Saving Sophie: A Novel

by Ronald H. Balson

  “Right. Forty bags. I have to get into al-Zahani’s compound. I know the answers lie in that one-story building.”

  “Why doesn’t the IDF just go in there? They can certainly manage to get through the walls of a Hebron residence. I mean, we’re not talking about breaching the Kremlin.”

  Kayla shook her head. “He’s rigged the building to explode. He said on the recording that he could instantly firebomb the building if he was attacked. And we know he’s got a sophisticated security system. If an Israeli police force or Israeli soldiers were to attempt an entry by force, if they tripped the alarm, he’d detonate the building. Then we’d never know what he was producing. But it’s worse than that. Two thousand devices are already sitting in a Jerusalem warehouse. The breach would only prompt the terrorists to move up the attack. We need al-Zahani alive. He knows all the players and how it’s all going down.” She shook her head again. “We need to get into the compound peacefully. Pretextually. For that, we need Sommers. Awake and walking. It’s the only way.”

  “What did his doctor say?”

  “What do you think? He said it’s too risky to get him up. He said no traveling. What did you expect?”

  “You told him to take Sommers off sedation, didn’t you?”

  Kayla nodded. “I had to.”

  “What if he doesn’t make it?”

  “Then you and I will have to find a way inside.” Kayla stared at Liam’s tumbler of Scotch. “Aren’t you going to offer to buy a girl a drink?”

  Liam smiled. “I’ll do better than that. I’ll buy her some dinner.”

  Liam called the server over and they ordered the catch of the day and a bottle of sauvignon blanc. A glass of wine or two, a few laughs, and some small talk later, and Kayla asked, “Did you get Catherine to come out here?”

  Liam shook his head. “She said she might, but I don’t think she will.”

  Kayla raised her eyebrows. “Jealousy, or is it something else?”

  “I don’t know, things aren’t going as well as they should right now. Maybe it’s the lawsuit. Maybe it’s jealousy. Maybe she’s got something on her mind. But there’s no doubt she’s backpedaling from where we’ve been. You know, acting a little standoffish? I must have pissed her off somehow.”

  “Then why don’t you just bring her out here? The enchantment of the islands. They say it works magic on broken romances.”

  “To tell the truth, I think if she came out here, it’d be uncomfortable.”

  Kayla took a sip of wine and stared at Liam with raised eyebrows, as if to say, Because…?

  Liam squirmed a little. “You know, it’s just the sense I get. Lately, when I’ve tried to talk seriously with her, she’s backed away.”

  “And now you’re worried about her level of commitment?”

  “Well, I never was before, but maybe I am now. It’s just a feeling I get. I could be wrong. Yesterday she told me we made such a good couple.”

  “What’s wrong with that? You don’t believe her?”

  “No, I do think we make a good couple. But then I asked her if she really thought so and she sounded shocked and pissed and said, ‘Of course.’”

  Kayla scrunched her face. “Wait. She said you two made a good couple and you asked her if she meant it? And you’re questioning her commitment?”

  “I guess that was a dumb thing to say, but it just popped out. There shouldn’t be any question in my mind, but there is.”

  “Maybe in her mind it’s your commitment that’s in question.”

  Liam poured another glass of wine for each of them. “Why? I give her no cause to doubt me. What basis does she have to feel insecure?”

  “I can think of a few. You came out to Hawaii, her dream destination, with another woman, one that she sees as a rival—”

  “A rival? You? Seriously?”

  “Oh, thanks very much.”

  “I didn’t mean it that way. You certainly could be anyone’s rival. A smart, beautiful woman like you. It’s just that I don’t think…” He paused. “Do you really think that’s it?”

  “Follow me. You told me she that she had been betrayed, I think you used the word blindsided, by her ex-husband and his multiple affairs.”

  “And criminal activities.”

  Kayla nodded. “Now she’s involved with you, an old, dear friend, one who couldn’t pull the trigger when she was younger. The one man she really wanted to marry when she was young turned out to be too insecure to even ask her out.”

