“Understood.”
FORTY-NINE
MOTHER NATURE DANGLED A taste of spring in the face of Chicagoans on a mid-March afternoon. But it was just a teaser. The thermometer climbed into the high fifties, and winter coats and scarves were set aside for cotton jackets. Though St. Paddy’s Day had come and gone, the Chicago River still flowed with vestiges of kelly green. The fountain in Daley Plaza still bubbled green water, and the tops of downtown buildings still lit up like four-leaf clovers. Just a teaser, for the Northeast Hawk would soon return to Michigan Avenue and the snow would blow a few more times before winter would loosen its grip.
On North Clark Street, a mother held the door open while her son struggled on his crutches and entered the law offices of Catherine Lockhart. “We’re here to see Attorney Lockhart,” the woman said to the receptionist. “Please tell her that Darius and Violet McCord are here.”
A moment later, Catherine came out to her lobby. “Very nice to meet you both. And, Darius, I confess, I don’t know much about college basketball, but I was saddened to read about the assault and your tragic injury. Have they caught the assailants?”
“No, ma’am,” Violet said. “That’s why we’re here. Darius has something he wants to tell you.”
Catherine gestured toward the hallway. “Come on back to my office and we’ll talk. Gladys, will you please get them both a soft drink.”
“I’ll just have water, thank you,” Violet said.
Violet helped Darius settle into one of the two client chairs opposite Catherine’s desk. Gladys brought in the drinks and closed the door on her way out.
“Again, Darius, it pains me to see you struggle with those crutches. When do the doctors think you’ll be up and around?”
“I don’t know,” he said sheepishly. “Maybe a few months.”
“Do the police have any leads? Any way to find out who did this?”
Violet leaned forward, putting her forearms on the desk. She was thin and tall, but still considerably shorter than her son. She appeared to be no older than her late thirties. “Miss Lockhart, what we tell you today, is it a secret?”
Catherine nodded her head. “Yes, it is. It’s confidential and privileged. And call me Catherine.”
“That means you can’t tell no one if we don’t want you to?”
“That’s right.”
“Are you the attorney in the case against Mr. Kelsen?”
Catherine nodded. “I’m defending a client that’s being sued by Mr. Kelsen’s company.”
“So, you’re against him, right? I been reading about it in the paper.”
Catherine smiled. “I guess you could say I’m against him. It’s his company.”
Violet sat back in her chair. “Then you’re the right person.”
She unscrewed the cap on her water bottle, took a drink and a deep breath. “Miss Lockhart, I need to tell you about my son and me. We been down a long, hard road. You prob’ly don’t know what families have to do to get their boys into Division One basketball.”
“No, Violet, I don’t.”
“Well, it starts when they’re babies. From the time Darius was just a squeaker, he had talent. I could see it. Everybody could. When he was old enough to hold a ball, he had to have a ball in his hands. It was like him and the ball was one. All the time bouncing a ball. Off the floor, off the walls.” Violet smiled at her son.
“I wanted him to be a good ballplayer, as good as he could be. Everybody in our part of town dreams of their baby playin’ pro ball, but I didn’t have any idea what we were getting into.” Tears came to her eyes. She wiped them with the back of her hand.
Catherine took out a box of tissues and set them on the desk.
“He was only eight years old and there was scouts on the Forty-Seventh Street playground talking this way and that. Eight years old and they come to watch Darius. When he got into the fourth grade, I got a call from Mr. Robinson. ‘We want Darius to be on our AAU team, the Chicago Tigers,’ he said. ‘One of the best in the country.’”
“At nine years old?”
Violet nodded. “I didn’t know anything about the AAU, but the other mothers told me, if Darius wants to be anybody at all, he’s got to sign up. So we did. Before I know it, there was shoes, jerseys, strength equipment, all delivered to my apartment. They put us in touch with Father Paul over at Holy Resurrection so we could use the gym in the afternoon. Every day, all year, Miss Lockhart, except for the time he was practicing with the team, and then we still would go at night sometimes. Darius’d come home from school and go straight to the gym. Three hundred layups, four hundred free throws, three hundred spot-ups. I stood under the basket and fed him the ball. Then we’d go home and have our dinner at eight.” She looked at her son. “He was ranked as the second-best ten-year-old in the country by Youth Hoops Magazine.”
