Saving Sophie: A Novel

by Ronald H. Balson

  “Hello, Victor. What is it you want this time?”

  “Don’t brush me off, Dmitri. I’m the one taking the heat here. I’ve been served with another fucking subpoena. Apparently, when I walked out the last time, Lockhart got a court order for me to come back and finish my testimony. I have to go back tomorrow at two P.M.”

  “So, go back. Testify.”

  “She knows, damn it. I don’t know how she knows, but I can feel it. Maybe Darius talked to her.”

  “She knows nothing. You’re a gambler. You go to basketball games. Big deal. You go to her office, you shut your mouth. You tell her you don’t know anything.”

  “And if she asks me about Panama?”

  “You shut your mouth!” Dmitri screamed. “Are you hard of hearing? You don’t know anything! Repeat after me: I don’t know!”

  “I’m nervous. Can’t you do something?”

  “Yeah. I can do something all right. Good-bye.”

  Kelsen stared at the phone in his shaking hand. He didn’t like that last comment.

  * * *

  “I THOUGHT YOU SAID that Sophie and I were going to Amman this week,” Lubannah said.

  “I changed my mind,” answered al-Zahani. “I need her here.”

  “Need Sophie? Need her for what, Arif?”

  “It’s my concern.”

  “Arif, talk to me. Why do you need Sophie here?”

  Al-Zahani started to walk away, thought better of it, and returned to Lubannah. “Sommers is coming here.”

  Tears formed and streamed down Lubannah’s cheeks. “He’s coming to take her.”

  Al-Zahani shook his head. “He will never take her from us. She will never go back to America. Do you understand me? She will never leave Palestine.”

  “Then why, why, Arif? Why is he coming? Why are you letting him come here to our home? Let me take Sophie to Amman.”

  Arif gently put his hands on Lubannah’s shoulders and smiled. “You know, you have been a good wife to me. And I haven’t always been patient with you. For that, I am sorry. He is coming because he thinks he is going to leave with Sophie. But I will not let that happen, and you must let me handle this my way.”

  “Handle what, Arif? What is there to handle? Why does he think he can take our Sophie? You told me that would never happen.”

  “He is bringing money. He is so foolish that he thinks we will accept money to part with Sophie.”

  “Then we will lock him out,” she said firmly. “Bashir will not let him in the gates.”

  Arif shook his head, but smiled kindly at her. “No, I must tell him myself. I will let him see Sophie. You will walk her into the room and then out. He will see her and then he will leave. It will be good closure for Sophie.”

  “Arif, have you lost your mind? If Sophie sees him, she’ll be hysterical. She won’t leave the room.”

  “You must let me do this my way. I will ask her to step out of the room just for a moment, and when she returns, Sommers will be gone. She will be told that he left without her, and we will be done with her pining. We will never hear from him again.”

  Lubannah’s face grew serious and her lips taut. “I see through your plan. Do not take me for a child, Arif. You intend to take his money and—”

  “Stop! Do not conjure up diabolical scenarios. It is simply as I have stated. We will do it my way and there will be no further discussions.”

  With that, al-Zahani left the room.

  * * *

  KELSEN’S CHAUFFEUR ENTERED THE dining room where Kelsen was eating a late dinner. His hat was in his hand and he stood sheepishly in his black wool coat.

  “I am sorry, Mr. Kelsen, but I thought you would like to know.”

  “Know what?”

  “Evgeniy. I saw him drive by the house. I thought he was coming to pay you a visit, but he kept right on driving. I waved, but he did not wave back.”

  “Impossible. Evgeniy is in Europe.”

  “No, sir. He’s here in Chicago. I saw him quite plainly.”

  Kelsen’s face rapidly lost its color. He stammered. “Wh-who was with him?”

  “No, by himself. He was alone. He slowed down and then drove on.”

  Kelsen stood quickly. “I need my coat.”

  “Where are we going, sir?”

  He shook his head. “I won’t need you tonight. Get me the keys to my wife’s car. I have something to do myself.”

