Sophie strode back to her office in the Information and Technology lab. She needed to work out—she felt hot, grubby, and highly irritable from the recent rehash of Waxman’s rationale on the situation, and his final word nixing the Society of Light case.
She barely paused as she passed through the quiet, soundproofed lab, cool as a subterranean cave. Dimly lit computer work bays glowed in the light of monitors, and dense, insulated carpeting absorbed her footfalls. Sophie’s fellow agents, headsets on, eyes and fingers busy as they worked at the myriad tasks associated with computer and online investigation, barely looked up at her passage.
That was IT. Everyone was in his own little world that connected to a much bigger cyber world, and preferred it that way.
Sophie stopped at her own bay, quickly activating her faithful computers Amara, Janjai, and Ying, and setting up the video camera’s data from the case to download. She grabbed a weighted jump rope and large exercise ball out from under her desk and took the items to the carpeted “lounge” area in the corner of the room, with its floor-to-ceiling tinted windows. Sophie always wore stretchy black pants, athletic shoes, and a tank shirt under her regular button-down so she could really move; now she stripped off her regulation shirt and got going on the rope.
Used to Sophie’s exercise breaks, no one so much as looked up as she jumped, the whirl and slap of the rope on the padded, tight-napped carpet the only sound besides her even breathing.
Gradually the frustrated whirl of her thoughts calmed like a shaken snow globe settling. The rhythm of the rope, her breathing and heartbeat brought a temporary peace that she couldn’t access any other way.
The lab began to empty out as six p.m. passed, but Sophie continued, finishing half an hour on the rope and switching to a workout using the large rubber exercise ball, as she mentally ticked over the steps of the case.
They’d taken the FBI chopper, painted in low-key matte camo paint, back out of the valley and stopped in at the South Hilo Station to speak to Captain Ohale, letting him know that the FBI had declined the case. Sophie had given the captain a copy of the video footage and surveillance data they had collected.
“I’m not sure if there’s grounds for a child abuse or neglect case,” Sophie said. “But our SAC recommends Ms. Blumfield pursue her concern through family court.”
“Back on us, then.” Ohale rubbed his chin with a thick finger. “You say the place is armed?”
“Yes.” She’d described the sniper nest and security enclosure. “Can’t tell if the wall is to keep people in, or out.”
“Blumfield says both.” Ohale had scrawled the woman’s name, email address, and number on a memo pad from the Hilo PD. He handed it to Sophie. “You get to talk to her and tell her the bad news.”
Sharon Blumfield was not going to take it well. Upon their return to the office in the chopper, the team meeting hadn’t yielded anything but more frustration as they reviewed why this wasn’t an FBI case, and she and Ken got a lecture from Waxman on unnecessary investigative expenditures, such as pilot time and helicopter fuel.
Sophie shut her eyes and speeded up her sit-ups on the ball in annoyance. Ohale wasn’t going to do anything more than he absolutely had to, and she really didn’t blame him. She couldn’t use DAVID, her rogue data-mining program, at work to dig up anything else actionable on the cult. But when she got home, she could access it from her replica work lab…
“Sophie.” Waxman’s voice was right above her, and she almost fell off the big plastic ball in surprise.
“Sir.” Sophie managed to turn the slide into standing, bouncing to her feet. She glanced around. The lab had emptied as everyone else left and she stood facing her boss alone.
“Leave off the ‘sir.’ It’s Ben, remember?” Waxman reminded Sophie of Anderson Cooper, the journalist, with his prematurely silver hair and steel-blue eyes. He was always immaculately turned out, and today’s mist gray suit fitted his well-maintained body flawlessly.
“Ben.” Sophie set her hands on her hips and didn’t soften her tone. “What can I do for you? I thought the meeting was pretty thorough.”
“I came down to speak to you privately. I know you didn’t like the outcome of today’s investigation.”
“I’m not sure what talking about it will achieve, sir.”
Waxman slid his hands into his pockets and jingled some change there. “I’ve noticed you get emotionally involved in cases regarding children,” he said mildly.
