Saving Sophie: A Novel

by Ronald H. Balson

  “How did he obtain his wealth?” Liam asked.

  “He didn’t get it practicing medicine,” she said. “Even now, he works in a very poor community hospital. Those of us who have been following him believe he’s been funded by Hamas out of Gaza, though it may be one of the other extremist groups. There are several operating in Hebron.”

  “Do you have any proof that he’s involved in the theft of the escrow funds or that he’s planning to use that money?”

  “Not yet.”

  “You said he has influence among his people. What does that mean? Who are his people?” Liam said.

  “Let me emphasize this,” Foster said. “We have no solid evidence that he’s engaged in any terrorist movements. That’s why the Agency has thus far refused to devote any assets to him.” He shrugged. “But then, Kayla—”

  Kayla broke in. “He’s far too clever to lose his professional persona, but I assure you he’s waist deep in terrorism. First of all, he’s a lineal descendant of mass murderers. It’s in his DNA. His father and his grandfather before him were sworn enemies of peace in the region. For close to fifty years, they were at the core of violent insurrection. Secondly, Arif meets regularly with what I believe is an extremist cell in Hebron. Until recently, some of these men were in Gaza. Others are outspoken Palestinian hard-liners. Their activity level indicates that they are planning something. Of that, I’m certain.”

  “And now al-Zahani has Sophie Sommers,” Liam said.

  “Correct,” Kayla said.

  “And we’re trying to find her father.”

  Foster nodded. “Correct again.”

  “Do you believe that John Sommers is going to use eighty-eight million dollars to buy his daughter back?” Catherine asked.

  Kayla shrugged and spread her hands. “That’s the jackpot question, isn’t it? Is it possible? Sure. If that’s what it takes to get his daughter back, why not?”

  Walter slapped the table. “Never saw it coming. I knew his daughter was reported missing after the grandparents failed to return her. I knew he was using diplomatic channels to try to get her back, but I never suspected he would steal a client’s money to pay a ransom. If I thought it was a possibility…”

  Foster shook his head. “It isn’t something you could have anticipated.”

  “Yeah? Tell that to the judge. We’re being sued for malpractice because we failed to supervise our attorneys and allowed one of them to steal eighty-eight million dollars from a client. All based on the principle of foreseeability.”

  “Let’s not jump to conclusions,” Foster said. “We’ve uncovered no evidence of a ransom demand. And we don’t know for sure that there’s a plan to transfer eighty-eight million, or any sum at all, to Palestinian hard-liners. Again, those are merely working hypotheses. But if there is such a plan in the works, it isn’t something we can permit.”

  “Didn’t Sommers contact the State Department when Sophie was taken?” Catherine said.

  “Yes, he did.” Foster gestured for Kayla to answer.

  “At the time, the State Department did everything it could. Not just through our agency but also involving the Department of Homeland Security. DHS immediately put out an alert for all airlines serving the Middle East referencing a passport bearing Sophie’s name or photographic likeness. A Yellow Notice was issued by Interpol in Paris, but once again, that’s only distributed to countries that are Hague Convention signatories. None of the Middle Eastern countries, with the exception of Israel, are signatories.”

  “I seem to remember, somewhere in the back of my mind,” Catherine said, “that there’s a parental abduction statute that applies to grandparents as well. Isn’t it enforceable internationally?”

  “There is a statute and it does apply to grandparents,” Kayla said. “It’s called the International Parental Kidnapping Act, IPKA. It’s a federal crime and punishable in the United States. Outside our borders, we have to depend on treaties and to a great extent on our treaty partners. Some countries will send the children back because they recognize the Hague Convention on International Child Abduction, but there are many that will not. There’s a long list of countries that will not comply with the Hague Convention. And Sophie is not even in a recognized country. The West Bank, the Palestinian Territories, the disputed land, whatever you call it, is not a country. It’s not a legitimate sovereignty.”

  “I suppose it’s a stupid question, but what about our embassy? Couldn’t it do anything about getting Sophie returned?” Catherine said.

