Saving Sophie: A Novel

by Ronald H. Balson

  “Alina’s parents came to Chicago and hired Fenton and Gibbs.”

  “The divorce firm?”

  “Right. They sued for guardianship, claiming that Jack was unfit, that Sophie’s life was in danger, and that the best interests of Sophie would be served by a change of custody to the grandparents.”

  “Was that true? Was Sophie’s life endangered?”

  “Not according to Sharon. She says Jack and Sophie were as close as any father-daughter she’d ever known. They went everywhere together. Sophie was very well adjusted and doing well in school.”

  Catherine gestured for the waiter to bring another cup of coffee.

  “Cat, I paid the bill,” said Liam. “Don’t you want to go home?”

  “Not until you’ve finished. What about Jack’s parents? Were they still alive?”

  “No. But Jack was not about to give up custody of Sophie to anyone. He hired Harold Fine.”

  Catherine nodded. “Good hire.”

  “The case lasted for months and was a nightmare of a legal battle, but in the end, Jack won. The grandparents’s petition for guardianship was denied, and Jack retained sole custody of Sophie. The judge gave Alina’s parents limited weekend visitation within the Chicago city limits. And that ended up being the problem. One weekend they came, took the child, and never returned.

  “Jack called their hotel and was told they had checked out. He called the police, the FBI, there was an Amber Alert.” Liam shook his head and shrugged his shoulders. “Gone.”

  Catherine leaned forward. “Did anybody find out what happened?”

  “Nope. Speculation only. I think it’s a safe bet they’re back in the Middle East.”

  “Can’t the State Department get her back?”

  “Not from where they are. I know there’s some law on international child abduction, but I doubt that the Palestinian Authority is a signatory. You would know better than I. Jack made several inquiries through diplomatic channels with no success. Anyway, all of this happened a couple months ago. Then this Kelsen deal came up, and now both Jack and the eighty-eight million dollars are gone.”

  “And you don’t think Jack’s in Brazil?”

  “Could be, but it doesn’t make a lot of sense. Jack wants his daughter. He needs to mount a plan to get her back. How does he do that from exile in Brazil? By himself? I don’t know, it doesn’t fit the story.”

  “What fits the story?”

  Liam raised a finger. “The Taggart hypothesis? Brazil’s a clever diversion. I think he wants us to believe he’s in Brazil, but he’s really somewhere else. He’s got the money and he’s planning to use it to finance Sophie’s rescue.”

  “If he’s not in Brazil, then where is he?”

  “I don’t have a clue. Someplace where he can hide out and raise Sophie. Maybe he’s still in Chicago.”

  Catherine stood. “What’s the next step?”

  Liam helped her with her coat. “Keep asking questions, keep poking around. Something will come up. It always does.”

  SIXTEEN

  SOPHIE SAT AT HER desk and stared out the window of her bedroom. Her chin was cradled in her palm. The outbuilding to the side of the house was going through its shift change. Three times a day, workers would come and go from the building. Sophie wondered what was in the building. Why was there so much activity? But Jaddi would not let her go there. “You are forbidden,” he told her sternly.

  She ambled over to her closet. It was full of strange new clothes that Jadda had hung there. She didn’t like them. She wanted to wear the clothes that she and her mother had picked out together. Colorful, fun clothes. It was warm most days in Hebron, but there were no short sets, no T-shirts, no pink Nikes. There were white blouses with sleeves that buttoned at the wrist, which she had to wear with ankle-length skirts. And long dresses from the neck to the shin. And the long, heavy coats that Jadda called jilbabs. Those were the uniforms for madrassa. She didn’t belong in those clothes. She didn’t belong in this bedroom. She belonged in her own house. Why couldn’t she go there?

  “Come here, my little one. Come,” al-Zahani called from the other room. He sat in his large wingback chair and patted his lap. “Come sit and have a cup of chocolate.”

  Sophie, her head lowered slightly, walked to her grandfather and stood beside him. He reached down and lifted her onto his lap. “And how was school today?”

  Sophie slowly shook her head from side to side.

  “I am told that one of the little girls, Jamila, has invited you to play at her home tomorrow. Yes?”