“Is that a problem?” Sophie widened her stance and crossed her arms, tightening her biceps. She’d practiced this pose for her MMA fights, to maximize her physical presence. “I notice you get particularly agitated whenever we have cases involving—oh. Wait. You never get agitated. The perfect wax man.” She was being insubordinate, but he’d invited her to call him Ben, and right now she was past caring if she got written up. Waxman’s brows rose in surprise as Sophie forged on. “I care about children. Nothing is going to happen for those kids now that we won’t take the case.”
“You don’t know that. Ohale could still do something through Child Welfare or the mother’s appeal to family court.”
“You and I both know he’s not going to take on that sniper tower.”
“Well. Be that as it may, I won’t reiterate the reasons this is not our case. I actually came down to tell you something else you won’t like.” Waxman folded his arms, imitating her posture, so Sophie dropped them. She wasn’t falling for his matching body language mind games. “Remember I was going to get back to you about the presentation to the bureau chiefs about DAVID?”
Sophie nodded. In a final attempt to get Bureau approval, she’d put together a PowerPoint on the Data Analysis Victim Information Database, and how the program worked by searching law enforcement information data storage using keywords and a probability algorithm to predict outcomes of case hypotheses.
“They reviewed the information we provided and the cases in which the program was used. I’m sorry to tell you, the program was disapproved for use by the Bureau. Permanently. Furthermore, it’s being confiscated as a security and liability risk.” Waxman’s jaw bunched.
“You can’t do that.” Sophie’d had these arguments with the Bureau already, and not that long ago. Her voice rose. “My patent application is pending. I own that program. You can’t take it from me.”
“Sophie.” Waxman shook his head. “It’s not me taking anything. I am in favor of DAVID, you know that. These decisions are being made above my head.”
“Doesn’t matter. DAVID doesn’t belong to the FBI. And I don’t either.” The frustration boiling in Sophie’s chest spilled over. “I won’t work for an agency that doesn’t see a good thing when it punches them in the nose.”
Waxman froze, eyes widening. “We can work this out, I’m sure of it.”
“I don’t think so.” Sophie paced back and forth in front of Waxman, hands on her hips. “Confiscated as a security and liability risk sounds pretty final to me. And I’m tired of these short-sighted restrictions and limitations. Like the case today.”
“Those two things are completely different issues.”
“That’s undoubtedly true, but both of them illustrate the FBI’s tendency to lose sight of the forest for the trees.” She was proud of how calm her voice was, how adeptly she’d worked in that American idiom. “I’m sure there are plenty of security firms in the private sector that would be happy to have my talent on their team.” Sophie refused to meet Waxman’s eyes. He’d been more than a boss to her, and this conversation was painful—she didn’t want to see in his face how it was for him. She bent and retrieved the jump rope and the ball. “I’m sure you’ll need to have my resignation in writing. I’ll have it on your desk by the morning, and given the hostile circumstances of the FBI’s confiscation of my program, I’m sure you’ll forego my two weeks’ notice.”
She walked back to her workstation and sat down, refusing to look at Waxman as he followed her.
“Sophie. Please.” He set his hand on her shoulder but she shrugged away from his touch. Waxman spoke to the back of her head as she shut down her computer rigs. “I’ll appeal this decision about DAVID. I will do everything I can to get it turned around.”
Sophie blinked several times, hard, before slanting a glance up at Waxman. His cool blue eyes were sincere, his mouth pinched. “This team needs you, Sophie. I need you.” Waxman took a breath, blew it out. “I’m sure I’m not that good at hiding how I feel.”
Sophie pushed the wheeled chair out from her desk and stood to face him, apprehension tightening her chest. “What do you mean?”
“I mean that I care about you. I…” Waxman ran a hand through his immaculately barbered hair. “I don’t want you to leave. Please stay.”
Sophie backed up a step. “All the more reason, then, that I need to leave.” She softened her tone. “Ben. I don’t feel the same. And I never could.”
Silence drew out for several long moments as they gazed at each other. The warm light in Waxman’s eyes died out, leaving them an ashy gray.
“I understand. I’ll look for your resignation in the morning.” Waxman drew himself upright and walked out, shoulders squared. The light over the doorway lit his silver hair briefly.
Regret twisted Sophie’s gut. He’d been a good boss, a great mentor, and a sometime friend—but she wasn’t attracted to him that way.
The long-simmering situation with DAVID and the hidebound attitude of the FBI had finally brought things to a head. She found a box and packed her few personal items.
Just like that, her time at the FBI was over.