  “Now wait…”

  “No, you wait. You’ve been sweethearts since high school, that’s more than twenty years. And now you’ve been together for over a year and you still haven’t popped the question. And maybe you never will. And why do you suppose that is?”

  He shrugged and shook his head. “It’s only been a year or so. Is that too long? I didn’t want to rush her. I just never thought she was in a hurry.”

  “And when she put it to you directly, about the ‘tide in the affairs of men’—God, what could be more direct—you told me you totally dropped the ball. So in her mind, maybe you never will marry her. Maybe it’s your commitment that needs to be questioned here.”

  “Mine? I don’t think so.”

  “Do you still have your apartment?”

  “I do, but I stay with her most of the time. Why are you putting me through a paper shredder? I’ve asked her a couple of times if she wanted to have a discussion about our future.”

  “Oh, you romantic devil! Why didn’t you offer to prepare a memorandum? You know, you could exchange deal points.” Kayla smiled impishly and took a sip of wine. “Here’s a clue: I don’t think she’s looking for discussions.”

  Liam nodded. “I know you’re right. She told me when the time is right she wants it done with pomp and circumstance. So you think I should be more direct?”

  Kayla shook her head. “No. What I think is, you need to do some self-evaluation. You need to decide if you want to marry her, and if you do, you should go out, buy her a ring, and do it right. Or quit complaining.”

  Liam tightened his lips and nodded pensively. He pretended to hold a microphone to his mouth and said, “Folks, we’re visiting tonight with Kayla Cummings, international spy and adviser to the lovelorn.”

  Kayla winked. “Go buy the ring. If she turns you down, who knows, it might not be the end of the world. I might make a play for you.” She smiled.

  Liam reached for the check, but Kayla stopped him. “This one’s on me. I’ve given you a hard time. I’d like you to join Harry and me for a videoconference tomorrow. I’ll pick you up at three thirty.”

  “Okay.”

  “A.M.”

  “Three thirty in the morning?”

  “Right. Israel is twelve hours ahead and we need you to call Jamal Abu Hammad.” She signed the check, leaned over, gave Liam a kiss on the cheek, and turned to leave. “Good night, Irish.”

  Liam watched her as she walked away, her shapely silhouette sashaying in the moonlight. He took a deep breath, signaled for the server, and ordered another drink.

  * * *

  “SATELLITE IMAGES OVER THE past month do not show any trucks entering or leaving al-Zahani’s residence,” Harry said by videoconference.

  Kayla sat beside Liam and stared at grainy satellite shots of the compound on the computer screen. “What about loading bags into the trunk of al-Zahani’s car? Or someone else’s car? Maybe they transported the bags piecemeal,” she said.

  “If he loaded anything into his Mercedes, we didn’t catch it,” Harry responded. “But again, anything transported to Jerusalem in the trunk of a car would be discovered at the checkpoint.”

  “What about the workers? Could they take them out piece by piece and drive them to a central location?”

  Harry pursed his lips and nodded. “Well, there’s a parking area to the west of his building where the workers park their vehicles. If they’ve been transporting these bags one at a time out of the compound, they’ve been pretty
smart because we haven’t caught it.”

  “So, if he’s manufactured something in his building and transported it to a central location to be stored in a Jerusalem warehouse…”

  “We have no idea how he did it or where it is.”

  “Or what it is?”

  “Or what it is.”

  “Then we have to assume they slipped the weapons passed us.”

  Harry nodded. “That’s the obvious conclusion. Two thousand of them are sitting in a warehouse.”

  Kayla turned to Liam and put a hand on his shoulder. “It’s up to you, Irish. The answers are inside the walls. The ransom exchange is our best chance of getting inside without risking the demolition of the laboratory. We need to set up the exchange as soon as possible. It’s four thirty P.M. in Jerusalem. Do you have Abu Hammad’s number?”

  Liam fished the paper from his wallet. He reached over the desk for the landline phone, but Kayla put her hand over the handset. “His caller ID needs to show your cell phone.”