  Sophie nodded. “We’re going to paint pictures.”

  “That is good. You will have many friends here in Hebron. I promise you.” Al-Zahani turned to his side table, lifted his silver-filigreed pitcher, and poured warm chocolate into a demitasse cup. He offered it to Sophie, who took it with both hands.

  “Thank you, Jaddi,” she said softly.

  “You know, my precious one, we have many friends in our city. We are a proud family here. We are known here for many, many years. I can trace my ancestors, my great-great-great-grandfathers, all the way back to the land of Canaan. Do you know of Canaan?”

  Sophie raised her eyes from her cup. She shook her head.

  “I will tell you, because they are your great-great-great-grandfathers as well.” Al-Zahani smiled and kissed her on the forehead. “Many, many years ago, thousands of years ago, our ancestors lived peacefully in the valleys of Canaan in the middle of Palestine. In this very area, here in the mountains of Hebron, lived the people known as Hittites. They were descended from Heth, the second son of Canaan. And you know what? So am I, and so are you. We are also descendants of the great warrior Heth. And do you know how I know this?”

  With wide-eyed curiosity, Sophie shook her head.

  “Because when I was just a small boy, no older than you, my blessed grandfather Ibrahim sat me on his lap with a cup of chocolate, the same as you and I are today, and told me of the glories of our ancestors. We are proud Canaanites, Sophie. Do not ever forget that. Once there were seven nations of Canaan. And they all dwelt peacefully in these lands. Until”—he stopped and pointed his finger—“until the Israelites were sent to wipe them out.”

  “Who sent them?” Sophie said.

  “Ah, child, it’s all in the Bible. No doubt you are too young to have studied the Bible, but it is in the book of Deuteronomy, chapter seven. The Israelites are commanded to smite all the people in the seven tribes of Canaan. They say that God commanded them and said to them, ‘Thou shall have no pity upon them.’ But, I ask you, what good and loving God would command such a thing?”

  Sophie shrugged.

  “It was at that time that one of the spies of Moses … do you know of Moses?” Sophie nodded. “Oh, of course, your father must have told you the Jewish stories of Moses. Well, Moses sent one of his spies, Joshua, to explore the lands of Canaan. After Moses died, Joshua became the leader of a massive army, and with thousands and thousands of Israelites, he invaded the lands of the Jordan Valley to settle his people. The peaceful people of Ammon were not fighters. They did not have the weapons of Joshua’s army. But they were proud and told Joshua he could not have their land. They tried to defend their homes, but Joshua conquered them and showed no mercy.

  “After conquering Ammon and leaving no person alive, Joshua and his people did not even settle there. No, they went north to conquer more of Canaan. Again, my precious, the peaceful people of Canaan had attacked no one. They threatened no one. They only wished to be left alone to live on their land. But the Israelites and their ruthless armies marched north to fight against them.”

  “Why, Jaddi? Why did the Israelites want to fight?”

  “They say in their Bible that God commanded them, but in truth, that is their way. They are conquerors and occupiers of other people’s houses and lands. Even today. Just the same. Did you ever hear the simple song ‘Joshua Fit the Battle of Jericho’?”

  Sophie’s eyes brightened. “‘An
d the walls came tumbling down.’”

  “Just so. Only, the song is a fable. We are not told the real story. Do you want to know?”

  Sophie nodded.

  “Jericho, the oldest city in the world, was a peaceful little village in Canaan. It was small, but it had a large wall around the city to protect the people. Jericho didn’t have very many soldiers. Only about five hundred. Joshua had a huge army of eight thousand Israelites, some on horses, some on foot, but all with weapons. There were four times as many men in Joshua’s army as there were all the people in the town of Jericho. But the people had built a wall, six feet thick and twenty-six feet high, so they felt safe.”

  “Like the wall around your house, Jaddi?”

  Al-Zahani laughed. “Maybe. Only a little bigger than mine, no?”

  “How did the walls come tumbling down?”

