“Does it matter?If Sunan’s followers believe it, their faith alone makes him dangerous.Add their focused meditation, their absolute conviction of victory ...”He spread his thick hands.“Faith can move mountains.Or kill Masters.”
Connor thought of the Hawaiian artifacts, each one sacred to its culture—a stolen heritage being twisted to serve violence.“Twenty-three pieces.Why that number?”
“Seven times three, plus two for binding.It’s an old formula.”The Healer stood, his joints creaking.“Tomorrow, you train with the men.You set an example for them, all day long.You train in earnest.Take all the time you want.I will meet you in the massage room with restorative oils.”
The old man’s footsteps faded up the stone stairs, leaving Connor alone with the dancing shadows.He floated in the mineral-rich darkness, letting the waters work their slow transformation.His shaved head felt strange against the water.Every nerve seemed exposed, hypersensitive.
He’d spent three years trying to be two people—the Master of the Yam Khûmk?n and Connor Standish, who loved Sophie Smithson and her children.Living in the spaces between identities, never fully committing to either of his roles.
Connor submerged completely, letting the healing waters claim him.The heat pressed in from all sides, a liquid furnace remaking him from the inside out.His lungs burned for air, but he held himself under, embracing the pain.When he finally surfaced, gasping, his decision was made.
For the next week, he would be nothing but the Master.No name, no past, no future beyond the challenge.He would train with absolute focus, prepare with total commitment.He would use every advantage, every trick, every hard-learned skill from his years as both cyber vigilante and accidental inheritor of ancient traditions.
And when Sunan came, surrounded by his fanatics and empowered by stolen artifacts, Connor would be ready.
Not because he wanted to be Master.Not because he believed in the Yam Khûmk?n’s traditions.
But because somewhere in Hawaii, Sophie was fighting the same enemies, and the only way to keep her safe was to survive what was coming.
Connor rose from the pool, water streaming off his newly shorn head and down his body.He wrapped in the muslin towel.Cooler air hit him, raising every hair on his body as he ascended the stairs.When he reached the massage chamber, the full length mirror against the wall showed a changed man: any softness was replaced by sharp angles, hard planes.
Good.The reluctant Master with a divided heart that Sunan expected to face was dead.
Connor Standish was gone.In his place stood only the Master, preparing for war.
17
SOPHIE
The FBI conferenceroom’s recycled air tasted like the burnt-coffee smell that seemed to have chased them from the Kona PD computer lab.The fluorescent lights set Sophie’s teeth on edge—or maybe that was just the residual adrenaline from her sparring session with Feirn.She drank another bottle of water down as she entered, rolling her shoulders, feeling the satisfying ache of well-used muscles beneath a fresh button-down shirt.
Special Agent in Charge Ben Waxman was already seated and commanded the head of the table.His silver hair caught the harsh overhead lighting, and penetrating blue eyes, so like Anderson Cooper’s that agents joked about his resemblance to the newscaster behind his back—swept the room.The years had left a few lines around those eyes since he’d been Sophie’s boss, but his presence still filled the space with a tension that made everyone attentive.
“Sophie.”Waxman’s voice carried warmth beneath the professional tone.“Good to have you back as a consultant.”He gestured to an empty chair next to him.
“Thank you, Ben.”The padded plastic creaked as she sat.Feirn stood against the wall, ostentatiously absenting himself from the group.
The conference table’s polished surface reflected their faces as Marcella sat straight on Waxman’s left, her manicured nails drumming a staccato rhythm beside her case file.
A new face had joined them—an Asian woman.She took the chair beside Marcella and across from Sophie.Her precisely applied red lipstick and razor-edged, angled bob sent a message of professional sharpness.
“This is Special Agent Janet Chen,” Waxman told Sophie.“Our art crimes specialist, on loan from the San Francisco office.”
Chen nodded to the group.“I’ve been briefed on the basics.Twenty-three Hawaiian artifacts have been stolen, Dr.Yoshimura is a person of interest and missing, and there might be a connection to terrorists through this Ancient Ways group.”Her even voice carried a slight rasp, as if she’d been up all night reviewing files.
“That’s just the surface,” Marcella picked up her tablet, fingers flying across its shiny surface.The conference room’s wall-size smart screen flickered to life, casting artificial illumination across their faces.“Sophie’s digital investigation has uncovered more.Sophie, care to bring us up to date?”
“I will, of course.”Sophie stood.She picked up a presenter’s remote.The small controller was cool in her palm, a lodestone.She activated her case file and paired it with the smart screen on one wall.“But first, I have a question.What happened with the raid on the private plane I identified as a possible transport?”
“A dead end.We raided the plane’s hangar.Empty,” Marcella said.“Just a charter with a clean interior and a shell company renting it.”
“It was a long shot, but that’s disappointing.”Sophie opened the first of a series of spreadsheets on the wall display.“Dr.Yoshimura lured collectors into participating in a comprehensive database of Hawaiian artifacts.In it are thousands of items, not just those in the Bishop collection.As a part of the database, she documented provenance, item details, photographs, information on the owners’ security systems and their contact data, and even noting which owners travel frequently.”Each click of the remote punctuated her words as she clicked through the pages of the database, revealing a treasure trove of relics and information.
“A Hawaiiana catalog,” Waxman said, his jaw tightening.“For the thieves to choose from.”
“Exactly.Yoshimura had encrypted communications with someone called ‘Mainland Buyer.’I believe that’s the handle the Ancient Ways faction has been using.They discussed shipping schedules and—” Sophie paused, the words bitter on her tongue as she brought up a specific message, “—‘removing obstacles.’Given the recent murder, we can guess what that means.”
Chen leaned forward, her chair’s wheels squeaking against the plastic floor mat.“These artifacts—feather capes, carved wood items, weapons made of organic materials—are extremely delicate.The feathers alone can disintegrate if the humidity’s wrong.They need climate control, specific humidity levels, UV protection.”