  Kelsen took his coat from his chauffeur, walked into his den, and closed the door. In a side cabinet, a key ring hung on a nail. He fished for a brass skeleton key and used it to unlock a desk drawer. Inside lay three handguns. He chose the Walther PPQ M2 and a 9mm magazine. He shoved the gun into his belt, locked the drawer, replaced the keys, and walked to the garage.

  SEVENTY-ONE

  CATHERINE PAID THE TAXI DRIVER who carried her heavy luggage up the stoop to her front door. She was tired after her ten-hour journey from Hawaii. She fumbled with her key, finally getting it into the lock. Suddenly, she felt a strong poke in her back and a voice said, “Don’t say a fuckin’ word, just open your door.”

  She turned the lock, opened the door, and was pushed forward into her foyer. The door slammed behind her and she turned to see Victor Kelsen pointing a black handgun in her face.

  “How did you know?” he said.

  “Know what?”

  “Don’t. Fuck. With. Me!” he screamed. “How did you know?”

  “I’m not going to talk to anyone who holds a gun in my face.”

  Kelsen waved the gun in the direction of the living room. “Move.” He directed her to sit on the couch, and he sat opposite her on a wingback chair.

  “Now. Now talk. Tell me how you knew about me and Dmitri.”

  “Why does it matter?”

  Kelsen nervously waved the gun around. “It matters to me!” he shouted. “We had it all worked out.”

  Catherine bit her bottom lip. “Son of a bitch. It was both of you. The two of you arranged for the kidnapping and stole the money. Committing multiple murders and embezzling millions? That’s what you call having it all worked out?”

  “It was perfect. Perfect, until you figured it out. How did you know?”

  “Perfect?” She shook her head. “I have to tell you, before you do anything crazy tonight, there are others who know what I know. The FBI knows. Killing me won’t help. It won’t go away. It will only make it worse for you.”

  “It was Darius, wasn’t it? He told you.”

  “It doesn’t matter how I found out. It’s over for you.”

  “I know that.” Kelsen lowered the gun and his voice. “I didn’t come here to kill you. I may be a lot of things, but I’m not a killer. I want you to get me a deal.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “I know everything. I know where the money is. I can be a witness against everyone involved. Dmitri. Evgeniy. Gregor. Yuri. All of them. I want witness protection and I want a deal. You know who to call. My lawyer is an idiot.”

  “They’re after you, aren’t they? You’re the loose end. You’re the next target.”

  He nodded. “He didn’t say it, but I heard it in Dmitri’s voice tonight. Evgeniy’s returned to town. There can be no other reason.”

  “Is the money still in Panama?”

  He shook his head. “Caymans.”

  Catherine sat silently for a moment, then pointed her finger. “The gun.”

  Kelsen slipped the magazine out and slid the gun across the table. Catherine took her cell phone out of her purse, searched for a number, and dialed.

  “Hello?” a whispered voice answered.

  “Tom, it’s Catherine Lockhart. Sorry to wake you. I guess I have a habit of calling you in the middle of the night.”

  “Tell me that you don’t have another Nazi SS guard,” the assistant U.S. Attorney said.

  She smiled. “I have Victor Kelsen sitting in my house. He has information about the embezzlement and the murders that he’d like to share with you. He wants to talk a d
eal. And he needs protection.”

  “I’ll send a car over.”

  She hung up the phone. “You didn’t need the money, Mr. Kelsen. Why did you do it?”

  “Well, everyone needs money, but it’s about leverage. Taxes on eighty-eight million would take almost half of my money away. If it’s stolen and no one knows I have it, there’s no taxes. I split the stolen money with Dmitri, I get forty-four million dollars tax-free. Then I still have my lawsuit against Jenkins for another eighty-eight million dollars. Simple math. I’m forty-four million dollars ahead.”

  “And that was worth the lives of several men?”

  “I never knew he’d kill anyone. That wasn’t the plan. Ellis and Harrington were each supposed to get a million. Sommers, well, Dmitri was running a number on him.”

  “Whose idea was it to kidnap Sommers’s daughter?”

  “Totally Dmitri’s. Brilliant, I must say. We knew Sommers was essential to the plan. We also knew he was too honest to take a payoff. So Dmitri said, ‘Everyone’s got a soft spot somewhere. I’ll find his.’ And he did. He flew the grandparents and the daughter to Palestine and then told Sommers he could ransom her back. Fuckin’ brilliant. Would’ve worked too, if it wasn’t for you.”

