Saving Sophie: A Novel

by Ronald H. Balson

  Liam and Kayla looked at each other and nodded. “It might not have been dumb-ass luck,” Liam said.

  “You mean Dmitri set up the kidnapping?” Marcy said. “He’s the kidnapper?”

  Liam shook his head. “Al-Zahani is the kidnapper. But I think you’re right, Dmitri was the guy who set it up.”

  “What an evil son of a bitch,” Marcy snapped. “Kidnap a man’s daughter to force him to steal money.”

  “I didn’t have to do it, Marcy,” Sommers said quietly. “I knew right from wrong. I jumped right into his scheme and then set up my escape. There was no reason on earth to trust this guy, but he said what I wanted to hear. And I wanted to believe him. And he knew it.”

  “Don’t be too hard on yourself,” Liam said, “I’d have done the same thing.”

  “Seriously?”

  Liam nodded. “If it was my kid? Yeah.”

  “Thanks for that,” Jack said, “but in the end, I was a fool. I still don’t have Sophie. I lost everything I had in Chicago—my career, my reputation, my honor—and now I’m probably going to spend the next twenty years in prison. The only good that came out of any of this was reconnecting with Marcy.”

  Marcy walked over, put her arm around Jack, and kissed him on the cheek.

  “Still, the two of you came all the way out here for nothing,” Jack added, “because I don’t have the money.”

  “Al-Zahani doesn’t know that,” Kayla said.

  Liam smiled. “You are so right.”

  Sommers furrowed his brow. “I don’t get it.”

  “Jesus, Jack, even I get it, and I’m not a spy,” said Marcy. “He might be willing to return her for the money he thinks we have, am I right?”

  “He’s already offered. Five million dollars,” Kayla said.

  “And he believes I have that money?” Sommers said.

  “We’ve told him that you do.”

  “All right, I’m dense,” Sommers said. “A few minutes ago, you said the US cannot allow money to be paid to terrorists.”

  “Right,” Liam said.

  “But you want to make a deal to pay him five million dollars out of the money that we don’t have.”

  “Right again,” Kayla said.

  “Look, I don’t care how you do it, I just want Sophie out of that man’s house. My sister has agreed to raise her. She’s a good woman.”

  “There’s no doubt of that,” Liam said. “I met her. But I also mentioned to you earlier that there may be a play here for you. Al-Zahani has not only demanded five million dollars, he’s insisting that he will only make the exchange with you. In person. In Hebron. We need this charade to go down.”

  “I’ll do whatever you ask.”

  “We have to be honest with you,” Kayla said. “The operation will be dangerous. Al-Zahani is part of a terrorist ring. I know for a fact that they have planned and carried out assassinations in the past. There is no reason to believe that al-Zahani intends to play this straight, and there is every reason to believe that he intends to keep Sophie and the money.”

  “And kill me, I understand.”

  “Wait, Jack,” Marcy said. “You need to think about this.” She squeezed his arm. “You’re not an intelligence agent. You’re not a soldier. You’re a lawyer. You could easily wind up dead. Let them do this deal. Let Liam go into Hebron disguised as Jack Sommers.”

  Jack shook his head. “Arif knows me. It wouldn’t work. I’ve got to do it myself.”

  Marcy got up and walked quickly over to Liam. Her hands were on her hips. “You said there’s a ‘play here.’ Those were your words. What’s the play? What can you do for Jack if he risks his life to catch this terrorist? What’s in it for him?”

  “Sophie’s in it, Marcy,” Jack said. “It’s all about Sophie.”

  “Don’t kid yourself,” she said, focusing on Liam. “What’s in it for Jack?”

  Liam smiled. “I do like this girl, Jack. You’ve got a winner here.” He turned to Kayla. “We can pitch the prosecutor, can’t we? I’m sure there’s a deal to be made. You can do that, right, Kayla?”

  Kayla nodded. “I’ll make the calls and see what can be done. I can’t promise anything, but there’s a good chance we can do something for you.”

  Marcy stood behind Sommers and held on to his shoulders. “I want Jack exonerated. Jack, don’t agree to do anything until they promise to give you immunity. They need you.”

