Chapter 14 Sophie
SOPHIE
The Kona Police Department’s computer lab was a windowless box of a room in the building’s basement that smelled of burnt coffee and ozone from the machines.
Sophie settled at a workstation in the corner, Akamu’s laptop open before her.
Feirn positioned himself by the door, his back to the wall, eyes tracking the occasional officer who passed in the hallway beyond.
“Coffee?” Sophie asked him in Thai, gesturing to a pot that looked like it had been brewing since morning.
Feirn’s nose wrinkled as he answered in the same language. “I’d rather drink water buffalo urine.”
Sophie smiled grimly and turned her attention to the laptop. The login screen taunted her with its password field. She pulled out her portable drive containing her toolkit—a collection of scripts and programs that had served her well over the years.
First, she tried the obvious: variations of Akamu’s name, birth date, anniversary. Nothing. Then she booted into recovery mode, accessing the command line. Her fingers flew across the keyboard, muscle memory from hundreds of similar intrusions.
Within ten minutes, she’d reset the admin password and logged in. The desktop wallpaper showed Akamu with what must be his family—a smiling woman, two grown children and a granddaughter on a beach with Diamond Head visible in the background.
“Here we are,” she murmured, then began copying the hard drive to her external storage. While that ran, she opened Akamu’s email.
The inbox contained thousands of messages. Sophie sorted by sender, looking for patterns. Tech newsletters, collector forums, auction house notifications—the digital detritus of a wealthy collector’s life.
Then a name made her pause.
Dr. Catherine Yoshimura.
Sophie’s pulse quickened. She filtered for emails from the Bishop Museum curator. Dozens appeared, stretching back three years.
“Feirn,” she called softly. “Come look at this.”
The young warrior materialized beside her. He read over her shoulder as she opened the most recent exchange from two weeks ago:
Sam,
I understand your concerns about the lei hulu’s provenance, but I assure you, the documentation from the Kyoto dealer is legitimate. As we discussed, items of this cultural significance deserve proper care. I’m always available if you need authentication or storage advice.
Best,
Catherine
Sophie scrolled to Akamu’s response:
Catherine,
I appreciate your ongoing support. You know how much these pieces mean to me—not just as objects, but as connections to our heritage. BTW, I’ve been meaning to ask: do you know a good security consultant? After those thefts on Oahu, I’m getting paranoid.
Sam
Yoshimura’s reply sent a ripple down Sophie’s spine:
Sam,
I share your concerns. The Bishop Museum has upgraded our security recently. I can’t recommend anyone specific, but I’d suggest someone with experience in art protection. The thieves seem quite sophisticated.
Stay safe,
Catherine
“She’s asking leading questions,” Feirn observed. “Probing his security without seeming to.”
“Seems like,” Sophie said, pointing to Akamu’s reply: I definitely need to do something. We only have a basic burglar alarm.
Sophie opening another email thread from six months earlier. This one discussed authentication for a Fijian war club Akamu was considering:
Sam,
The club is magnificent! Definitely 18th century, possibly connected to Ratu Cakobau’s warriors. If you acquire it, I’d love to document it for our database. As you know, I maintain records of all significant Pacific artifacts in private collections—for research purposes, of course.
Catherine
“For research purposes,” Sophie murmured. “Hmm.” She opened a new search, looking for mentions of the database.
What she found made her lean back in the uncomfortable chair.
Email after email showed Yoshimura systematically cataloging private collections across the Pacific. She was building relationships with every major collector, positioning herself as the helpful expert, a cultural guardian and coordinator who understood their passion.
“She must have a complete inventory built by now,” Sophie said. “Every piece, every security system, every collector’s schedule and habits.”
“So educated and well-positioned.” Feirn’s expression darkened as he scowled. “The perfect inside source.”
Sophie dug deeper, cross-referencing names. Harold Whitmore appeared frequently, as did the other victims. But it was a thread from three months ago that made her pause:
Dear Collectors,
As discussed at our last gathering, I’m creating a comprehensive digital archive of ali‘i-related artifacts. This is purely for academic purposes—to ensure these treasures are documented for future generations. Please send updated photos and provenance documents at your convenience.
Dr. Catherine Yoshimura
Head Curator, Pacific Collections
Bishop Museum
The recipient list read like a who’s who of their case: Whitmore, Akamu, the collectors from Oahu, and a dozen others who might be future targets.
“She’s been building this for years,” Sophie said. “Gaining collectors’ trust, collecting data.”
“But is she communicating with the splinter group from the Yām Kh?mk?n?” Feirn asked. “Or just being used?”
Sophie opened a new search, looking for connections to Southeast Asia: a conference attended in Bangkok five years ago. A visiting professorship at Chulalongkorn University. Published papers on the spiritual significance of warrior artifacts across cultures. “This is not enough,” Sophie muttered.
Then she found it—a single email from an address that made Feirn jerk sharply beside her: ancientways_preservation@.
Dr. Yoshimura,
Your presentation on the metaphysical properties of ceremonial weapons was enlightening. We share your belief that these items are more than mere artifacts. They carry the mana of their makers, the power of their purpose. Perhaps we could discuss preservation strategies?
A fellow Seeker of the Ancient Ways
Yoshimura’s response was cautious but interested:
Dear Seeker,
I’m always happy to discuss preservation of cultural heritage. However, I must emphasize that my position at the Bishop Museum requires strict ethical standards. Any strategies I share must be legal and appropriate.