  Catherine shook her head. “It would not have worked.”

  “It was Darius, wasn’t it? All I did for that kid. That son of a bitch.”

  “You didn’t give a damn about him or his career. All those years he and his mother sacrificed to get him to the top. You tantalized him with chump change and tried to ruin him.”

  “You think he’s so innocent? He and his friends were the ones who came to me. I’ve been a Deacons booster for years. They found out I paid for points in the past and they wanted to cash in. Darius and Marcus came to me after a preseason dinner and told me they could keep the next game within the spread. They wanted five hundred dollars apiece.” Kelsen shrugged. “Easy money.”

  Headlights illuminated the living room and there was a knock on the door. Catherine let the two agents in. On his way out, Kelsen said, “It would’ve worked.”

  “You’re an asshole,” she said.

  SEVENTY-TWO

  FAKHIR BRUSHED HIS HANDS on his apron and finished counting his money. It had been a lucrative day at the bakery. He was bushed. He ambled back to his sitting room and plopped down hard on his couch. He heard a sound, as though something small had dropped to the floor. He thought it was a coin. For the moment, he thought, Let it be. But then, a coin is a coin. He looked under the couch and on the floor beneath saw a small, black plastic square. He picked it up. It had no markings. Then it came to him. “The fucking IDF!” he said aloud. He called Fa’iz and demanded an immediate meeting of the group.

  Al-Zahani received a text message calling for an emergency meeting at Fa’iz’s house. As his gates opened and his Mercedes pulled out onto the street, a young man on a bicycle took a cell phone out of his pocket and made a call. A light blue Ford picked up al-Zahani’s trail two blocks later. Numerous photos of the members of the Sons of Canaan entering Fa’iz’s residence were taken and simultaneously e-mailed to Mossad headquarters.

  “Why have you called us all here to your home, Fa’iz?” said Ahmed when the group had assembled.

  “I’ll let Fakhir explain.”

  With a shaking hand, Fakhir held up a plastic bag for all to see. It was filled with the remains of the small listening device he had smashed with a hammer. “You all laughed at me when I said the IDF knew about us. That they knew about the meetings in the bakery. Now you see, you are all fools. I was right.”

  “It is indeed a listening device,” Rami concurred. “It’s safe to assume that the IDF or the Shin Bet now know of our plans.”

  “What do they know?” Nizar said sharply. “That we meet? That we hate Israel and wish its demise. Does that make us unique?”

  Fa’iz held up his index finger. “We’ve only met at the bakery once in the past few weeks. If the device was there for our last meeting, they know what we discussed. It was a very short session, as I recall. What did we say?”

  Nizar responded, “We said we have two thousand bags. That they’re in a warehouse in Jerusalem. I don’t recall our being specific. Arif talked about his laboratory, that he can produce forty bags a day. Did we say what was in the bags?”

  Al-Zahani shook his head. “That information was discussed at the apartment. We only said that we should forgo the extra three hundred bags, that there would be three hundred victims.”

  “And we said it was set for April sixteenth,” Fakhir added.

  “That’s true. We revealed the date.”

  “So what?” Fa’iz said. “They lack the essential details to defeat the plan.”

  “I agree with Fa’iz,” al-Zahani said. “If they knew the details, if they knew who the participants were, they would have picked us up by now. They would have already stormed Arif’s compound. They would have seized the Jerusalem warehouse. Have they done any of that? No. The bags are still safely stored. Sami is still making his daily runs. We are all still here.”

  “Nevertheless, we should postpone our mission,” Rami said. “They are alerted to the date. They will take extra precautions on the sixteenth.”

  “Reluctantly, I must agree,” Fa’iz said quietly. “We’ll have to reschedule after the summer.”

  Nizar stood defiantly. “Well, I do not agree. Where will they take extra precautions, Rami? Do they know of the hospitals? Today, they know nothing. Next month, they may learn more. Every day presents an opportunity for them to investigate, to spy, to overhear. For one of us to make a mistake. I say we act immediately. Tomorrow. Why wait? We are poised to strike and they are not ready.”