  Sommers patted her hand. “I can’t do that, Marcy.” He stood. “I’m in. Whatever you need. I’ll go to Hebron, with or without a deal.”

  Just then, red, white, and blue lights strobed through the windows and bounced off the walls. There was a hard knock on the door. “Police. Open the door.”

  Liam held his hand out like a stop sign. “I’ll handle this. Stay back.” He opened the door for two uniformed HPD officers. They had their badges in their hands and walked into the room.

  “I’m Sergeant Hanley. We’re looking for Eugene Wilson. Are you Wilson?”

  “No,” Liam said. “What’s the charge?”

  “Where’s Wilson? I need to see all of your IDs,” Hanley said.

  “I’m Wilson,” Jack said, walking forward.

  “You need to come with us, sir.”

  Kayla stepped forward and took out her wallet. “Hold on, Officer. He’s in federal custody.”

  Hanley examined her State Department ID. “You’re not a federal marshal. Do you have anything else? An arrest warrant, something showing that you have the present right to take him into custody?”

  “Nothing written,” she said. “We can make a call, but it’s the middle of the night back in Washington.”

  Hanley looked at his partner and shrugged. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but unless you have something to show that you’re federal law enforcement and have a right to take custody of this man, I got my orders to take him downtown for questioning in the death of Glenn Hawkins.”

  “He’s dead?” Sommers’s jaw dropped.

  “Shot through the heart.”

  “This man is a central figure in a federal operation, Sergeant,” Kayla said sternly. “I need to take him back to Chicago.”

  Hanley finished cuffing Jack and turned to lead him out the door. “You can pick him up later, if he’s not charged.”

  “Are you taking him to Wahiawa?” Marcy asked.

  “No, ma’am, he’s going downtown. Pick him up at 801 Beretania.”

  Liam, Marcy, and Kayla walked outside and watched as Sommers was placed in the backseat of the HPD cruiser. A steady rain began to fall. A few houses down, a black Cadillac was parked along the curb. Its lights were off. As the cruiser pulled away from Marcy’s home, the Cadillac started up and followed behind.

  “Did you see that?” Liam said.

  “See what?” Kayla said.

  “The Cadillac. It’s trailing the cruiser. Two guys in the front seat.”

  “Shit. We need to get downtown.”

  “I’m coming with you,” Marcy said.

  “No. You better stay here,” Kayla said. “We’ll call you when he’s out.”

  “You can’t stop me from going. I have my own car. The police department is open to the public and I’m the public. I’m going whether you like it or not.”

  Kayla looked at Liam and shrugged. “Okay. Let’s go.”

  FIFTY-NINE

  AN AMBULANCE PICKED DANI up at 11:00 A.M. He was placed on a stretcher and taken directly to the clinic. His condition had worsened significantly overnight and he was laid on the hospital bed, unconscious. Al-Zahani arrived shortly after noon. He checked Dani’s vitals, said a short prayer, and administered a lethal dose of morphine. The official cause of death was listed as influenza.

  * * *

  THE RIDE FROM THE North Shore to Honolulu Police Department headquarters on South Beretania Street, from one side of the island to the other, took about forty-five minutes. The rain on the interstate grew stronger. At long last, a golden glow, coming from the lights of downtown H
onolulu, appeared through the fog. It was almost midnight as Kayla pulled into a slot on the first level of the parking garage. In the heavy rain, Marcy’s umbrella was barely large enough for three to share. As they turned the corner, Liam tapped Kayla’s arm. “There. On the street ahead. It’s the same black Cadillac.”

  “The motor’s running,” she said. “They’re waiting for Sommers to leave the building.”

  Inside the station, Liam asked the desk sergeant for Richard Hanley. “He’s in an interview,” he was told.

  “Would you tell him that Liam Taggart, one of the people he spoke to earlier this evening in Hale’iwa, thinks that the sergeant may have been followed? The car I saw trailing him is sitting outside. Tell him it has something to do with the case he’s investigating, and the guys in the car are dangerous.”