  Kayla shook her head. “Our embassy is in Tel Aviv. Hebron, at least the part where al-Zahani lives, is administered by the Palestinian Authority. The US has no diplomatic relations with the PA. In fact, a couple years ago we sent a diplomatic delegation to the West Bank and it was attacked by Palestinian protesters. So, it’s not a US embassy matter. Since the PA is not a Hague signatory and is noncompliant with the Hague Convention, Sommers would have to go through the Hebron courts. In our experience, non-Muslim parents stand very little chance of succeeding in a child-custody dispute in the Islamic courts of the Middle East.”

  “Did Sophie’s passport turn up?” Liam asked.

  “That’s the strange thing,” Foster answered. “At the time, Sommers told us that Sophie didn’t have a passport. He never applied for one. And he’s right. There are no records of a passport issued to Sophie Sommers.”

  “So how did she travel internationally?”

  “It’s a mystery.”

  Liam folded his arms and rocked back in his chair. “But you’re not here because of Sophie’s abduction.”

  “Well, indirectly, Mr. Taggart,” Kayla said. “We’re concerned about terrorists getting their hands on eighty-eight million dollars. I’ve noticed increased activity in Dr. al-Zahani’s group. It’s like a little beehive. Clandestine meetings in bakeries and empty apartments. They never use cell phones. No e-mails. The IDF monitors them, but at a distance.”

  “IDF?” Walter said.

  “Israel Defense Forces. Israeli soldiers. They report suspicious activities to Shin Bet, the Israeli Internal Security Agency, and to the Mossad.”

  “What is the beehive planning?”

  “I don’t know,” Kayla said. “But you can bet al-Zahani knows.”

  “Like I said before,” added Foster, “this is Kayla’s baby. We haven’t yet developed any clear evidence that al-Zahani is engaged in any terrorist activity. Nothing we can move on. The Agency won’t staff this operation unless Kayla comes up with something more concrete. But Kayla is so damn passionate and so obsessed with this guy that … well, that’s good enough for me, at least for now. She’s been right in the past. So, even if she can’t get the Agency’s formal attention, she’s got mine. Enough to let her investigate it further.”

  “Let me see if I understand our respective positions,” Catherine said. “While our purpose is to locate Sommers, recover the money, and protect the law firm from bankruptcy, your agenda is to make sure Sommers doesn’t turn the money over to terrorists.”

  “Precisely,” Kayla said.

  “Where is the money?” Liam asked.

  Foster shook his head. “Panama? We don’t know any more than you do.”

  “And Sommers?”

  “No idea.”

  “The CIA and all its agents can’t find a transactional lawyer and some stolen money?” Walter said.

  “You watch too many movies.”

  “So tell me, Harry,” said Catherine, “why are we all meeting here today?”

  “Well, partly it’s about your Mr. Taggart. As I’m sure you know, Liam’s worked for us before.” Foster nodded at Liam.

  Liam shrugged. “A long time ago.”

  “We’d like to work together again,” Foster said. “You have the perfect cover. You’re a private investigator hired to find a little girl. In that role, you’ll be asking a lot of questions. You’ll have access to people, become privy to important information, and we’d like to be included.”


  Liam shook his head. “I haven’t been hired to find a little girl. I’m searching for stolen money.”

  “They have a common nucleus.”

  “Well, so far I’ve learned very little. I was planning on talking with Sommers’s sister in Louisville.”

  “She won’t talk to you,” Miller said. “She practically threw me out of her house. Told me to get a court order.”

  Catherine wagged her finger. “Ah, but Liam has his Irish charm. Just ask him.”

  “’Tis true.”

  “In any event,” Foster continued, “a private investigator looking for a missing six-year-old daughter has a valid reason to ask a lot of questions, maybe even get close to al-Zahani. People are sympathetic about a missing child. That activity isn’t likely to arouse suspicion. There are places you can go and people you can talk to that we can’t.”

  “I’m not looking for his daughter.”

  “Maybe the money is.”

