Chapter 21 Sophie
SOPHIE
Sophie had texted, and Marcella was waiting in the foyer when the elevator doors of the Federal Building opened. “Finally. Waxman’s been asking for you.” Her eyes flicked to Feirn with professional assessment. “I see he’s got a laptop. What gives?”
“Feirn’s assisting with facial reconstruction on one of our unsubs,” Sophie said. “Is there somewhere he can work while we meet?”
“I’ll tell you when we get a private moment.”
After settling Feirn in the interview room with his laptop and a bottle of water, Sophie followed Marcella to her office. Her friend shut the door. “Spill. We only have a minute.”
“I called to check on Pim Wat a few days ago because—I was uneasy. This situation with the Yām Kh?mk?n is just her kind of toxic mess to get involved with. I wanted reassurance she was still safely locked up.” Sophie shut her eyes, her gut churning.
“Turns out Agent McDonald’s gone. Retired, apparently.
His replacement is . . .” Sophie searched for the right word. “Unhelpful.”
Marcella’s eyebrows rose. “That’s going to complicate things. What did Agent Replacement say about your Satan-mom?”
“Claimed not to know of her. Can’t find any trace of her in the system. Says he inherited all McDonald’s cases. Hung up on me when I asked for his supervisor.”
Marcella’s eyes widened. “Think she’s in an off-the-books black site?”
“That’s my hope.”
“Well, damn. Getting answers out of those guys is like getting blood from a stone. But maybe we can get a dialogue going through channels via the boss; it’s time to alert the CIA anyway.
Come on, let’s get this meeting over with.
I’ll warn you, Waxman’s pissy today.” Marcella opened the door with a swish and strode down the hall ahead of Sophie, her fashionable slingback heels clicking.
In the SAC’s corner office, Ben Waxman stood before a wall-mounted screen displaying shipping manifests and satellite imagery. His silvery white hair caught the light as he turned abruptly. Chen was already seated and helping herself to coffee from the tabletop carafe.
“Sophie. At last.” He gestured to the screen. “Marcella, bring her up to speed.”
Marcella clicked a remote, zooming in on grainy security footage.
“The truck leaving Thornfield’s estate was tracked to Pier 3 in Kahului.
The container was loaded onto a carrier vessel registered in Guam called the Moku Pahu at 0300 this morning.
” Another click showed a massive cargo ship.
“The ship’s manifest lists the container as agricultural equipment bound for Los Angeles, but that’s false. ”
“How do we know it’s false?” Sophie studied the screen.
“Because thirty minutes after leaving port, the Moku Pahu changed course.” Waxman pointed to a red line veering southwest on the maritime tracking display. “They’re not heading to California. Current trajectory suggests either Tahiti or American Samoa as first port of call.”
Chen frowned. “Those are both transshipment points for cargo heading to Southeast Asia.”
“Exactly.” Waxman’s jaw was a corded line. “The artifacts could go anywhere from there—Singapore, Bangkok, Hong Kong, via air or ship. Once they leave U.S. territorial waters, our options become limited.”
“What about the Coast Guard?” Sophie asked. “Can’t they intercept?”
“On what grounds?” Marcella pulled up maritime law regulations on her tablet and cast the dense page of text over to the screen. “The ship hasn’t violated any laws we can prove. The manifest says agricultural equipment. Without probable cause to board and search that specific container . . .”
“But we do have probable cause, and this case will become international trafficking with ties to terrorism if we can’t stop the relics from leaving the USA,” Sophie said forcefully. “We need the CIA to get involved. I was wondering what your plans for that were, SAC Waxman.”
Marcella shot her a glance from under her lashes, but Sophie kept her gaze on the chief and her expression, one of respectful attentiveness.
Waxman had never been privy to the drama with Pim Wat’s capture the previous year, and she didn’t want to pull him in on her situation unless it was unavoidable.
The SAC sat down heavily at the head of the table.
“I’ve reached out to our CIA liaison and alerted him to the case, but I don’t want to pull that agency in any further unless we have to.
They’re notoriously bad at sharing—on any level.
” He took a sip of water and then set the glass down deliberately.
“Let’s focus on the immediate problem. We need a court order to stop and search the ship, and we have maybe eighteen hours before the vessel reaches international waters.
After that, even with CIA help, intercept becomes complicated, if not impossible. ”
“Okay, I’ll focus on the justification for stopping and searching the ship,” Sophie said.
“The artifacts came from specific sites that have been documented extensively. If we can prove their provenance, show they’re stolen native Hawaiian cultural patrimony, that gives you probable cause under the Native American Graves Protection and Repatriation Act. ”
“Yes! Good angle. But NAGPRA only applies to interstate commerce,” Chen pointed out. “Once the relics are in international waters—”
“They're not there yet,” Sophie interrupted. “And if I can document that these specific pieces were illegally removed from protected sites, you have the grounds you need to stop the ship before it leaves U.S. jurisdiction.”
Waxman leaned back in his chair. “How fast can you put that documentation together?”
Sophie glanced at her watch. “Give me two hours. I’ll need access to my files and the State Historic Preservation database.
And . . .” she hesitated, “. . . I’ll need to make some calls to the Hawaiian cultural practitioners who oversee those sites.
They can provide sworn statements about the artifacts’ significance. ”
“I’ll help. This is my area, too,” Chen said. “Let’s use my office, okay?”
“I was planning to go to the computer lab,” Sophie said. “Feirn is using my laptop.”
“We’ve got extras,” Chen said. “And we’re going to be doing a lot of phone calling, so I think my office is more appropriate.”
Waxman nodded. “Let Chen host you this time,” he directed.
“Too bad Yoshimura’s in the wind,” Marcella said with a touch of bitterness.
“She’d have been our best go-to resource.
Anyway, while you two address the relics angle, I’ll get the court order roughed out and reach out to a federal judge to let them know that the order will be coming through soon.
Sophie, when you have your document prepared, punt it to me
“Do it,” Waxman said. “Also, Agent Scott, coordinate with the Coast Guard. Have them track the Moku Pahu and develop an approach plan, but don’t execute yet. We’ll have one shot at this and we need it to be legally airtight.”
A gentle knock came from the door. “Come in,” Waxman said.
Feirn slid the door open, holding Sophie’s laptop open. “Sorry to interrupt,” he said in halting English. “I done with face.”
He turned the laptop screen to reveal Sunan’s likeness. The man looked younger than Sophie had expected; there was a belligerence to his direct stare.
“This could be a game changer,” Waxman said. “Thank you.”
Feirn inclined his head with dignity. “I happy to help.”
“Move out, team, and get this picture out and about everywhere. Let’s wrap up this case and bring home the goods,” Waxman said.
Sophie hoped to hell it was that easy.