Dr. Yoshimura
“She’s covering herself,” Sophie said. “Plausible deniability.”
She pulled up the museum’s staff directory, studying Yoshimura’s bio and trying to remember their brief meeting.
An attractive mixed-race woman in her forties, Yoshimura had the polished demeanor of someone comfortable in both academic and social circles.
Her curriculum vitae mentioned a PhD from Harvard, numerous publications, and a black belt in karate.
“Martial arts background,” Feirn noted. “That’s not common for curators.”
“Another reason she might be attracted to the Ancient Ways group.” Sophie’s phone buzzed with a message from Marcella: At morgue. ME confirms throat cut with precision. Almost surgical. No other wounds on body or signs of struggle/defensive wounds. How’s the laptop contact search going?
Sophie typed back quickly: Looks like we found our leak. Yoshimura from Bishop Museum has been cataloging private collections for years. All victims were in contact with her.
The response was immediate: WHOA. Can you find any connection to our rogue group?
Working on it.
Sophie returned to the emails, now searching for travel patterns. Yoshimura had been occupied during each theft—conferences, research trips, family visits. Always a rock-solid alibi.
“Too perfect,” she muttered. “She’s establishing distance while feeding them information.”
A new email thread caught her attention, dated just three days ago:
Colleagues,
Due to the recent tragic events, I feel compelled to offer the Bishop Museum’s resources to help secure your collections. We can provide temporary storage in our climate-controlled vaults until this crime wave passes. Several collectors have already taken advantage of this offer.
Please contact me directly if interested.
Dr. Yoshimura
“Brilliant,” Sophie said. “Create the threat, then offer salvation. I bet the items in the museum’s ‘protection’ are the next targets.”
Feirn stroked his concealed knife. “Or she’s gathering them in one place for Sunan.”
Sophie began documenting everything, taking screenshots, and copying files. The computer lab’s ancient printer wheezed to life, spitting out page after page of evidence for the case file.
“Look at this,” she said, pulling up a spreadsheet hidden in a subfolder labeled “Tax Documents.” It was Akamu’s personal inventory, complete with purchase prices, authentication details, and—crucially—security notes.
One entry made her stomach clench:
Lei Hulu (Kamehameha dynasty) Acquired Kyoto 2019 - $2.8M - Displayed in study. Alarm combination: grandmother’s birthday
“He gave her everything,” Sophie said. “Trusted her completely.”
“And she betrayed that trust,” Feirn’s voice carried an edge; in Thai culture, betrayal was among the worst sins.
Sophie continued digging through the files, building a comprehensive picture of Yoshimura’s network. The curator had been methodical, patient, building relationships over years before the Ancient Ways group recruited her.
A sound in the hallway made Feirn tense and turn toward the door. Footsteps, multiple sets, moving with purpose, were coming their way.
“Sophie,” Feirn hissed. “Company.”
The door burst open. Detective Multon entered, flanked by two uniformed officers. His pugnacious jaw was clenched.
“Ms. Smithson, move away from the computer.”
“What’s going on?” Sophie kept her voice level, even as Feirn shifted into a defensive position beside her.
“Got a call from the Bishop Museum. The curator there, Dr. Yoshimura, reported a cyber intrusion. Someone is hacking into private correspondence connected to an ongoing federal investigation.” Multon’s hand rested on his service weapon. “Funny thing, the IP address traced right back to this room.”
Sophie’s mind raced; Yoshimura had been monitoring her own emails, had seen Sophie’s breach.
“Detective, I’m working with Agent Scott, as you know. Everything I’m doing is part of the investigation and being admitted into evidence . . .”
“Agent Scott’s at the morgue. And until I hear different from her, you’re coming with me.” He gestured to the uniforms. “Secure that computer. Everything gets bagged as evidence.”
“Call Marcella,” Sophie told Feirn in rapid Thai. “Tell her Yoshimura knows we’re onto her.”
“English only,” Multon barked. “And your boy there keeps his hands where I can see them. Matter of fact, I haven’t seen ID from either of you.”
Feirn streaked out the door before he could be detained.
As the officers moved in, Sophie glimpsed her phone screen lighting up with messages she couldn’t check as Multon pocketed her phone. The officers bagged the laptop and took her external drive even as Sophie protested about federal jurisdiction.
“Fine, I’m cooperating,” Sophie said, letting apparent defeat color her voice. “But you’re making a mistake, Detective.”
As they cuffed her, “procedure,” Multon insisted—Sophie thought ahead.
Yoshimura had made a critical error. She’d revealed herself, shown she was monitoring the investigation in real time. The curator thought she was protected, untouchable in her position; instead, she’d confirmed she was the key to everything.
“Where are we going?” Sophie asked as the officers led her toward the exit.
“Holding cell until we sort this out,” Multon said. “Your equipment stays here as evidence.”
“Son of an ignorant swineherd,” Sophie swore.
“English only!” Multon barked, and Sophie rolled her eyes. Hopefully Feirn had made it out of the building and got Marcella on his satellite phone, or she was in for an uncomfortable night.
As they walked her down the stark hallway toward booking, she wondered how long Yoshimura had been playing this game. How had the Ancient Ways group gained leverage with her? Could she be a victim too?
But by calling in the breach, she’d exposed herself.
That mistake could cost Yoshimura everything—and as her wrists chafed in the cuffs, Sophie hoped it did.