Saving Sophie: A Novel (35 page)

*   *   *

J
UST AS AL-ZAHANI WAS
finishing dinner, his cell phone rang. It was Fakhir.

“Arif, Dani’s mother is trying to reach you. He’s very sick.”

“Tell her I will meet him at the clinic.”

“She says he can’t get out of bed.”

“Then I will go to their home.”

Dani and his family lived in a three-story walk-up in the center of the city. A dry cleaner’s occupied the first floor, filling the hallways with tetrachloroethylene fumes. Al-Zahani covered his nose with a handkerchief as he climbed the stairs to Dani’s apartment.
These people will probably die from the carcinogens in the air anyway,
he thought. Dani’s mother, barefoot and in a robe, answered the door.

“Oh, thank you, thank you, Doctor, for coming here. Dani is so sick. There is blood in his stool. You can help him though, right? You can cure him? Give him medicines?”

Al-Zahani followed her into the bedroom. The stench of vomit and urine, rancid and sour, was overpowering. Dani was lying faceup on his bed, sweating profusely from a high fever and barely cognizant of his surroundings. Al-Zahani examined him carefully, stretching the boy’s eyelids to peer deeply into his eyes. He wiped his burning forehead with a cloth. Dani narrowed his eyes and tried to focus. In a rasping, broken whisper, barely audible to the doctor, he said, “You did this to me, didn’t you? You fucker. You did this.” Finally, the doctor reached into his bag and withdrew a syringe and a bottle of morphine. He gave Dani a strong dose.

“That will help him sleep,” al-Zahani said to the worried mother, wiping his hands with sanitizer. “I will have an ambulance bring him to the clinic in the morning.”

As the doctor walked away from the apartment building, his cell phone buzzed again.

“Arif, Fa’iz would like to see you.”

“Now? It’s midnight.”

“He says we are to gather at his home.”

As al-Zahani pulled up to the curb outside Fa’iz’s one-story stone residence, he noticed Fakhir’s car and Nizar’s car were parked there as well. A quiet, young woman showed him into a sitting room, where Fa’iz reclined on a pillowed couch. Nizar and Fakhir stood to either side.

“How is young Dani?” Fa’iz said.

“He will die tomorrow,” al-Zahani said.

“Peace be with him.”

“Why are we meeting here tonight?”

“The apartment building where we have been meeting has been closed by the health department,” Fakhir said. “They say they found rats and infestation.”

“It’s probably true.”

“It’s the IDF. They know we meet,” Fakhir said.

“Nonsense. The IDF doesn’t condemn buildings,” said Nizar with disgust.

“No matter,” Fa’iz said. “We cannot meet there anymore. We must meet again in the back room of the bakery.”

“My bakery? No way,” Fakhir said. “The IDF—”

“The IDF, the IDF,” screamed Nizar. “Why do you keep saying that? The IDF does not operate in Hebron. They know nothing. We need to meet and you have the room. I know the elegant doctor does not want us in his pristine palace,” he said with a sneer.

“Enough,” said Fa’iz. “We will meet at the bakery. What is the status of our shipments?”

“Three busloads have passed through,” Nizar said smugly. “Aziz is doing his job. His bus is indistinguishable from the Hebrew tour bus. Aziz unloads the containers at the cold-storage center and waits until another day to bring more tourists to see the tomb. Then he returns with six other containers. Unlike the good doctor, he is right on schedule.”

Fa’iz smiled and stroked his mottled beard. “Good. Very good. We will use that warehouse for our Tel Aviv and Haifa operations as well. How many of these IV units do we now have in Jerusalem?”

“Eighteen hundred and forty 1000 ml bags,” Arif answered. “Most are common saline solutions, but we have also provided a number of 2.5 percent dextrose-added solutions to make sure we can satisfy the medical demands. All of the bags bear the identical imprints of Sexton International, the American health-care company that supplies Mediterranean Medical Supply, the distribution center in Jerusalem. I defy any nurse or technician to tell the difference.”

“And the rest, Arif? Are we making more?”

“Of course. Forty a day. I am working on a process to increase to sixty a day. By the summer, we will have many thousands. But for our immediate needs, we will surely be ready by April sixteenth.”

Fa’iz rubbed his hands together and smiled wide. “This is such good news.”

“Ahmed, have you talked to Sami? Are we confident he knows his responsibility?”