  A few minutes later, Hanley came into the waiting area. His shirtsleeves were rolled up. He had a pencil tucked onto his right ear. “Mr. Sommers is not going to be released tonight,” he said to the group. “I don’t think that he was involved in the murder, but we’ve got other issues here, not the least of which is that he’s pretending to be his dead brother-in-law to skip out on an Illinois warrant. So you guys can go on home.”

  “You were followed when you left Marcy Grant’s house tonight,” Liam said. “The car, a black Cadillac, is sitting across the street. There are two men in it. I would not be surprised if they are armed and waiting for Mr. Sommers to walk out the door. I would also not be surprised if they had something to do with the motel murder.”

  “What makes you think that?”

  “Sergeant,” Kayla said, “the Illinois warrants you mentioned were issued in connection with an embezzlement. Two other men who were involved in the crime have been murdered. The clerk at the Honolulu motel where Sommers was living was murdered. We have good reason to believe that Sommers is the next target.”

  “Do you have prints from the motel?” Liam said.

  Hanley nodded.

  “Then it might be a good idea for you to take a look at the men in the car. You might find that their prints match. You got anyone here who speaks Russian?”

  “Russian?”

  “It might come in handy with these guys.”

  Hanley gathered four officers and told them to check out the black Cadillac. They left the building with weapons drawn.

  Kayla said, “Sergeant, I’ve placed a call to the Justice Department in Washington. As I told you, Mr. Sommers is critical to a federal operation. My operation. I’ve asked for a judicial order granting me custody of Mr. Sommers for transport back to Chicago. In the meantime, he must be kept under protective custody.”

  “Oh, he’s under custody all right. He isn’t going anywhere.”

  “I don’t want him in general population.”

  “Look, Ms. Cummings, until I get an order—”

  Hanley’s response was interrupted by the sound of gunfire on the street. He pulled out his service revolver and headed for the door with Liam close behind. One officer lay in the street. The Cadillac was gone.

  “They opened fire,” an officer said to Hanley. “We approached from both sides. A guy popped out the passenger door with an automatic weapon. He sprayed the street and the Caddy took off. I called in the plates. Adam’s down.”

  By this time, several officers and paramedics had gathered. Sirens wailed from the south.

  “Sergeant,” Kayla said. “Do you think you might keep Sommers in a secure area tonight?”

  He nodded.

  SIXTY

  LUBANNAH ENTERED THE LIBRARY where al-Zahani sat reading his paper. “Arif, the little one is so upset tonight. Jamila will not play with her.”

  “I spoke to Hassan. I could not change his mind. He is a small-minded, bigoted man. To him, she is an American Jew, and they are all evil. He will not see the good in Sophie. He won’t give her a chance. He says Sophie will corrupt his daughter with blasphemous talk. I told him that is nonsense, that she is of our blood, but he is filled with hate of America. Nothing more can be done.”

  “I am very sorry, Arif. Playing with Jamila was the one thing that brightened Sophie’s day. It was the only thing that brought her out of her shell. Now she just sobs and looks out the window.”

  “She’ll have to get over Jamila. We’ll find her another playmate.”

  Lubannah looked sternly at al-Zahani. “That’s not the only reason she’s upset tonight and you know it.”

  Al-Zahani shrugged.

  “She’s upset because it’s bedtime and she can’t find her stuffed animal, her Sweetness.”

  Al-Zahani nodded and kept reading.

  She raised her voice. “Arif. Do you know where it is?”

  “Where what is?”

  “The bear. Sophie’s little bear. Have you seen it?”

  “Why is that important? The madrassa, her studies, those are important. Teaching her the history of our people, helping her to take her rightful place, that’s important. And where are you in all this, Lubannah? What are you doing to educate her? Are you helping her to become what she can be—a leader in our struggle? Or will she be just another silly woman buying produce at the markets? Are you teaching her, Lubannah, or are you leaving it all to me? That stuffed animal is a crutch; it’s an anchor to her past. I told you we should have thrown it out when we first got here. I’ll hear no more of this bear.”

  “You took it, didn’t you? Despite my wishes, you took the bear from her.”

  Arif stood. “And what if I did?”

