Page 42 of Wired Ghost

He opened another folder, markedFBI Case File.

Atop the case file was a publicity-type portrait of Sheldon Hamilton, a good-looking brunet man who wore a suit well. Hamilton had dark eyes, wore stylish glasses, and sported a small, tidy goatee. As he skimmed the case notes, it appeared that Hamilton was suspected of being an online cyber vigilante whose signature was using tech to pit criminals against one another, usually with lethal results.

More documents dealt with a Security Solutions case gone badly wrong in Thailand. Six men had been killed in an attempt to rescue Sophie Smithson’s newborn baby from an inland stronghold run by an organization called the Yam Khûmk?n. Though Sheldon Hamilton’s remains had not been recovered, this incident was the last time the Security Solutions owner and CEO had been seen alive.

Pictures of rough jungle graves, one hole containing decomposing bodies and the other containing skulls, attested to death by decapitation.

The photos were watermarked CIA.

A bill of lading—the bodies had been recovered by CIA operatives and shipped back to the United States at Security Solutions’ expense.

The families had been paid handsomely from an insurance policy.

An application to have Sheldon Hamilton declared legally dead was the last document in the file—signed by Sophie.

How had the ambassador gotten hold of these documents? And why had he given them to Raveaux? He was definitely going to have to have a conversation with Sophie’s father.

Raveaux had to get up and go refresh his Perrier and lime. He paced around the small apartment in agitation, swirling ice cubes in his cut crystal glass.

Since he’d been working for Security Solutions, Sophie had been President and CEO of the company, with Kendall Bix as President of Operations. He’d had no idea there’d been some kind of management shakeup beforehand. How had she ended up where she was? What did he really know about Sophie Smithson?

He sat down and resumed his perusal of the files, this time clicking on a sub-file markedInternal Security Solutions Docs.

A copy of a business memo internal document for Security Solutions declared Sophie Smithson owner, President and CEO of the company. It was signed by Sheldon Hamilton.

“So, he appointed her himself,” Raveaux said aloud. “But who tried to take Sophie’s baby, and why? And how did she get the infant back?” He flipped the pages detailing the retrieval of the bodies from the jungle. “Someone, somewhere, made a deal. The CIA doesn’t randomly help out security firms whose operations go wrong.” But there was no further information on the baby’s recovery, or Sophie’s role in it.

Raveaux had made his way through all of the documents in the file, and he was way too agitated to sleep. What he needed was a good long swim. He could think about all of this while he did laps.

Raveaux discharged the stick drive after saving its contents to his secure cloud storage account. He crushed the drive using a meat hammer, and then ran the chip for a moment in the garbage disposal for good measure.

He then changed into a sleek European swim suit paired with a long-sleeved nylon shirt. The water off Waikiki was warm, even at night, but Raveaux was lean, and quickly got chilled in the cool evening air. He picked up his goggles and towel and slipped outside, closing and locking the slider behind him.

The area in front of the hotels and condos was well-lit as usual. Tourists walked along the concrete aisle, talking and laughing. Couples holding hands meandered by. Families, yelling at tired kids, made their way back to their accommodations after restaurant dinners. The air smelled of grilling meat, sunscreen and flowers.

Waikiki was an entirely artificial environment in which to dwell, as if he lived in Disneyland as a part of an exhibit. Yet being here, in this artificially happy bubble, had been good. Everyone around him was on vacation, enjoying their lives, making memories. Raveaux was an observer, not a participant, but that didn’t mean that the collective joy of a Hawaiian vacation didn’t somehow rub its glow onto him.

He lived here. He never had to go home to a cold, ugly apartment in a city somewhere, or wake up to a job he dreaded. He had left everything known and familiar so as not to be reminded of his losses—and he liked his life, his work, this setting, and his routine.

Even if it was a little lonely now and then.

The sand was still warm on Raveaux’s feet as he left the strip of lawn and ornamental plantings on the other side of his deck area. He slipped the door key into his suit’s pocket, stowed his towel beside a large white head of coral, and then walked down into the sea.

The beach was a gentle half-moon of sheltered, calm water. The surf was further out, breaking white on an outside barrier reef. Raveaux had wondered about stingrays or crabs underfoot, but a careful snorkeling pass during the daytime had shown nothing but a soft sandy bottom and an occasional lizardfish, poking its camouflaged head up from the sand in hopes of passing prey. Raveaux walked forward boldly, though the water was inky around his legs.

The ocean’s surface shifted and gleamed in reflected light from the high-rises, a cool embrace on his skin as he slid on his goggles and sank under. He swam parallel to shore, warming up with a gentle breaststroke, watching the pageantry of the buildings: people on their balconies, people carrying drinks to the beach, people seated on the decks of restaurants and hotels. Everywhere, the mellow sound of Hawaiian music, the chatter of happy voices.

Raveaux moved into freestyle swim. His arms sliced smoothly through the water; he turned his head to breathe on every other stroke.

And he mulled over the file.

Who was the mysterious Connor?Why had he faked his death? And what was his connection to Sheldon Hamilton, the legally dead billionaire CEO of Security Solutions? What was the connection between Connor, and Jake and Sophie? To guess by Nine’s ethnicity and their language usage, he and Connor had some connection to Thailand, and likely this Yam Khûmk?n organization.

Raveaux could ask Sophie what the connection was—ask her to explain all of this—but then she would know her father had given him the file. Clearly, Frank Smithson hadn’t wanted Sophie to know Raveaux had received it. Why?

No. He couldn’t talk to Sophie about it yet. His next step had to be reaching out to the Ambassador, and finding out what the man wanted him to do with the information he’d been given.

One thing he knew for sure: a blond Australian businessman named Todd Remarkian was not actually dead. That man, using an assumed name, had gone to extreme lengths to help rescue Sophie and Jake: and then, to make sure he didn’t have to account to anyone for doing so.

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