  “That is only a fairy story. The truth is that Joshua and his army encircled the city and for six days marched around making terrible noise and blowing loud horns. Then a woman named Rahab, a very evil woman who thought only of herself, made a secret deal with Joshua. In exchange for her safety, she snuck Joshua’s soldiers into the town and they opened the gates for the army. What happened next is too terrible to tell. The Canaanites who lived in Jericho were brave and honorable, but no match for such a large army. After Joshua finished fighting them, he set the whole town on fire. Then he marched on to fight other towns in Canaan.”

  “And our family comes from Canaan, Jaddi?”

  Al-Zahani nodded. “For thousands of years. Even though their lands were taken and they were left to wander without a home, they struggled against their oppressors and resisted the unlawful occupation then, as we do now.”

  “Did you ever have to leave your home?”

  “Yes, I did. My whole family, my friends, and everyone I knew had to flee from the bombs. I was just about your age. We lived in Haifa, by the ocean.”

  “Did you have a home like mine?”

  “Well, I’ve never been inside your home, but I think they were probably very much alike. I had my own bedroom.”

  “Why did you leave your home?”

  “Because a war was about to start. Because far, far away from us, in New York City, a group of other countries decided to split up the land of Palestine and take our part away from us and give it to the Jews for a new country called Israel. So that we could keep our family safe from the war, we had to flee from our home. And we could never come back.”

  “That’s not fair.”

  “You are right, little one, it is not fair.”

  Al-Zahani lifted Sophie from his lap and kissed her on the forehead. “And now it is time for bed.”

  SEVENTEEN

  LARGE SNOWFLAKES, ILLUMINATED BY the headlights of Kelsen’s black Bentley, gave the illusion of space travel as it motored through the streets of a quiet subdivision north of Chicago. The Bentley turned into a driveway at the end of a cul-de-sac and flashed its high beams against the side of the house. A figure soon emerged, dressed in a black, hooded parka. He sloshed through the snow to the back of the Bentley and a window was lowered.

  The man leaned in. He spoke with a Russian accent. “Is it all arranged?”

  “Yes,” Kelsen said.

  “You are sure? Dmitri will be playing large. This must be assured. Nothing can go wrong.” The man wagged his finger side to side.

  “Nothing is assured, Evgeniy. It’s a basketball game. Things can go wrong. Tell Dmitri to lay off if he’s worried.”

  “Dmitri want to know, are you in?”

  “Big-time.”

  “Okay. Okay. Then I give you this. You better be right.” Evgeniy passed an envelope through the window.

  Kelsen held the envelope by the window. “Don’t give me any of that ‘better be right’ crap. I did what I had to do. Either he wants this money played or he doesn’t.”

  “He wants it played.”

  Kelsen counted the bills. He nodded and raised the window.

  * * *

  DAN GIBSON RECEIVED A call just after dinner. The doorman in the Trump lobby informed him that two policemen wanted to come up and talk to him. Gibson opened the door when they arrived.

  Detective O’Herrin spoke, his head lowered slightly. “I’m afraid I have bad news for you, sir. Mr. Harrington’s body was found this evening at the Fullerton breakwater.”

  Gibson’s legs went wobbly and he sat down on the couch. “What happened?”

  “Well, sir, it … it looks like there’s been foul play. There was a bullet wound. His body was taken to the medical examiner’s. You can see him there, sir, if you want to. Are you okay?”

  “No, I’m not okay. Would you be okay?” Gibson’s chin quivered. “Where was the wound?”

  O’Herrin hesitated. “In his right temple.”

  Gibson grabbed his face with both hands and cried.

  O’Herrin pulled a small writing pad from his back pocket. “Can we ask a few questions?”

  Gibson swallowed hard. “Can we do this tomorrow?”

  “Sure. That’d be all right. We’ll call you tomorrow, but can I ask just one question? Just one or two?”

  Gibson nodded.

  O’Herrin pulled up a chair opposite the couch and sat on the edge. “Was Mr. Harrington depressed recently? Were there any … what they call suicidal ideations? Would he take his own life?”

  Gibson sobbed. “No. Never. We were so happy. His company was just sold and we were going to take a vacation. Denny’s idea—a cruise through the Panama Canal.” Gibson grabbed a tissue. “Did you find a gun?”