“He knows. Every morning he makes his delivery run. Mediterranean gives him a printout of his route, so many units to deliver to this hospital, so many to that. He knows on April sixteenth to make the switch at the Global Fisheries. Then he will deliver Arif’s bags. He’ll do fine.”

Fa’iz stood and reached for the hands of Fakhir and al-Zahani. He shook them hard. “From the river to the sea, my friends, from the Golan to the gulf.”

“Before we leave,” Fakhir said, “I have passed the ransom information on to Abu Hammad. I told him that Arif would return the girl for five million dollars.”

“Did you tell him to come alone to Hebron?”

“Of course.”

Fa’iz looked at al-Zahani. “Well, if he is foolish enough to come here, then it’s a simple matter to dispose of him and fill our coffers with his money.”

*   *   *

“C
ALL FOR YOU, CAPTAIN.”

“This is Okoye.”

“Captain, this is Trooper Colin Watanabe. I saw your APB for Eugene Wilson. I stopped this guy Wilson a few weeks ago for speeding on Highway 99, heading for the North Shore. Blue Acura. License 175 889. I remember the guy. Straw hat. Real nervous. I gave him a warning. I’ll keep an eye out for him, but you might want to alert the patrols in Hale’iwa and Waialua.”

Okoye ordered his communications sergeant to amend the APB for Wilson, last seen on the North Shore, blue Acura, license 175 889. The alert was soon seen on the patrol car computer screens. And on the laptop in the black Cadillac.

F
IFTY
-E
IGHT

M
ARCY HANDED THE KEYS
to Jack outside the Harbor CharHouse. “You’ll have to drive us home. One too many martinis for me.”

Jack grinned. The ride along the North Shore that night was peaceful. It mirrored their mood. They had each other. They had a plan to contact Liam. Their luck was sure to change.

They didn’t notice the sedan parked on the street near Marcy’s house when they pulled into her driveway. Jack opened the passenger door for Marcy, put his arm around her shoulder, and walked with her to the front door. As they unlocked the door, they heard sounds of car doors opening and shutting. They turned and saw two figures walking toward the house. Quickly, they entered the house and locked the door.

“Did you get a look at them?” whispered Marcy.

“Not really, it’s dark. A big guy got out of the driver’s side.”

Sommers took his phone from his pocket.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m calling 911.”

“Are you crazy? You can’t talk to the police. Get out of here. Go out the back door and head down to the beach.”

“And leave you here? No way. I’ll stall them, you go out the back door.”

The doorbell rang.

“C’mon, Jack, the two of us, we can make it to the beach.”

The doorbell rang again. “It doesn’t matter, they found me. Run, Marcy. Get the hell out of here.” He started to press the numbers on his phone.

She slowly pulled back the draperies, just enough to get a glimpse of the front porch. “Wait. It’s a man and a woman,” she whispered. “Don’t call yet.”

“A woman can fire a gun.”

“Glenn said it was two
men.
” Marcy flipped on the porch lights. “It’s Taggart. It’s Liam Taggart.”

She turned the dead bolt and swung the door open. Liam and Kayla entered the hallway. Sommers stood in the middle of the room and made no effort to move.

Marcy backed up and sat on the arm of her couch. “How did you find us?”

“Does it matter?” Liam said.

“Well, yeah, it does. Did you follow me from LA?”

Liam shook his head. “You opened your purse when you paid the bill. I saw your ID.”

“You looked in my purse? You goddamn snoop.”

Liam smiled and tilted his head. “I’m a private investigator. I snoop for a living.”

“That doesn’t mean you can look in a woman’s purse. Didn’t your mother teach you any manners? You violated my privacy.”

“I deeply apologize. Can we move off this subject?” Gesturing toward Sommers, Liam said, “I assume this is Jack.”

“Maybe,” Marcy said. And are you going to introduce the person that came in with you?”

“Sorry. This is Kayla Cummings. She’s a spy. We just want to talk.”

“I’m not saying anything,” Jack said.

“Jack, would you relax,” said Marcy. “One’s a private investigator and the other’s a spy. They found us and they didn’t bring the cops. So they’ve come out here for a reason and I’d like to know what it is.”

“Thank you, Marcy,” Liam said, still standing by the door. “May we come in?”

“I’m sorry. Now I’m the one who has no manners. Please.” She gestured to the couch. “Would either of you like a soft drink or a glass of water?”

“Water for me, thank you,” said Liam.

“I’ll have a glass as well,” Kayla said.

Marcy started for the kitchen, then stopped. “Or a beer, if you’d like.”

