Chapter 17 Sophie
SOPHIE
The FBI conference room’s recycled air tasted like the burnt-coffee smell that seemed to have chased them from the Kona PD computer lab.
The fluorescent lights set Sophie’s teeth on edge—or maybe that was just the residual adrenaline from her sparring session with Feirn.
She drank another bottle of water down as she entered, rolling her shoulders, feeling the satisfying ache of well-used muscles beneath a fresh button-down shirt.
Special Agent in Charge Ben Waxman was already seated and commanded the head of the table.
His silver hair caught the harsh overhead lighting, and penetrating blue eyes, so like Anderson Cooper’s that agents joked about his resemblance to the newscaster behind his back—swept the room.
The years had left a few lines around those eyes since he’d been Sophie’s boss, but his presence still filled the space with a tension that made everyone attentive.
“Sophie.” Waxman’s voice carried warmth beneath the professional tone. “Good to have you back as a consultant.” He gestured to an empty chair next to him.
“Thank you, Ben.” The padded plastic creaked as she sat. Feirn stood against the wall, ostentatiously absenting himself from the group.
The conference table’s polished surface reflected their faces as Marcella sat straight on Waxman’s left, her manicured nails drumming a staccato rhythm beside her case file.
A new face had joined them—an Asian woman. She took the chair beside Marcella and across from Sophie. Her precisely applied red lipstick and razor-edged, angled bob sent a message of professional sharpness.
“This is Special Agent Janet Chen,” Waxman told Sophie. “Our art crimes specialist, on loan from the San Francisco office.”
Chen nodded to the group. “I’ve been briefed on the basics.
Twenty-three Hawaiian artifacts have been stolen, Dr. Yoshimura is a person of interest and missing, and there might be a connection to terrorists through this Ancient Ways group.
” Her even voice carried a slight rasp, as if she’d been up all night reviewing files.
“That’s just the surface,” Marcella picked up her tablet, fingers flying across its shiny surface.
The conference room’s wall-size smart screen flickered to life, casting artificial illumination across their faces.
“Sophie’s digital investigation has uncovered more. Sophie, care to bring us up to date?”
“I will, of course.” Sophie stood. She picked up a presenter’s remote.
The small controller was cool in her palm, a lodestone.
She activated her case file and paired it with the smart screen on one wall.
“But first, I have a question. What happened with the raid on the private plane I identified as a possible transport?”
“A dead end. We raided the plane’s hangar. Empty,” Marcella said. “Just a charter with a clean interior and a shell company renting it.”
“It was a long shot, but that’s disappointing.
” Sophie opened the first of a series of spreadsheets on the wall display.
“Dr. Yoshimura lured collectors into participating in a comprehensive database of Hawaiian artifacts. In it are thousands of items, not just those in the Bishop collection. As a part of the database, she documented provenance, item details, photographs, information on the owners’ security systems and their contact data, and even noting which owners travel frequently.
” Each click of the remote punctuated her words as she clicked through the pages of the database, revealing a treasure trove of relics and information.
“A Hawaiiana catalog,” Waxman said, his jaw tightening. “For the thieves to choose from.”
“Exactly. Yoshimura had encrypted communications with someone called ‘Mainland Buyer.’ I believe that’s the handle the Ancient Ways faction has been using.
They discussed shipping schedules and—” Sophie paused, the words bitter on her tongue as she brought up a specific message, “—‘removing obstacles.’ Given the recent murder, we can guess what that means.”
Chen leaned forward, her chair’s wheels squeaking against the plastic floor mat.
“These artifacts—feather capes, carved wood items, weapons made of organic materials—are extremely delicate. The feathers alone can disintegrate if the humidity’s wrong.
They need climate control, specific humidity levels, UV protection. ”
“That’s what we’ve been thinking,” Marcella said. “The thieves can’t be storing these in some random warehouse. They need a proper facility in which to store the collection.”