  O’Herrin shook his head and penciled a few notes. “If his company was sold, where was he going to work?”

  “We have some savings. Denny can easily get another job if he wants one. He’s very good at what he does.” Gibson caught himself. “At what he did.”

  “I’m truly sorry, sir. Do you know whether he had money troubles? Was he indebted to anyone?”

  “I told you, we have savings,” Gibson snapped. “And besides, he told me he was getting a substantial bonus on the sale of the company.”

  “Excuse me for asking this, sir, but with him dead and all, would he still get that bonus?”

  Gibson shook his head. “I don’t know. It’s not something we ever discussed. Would you leave now, please?”

  “Of course.” O’Herrin stood and took a step toward the door, then stopped. “Just one more question, please. Did he have any enemies?”

  Gibson shook his head.

  “Anybody who would want to do him harm?”

  Gibson shook his head.

  “Excuse me for asking this, but did he have any other relationships? You know, other guys who would, um, would be jealous enough to be violent?”

  “That’s insulting. Now please leave.”

  “Very sorry, sir. Can we call you tomorrow?”

  Gibson nodded and showed them out.

  EIGHTEEN

  MARCY SMILED OVER THE rim of her wineglass. They sat side by side at a plank table on the veranda of Paca’s Seaside Sushi Shack. Her elbows rested on the table and she wrapped her hands around the glass. “You were so gallant.”

  “That was not my intent. I assure you it was all knee-jerk.” Jack gazed out at the Pacific. The stars and the horizon were both discernible in the minutes following the sun’s dip beneath the edge of the earth, known to sailors as nautical twilight. The sea moved in shadows. Swells and whitecaps.

  “’Twas gallantry nonetheless. I choose to believe my version of the story. Reasonable minds can differ. Isn’t that what you lawyers say?” Marcy took a deep, relaxing breath and stared at the ocean. “This reminds me of that weekend at Grand Haven. Remember? We were all sitting at a picnic table on the beach. It must have been midnight, but Sophie wasn’t the least bit sleepy. She kept running through the sand, chasing fireflies.” Marcy chuckled. “What a sight. Alina chasing after her, trying to slow her down. They had quite a bond, those two.”

  Somm
ers was silent. His lips quivered.

  “Jack, I’m sorry. Should I not bring up the past? They were such good times.”

  He nodded. “I’m okay. Let’s talk about you.”

  “Oh, now there’s an interesting subject. Struggling photographer trying to make ends meet in one of the country’s most expensive locations. I used to think Ted did me a favor, chasing me out of Chicago, but now I think I bit off more than I can chew. I’m not even sure where I’ll be living next week.”

  “Pacific Properties?”

  “How do you know about that?”

  “The summons and complaint were sitting on the counter beside your coffeemaker.”

  “So you read them? Nosy!” She shook her head. “I’m getting evicted. Mr. Nakamura wants me out of the house and he’s been looking for an excuse. I was out of town on the first when the rent was due. I took it over to him on the third but he wouldn’t accept it.”

  “Two days late? Did he serve you with any notices?”

  She shook her head. “He showed me a section of the lease that said that if the rent wasn’t paid on time, he would have the right to cancel the lease. It’s right there in black and white.”

  “How much time is left on the lease?”

  “Eighteen months, but it looks like I’ll have to find another place pretty quick. The court date is next Tuesday.”

  “Have you talked to his lawyer?”

  “He doesn’t have one. He’s a real estate man. He filed the papers by himself.”

  Jack nodded and smiled.

  “Jack,” she said quietly. “A few minutes ago, I didn’t mean to upset you. You should cherish those memories of the good times. They’re yours to keep. They’re ours to keep. And to share with Sophie.”

  “I know.” He turned his head away to look at the ocean.

  “Jack, I’m worried about you. Alina’s death was a heartbreaker for all of us, but most of all, you need to hold it together. You’ve got Sophie to raise. She needs you.”

  Jack stood suddenly. “Thanks, Marcy. I have to go. I’m sorry.”

  He put a $100 bill on the table and walked away.