“Now you’re talking,” Liam said.

“I’ll stick with the water,” Kayla said.

Marcy returned to the living room with a tray. She placed the drinks on the table. “Three beers and a glass of water for the spy.”

Kayla pursed her lips and scolded Liam with her eyes.

With all four sitting around the coffee table, Marcy said, “To tell the truth, Mr. Taggart, I was planning on contacting Deborah to meet with you again. But now that you’ve discovered where we live, you go first. What do you want?”

Liam took a sip of beer, pointed his index finger at Marcy. “I like this girl, Jack. She’s got spunk. She’s a tough little firecracker.”

“No kidding,” Jack said.

Liam took another drink. “I saw Sophie.”

Sommers leaned forward. “You did? Where did you see her? Did you talk to her?”

Liam shook his head. “Didn’t talk to her. She’s in Hebron and she appears to be fine. We saw her from a distance. She didn’t know we were there.”

Sommers looked at Kayla. “You went too?”

Kayla nodded. “I work for the State Department. We have a mutual interest in Arif al-Zahani.”

“Why didn’t you bring her back?”

Liam answered, “It’s not that simple. Can we start at the beginning and have this conversation on a more organized platform?”

Jack nodded. “If you didn’t go to retrieve Sophie, can you tell me why you went to Hebron?”

“We were under the impression that there was an arrangement to pay a ransom to al-Zahani for Sophie’s return,” Kayla said. “The US cannot allow eighty-eight million dollars, or any sum, to be paid to suspected terrorists.”

“He’s a terrorist?”

“We think so,” Kayla said. “We think his group is planning something.”

“Well,” Jack said, “I also believed there was an arrangement to pay a ransom, but I’m beginning to doubt the deal was ever made.”

“So are we,” Liam said.

“You wasted your time coming all the way out here. I don’t have any money here. You can have me arrested, but that’s not going to get Kelsen his money.”

“We can talk about that later. I think there’s a play here and you might want to consider it.”

“All I want is Sophie, and I’m not interested in talking to anyone about anything until Sophie is returned.”

Marcy reached out and touched his arm. “Jack, why don’t we listen to what he has to say instead of digging our heels in?”

Liam nodded and pointed his finger at Marcy again. “This girl’s got common sense, Jack. You’d be smart to listen to her.”

Sommers sat back in his chair. “Okay, I’m listening.”

“First, I’m going to advise you that your country wants your help. That ought to tell you that there might be something in it for you. It could be a little dangerous, but it might be a way to rescue Sophie and do yourself some good.”

“I don’t care if it’s dangerous. I’d do anything.”

“I know you would. Why don’t you begin by telling me how this whole embezzlement scheme began?”

Jack took a sip of his beer, set the bottle down, and drew a deep breath. “That Sunday, when Sophie didn’t come home on time, I knew in the pit of my stomach they had snatched her. I immediately called the police and the FBI. I told them to alert the airports, the train stations. We put out an Amber Alert.” Jack shook his head. “I don’t know how they got out of the country. The FBI monitored all the flights.

“I was sure he took her back to Hebron, but as you already know, he’s got quite a fortress. It’s not like I could go knock on his door and take my daughter. And it’s not like I could call the Hebron police and show them my court order. So I went the political route. I tried everything. Every US agency, every foreign agency. Everything. Do you understand? There was nothing I could do. I had hit a stone wall.

“Then, maybe a couple of weeks later, Dennis Harrington calls and tells me to meet him at the Rockit Bar and Grill up near Wrigley Field. We were both working on the sale of his company, so I figured it had to do with a problem in the paperwork. He’s the CFO of Kelsen Manufacturing, and my law firm was representing Kelsen. They were selling out to Leland Industries. The net profit payable to Kelsen was over ninety million dollars.

“We sat in a booth in the corner of the bar, and Harrington starts by telling me how sorry he feels that Sophie was kidnapped.”

“How did he know?”

“Shit, everyone knew. There was an Amber Alert. It was on the damn TV. So, Harrington says, ‘Why don’t you go get her or offer the guy money to return her?’ I told him that al-Zahani was very wealthy and well protected, and besides, I didn’t have that kind of money.

“So we talk some more and Harrington says, ‘Kelsen’s such an asshole. He’s been on my case for twenty years and I’m glad he’s selling his company.’ Then he leans over and he says quietly, ‘If you help me get back at him, I can help you with your daughter.’