Waxman’s fingers steepled, the light catching his gleaming, neatly barbered hair. “So where? Hawaii’s not that big, but there are plenty of possibilities. Private estates, commercial buildings . . .”
“I have another idea. I cross-referenced Yoshimura’s database with collectors’ property records, searching for likely storage.
” Sophie pulled up a new screen, the data cascading and then stabilizing.
“Several of the collectors have extensive personal storage facilities. But here’s one that caught my attention—” She highlighted an entry, the name pulsing red.
“William Thornfield. Owns a climate-controlled vault on his Wailea, Maui estate. State-of-the-art security system.”
“What made you focus on him?” Waxman said.
“He spends six months a year in Switzerland. According to his social media—yes, this seventy-year-old billionaire has Instagram—he left for Zurich two weeks ago,” Sophie said. “Perfect timing for the thieves.”
“An empty estate with a nice storage facility,” Chen said. “But wouldn’t the security go off with as much traffic as these burglars are creating?”
“Yoshimura had his codes,” Sophie said. “Every alarm, every camera angle. It’s all in her files.”
Marcella’s tablet screen reflected in reading glasses as she slid them on to focus on what she was studying.
Her fingers danced across the sleek surface.
“I’m checking flight manifests for the past forty-eight hours.
If Yoshimura fled with the artifacts . .
.” Her frown deepened, creating a crease between elegant brows.
“No Catherine Yoshimura on any flights out of Hawaii.”
“She could be using an alias,” Chen said. “Or she could still be on-island, waiting for things to cool down.”
Waxman pushed back from the table, his chair rolling smoothly.
He paced to the window, his reflection ghostlike against the reflective bulletproof glass.
Outside, Honolulu sprawled below, bright and oblivious.
“We need to check every storage facility belonging to these collectors. They might not be aware of the thieves’ incursion, or they might be a part of it.
Start with the ones who are off-island.”
“I can generate a prioritized list,” Sophie said, already mentally crafting a way to sort through the data. “Based on facility specifications, owner absence. Other factors.”
“Do it.” Waxman turned back, his movement sharp enough to make Feirn tense. “Agent Scott, coordinate with HPD for the searches. We’ll need warrants.”
“Already drafting them,” Marcella said without looking up, her fingers never stopping their rapid-fire typing.
“What about the ‘Mainland Buyer contact?’” Chen asked, leaning back in her chair. “Any leads on their identity?”
Sophie shook her head in frustration. “The communications were routed through multiple VPNs, TOR nodes, etcetera.”
“We need to find Yoshimura.” Waxman’s palm slapped the table, making everyone jump.
“She’s our most concrete lead. Every hour these artifacts are missing increases the chance they’ll be shipped overseas and disappear forever.
” He glanced up at Sophie. “I want to check Thornfield’s estate, since that’s low-hanging fruit.
Sophie, can you access his security system remotely? ”
“I can try,” Sophie said, her mind already racing through infiltration protocols. “I need to get back to the lab to work on it.”
“And let’s cast a wider net, too, in case the group’s gone outside of Yoshimura’s database. Agent Chen, compile a list of climate-controlled storage facilities in Hawaii, both commercial and private. Someone might have rented space recently. Sophie, help her with that if you have time.”
“On it.” Chen’s voice was all business, and Sophie met the other woman’s gaze with a nod of assent.
Waxman’s phone buzzed against the table, the vibration seeming unnaturally loud. He sat, read the screen, and scowled. “The Bishop Museum board wants a press conference. They want to offer a reward for information.”
“That’ll cause chaos,” Marcella’s knuckles shone as she gripped her tablet. “Every conspiracy theorist and activist will come out of the woodwork and pile on pressure.”
“I’ll handle the museum board,” Waxman said.
“Buy us another 24 hours at least. But people,” his gaze swept the room like a searchlight, lingering on each face, “we need results. These aren’t just artifacts—they’re Hawaiian cultural heritage that a man has died for already.
” He typed rapidly on his laptop and stood, dismissing them.
“All right, team. Let’s move. Check in every two hours. ”