  Liam dialed Jamal’s number but the call went to voice mail. “Jamal, this is Liam Taggart. I’m sitting with Jack Sommers and he has a briefcase full of money for Dr. al-Zahani. I know it’s an imposition, but you are my only contact with the doctor. Can I ask you to put me in touch with him, or one of his friends, to arrange the exchange? Please call me back. Thank you for your help.”

  “So, now we wait,” Kayla said.

  Harry nodded. “Keep me in the loop.”

  Liam stood to leave and his phone buzzed. The text message said, Booked a morning flight to Honolulu. Meet me at the airport at 3:15 P.M. Love you, Cat. He showed the message to Kayla.

  She smiled. “Don’t screw this one up, Irish. I need a partner with his head on straight.”

  SIXTY-FIVE

  THE HOLY LAND TOURS bus pulled into the parking lot at the Tomb of the Patriarchs as it did twice each week. Twenty-three passengers alighted, cameras hanging from their shoulders, guidebooks in their hands. One by one, they lined up to go through the metal detectors and into the shrine.

  Aziz smiled at each of the tourists, informing them that the bus would depart in two hours. When the last one headed up the steps, Aziz checked his phone and saw the following text message: Cancel the pickup. Meet me at the corner of the plaza.

  Aziz locked his bus and made his way toward a man sitting on a bench.

  “We’re not shipping any more IV bags, Aziz,” al-Zahani said.

  “Why not? Everything is working smoothly. I get through the checkpoint each week without a problem.”

  “I know. Allah has favored us, but it is the collective decision of the group to cease the transport of any more bags. They have decided to be extracautious. There’ll be no pickup today. We will start again in a few months.”

  Aziz smiled broadly. “I saw Sami yesterday. The Israelis, they do not suspect he’s one of us. They call him Sammy or Shmuel. Mediterranean Medical Supply trusts him completely. He runs his delivery route every day without any suspicion. On the sixteenth, he will load his truck with Mediterranean’s IV bags, bring them to the warehouse, swap them out for ours, and complete his delivery to the hospitals, just as we have planned. Our bags will be unloaded and put into use before anyone discovers the difference.”

  “Is Sami sure he will be assigned to deliver IV bags that day?”

  “Of course, Arif. They deliver IV sets to hospitals every day.”

  “But are we sure Sami will be assigned to deliver the IVs and not some other driver?”

  Aziz smiled widely, showing a gap between his two front teeth. “It is all worked out, my friend. Mediterranean has three delivery trucks, two of which will unfortunately encounter mechanical difficulties. Do not concern yourself with the deliveries. Your responsibility was the manufacture of the poison. You have done well.”

  “Thank you.”

  “The poison,” Aziz asked with a sly grin, “will it cause a panic?”

  “Oh, yes, it will.”

  “And they will not discover the source immediately?”

  “No, my friend, it has a slow incubation period. That’s the beauty. I myself have designed this organism. For a few days, the victim is totally unaware of the toxin. Most will have left the hospital and returned home before there are any signs. Then they’ll think they have the flu. After a few days, when the victim becomes very ill, it’s too late, the bacteria have done their work. No antidote, no antibiotic, can reverse the internal damage. And it’s unlikely the hospitals will ever discover that the toxins were contained in the IVs. They will have already disposed of the empty bags.”

  “Arif, you are a genius.”

  * * *

  SOPHIE SKIPPED ALONG THE sidewalk, Bashir close behind. He smiled warmly at her. “You are so much like your mother. Full of boundless joy.”

  “Did you know my mother?”

  “Oh, child, I walked with her as I walk with you. When I shut my eyes, it is as though I have picked up little Alina from her madrassa. She skipped along just like you.”

  “Did you love her?”

  “Very, very much. I would have done anything to keep her from harm.”

  Sophie looked down and kicked a stone on the sidewalk. “Why did she have to die?”

  Bashir shook his head, but smiled. “She was so sweet that Allah must have wanted her close to him, to keep him company and make him smile.”

  “Jaddi says she died because she had turned from Allah. He says she turned away from her faith.”

  “Well, that is your jaddi. Myself, I do not believe it is true. Your mother was pure in heart and could never have offended Allah. She was sweet and loving.” He touched the tip of Sophie’s nose. “Just like you.”

