Saving Sophie: A Novel (32 page)

“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.”

F
IFTY

“W
HAT 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 while 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.”

F
IFTY
-O
NE

T
HE BELL ON THE
Coral Reef’s office door rang and Glenn shuffled out to the counter. The two men had returned.

“I told you guys, I ain’t never seen the man in the picture and I don’t know any Summerfield.”

“Sommers,” said the larger of the two. “Sommers. Not Summerfield.”

“Summers. Winters. Don’t matter. I don’t know him and wouldn’t help no bill collectors if I did.”

“We’d like to see your register.”

“Go fuck yourself.”

“Why you make this so difficult?” the shorter man said in a rough accent. “We want only to look at register, just see who check in and who check out. Then we leave you alone.”

“I ain’t showing you shit. I don’t have to and I’m calling the cops if you don’t get the fuck out of here.”

The short man quickly pulled a .38 from his pocket. “I hate when people talk like that to me. Where is register?”

Glenn reached under the counter and pulled out the book. He set it on the desk, never taking his eyes off the gun.

The taller one scrolled through the entries with his finger, stopping midway down the page. He smiled at Glenn. “Mr. Wilson. Eugene Wilson. Room 212. Is this a picture of Mr. Wilson?”

Glenn shrugged. His eyes were fixed upon the .38 in the short man’s hand.

“Why you make this so hard? You’re either very brave or very stupid. How does he pay you? Does he use a credit card?”

“I don’t take credit cards. He pays in cash.”

“Does he have a car?”

Glenn shrugged. “I don’t know.”

The tall man reached out and grabbed Glenn’s shirt at the throat. He pulled his face down to the counter. “We’re trying to have a civil conversation. Don’t you get it? Where is this motherfucker Wilson?”

“He moved out. I swear. His room’s empty. You can check.”

“What kind of car does he drive?”

“Blue Acura.”

“Do you know the license number?”

Glenn shook his head. “He got no license. He just bought it.”

The man released Glenn, who stood, his face flushed, his pants wet.

“I should shoot him,” the short man said.

“Maybe, but I think this fat clerk has seen the light of day. You’ll help us now, won’t you?” The tall man took a pen off the counter and wrote a phone number on a slip of paper. “We’ll be back soon. In the meantime, if you should hear from Wilson or Sommers, you call us, understand? If we find out you tipped him off—”

“Oh, fuck it,” and the short man fired two rounds into Glenn’s chest. “He said he moved out. If he is around here, this fuck would tip him off anyway. Let’s get the hell out of here, Evgeniy. We’ll find him ourselves.”

“Wait. Maybe the cops can help us out.” Evgeniy retrieved his slip of paper, put it in his pocket, and drew a circle in the register book around the name of Eugene Wilson. Then he laid the open book on the Glenn’s arm. “They find this dead guy, they see the register, and they want to know why Wilson’s name is circled. Maybe they lead us to him, maybe they arrest him. They got better resources than we do.”

“And if they arrest him…”

“We can pay him a visit in the jail.”

F
IFTY
-T
WO

T
HE SUN ROSE OVER
the tops of the Old City towers and warmed the balcony on which Liam and Kayla were having breakfast. “So, what time are we heading back to Hebron today?”

Kayla shook her head. “Fakhir’s son said he wouldn’t be in for two more days. There’s no reason to go before that.”