Saving Sophie: A Novel

by Ronald H. Balson

  “It’s in a safe place.”

  “Then they haven’t abandoned him. You can be sure they’re looking for him.”

  “He’s considered that possibility, but they don’t know where he is.”

  The waitress returned to the table. They picked up their menus, studied them briefly, and ordered.

  “Whoever they are, they know that sooner or later Jack has to show himself,” Liam said. “There’s a focal point.”

  “Sophie.”

  “Correct. What can you tell me about the deal, Marcy? How was it made and why does he think it’s stalled?”

  Marcy swiveled to face Liam and spoke softly. “After Sophie was kidnapped, Jack was approached with a proposition. He was working on a large business deal that was set to close through an escrow. Jack was to arrange for the escrow money to be sent to a sham account. He was assured that part of the money would be used for Sophie’s return.”

  “Who gave this assurance?”

  “Jack doesn’t want me to disclose any names to you at this point.”

  “The person who approached Jack, what do we know about him and his connection to al-Zahani?”

  “I’m sorry. I was instructed not to talk about the person. Jack was told that this person had made the arrangements to buy Sophie’s return out of Hebron. What ultimately happens to the rest of the money is not Jack’s concern. He doesn’t want any of it.”

  “Did Jack ever have confirmation of this arrangement from al-Zahani?”

  “No. He hasn’t had any contact with the al-Zahanis since they picked up Sophie at his house.”

  Liam grimaced. “The person. Hmm. The entire scenario rests on the credibility of the person. Did Jack ever consider the possibility that this person may be running a number on Jack and may have never contacted al-Zahani at all?”

  “Of course. Jack may be desperate, but he’s not stupid. To Jack, the person was a godsend. Jack had tried all the legal avenues: the US government, the Israeli government. He just kept running into stone walls. Then along comes this businessman who has powerful contacts in the Middle East and can make it all happen. As far as Jack knew, millions of dollars, maybe tens of millions, would be more than enough to finance Sophie’s return. Whether it’s a payoff to al-Zahani or otherwise, doesn’t really matter to Jack. The escrow money went to a Panamanian account that Jack set up.”

  Liam shook his head. “It’s so foolish. You know two of the other accomplices are dead?”

  “We heard that. Jack doesn’t know if it’s true.”

  “It’s true. They’re dead.”

  “Well, it took all three to complete the theft. Jack couldn’t have misdirected the wire without them. They were recruited by…” She shrugged.

  “I know. The person. Why doesn’t Jack want me to know who this person is?”

  “I guess he still holds out the possibility that the man will do what he said—rescue Sophie. There’s a lot of money in that account. If the person actually made contact with al-Zahani, and if there’s any truth to what he said, then there are millions of reasons that Sophie can be brought back to the U.S.”

  The waitress returned and set the lunch plates on the table.

  “You’re very brave to come here,” Liam said. “Do you understand you’re putting yourself in the line of fire? Why are you doing this?”

  “I like spy novels.”

  Liam took a bite of his “sautéed mahimahi sandwich with zesty basil butter and garden sprouts.” He made a face.

  “And I’m very fond of Jack. You told Deborah you could help us. What can you do?”

  “To be honest with you, Marcy, I’m not sure. I can tell you that I’ll go to the Palestinian territories and try to open the channels. I’ll try to find out if there is, or ever was, a deal. If I can facilitate Sophie’s return, I will. But I’m not going to lie to you, I can’t hand over the escrow money in exchange for Sophie. There’s no way the government will let al-Zahani get his hands on that money. He’s a suspected terrorist.”

  “I don’t think Jack believes that al-Zahani is a terrorist. But if you’re not sure what you can do, and you won’t let al-Zahani have any money, why did you tell Deborah you could help? You don’t have an alternative plan. You don’t have anything. Why did you lie to her? Did you think we’d be so stupid as to let Jack come here and be grabbed by you at this restaurant?” She stood to leave.

  “Wait, Marcy. Sit down. I didn’t lie to anyone. I told her I would try to help, and I will do everything I can. I’ll be on the ground over there. I’m going next week and I should be able to find out something, at least more than Jack presently knows. And I’ve got the support of the State Department.”