  “Maybe. So far, I haven’t uncovered any proof that Sommers has the money or even took the money.”

  “We think he did,” Foster said.

  “I thought you said you didn’t know where the money was,” Jenkins said.

  “Oh, we don’t. But we know that Sommers went to Panama a couple months ago. We traced the missing funds from the escrow account to the First Republic Bank, but the money’s not there anymore. First Republic transferred the money to Pacifico Bank. And we’ve since learned that the money’s not there anymore either. That’s about all we know.”

  Walter stood. His face was red. “You people knew all this and said nothing? You knew he went to Panama? My firm is on the brink of collapse and we’re fighting to stay alive. Fuck you. You’re the government. You’re supposed to work for me.”

  “Calm down, Mr. Jenkins,” Foster said. “We’re trying to get the money back just like you are, and we don’t know where the money is any more than you do.”

  “How did you learn about the money transfers?” Catherine said. “I thought Panama banking was clothed in secrecy, that even our government couldn’t get information.”

  “I can’t comment on that.”

  “But you want to use me?” Liam said. “Have me ask questions and give you the answers?”

  “We use civilian assets all the time, Liam. Just like we did when you were in Ulster. If your world-renowned Irish charm opens a few doors, gives you a lead, all the better. People will talk to a guy trying to find a little girl.”

  “Why do you keep saying ‘trying to find’? We all know where she is. If the government is so concerned that money will be paid to ransom Sophie Sommers, why don’t you just go to al-Zahani’s house and get her?”

  Foster had an exasperated look. “We don’t send the Navy SEALs into a foreign jurisdiction to snatch children in a custody dispute.”

  “Well, Israel does.”

  “Perhaps. But, there’s more. Right now Undersecretary Whiting is quietly in Cairo meeting with PA officials. It’s an important step in the peace process. We may actually be making some headway after all these years. As you know, the president is planning to travel to the Mideast in a few months. Maybe even to make a bold announcement.” Foster smiled patronizingly. “We can’t have a terrorist act derailing the peace process.”

  Liam leaned back. He tapped his fingers on the table. “So, it’s really not about the girl. You don’t want her rescued, do you, Kayla? If she were back home, you wouldn’t have a reason to poke around. You want to use Sophie as a cover to get close to al-Zahani and learn more about his little beehive. You hope my snooping around will flush out a terrorist plot.”

  “I don’t deny we’d love to have your help,” Kayla said, “flush out those terrorists, as you say, but we’re not that hard-hearted. If you could bring Sophie home, that would suit us just fine.”

  “Bullshit. Anyway, that’s not why Mr. Jenkins is paying me.”

  Walter stared hard at Foster. “Are you telling me that if we help get the girl back, you’ll help us get the money back?”

  “They’re joined at the hip, Mr. Jenkins. If the money is earmarked to ransom the girl, then the money and the girl converge on the same corner. But let me be candid. We don’t know that Sommers still has possession of the money. And, despite Kayla’s theories, we don’t know for certain there’s any deal in the works, we only suspect it. Or should I say, Kayla suspects it. But we would agree to assist you in recovering the money. After all, wire fraud is a federal crime.”

  “Wait a minute,” Walter said. “Taggart doesn’t come cheap. Why should I finance the search and rescue of the daughter of a man who stole eighty-eight million dollars from me? The United States government has a lot more money than I do. Why don’t you pay Taggart?”

  “If that embezzled money is paid to terrorists, there are a lot of daughters whose lives will be at risk,” Kayla said.

  “I’m not that humanitarian,” Walter said.

  “Well, let me put it another way,” Foster said. “We’ll supply intelligence. You supply the Irish guy. You’re looking for your client’s funds, and you’re looking to save your law firm. It can’t hurt to have the blessing, not to mention the intelligence resources, of the United States government.”

  Walter looked at Liam and nodded. “I guess your assignment is officially modified.”

  “Look, if Kayla’s right,” Foster said, “if there is a deal in the works, then Sommers is in more trouble than he knows. He’s in way over his head. If he’s trying to trade eighty-eight million dollars to the Palestinians for his daughter’s return, he’s more likely to lose the money and get himself and his daughter killed. After you go to Louisville and talk to his sister, I’d like to meet with you again.”

