Chapter 20 Sophie
SOPHIE
Sophie stared at the cia.gov email for a long moment before clicking it open.
Her fingers hesitated as she held her phone. McDonald had given her his direct line years ago, and she’d never had to go through official channels to reach him before. What had changed?
Morning light streaming through her office window had grown stronger, painting golden rectangles across her desk.
The office door was cracked, and Armita’s voice drifted from the kitchen mixed with the children’s high tones.
A clink of dishes added context—breakfast was almost ready, and she’d promised to be there.
“Feirn,” she said, closing her email. “Let’s take a break. Come have breakfast with us.”
The young man looked up from the facial reconstruction program, rubbing his eyes. “I’m close to finishing—”
“It can wait twenty minutes. You need to eat.” She managed a smile in spite of the tension in her gut. “Besides, the children haven’t got to know you hardly at all. I want them to spend more time with you.”
The kitchen was chaos in the best way. Momi was wondering aloud if dragons could swim and deciding they could, while Sean ran a dump truck back and forth making rumbling noises. Armita was just dishing up a mass of scrambled eggs.
“Everyone, this is Feirn,” Sophie announced. “He ate dinner with the security team yesterday, but he’s staying with us for a while.”
“Are you a ninja?” Momi asked. “You look like a ninja.”
Feirn glanced at Sophie, who smiled. “Yes, a little,” he said in heavily accented English, sliding into the empty chair beside her. “You make picture well.”
“I like art,” Momi said. “This is my pet dragon, Rupert. Can you draw?”
Feirn shook his head. “Not good.”
She promptly pushed her tablet and box of crayons over. “You make a dragon, now. I’ll help you.”
The familiar breakfast sounds were comforting, but Sophie found herself hyperaware of every detail as she seated Sean in his highchair and served up his eggs and her own—the way the morning sun caught the steam rising from the dish.
The faint scent of plumeria drifting through the open window from the tree outside.
The sound of mynah birds squawking in the yard.
Even Armita humming as she buttered toast, and the scrape of the knife over crisp bread.
Everything felt too sharp, too present, as if her senses were trying to memorize this moment of normalcy before it shattered.
“Mom, you’re not eating,” Momi observed, pointing her fork at Sophie’s untouched plate.
“Just thinking, Little Bean.” Sophie forced herself to take a bite of eggs, than another. Fuel for the body. Who knew what the day would bring?
After breakfast, as Armita herded the children upstairs to dress, Sophie loaded the dishwasher while Feirn cleaned the table and highchair.
Done with chores, Sophie touched Feirn’s shoulder and spoke to him in Thai.
“I need to make a private call. Would you mind going back to your room for a bit? You can take my laptop and keep working on the reconstruction there.”
His dark eyes studied her face intently. “Is everything all right?”
“Not sure. I’ll let you know after the call.
” She followed him down the hall and went into the office, waiting until he closed the door to his room before picking up her phone.
The house felt too quiet now, the walls pressing in.
She could hear her own heartbeat as she dialed the number the CIA had sent.
The phone rang twice before a crisp male voice answered. “Extension 4421.”
“This is Sophie Smithson. I received an email about Agent McDonald—”
“One moment, Ms. Smithson. I’m transferring you to a secure video line.”
Her phone screen flickered, prompting her to accept a video call.
She did, and found herself looking at a young black man in a navy suit, his CIA badge visible, clipped to his jacket pocket.
Behind him, the sterile white walls of what was clearly a government office glowed in fluorescent lighting that made his richly toned skin look ashy.
“Ms. Smithson, I’m Agent Clive Davis.” His tone was professional but cool, his expression neutral. “I understand you’ve been trying to reach Agent McDonald.”
“Yes, I left a message yesterday about an urgent matter.”
“Agent McDonald retired six weeks ago,” Davis said. “I’ve taken over his caseload. How can I assist you?”
Sophie hadn’t realized she was holding her coffee mug. She set it down carefully, noting the faint tremor in her fingers. “Retired? But he never mentioned . . .” She shook her head. “Do you know who I am? I’ve been a witness and confidential informant for the CIA for years.”
“Yes, I know who you are. I have verified your identity using your IP and voice recognition.” Davis’s voice had not warmed.
“Well, that’s something at least. I’m working with the FBI on a case involving Hawaiian artifacts being smuggled to Thailand. It connects to the Yām Kh?mk?n and—”
“I’m aware of the organization.” Davis’s eyes glanced away at a monitor; his fingers moved over his keyboard with mechanical precision. “I’ll need the FBI case file and your liaison agent’s name and identification number.” He paused. “Also, is this a sanctioned or unsanctioned report?”