  “What do you mean, the State Department? They know about the money?”

  “They know about the money—hell, everyone knows about the money—but they also suspect that al-Zahani may want to use this money for some kind of terrorist activity. And that may, in fact, be why al-Zahani took Sophie in the first place. They want me to get as much information as I can, and they think that by using me, a private investigator hired by Jack’s family to find Sophie, people will open up to me. Maybe I can get close enough to al-Zahani to find out what’s really going on. If there’s a deal, they want to put me in the middle of it. If there is no deal, they want me to make the offer. It’s our best shot.”

  “You’d get in the middle of this with a terrorist?”

  Liam shrugged.

  “That’s very brave. What about the money?”

  Liam shook his head. “It’s gotta go back to the escrow. To the guy who owns the company. Not to a terrorist.”

  “I just don’t think Jack believes that al-Zahani is a terrorist. A deceitful, manipulative bastard, yes. But a terrorist? Jack wouldn’t give money to a terrorist. Jack tells me al-Zahani’s a man who maintains a very high standard of living and probably requires a lot of cash. Jack figures he might be overextended. After all, it’s hard for a doctor to pull down that kind of money practicing in a Palestinian town. He may need the money badly.”

  Liam nodded. “I understand. But I’ve heard the doctor is quite wealthy.”

  “Have you counted his cash?”

  Liam smiled. “Fair enough. No, I haven’t.”

  “Jack also believes that the person might need to use the money to finance a rescue. It might mean hiring people. It might mean paying off local governmental people. Jack doesn’t care who gets paid off, all he cares about is bringing Sophie home. So why shouldn’t he stick with the person?”

  “You and Jack already know the answer or you wouldn’t be here. So what are Jack’s options? Is he going to go to Palestine himself with a bag of money? Is he going to hire another person? Is he going to recruit an army of mercenaries, soldiers of fortune, to sneak arms into Israel and firestorm their way in and out of the country? Don’t you think that’s a little out of Jack’s element?

  “And bear in mind, Marcy, someone has already killed two people. Jack would be in the crosshairs if they knew where he was. As you’ve described the embezzlement scheme to me, there were three active participants, and two of them are now dead.”

  Liam took another bite of his sandwich and wrinkled his nose. “Ugh! Give me a good Chicago sammich anytime.”

  “What do you want me to tell Jack?”

  “Why don’t you get him on the phone and let me talk to him myself?”

  She shook her head. “I can’t. I have to follow his wishes. I can talk to him privately. What do you want me to tell him?”

  “Tell him to keep his head down. Tell him to stay out of sight. And tell him to set up a communication channel with me.”

  She pulled a cell phone out of her pocket. “I’ll be right back.” She walked outside to make the call.

  Liam signaled for the waitress. “I’ll have another Macallan. And you can take this sandwich. What’s the possibility I can get a jumbo char-dog with relish, hot peppers, tomatoes, and a pickle?”

  The waitress put a plastic
smile on her face. “I’m sorry. That’s not on the menu, sir. May I interest you in something else? Our avocado whitefish burger is very popular.”

  Liam sadly shook his head. She smiled and left to fill the order.

  Marcy returned and slid into the booth. “He says he’s grateful for your help. He urges you to do what you can. If you can set up an exchange or get the Israelis or the Palestinian Authority involved, he’ll do everything he can to help you, including supplying details about the money and the other participants. He’ll do whatever he has to do to get Sophie back. If you want him to trust you, you have to trust him and respect his need to stay out of sight.”

  A moment later the waitress returned with Liam’s drink and the check. Liam reached into his pocket for cash. Marcy stopped him. “I’m on an expense account. Jack told me that I was to treat.” She dug into her purse and pulled out her wallet.

  “Marcy, how does Jack propose to raise Sophie when she returns? He’s facing twenty years or more.”

  She nodded slightly. “I know, but that’s Jack’s business.”

  “Are you prepared to harbor a fugitive?”

  “Look, I’m only trying to help Jack get his daughter back. She’s being held captive in a violent city. What I do is my business.”