“The second-best ten-year-old?”
“Yep. From time to time, this coach or that would come over to the church and work with Darius. It was all a business to them, but I could see they were teaching him and getting him ready for college and pro ball. Who’s paying all these people? I don’t know. And I guess I don’t need to tell you about all the sneaky agents who ain’t supposed to be talking to kids, wantin’ me to sign their papers. AAU took us all over the country, Miss Lockhart.”
“Catherine.”
“Tournaments almost every week. New York, Washington, Dallas, LA. His baby brother, at first I could bring him ’cause he’d sit on my lap, but later he’s too big and I don’t have the money, and I have to stay at home or get people to watch him.” Violet’s eyes glassed over and her voice would occasionally seize up. “Terrell, he didn’t get the attention he needed growing up. He needed attention too, but there was no more of me to go around.” She took a few pieces of tissue and rocked a bit in her seat. “Now he’s in and out of trouble.”
Catherine waited while Violet composed herself. Darius sat with his head bowed. “By the time Darius was ready for high school, he had played hundreds of games and everybody wanted him. We had coaches from private high schools sitting in our front room from the time he was in seventh grade. Catholic schools offering full tuition. One of them even said they’d pick him up and drive him to school every day. High school up in Maryland would’ve moved us to an apartment in Baltimore. An academy in Florida showed us pictures of first-rounders and told us he could stay in the dorm. Major university lab school—he’d live right on the campus.
“Darius didn’t want Catholic school, he didn’t want no academy or lab school, he wanted to be with his friends and play in the Public League. You may have read about him when he was at Jefferson. He was a high school all-American and ranked number twenty-two in the country in his senior year. Number four point guard.
“Then there’s certain days when the colleges can come visit you. Mercy me. You’d a thought we was the king and queen of England. Letters from people and places we never heard of. They all be your best friend.”
“I get it.”
“No, ma’am, you don’t. You see, every last one of ’em is sitting in our front room, all sayin’ that the years of practice and sacrifice is gonna finally pay off. Someday, Darius, you gonna play in the NBA, and we gonna get you there. Then you’ll be able to take care of yourself, your baby brother, and your mama. This is your ticket out, they say.
“So we keep workin’, Miss Lockhart, day in, day out. Keepin’ up the basketball, keepin’ up the grades so he can get into college and not sit a year. Twenty-three on his ACTs. Always a B average. He wants to go to St. Joe’s ’cause it’s right in town and I can come see him every game. Two years of St. Joe’s. He didn’t want to be no one-and-done. He stayed the extra year for Coach Washburn. Now comes the tournament. He’s showing everyone he’s the best. A first-rounder for sure. We made it.”
Violet gave a quick pop to Darius’s shoulder. “Tell her, Darius,” she said sternly. “Tell her what you and Marcus Fields did.”
Darius hung his head
even farther and talked so softly he was almost inaudible. “We took money.”
Violet looked crossly at her son. “Tell her what you did for that money.”
“We shaved points.” He looked up. “We never lost on purpose and we never threw a game. But we did shave points. We controlled the score.”
Catherine leaned forward. “What does this have to do with Mr. Kelsen, Darius?”
“He’s the one. He gave us the money. And I know we weren’t the first. He’s been hanging around St. Joe’s for years.”
After a pause in the room Violet popped Darius again. “You ain’t done, Darius.”
“Last week, we played Western Alabama in the tournament. We was supposed to keep the score under fourteen, but I scored too many points and Mr. Kelsen got real mad. He did this to me.”
“Mr. Kelsen broke your leg?”
“It was the Russian dude. Hit me with a pipe in Mr. Kelsen’s car.”
“Miss Lockhart, Kelsen is in with those Russian gangsters,” Violet said. “A man named Dmitri. Tell her, Darius.”
Darius swallowed hard. “Mr. Kelsen plays the points with some Russians. The main dude is Dmitri, but I don’t know his last name.”
“And Dmitri broke your leg?” Catherine asked.