  “How dare you,” Lubannah yelled with her hands on her hips.

  Arif shook his head in disgust, stood, and flipped the back of his hand in a gesture of dismissal. “Woman, don’t ever raise your voice to me. Pay attention to your duties. The house should be cleaner. It shames me.”

  He checked his cell phone, turned, and walked toward the door. “I’m going out. I have important business tonight. Don’t wait up.”

  * * *

  THE GROUP OF TEN had resumed its meetings in the back of the Breadstone Bakery. To soothe Fakhir’s anxiety, each of the participants arrived at different times, from different directions. No one parked in front of the store.

  “We are now eight days away from our first mission of glory,” Fa’iz said proudly. “Does anything remain undone? Are we still processing bags?”

  “We are,” al-Zahani answered. “Forty a day, and we will keep on doing so until next week. We have nearly two thousand, all safely stored in our Jerusalem warehouse.”

  “I think we should shut down,” Fakhir said. “We have enough. How much more impact will an additional three hundred bags make? What if Aziz is detained? What if Arif’s laboratory is discovered? We have been fortunate so far, why chance it?”

  Fa’iz leaned back on the couch, his hands crossed on his abdomen. “Perhaps we should consider Fakhir’s suggestion.”

  “Fakhir is a coward,” Nizar said. “He’s afraid of his shadow. How many times have we heard him scream, ‘The IDF’? He just doesn’t want us to meet in his bakery anymore.”

  “Nizar is quick to call names,” al-Zahani said, “but here I agree with him. I’m in the middle of production. I can stop, but three hundred more victims, three hundred more wailing, mortified families begging Israel to concede the land and stop the occupation? That has great value. Twenty-three hundred dead enemies will certainly be regarded as the most glorious jihadist victory since the Twin Towers. And right in the heart of our enemy. Do not fear the discovery of my lab. I have wired it for destruction. If necessary, I can instantly firebomb the building and obliterate all remnants of our operation.”

  “But we are close to the deadline, and is two thousand so different from twenty-three hundred that we should risk discovery?” Rami said. “Why chance an unforeseen accident exposing the plan? I can go along with Fakhir.”

  “And you, Ahmed?” Fa’iz said.

  He nodded. “Fakhir is wise. We are well positioned at this time. Arif can use the surplus bags fo
r Tel Aviv.”

  “I, too, believe we should shut down,” Fa’iz said. “Let us just concentrate on Sami’s deliveries. We’ll meet again on Monday.” He reached for their hands. “From the river to the sea, from the Golan to the Gulf.”

  * * *

  IN A WHITE MINIVAN, parked on a corner near the bakery, two members of a specialized unit had listened to the discussion. Through a concealed aperture, pictures of the group were taken as they left the bakery.

  “Bags of what?” one of the men said. “Two thousand bags safely in a warehouse in Jerusalem? Sammy’s deliveries? IEDs come to mind, but in a bag?”

  “Chemicals?”

  “I’ve never heard of chemical weapons dispersed from a bag,” the other said. “Could be anthrax.”

  “Eight days. Isn’t that Yom Ha’atzmaut? Whatever it is, it’s pegged to happen on Independence Day.”

  “Well, our job is to collect the info and send it on. Let’s get it off to Tel Aviv and let them figure it out.”

  SIXTY-ONE

  IT WAS SHORTLY AFTER 10:00 A.M. when Liam and Kayla walked into the chambers of the Honorable Nathan B. Kim on the second floor of the Prince Kuhio Federal Building. They were accompanied by Michael Green, the first assistant US Attorney for the District of Hawaii.

  “Good morning, Your Honor,” Green said. “I’m here to present this petition for habeas corpus seeking the release of a prisoner named John Sommers, presently held by the State of Hawaii at the HPD jail on Beretania. With me this morning is Kayla Cummings from the Department of State. Special Agent Harry Foster is available by telephone. Both of them are prepared to provide testimony that Sommers is an essential participant in a classified US operation in the Middle East.”

  Judge Kim read through the petition and set it down on his desk. “Your petition states that he is being held because of an outstanding warrant from Illinois. What are the pending charges?”