumble of the dishwasher running. Despite the darkness of what they’d discussed involving the case, the moment felt oddly peaceful as they sat in companionable silence.
Sophie spoke, her voice barely above a whisper. “I’d forgotten what it was like to have someone to really talk to.”
Pierre’s chest tightened. “Different perspectives can be valuable,” he said lightly.
“More than valuable.” She turned to face him fully, and something in her expression made his heart rate spike. “Pierre, knowing I can count on you . . .”
The moment stretched between them, fragile as a spiderweb, until a monitor across the room erupted in a series of electronic chimes.
Sophie was on her feet instantly.
She crossed to the screens. “Someone’s at the gate.” She pulled up the camera feed. “Bill’s on it. He’s . . . talking to someone. This must be Connor’s operative arriving.”
Pierre moved beside her to see the screen.
A sleek black car had pulled up to the gate kiosk. The driver was visible through the windshield—a simply-dressed Asian man with his hands visible on the steering wheel, his posture relaxed but alert.
“I recognize him,” Sophie said sharply. She fumbled her phone from her pocket, her fingers finding the speed dial without looking. “Bill, let him in. It’s Feirn, Connor’s second in command.”
“I recognize him too.” Professional caution came through her phone’s speaker in Bill’s voice. “We’re checking the vehicle first to make sure it’s clear.”
On the monitors, Sophie’s security team materialized around the black car.
They surrounded the vehicle with practiced efficiency, running bomb detection wands along its chassis, popping the trunk to verify its contents.
A moment later the gate retracted and the car glided through like a shark entering a lagoon.
Sophie turned to Pierre. “Thank you for all this research. I need you to pass it on to Marcella and the FBI team immediately. But right now I have to deal with Feirn’s arrival. Connor said he was sending someone to help, but I didn’t expect it to be his closest lieutenant.”
“It shows how much he values you,” Pierre said carefully.
Sophie snorted and fired off what sounded like a particularly creative curse in Thai as she headed for the door, leaving it ajar for him to follow.
As Pierre began forwarding his research to the FBI team, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something had shifted between them. The tiny spark of hope in his chest burned a little brighter.