  Liam smiled. “All right, how do I stay in contact? I don’t want to come back to Santa Monica. I don’t care for fish sandwiches.”

  She wrote down a cell phone number. “Here. This is how you reach us. You leave a text message.” Liam looked at the paper. It was Deborah’s number.

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  DARIUS LEFT THE PRACTICE facility at 9:00 P.M. and started walking across the quad toward his dorm. The frozen grass crunched beneath his shoes. Coach’s game plan for the third round kept playing out in his mind. So did his stellar performance against Western Alabama in the second round, clips of which were being shown hourly on SportsCenter. So far, it had been a great tournament for him, and he was the topic of every sports-talk panel. “Anti-gravity,” they said. He walked through the brisk night with a spring in his step.

  The familiar black Bentley pulled up alongside the curb. Darius pretended not to see the car and kept walking with his head down.

  Kelsen’s chauffeur dashed around the car and blocked his path. “Mr. Kelsen wants a word with you.” He put a strong grip on Darius’s arm, led him back to the car, opened the back door, and rudely pushed him in. Darius was placed in the middle of the backseat with Kelsen on one side and a large man in a gray wool coat on the other.

  “Haven’t I been good to you, Darius? Am I not like a father to you?”

  “Look, Mr. Kelsen, I’m sorry about the other night, but I had to make a good showing if I want to be a high pick.”

  “High pick? You’re only a sophomore, Darius. You’ve got another two years of eligibility.”

  “No, sir. I’m going to declare this year. Coach says I gotta good shot at bein’ a lottery pick. That’s why I had to play real good.”

  “I said fourteen, Darius.” Then Kelsen’s voice rose. “Fourteen! Not sixteen, you little punk.”

  “Hey, look, man, I said I was sorry. And I don’t wanna do this no more. I’m out. I gotta worry about my future. I don’t want your money no more.”

  “Money? Do you know how much money you cost me Tuesday, you and your future?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Show him, Evgeniy.”

  Evgeniy’s fist slammed hard into Darius’s stomach. It knocked the wind out of him. He couldn’t catch his breath.

  “Show Mr. Anti-Gravity how much money his high-flyin’ showboat cost me against Western Alabama,” Kelsen said calmly.

  Evgeniy, a smile on his face, took a police baton from the seat beside him and swung it hard, striking Darius on the shin. He screamed in agony. “Aaahh, my leg. You broke my leg.”

  “Let’s see how high you can fly now.”

  Darius doubled up on the seat, his arms around his knee. The chauffeur walked around and opened the back door.

  “Too bad about your leg,” Kelsen said. “Accidents will happen. Tough break for the Deacons, though. Thought they might go all the way. But, you know, the good news is, broken legs can heal. Come next year, after your rehab, you’ll be back, maybe not quite as quick, but you’ll play. And you and I will talk.”

  Darius was thrown from the car onto the parkway. “Don’t ever cross me again,” Kelsen said. “You give me two more years. You owe me. You belong to me.”

  The Bentley pulled away, leaving Darius in the parkway. He lay on the grass, crying, shaking from the incident and unable to walk.

  Several minutes later a young woman spotted him and cautiously approached. She set her backpack down beside him. “Hey, are you okay? Do you need help?”

  “I been mugged. I think my leg is busted.”

  “I’ll get someone here.” She dialed 911 on her cell. She smiled encouragingly. “They’re coming right over.” Then she looked closer. “Are you Darius McCord?”

  Shortly thereafter, an ambulance arrived and transported him to Memorial Hospital. While he was waiting to be x-rayed, Darius’s mother rushed into the emergency room.

  “Oh, my baby, what’d they do to you?”

  “Mama, they busted up my leg. Took my money.”

  “Who did this to you?”

  “I don’t know. I didn’t see ’em comin’. They got me from behind. Knocked me down and hit me with a ball bat. Then they ran off. There was two or three of ’em. Mama, I didn’t have a chance.”

  THIRTY-NINE

  CATHERINE SLID HER PILLOW over and snuggled up to Liam. “Are you awake?”

  “I’ve been up for a while. I didn’t want to move, you were sleeping so soundly.”