  “She won’t talk to him,” Miller said.

  “Call me when you get back from Louisville,” Foster said.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  LIAM WALKED UP THE front steps of a red brick home in the Asbury Park section of Louisville. The house was a traditional two-story colonial on a wooded lot, with white trim and shutters. A smattering of blue crocuses poked through the ground on either side of the front stoop.

  Liam knocked and the door was opened by a boy with a PlayStation controller in his hand. Standing in his white socks, he kept a cautionary hand on the doorknob, allowing the door to open just a sliver. “Are you looking for my mom?”

  “Yep. I’m a friend of your uncle’s.”

  “Uncle Jack?” A smile brightened his face. “Well, Mom’s not home yet. She’s picking up my sister at school.”

  Liam gestured at the controller. “What are you playing?”

  “Black Ops II .”

  Liam shook his head. “I can’t play that game. I always die. Now, if you had Madden Thirteen, I could whip your butt.”

  “No, you couldn’t.”

  “Yes, I surely could. I’d eat your lunch.”

  The boy laughed. “No, you wouldn’t.”

  “In my sleep. That’ll be the day I lose to a fourteen-year-old.”

  “I’m twelve and I’m a pro at Madden Thirteen. No one beats me.”

  “That’s ’cause you haven’t played me. Course, if you’re chicken…”

  With that, the boy swung the door open, turned, and walked confidently through the foyer. “It’s in the other room. Prepare to be humbled.”

  Liam followed him through the hallway, past the kitchen, and into a paneled den. A large flatscreen was mounted on the center wall. The picture was frozen on a scene from Black Ops II: a smoky, bombed-out neighborhood in a nondescript Eastern European locale.

  “My name’s Liam.” He held out his hand.

  “Sean,” the boy said, putting a controller in Liam’s hand and ejecting the war game from the console. “Just don’t cry too loud when I beat you.”

  Sean’s gaming skills far exceeded Liam’s, and Sean laughed heartily every time he scored or Liam fumbled. “I thought you said you were good.”

  “I’m just getting warmed up. You have home-
field advantage.”

  “A controller is a controller, Liam. There’s no home field.”

  Just then, a woman, car keys in her hand, entered the room and stopped short. “Who is this, Sean?”

  “His name is Liam. He’s a friend of Uncle Jack’s.”

  Liam stood. “Sorry to barge in, Mrs. Wilson, but—”

  “Just barge right out. You have no business here. How dare you come into my house uninvited? Get out or I’m calling the police.”

  “I invited him, Mom. He’s a friend of Uncle Jack’s and he knows how to play Madden Thirteen. But he sucks.”

  “Get out.”

  Liam stood and handed the controller back to Sean. “You’re right. You’re a pro. You kicked my butt.” Turning to Sean’s mother, Liam said, “Would you just give me five minutes. Five minutes. I’m trying to help your brother. I think he’s in danger.”

  Her stiff arm and pointed finger directed him toward the door. “Out. Out. You’ve got no business here.”

  “Deborah, listen to me, I may be one of the few people that can actually help your brother.”

  She stood at the front door and flicked a backhand. “You stand out on the stoop. I stand in the doorway. You have two minutes to tell me why I should listen to you.” She turned around and pointed at her son. “Sean, you go and start your homework.”

  “Mom…”

  “Go.”

  As directed, Liam stood just outside the doorway.

  As her son had, Deborah stood with one hand on the doorknob, holding the door partially closed. “I told the FBI that I have nothing to say. I don’t know anything and I haven’t spoken to Jack in weeks. And you can be damned sure I don’t have that missing money.”

  “I’m not the FBI, Deborah.” Liam held his palms out like a stop sign. “I’m a private investigator and I’m working for Jack’s law firm. I know that Jack is a good man. I know he wouldn’t hurt anyone. I know that he didn’t have anything to do with the murder.”