“Nah, that was Evgeniy. I seen him a few times when we was on the road. I ain’t never seen Dmitri at a game.”
“Did you tell this to the police?”
“We don’t want to do that,” Violet said. “Darius’s leg is broke, but it’s not a career-ending break. He’ll be better in a few months. We probably have to skip the draft this year, so Darius’ll be back at St. Joe’s next year. Darius can’t admit to no one he was taking money. Sports bribery’s a federal crime. He’d be kicked out of school. No NBA team’d want him. It’d be the end of Darius’s career.”
“Then why are you telling me this?”
“Because Mr. Kelsen and his Russian friends been messin’ up kids’ lives. And they’ll keep doin’ it. And they won’t think twice about bustin’ up my boy again next year if he don’t play along. And maybe they keep doin’ it even when he’s in the pros. You got a case against Mr. Kelsen. When does that case come up in court?”
Catherine spread her hands and smiled. “We’re in the Cook County courts. Trial is at least a year away. But there’s a status call next week.”
“Will Mr. Kelsen be there for the status call?”
“You never know with Mr. Kelsen, but I don’t think so. It’s just intended for the lawyers.”
“Somehow you gotta get the word to him that people be knowin’ what he does. Then he’ll have to let Darius alone, ’cause then if something happens to my boy, everybody will know it was him. Mr. Kelsen’s only able to control people because he does it in secret. He won’t commit a crime in a fishbowl.”
“We’re scheduled to do depositions starting next week. I suppose I could slide a comment in here or there, but if I do, I might be opening a door. One way or another, it could lead to people finding out about Darius and what you told me today. I can’t guarantee the information will remain confidential. And maybe it even would put Darius in danger.”
“We’ll take that chance. He’s already in danger. And I don’t think Mr. Kelsen’s going to do anything if he knows other people are watching him.”
“Really, Mrs. McCord, I think if you went to the police—”
“No, ma’am. Officially, Darius was mugged. We just need this Mr. Kelsen to leave Darius alone. You get the message to him some way, that you know all about him and Dmitri. He’s gotta stop. Otherwise, he’ll control my boy forever.” Violet stood and helped Darius to his feet.
He looked at Catherine. “I’m sorry, Miss Lockhart, for what I did, I truly am.”
FIFTY
“WHAT IF HE DOESN’T show up today?” Rami said.
“He’ll be here,” answered Fa’iz from his seat in the corner. The old man leaned back on his futon, his hands folded on his belly. “Of that I am sure, but I don’t know if he’ll have the resolve to submit willingly.”
“And if he doesn’t?” Nizar said.
Fa’iz looked to al-Zahani, who nodded, reached into his bag, and extracted a syringe and a small bottle with opaque liquid. “It’s a short-term sedative.”
Dani returned to the apartment at noon and was warmly greeted by the group.
“Our warrior has arrived. Hail to the hero,” Nizar said. “From the river to the sea, eh, Dani?”
Dani spoke directly to Fa’iz. “I don’t think I can do what you ask. I’m not a suicide bomber.”
“It’s not a bomb, Dani. It’s a very potent weapon, like nothing the world has seen, that will bring us great glory. Your family will be very proud.”
“My mother doesn’t want me to do this. Even though you’d buy her a house. She told me not to come back here, but I promised I would, so here I am. I’ll help in other ways, but not by doing this. I’ll guard the door for you, I’ll run messages, but I’m not going to let you kill me. I’m not doing it.”
Fa’iz rose from his chair. He put his arms around Dani in a strong hug and kissed him on the cheek. “We are all very proud of you. Allah will surely grant you entrance into Jannah.”
From behind, al-Zahani inserted the needle into Dani’s neck and quickly plunged the sedative. Dani’s eyes widened. He tried to speak but his body went limp in Fa’iz’s arms.
“We need to get him to the lab within the hour,” al-Zahani said.
The group placed Dani onto a blanket and carried him outside, where he was laid in the backseat of Rami’s car.
“You know old Abu Hammad?” Fakhir said to al-Zahani outside the car. “The shopkeeper in Jerusalem’s Old City?”