  “It’s three A.M. Are you thinking about Sommers and where he might be?”

  “I got a pretty good idea where he is. He’s in Hawaii.”

  Catherine propped herself up on her elbow. “Did Marcy tell you that?”

  “No. When she pulled out her wallet to pay the check, I saw a debit card from the Bank of Hawaii. So that’s my best guess.”

  “Did you get her last name?”

  He nodded.

  Catherine laid her head on Liam’s arm. With her fingernail, she drew little circles on his chest. “Sounds like you and I need to go to Hawaii.”

  Liam smiled. “We’ll just go sit on the beach and wait for Sommers to walk by.”

  “I had something a little more romantic in mind.”

  Liam rolled over and kissed her on the neck. “I bet you do, you always do.”

  * * *

  THE MORNING SUN BEGAN to peek through the draperies and Catherine was still lying on Liam’s arm. “Many, many talents,” he said with a purr.

  “You better remember that when you go to Israel next week with Miss Gorgeous.”

  “You want me all to yourself?”

  “Damn right I do.”

  Liam got out of bed, took a few steps toward the bathroom and stopped. “You know, Cat, I don’t think he has the money.”

  “Seriously? Why?”

  “Just a feeling. It might be in an account that he controls. But maybe not.”

  “Then who has it?”

  “Good question. Maybe the person, who may have never talked to al-Zahani or ever made a deal. Who may just be working Jack. And if so, when he gets Jack to show his face, there’ll be a third fatality.”

  Catherine looked at the clock. “Shit, I got to get going. I’ve got court at nine thirty. Kelsen v. Jenkins & Fairchild is up on the status call.”

  * * *

  COURTROOM 1506 WAS BUSY, especially on status days, which were known as Sherwin’s Cattle Call. Judge Sherwin, trying to move his lengthy docket, allowed only a few minutes to each group of lawyers, just enough time for them to inform him of their progress. When her case was called, Catherine and two other attorneys quickly approached the bench. Kelsen’s attorney informed the judge that discovery was moving along well and that several deposit
ions had been scheduled. The judge then ordered all nonexpert fact discovery to be completed within 120 days.

  “I’m going to set a preliminary trial date for next January,” Judge Sherwin said. “Final pretrial orders to be completed by January fifth. Pretrial conference on January eighth. Trial to begin January seventeenth.”

  “What? January seventeenth?” Kelsen shouted from the back of the courtroom. “What the hell?”

  The judge looked over and beckoned Kelsen forward with his index finger. “Come up here, sir.”

  Kelsen approached the bench with a determined walk. “Why do I have to wait until January? They stole my money. I want a trial right now. Isn’t there a speedy-trial act or something?”

  Judge Sherwin looked down at the attorneys. “Who is this man?”

  “That’s Mr. Kelsen,” said the plaintiff’s attorney. “He owns the company.”

  “Mr. Kelsen,” Judge Sherwin said, “you have a lawyer. Your lawyer will address this court. Don’t ever shout in my courtroom again. He’ll talk for you.”

  “Well, he’s not talking. I want a speedy trial.”

  “He’s doing just fine. January, if we can hold to it, would be an early setting on my calendar. I don’t want any more outbursts in my courtroom. Do you understand?”

  “Your Honor, they stole eighty-eight million from me, those lawyers. I trusted them and they screwed me over. I want my money. I don’t want to wait until January.”

  “I’m not getting through to you, am I?”

  “No. Not if you want to stall this case until January. I want my money. Maybe I’m not getting through to you.”

  “Mr. Kelsen, do you understand the phrase contempt of court?”

  “Of course.”

  “Well, you’re in it. Do you need my deputies to take you into custody so you can better appreciate courtroom decorum?”

  “No.”

  “One more word and you’re going to spend the next week in the Cook County jail. Now am I getting through to you?”

  Kelsen nodded.

  “The court will take a short recess.” Judge Sherwin pointed to Kelsen’s attorney. “Talk to your client.”

  “We’re very sorry, Your Honor,” Kelsen’s lawyer said. “Mr. Kelsen is obviously quite upset about the theft of eighty-eight million dollars.”