“What do you mean?” Something about his haughty demeanor set her teeth on edge.
The air-conditioning in her office kicked on, raising goosebumps on her arms. “Before we proceed with the case information, can you tell me how my mother is doing? Pim Wat Smithson. Agent McDonald was . . . monitoring her situation.”
Davis’s fingers paused. He looked directly at the camera, his expression unreadable.
The pause stretched too long into silence.
“Give me a minute,” he said at last. “I’m searching my database now.
” A few more rattling keystrokes, each one seeming to echo in the quiet room.
“I show no one by that name in my caseload. I have all of McDonald’s cases and files. ”
“Are you telling me you lost her?” The blood drained from Sophie’s face, leaving her lightheaded; her mouth tasted metallic.
“I’m telling you there’s no such person in our database.”
Sophie had to swallow twice to get enough saliva to speak. “That’s impossible. I handed her over to McDonald myself.” She focused on the man’s face with an effort. “Check again. Pim Wat Smithson. She’s also gone by other names. She’s a USA and Thai national.”
“Ms. Smithson, I’ve checked twice. There’s no record of that name or any variants or associations in any of my inherited cases, or elsewhere in our database.
” His tone had shifted from cool to arctic.
Outside, a cloud passed over the sun, throwing her office into shadow. “Let’s get back to the artifact case—”
“I want to speak to your supervisor,” Sophie interrupted, her voice steady. “Get him or her for me. Now.”
Davis’s jaw tightened; he clearly didn’t like her attempt to go over his head. “That won’t be possible. If you have information relevant to national security, I suggest you share it through proper FBI channels. I assume we will be hearing about your artifact case that way. Good day, Ms. Smithson.”
The connection went black.
Sophie sat frozen, staring at her reflection in the phone screen.
House sounds filtered back into her awareness—Armita’s voice upstairs, a door closing, water running, the patter of Sean’s little footsteps. Normal sounds that felt surreal after what she’d just heard.
Her mother’s file couldn’t just disappear. True, she’d been so relieved to have Pim Wat taken into custody that she hadn’t followed up until now, and it had almost been a year since their showdown that led to Pim Wat’s capture.
Maybe her mother was hidden in some offshore black site, and McDonald had made sure her case wasn’t part of his documented work. That had to be it.
She had to find McDonald. Speak to him directly, and find out what he’d done with her.
Her phone buzzed against the desk, making her jump. A text from Marcella: “Come into office now. Found the truck from Thornfield’s. It seems contents were loaded into a Matson shipping container. It’s on a cargo ship but destination unknown. Waxman wants strategy meeting ASAP.”
Sophie could use this opportunity to talk with Marcella and Waxman about what she’d discovered.
Use their access to the CIA to probe for Pim Wat’s location.
It was past time the CIA was involved with the artifacts case, anyway, now that chances were good the group was moving the artifacts outside the USA.
Sophie’s hands shook as she grabbed her keys. The metal ring felt cold, real, grounding her back to the immediate crisis. She hurried to Feirn’s room and knocked. “I have to go to the FBI office. Keep working on that facial reconstruction.”
He opened the door, laptop in hand, reading something in her expression. “What’s wrong?”
“There’s a problem at the CIA,” she said, the words tasting bitter.
Feirn had been with Connor last year when everything went down with her mother’s attack; she could tell him anything.
“McDonald’s gone, supposedly retired. My mother’s file has vanished, and Marcella wants me to come in right away.
They have a lead on the artifacts. You can stay here and work. ”
“No. The Master said I was to stay at your side at all times.” He tucked the laptop under his arm. “I’ll keep working when we reach the FBI. Let’s go.”
As Sophie drove toward town in the morning traffic, white cattle egrets flying overhead, locals in trucks heading to work—all of it felt like a thin veneer over something dark and shifting.
The Matson shipping container could be heading anywhere in the Pacific. And with McDonald gone and his replacement clearly hostile, she’d lost her only window into what the CIA was doing with her mother—and what they might be planning regarding Connor and the Yām Kh?mk?n.
She pressed harder on the accelerator, and the response of the SUV’s engine was immediate and reassuring. Whatever game was being played, it was time to involve the CIA—even though she had lost the only contact in the agency that she knew.