  “My mother used to call me her little butterfly.” Sophie looked up at Bashir. “Do you like butterflies?”

  He looked down and nodded. “Oh, of course. But I do not see many in our part of Hebron. Perhaps because there are not many gardens.”

  “I wish I was a butterfly.”

  “But you are such a pretty girl, why do you want to be a butterfly?”

  “They can fly so high. They can go wherever they like. Walls cannot stop them.”

  They entered the home and al-Zahani greeted Sophie with a hug. “I have a chocolate for you.”

  She sat on her grandfather’s lap and drank from a small cup. “I love Bashir. He is very kind.”

  Al-Zahani smiled. “Kind and strong and brave.”

  “Is he like a strong warrior?” Sophie took a sip of chocolate, leaving her with a brown mustache, which she wiped with the back of her hand.

  “Exactly. Like a strong Canaanite warrior. Come with me, Sophie.” He held her hand and led her to the wall of the library. He pointed to a black-and-white photo of a smiling man in a white pillbox hat. He picked up the child and held her high so that she could get a good look.

  “That is my beloved grandfather, Ibrahim al-Zahani, the greatest warrior of them all. He is your great-great-grandfather. His magnificent blood runs through your veins. For many years, he led our people and fought against our enemies. He even defended our homes right here in Hebron.”

  “This home?”

  “Well, not this very home, but our neighborhood. It was back in the summer of 1929. People were coming to our land from faraway countries. They wanted to settle here, even though it wasn’t their land. They were moving into our cities, buying up our homes, threatening to change our way of life. Many of them were Jews and did not worship Allah, and many of these Jews had come from Europe. They called themselves Ashkenazis. The grand mufti of Jerusalem warned them, told them not to come, told them to leave, but they would not listen. One day there was a fight outside the mosque in Jerusalem, and three Arab boys were killed. Arab families were afraid for their lives.

  “The mufti sent Grandfather Ibrahim to Hebron. ‘Get the Ashkenazis out of Hebron,’ he ordered Grandfather. ‘Tell our people about the dangerous invaders. Protect our women and children.’ Ibrahim gathered the bravest
warriors in Hebron and took up arms, whatever they had. Some had guns, but others only had clubs or axes. No matter. The Jews were no match for us. Many tried to hide, but Ibrahim found them all. Finally, the British police came and took the Jews from Hebron to Jerusalem. There were no more Jews left in Hebron. Ibrahim had done his job. He had made his mufti proud. That was called the great Hebron liberation.”

  “Was Bashir one of those brave warriors?”

  Al-Zahani laughed. “No, he was not even born yet. Neither was I.”

  Al-Zahani pointed to another black-and-white photograph, this one of a man with his arm around a boy. “Do you know who these people are, Sophie?”

  She shook her head.

  “Well, that is my father, Hamid, your great-grandfather. Can you guess who he’s holding?”

  Sophie pointed to Arif.

  “Right! It’s me!” He planted a kiss on the top of her head.

  “Was your father brave too?”

  “Oh, child, the bravest of them all. He fought the British. He fought the foreign settlers. He fought alongside our warriors in 1948, and after we won, he was put in charge of the army battalion stationed right here in Hebron. He was a respected leader in our town. He built this house for us.”

  “What happened to your father?”

  “He was murdered by Israeli soldiers in 1967.”

  “Were you very sad when he died?”

  “I am still very sad. But I have vowed to carry on the ideals of my father and grandfather. To this day, I honor their memories.”

  He turned and walked back to the sofa, where the cups of chocolate were placed. “Someday, Sophie, you will have the honor of carrying on the work of the al-Zahanis.”

  SIXTY-SIX

  “MARCY?”

  Curled up in the chair beside Jack’s hospital bed, Marcy awoke quickly. She smiled. “Hi,” she whispered in a sleepy voice. Reflexively, she scanned the patient monitor. His vitals were steady. “How are you feeling?”

  “Groggy. A little achy. Just fine if I don’t move. Have you been here the whole time?”

  “Pretty much.”

  He smiled. “You just won’t give up.”