  Fa’iz stroked his beard. “Is this something we can do? Can we put it together that quickly?”

  The members looked at one another and nodded their agreement. “Why not?”

  “Then call Sami. We move tomorrow. The tenth.”

  Fakhir held up his hand. “Fa’iz, when the attack occurs, what becomes of all of us? One by one, we will be captured and jailed. Or worse. They know who we are. They have surely seen us come and go from my bakery.”

  Fa’iz folded his hands and leaned back. “Myself, I will stay here. You may all do what you think is best. You will find safe harbors in our neighboring countries, if that is what you wish.”

  “I will never leave Canaan,” al-Zahani said. “It is in my blood. But why would any of you have to leave? I assure you, they will never prove a connection between us and the deaths that will take place in Jerusalem. I have told you, again and again, this is a foolproof plan. The bacteria spread undetected throughout the system for days. One by one, the victims will start to fall sick. Maybe after a while they will enter a hospital. Two thousand will die a horrible death. Then we will post a message online claiming responsibility, but not from the Sons of Canaan. From some random Gaza group. We will tell them that the deaths were caused by freedom fighters, but nobody will be able to tie them to our group. They are looking for us to act on the sixteenth, not the tenth. In fact, I predict we will repeat this very operation in Tel Aviv and Haifa later this summer.”

  Rami shook his head. “No, my friend. When so many die, the IDF will investigate. They’ll find out the poison came from the IV bags. I doubt we’ll ever be able to repeat. But we will have had a successful mission. I’m with Arif and Nizar. We go now.”

  Fa’iz nodded. “I agree. They are preparing for the sixteenth. The doctor’s wisdom is hard to refute. Tell me, Arif, how are your plans coming along for the ransom? When is the forlorn father expected to bring his suitcase full of money?”

  “In a couple of days.”

  “Do you need our assistance? Do you need help in disposing of the body?”

  “I have more than enough manpower to deal with this lawyer and his companions.”

  “He has companions?”

  “He hired a private investigator who negotiates for him. It is the private investig
ator who proposed the exchange and confirmed the details through Abu Hammad. He will accompany him, along with a nurse.”

  “He needs a nurse?”

  Al-Zahani shrugged. “He is in a wheelchair. He was in an accident and cannot walk.”

  Fa’iz shook his head. “This is beset with too many coincidences, too much intrigue.”

  “What intrigue? I will bring them into my house and secure the money. Then my men will take them out and get rid of them.”

  “Why do you need to bring them into your house? Why don’t we just grab the suitcase and shoot them all as soon as we see them?” Nizar asked.

  “He’s not that stupid. He says the briefcase is rigged to explode unless the correct combination is entered. Whether true or not, there is no harm in letting Sommers open the case. He will do it in my house because he has demanded to see the child.”

  “This is an IDF plot,” Fakhir said nervously. “Another IDF plot.”

  “To do what, you fool?” Nizar said.

  “To get into Arif’s house and sniff out our plans. Maybe to get the child?”

  “If they wanted the child, they’d take the child,” al-Zahani said. “She goes to school every day. They could take her on the sidewalk. If they wanted to get into my house, they’d force their way in. I can’t stop the IDF. But they won’t because the Israeli government is too concerned about overstepping its bounds and creating a crisis in Hebron. No, this is just a desperate father, working alone, trying to retrieve his daughter. And he’s willing to pay a small fortune. Nothing more.”

  “What if the father shows up with soldiers to arrest you? What becomes of you then, Arif?”

  “What becomes of me? I have done nothing illegal. The child was placed in my custody by the father’s agent and flown to Amman. He has not contacted me since. I will simply return the child to her father who has come to fetch her. And unfortunately, my laboratory will catch fire and burn to the ground. I have broken no laws. We will start again next year.”

  “And the money? Is ransom not a crime?”

  “What ransom? He’s making a donation to the schools of Hebron in appreciation for my caring for his daughter in his time of grief. If the IDF was interested in rescuing the child, they would have sent their soldiers long before this. No, Fakhir, this is Sommers alone, not the IDF.”