Marcella adjusted her FBI windbreaker and leaned forward, her brown eyes catching Sophie’s.“The collector’s name is Harrison Whitmore.He’s old money from San Francisco and has been acquiring Hawaiian artifacts for forty years.”Her voice was a little tinny in the comms; Sophie wondered how much Feirn was picking up.The young Thai had been diligently studying English since becoming Connor’s right-hand man, but he wasn’t fluent.“Whitmore’s alarm system is state-of-the-art—or supposed to be.”
“What kind of system?”Sophie asked, running through possibilities in her mind.
“Dynatech 9000 series.Motion sensor video, pressure plates, infrared grid.The works.”Marcella said.“Didn’t matter.They bypassed everything.In and out like ghosts.”
“Was there a—plumeria left at the scene?”
“Not sure.Wasn’t in the report.”
Sophie gave a brief nod.“Interesting.”
Feirn caught Sophie’s eye and gave a slight inclination of his head, his expression unreadable behind sunglasses.She took it to mean that he was following what Marcella had said.
“Themahiole, the feather headdress—belonged to a lesserali‘ifrom Maui, circa 1780s,” Marcella went on.“Red and yellow feathers, extremely rare.Museum-quality.Whitmore bought it at auction fifteen years ago.Weirdest thing is, he never displayed it.Kept his Hawaiiana collection very private.How did the thieves know about it?”
“Good question,” Sophie said.“If we knew that, we might be close to catching them.”
As the helicopter descended, Maui’s massive silhouette filled the windows with Haleakala’s volcanic slopes, golden in the fading light, the resort corridors of Kihei and Wailea spread along the shoreline like a blanket of bright pearls.Manicured golf courses and pristine beaches with luxurious homes tucked behind gates and tropical landscaping came into view as they neared their destination.
“There,” Marcella looked up from a display on her tablet and pointed.“The white house with the blue tile roof is the Whitmore estate.”
The mansion sprawled across what had to be two acres of beachfront property.As they approached, Sophie counted three structures—main house, guest house, and what looked like a private museum building, all connected by covered walkways.Coconut palms swayed in the trade winds, and an infinity pool seemed to pour directly onto the beach and into the Pacific.
Their aircraft lowered toward a landing pad near the main house.Maui PD cruisers were already on scene, their strobing lights painting red and blue streaks across the white coral parking area and walkways.The helicopter touched down, and the rotors’ downdraft sent plumeria blossoms pinwheeling across the manicured lawn.Their scent hit Sophie as soon as she stepped out: flowers mixed with cut grass and a whiff of helicopter fuel.
As the three of them approached the house, a man who must be Harrison Whitmore met them on the lanai.He was an overly tanned, thin septuagenarian wearing a bright and cheerful Tommy Bahama shirt that clashed with an enraged scowl.His hands shook slightly as he gestured.
“Forty years of collecting,” he bellowed.“Forty years, and they took the one piece I treasured most.Thatmahiolehas realmana.It protected theali‘iin battle, and now these ...these criminals have it.”
“Mr.Whitmore, I’m Special Agent Marcella Scott.These are my investigative colleagues.”Marcella spoke in a crisp, professional tone.“I need to see your security footage, the breach points, everything.The more we understand what happened and see any trace left behind, the faster we can track them.”
“Let’s get to it, then.”Whitmore nodded curtly and led them through sliding glass doors into a living room the size of a football field that could have graced the pages ofArchitectural Digest.Koa wood furniture, museum-quality Hawaiian quilts on the walls.A view that stretched from offshore atoll Molokini to larger offshore island Kaho‘olawe made Sophie’s feet drag as she slowed to take it in.
“This way,” Whitmore said, leading them down a hallway lined with Hawaiian artifacts—poi pounders, a feather cape in a climate-controlled case, ancient fishhooks made from human bone.
“Seems like you have everything here for a complete set of feather clothing,” Marcella observed.
“I did,” Whitmore said.“But without themahiole, it’s incomplete.That headdress belonged to my wife’s ancestor.She was part Hawaiian, traced her lineage back to theali‘iof Lahaina.She died last year, and I promised ...”his voice cracked ...“I will donate all of this to the Bishop Museum in my estate.”
“I’m sure that will honor her memory,” Marcella said.
They reached a heavy door marked “Security Center.”Inside, multiple screens showed feeds from around the property.One screen was frozen on a timestamp of 3:47 AM.
“There,” Whitmore pointed.“That’s when they entered.”
Sophie leaned closer, studying the grainy footage as Marcella activated it.Two figures in black, moving with the fluid precision she recognized, approached the house from the beach and climbed the high wall surrounding the property.
Feirn gave a sharp intake of breath beside her.When she glanced at him, his face had gone pale beneath his tan.He spoke in Thai: “Not our people.But trained by us.I can tell by the way they move.”
Confirmation of the splinter group.“I’ll translate for you later,” Sophie told Marcella, with a glance at Whitmore.
Marcella nodded, understanding the confidentiality issue.“Can you enhance this section?”she asked, pointing to a moment where one of the figures turned slightly.“Maybe we can get more detail there.”
As he zoomed in, Marcella’s phone buzzed.She stepped away to answer, her brows drawing together.
“That was SAC Waxman,” she said when she returned.“There’s been another theft, this one on the Big Island.Another feather piece—alei hulufrom the Kamehameha dynasty.”She paused, swallowed.“And this time, there’s a casualty.The relic’s owner tried to stop the thieves.”She met Mr.Whitmore’s widened gaze.“I’m glad you slept through the burglary last night.”
The older man shook his head.“I recognize their cultural, monetary and historical value, but none of these things are worth dying for.”