Al-Zahani looked up with a stern face. “I know him and detest him. He’s a coward and a traitor. I should have shot him for desertion when I had the chance. My father would be alive today if it wasn’t for cowards like Abu Hammad.”
“That may be, but I saw him last night and he told me a very interesting story. He said a private investigator hired by Sophie’s father had been coming around his shop asking questions about you.”
“What was he asking?”
“If you made a deal to ransom your granddaughter.”
“Ransom? Where would he get such ideas?” Al-Zahani waved it off. “No matter. Sophie is safe. We’re well protected.”
“But listen, Arif, he says the father is willing to pay millions of dollars to get her back.”
“Tell Abu Hammad to go back to his junkyard. I’m not interested in such nonsense. Sophie is not for sale. That’s insulting, but typical of Abu Hammad.”
“Wait,” Fa’iz said. “Do not dismiss this talk so readily. How many millions of dollars did Abu Hammad say?”
Fakhir raised his eyebrows. “He said many millions.”
Nizar laughed loudly. “Where is a young lawyer supposed to get many millions?”
“It’s not impossible,” al-Zahani said. “He has very wealthy friends. But this conversation is going nowhere. Sophie is not for sale.”
“How do you know his wealthy friends can pay millions, Arif?” Fa’iz asked.
“I met one such man. A Russian. A business client and friend of Sommers. In fact, it was this man who flew Sophie, Lubannah, and me from Chicago last year. That’s how we got here.”
“Some friend.” Nizar laughed. “Why would he let you steal Sommers’s daughter if he was his friend?”
Al-Zahani shrugged. “I didn’t ask. Sommers didn’t let me steal the daughter. He gave her to me to watch while they went to Los Angeles. It was a bizarre situation and one doesn’t look a gift horse in the mouth. This man came into the hotel restaurant in Chicago where Lubannah, Sophie, and I were eating our breakfast. He told us that he and Sommers had an emergency in Los Angeles and he was very worried. He said half a billion dollars was at stake and that Sommers was at the office at that very moment working on the deal. He asked me if Lubannah and I could watch Sophie for a couple weeks w
hile he and Sommers went out of town. I told him that I had to get back to Hebron, I’m a doctor, and besides, I didn’t want to violate the court order. Then he told me not to worry, they would take care of the court order. And if I wanted to, I could watch her at my home in Hebron, he’d fly us here and bring us back.
“He was a wealthy man who owned a jet plane. He was so confident, he left no doubt in my mind. Then it all came to me—that’s the way to get custody of Sophie. I thought this man was an eccentric, crazy man, but if I could get Sophie on a plane to Hebron, I’d certainly never bring her back to Chicago.
“So I told him, ‘Of course we will take care of Sophie. But you have to arrange for the flight and Sophie’s passport.’ He said it’s all done. He had Sophie’s passport. He insisted we leave right away so he could get back to his meeting, which was okay with me. The sooner we got out of Chicago, the better. So we packed our bags, got in his limousine, and rode to some small private airfield where he kept his plane. His men flew us to Nova Scotia, then to Kiev, and then to Amman. Two weeks came and went and he didn’t call. I never heard from him again.”
“So you think this man would now pay millions of dollars to get her back?”
Al-Zahani shrugged. “Maybe he’s sorry for what he did. But what does it matter? Sophie is never going back to America and I’m not talking to anybody about a ransom.”
Fa’iz held up a finger. “Not so fast. Millions of American dollars would be an immeasurable help in our struggle.”
Al-Zahani straightened his back. “Not for sale, Fa’iz. Not for any amount of money, and I’ll hear no more of this.”
“Now the truth rises to the surface,” Nizar said in a mocking tone. “The dedicated freedom fighter, the holier-than-thou doctor who does not think twice of sacrificing young Dani in the cause of our struggle, would not part with his precious little American Jew, even though it would mean millions of dollars.”
Fa’iz smiled broadly and stroked his wiry beard. “Do not stress, Arif. I will never ask you to part with Sophie. But I have a plan. A plan to get the money and still keep the little one. Now let us get young Dani to the lab and finish the test.”
Saving Sophie: A Novel Page 25