Page 33 of Wired Courage

She turned to the pack and removed a small nylon drawstring bag for just her essentials. She would store the backpack here at the hotel for retrieval later. She called down to the desk and arranged that, and then checked out over the phone.

She sipped her tea, eyeing her unfamiliar appearance in the mirror.

What if this was a trap?A plan to lure her into Pim Wat’s reach? What if Pim Wat had Momi, and had coerced Armita into bringing her here?

But why?

Nothing about this whole situation really made sense. She just had to move forward and hope for the best. “Just put one foot in front of the other,” she said aloud. “That’s what Marcella would tell me.”

Thinking of her best friend reminded her of her father. She had kept him apprised during her time on Phi Ni with brief text messages every three days—but now she felt the need to hear his mellow voice. She reassembled the satellite phone and called his personal cell.

When he answered, relief broke over her in a wave. Sophie shut her eyes. “Hello, Dad.”

“Sophie!” Francis Smithson’s Morgan Freeman-like bass voice was not mellow today. “I’ve been going nuts with worry! What the hell is going on?”

She hadn’t seen her father since before the birth; he’d planned to come to Kaua`i for that event, but she’d delivered early, and then . . .

“Dad.” Sophie cut him off. “I can only talk for a few minutes. I fear things have gone wrong, and I need to catch you up.” She briefly sketched in the disappearance of the rescue party and the contact she had made with Armita. “I’m here in Bangkok and about to find out if this message was really from Armita, or . . . if it is something else.”

“Don’t go alone,” Frank said. “Wait. Let Security Solutions fly out there—hell, I’ll beg Ellie to go. Ellie, my girl needs help!” Frank bellowed, addressing someone else in the room.

Sophie could clearly picture the elegant, blue-eyed brunette Secret Service agent who was assigned to her dad. She liked and respected Ellie Smith, but she was sure there was nothing the agent could do about something so far outside of her job parameters.

“Dad. No one can help me. The message I received said to come alone. And this is definitely not Ellie’s area of responsibility.” Sophie bit her lip. “I wish I could afford to wait for some kind of backup. But I believe Armita has broken away from Pim Wat to bring me my child; and if so, they are both in danger from her.”

“Your mother! I still can’t believe what an evil bitch she’s turned out to be!”

“I know. I’m shocked too, and it hurts every day that we were so duped by her. I have to go, Dad, but I wanted you to know what’s been happening. I will call you back as soon as I know anything. And if you really want to apply some pressure for me, call the CIA. Ask for Agent Devin McDonald. Lean on him to get our men back from the Yam Khûmk?n stronghold. I believe McDonald’s the only one who might be able to do something. Bye, Dad. I love you.” She ended the call.

She was trembling and sweaty. It had not reassured her to talk to Frank—his wild and anxious emotions had activated her own.

Sophie left a pile ofbahtfor the maid and the bellboy who would deal with her backpack’s storage, and slipped out of the room and down the servant’s stairs. She exited the hotel into a back alley reeking of rotten food and piled with garbage. Making sure her veil was in place, Sophie hugged her voluminous garments close as she made her way around muddy puddles to the main thoroughfare.

She waved down one of the many taxi motor scooters with side cars that ferried the busy streets. Her native tongue came back easily as she haggled over the fare to take her ten miles outside of the city limits to the suburban area where her childhood home was situated.

Once again, Sophie wondered about contacting her favorite aunt, Malee, her mother’s younger sister. Her namesake would not betray her . . .Would she?

But Malee might feel divided loyalty toward Pim Wat. Or her phone could be bugged. Sophie couldn’t take a chance on either. No, she couldn’t make contact except in person.

Hoisting her skirts higher than was strictly modest, Sophie wedged herself and her nylon bag into the sidecar of the scooter. She donned the greasy helmet the driver handed her, enduring the smell of clove cigarettes, and was grateful for the extra protection of the Muslim head covering as she buckled the chin strap over the fabric. She held on tight as the scooter took off with a lurch.

Sophie’s motorcycle taxi driver was no worse than many on the street. He delivered her, relatively intact if a bit bruised and mud-spattered, at the corner of the road containing both her aunt’s house and her former home. Sophie wiped muck off her face with the edge of her scarf and handed the helmet back to the driver, haggling once again over the tip.

Once the scooter was gone, Sophie turned to face the quiet street lined with ornamental orchid trees, their spreading branches bright with showy purple and white blooms. She walked down the mud brick sidewalk, scanning the spiked walls protecting gracious homes just off of the mighty Ping River. She could see the green gleam of the river and its community dock through the trees lining the street, and she felt her heart lift in spite of everything.

She hadn’t been here for close to twenty years, but a part of her would always recognize this place as home.

Her aunt’s and her parents’ former houses were adjacent properties sharing a fence line. Sophie walked to her aunt’s home. She stared longingly at Aunt Malee’s front gate, a wooden affair decorated with much native carving and scrollwork, inset within an elaborate but sturdy frame. A beaded chain threaded through a hole beside the portal would ring a bell inside the compound to request admission.

Sophie longed to pull that chain—to hear the chimes within her aunt’s home. She longed to see Malee’s dear, pretty face, feel her aunt’s loving arms around her in a hug, and smell her signature lemon and gardenia scent.

But she couldn’t risk making contact yet.

She had to assess for threats first, and the best way to do that was to go in the side gate.If only Auntie hadn’t changed the lock and her hidey-hole for the key . . .

Sophie checked the street. A battered Jeep rattled by; a row of duckling-like small children, holding onto a rope held by a servant, giggled and chattered on their way to some outing. Once the coast was clear, Sophie sidled her way along her aunt’s fence to a hidden side entrance used by the servants. A heavy brass lock inside a niche secured the door.

Sophie felt around a pile of rocks topped by a decorative stone orb beside the portal for the key her aunt used to keep there. Her breath whooshed out—the key was still there!Thank God some people didn’t have Sophie’s concerns about security.

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