Saving Sophie: A Novel

by Ronald H. Balson

  Deborah’s eyes widened. Her lips quivered. “What murder?”

  “Can I come in? Can we talk for a few minutes?”

  “We can talk right here.”

  “Last month, eighty-eight million dollars went missing from a business deal and was diverted to a Panama bank. The written instructions to the title company, directing them where to wire the money, came from an escrow controlled by your brother and a man named Harrington. Harrington was found in Lake Michigan with a bullet in his brain. That leaves your brother as a witness to the transaction. Whoever is behind these crimes is motivated to—”

  “Who’s behind this?”

  Liam shook his head. “I don’t know yet. But I don’t think Jack was the centerpiece of this crime.”

  “Why not?”

  “I’ve been working on this case for the better part of a month. I’ve talked to several people who were close to Jack. I’m working with a lawyer who has been studying the trial transcripts of the custody hearing. All in all, I think I’ve come to know what Jack was like, and that he was a good man. A smart lawyer. Desperate? Yes. But a criminal mastermind? No. Deborah, you have to believe me, right now he’s in real danger.”

  “How do I know I can trust you? Who are you?”

  “Just an investigator from Chicago.” He handed her a business card. “I was hired by Jenkins and Fairchild, which, along with your brother, has been sued for eighty-eight million dollars.”

  “Why don’t you think my brother is involved?”

  Liam hesitated. “I’m not saying he’s not involved. And he may have that money. But unless you think he killed Dennis Harrington by shooting him in the head, he’s not the only one involved. We’ve also been looking into Sophie’s disappearance.”

  “Kidnapping.”

  Liam nodded. “Kidnapping. We know that Jack would do almost anything to get Sophie back. And that money … who knows? But really, do you think Jack is capable of engineering an exchange of millions of dollars to Palestinians for the release of his kidnapped daughter all by himself?”

  Deborah backed away from the door and motioned for Liam to come in. They sat across from each other on wingback chairs in the front room. On a little end table sat a silver-framed picture of Deborah with her arm around her husband.

  Liam gestured toward the picture. “Your husband looks a lot like Jack.”

  Deborah smiled. “Yes, he did. With their hair cut short, their features were very similar. Eugene died last year.”

  “I’m sorry,” Liam said quietly. He leaned forward. “Where’s Jack?”

  She shook her head. “If I knew, I wouldn’t tell you, but I don’t know.”

  “You’re making a mistake. I need to talk to him. If the bad guys find him, and they will, they’ll kill him. He’s just a loose end to them. A liability—dangerous and disposable. You need to help me find him.”

  “I’m not stupid. Whatever I tell you goes straight to the FBI. They’ll find Jack and they’ll lock him up. I’m not helping you put my brother in jail. Then Sophie’ll be lost forever.”

  “It doesn’t serve my purpose to put Jack in jail. I want to help Jack and I want to help Sophie.”

  “Oh, please. You want to find the money.”

  “Yes, I do, but those ends are not incompatible. Let’s be practical. Do you think he can rescue Sophie by himself? Halfway around the world in some West Bank town? Is he going to take a shopping bag full of money? Deborah, the whole world’s looking for him. The CIA, the Mossad, they’re not going to let him deliver that money. Wherever he is, he can’t even get on a plane. How’s he going to get Sophie back? You know as well as I that he has to involve other people—operatives that exist in a community way above his pay grade. He’s a pigeon out there. He needs help, Deborah.”

  She took a deep breath and sat back in her chair. “Really, I don’t know where he went. He wouldn’t tell me.”

  “But…?”

  “I may have a way to reach him.”

  Liam stood. “My contact info is on my card. I’ll do it all on his terms.” He started for the door and stopped. “Be careful how you try to reach him. Your phone, your computer, your best friend’s computer, the library computer—they’re not safe.”

  “Understood.”

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  “SO, AT THE END of the trial, the judge awarded you sole custody?” Marcy said as she poured Giovanni’s Grenache into two wineglasses, handed one to Jack, and sat beside him on her cushioned glider. The trade winds were settling down in the late afternoon, and light breezes were gently rustling the bougainvilleas bordering Marcy’s veranda.

  “It was after each side had rested,” he said. “I thought we’d get the decision right then and there in open court, but the judge said he was going to take the case under advisement and rule in a week.”

  “The delay must have been torture.”

  “That was the longest week of my life. My lawyer remained confident and kept telling me not to worry, that we had won the case, but every time I looked at Sophie, I wanted to wrap my arms around her, hold her tight, and protect her from all those people who were trying to take her from me. I kept having visions of social workers prying my screaming child from my arms and carrying her off to their car. What if Judge Karr ruled for the al-Zahanis? Anything can happen in a court.

  “Finally, one week after the evidence closed, we returned to the courtroom. My knees were shaking as I stood alongside the al-Zahanis in front of the judge’s bench. Judge Karr came out of his chambers and read from a prepared decision. I could tell from the minute he started that we had won. He said that although he had concern for my emotional health, he had no doubt of my ability to nurture and care for Sophie. Uprooting her from her home and her father and moving her to Palestine was not in her best interests, he said. There’s a strong presumption in favor of a parent and a heavy burden to overcome that presumption. The al-Zahanis had not met that burden. ‘Far from it,’ he said.”

  “But you told me the judge granted them visitation,” Marcy said.

  “Not at first. He denied them any rights at all. He said that throughout the trial he had observed bitterness and intolerance in the heart of Dr. al-Zahani. Visitation at this time would only permit the grandparents to drive a wedge between a father and his daughter. He said that sometime in the future, when and if their anger subsided, they could re-petition the court and maybe he would consider supervised visitation.”

  The sound of Marcy’s doorbell interrupted Jack’s narrative, and she excused herself to answer the door. When she returned, she had a paper in her hand and a shocked look on her face.

  “Look at this,” she said, holding out the paper. “It’s an order from the Honolulu Circuit Court dismissing the eviction case against me.” She pointed at the door. “Mr. Nakamura delivered it himself. He told me I was to call Mr. Everett right away and tell him the case was dismissed. And he told me I didn’t have to pay this month’s rent. Then he turned and hurried back to his car.”

  “That’s great.”

  “But, here’s the thing, I don’t know any Mr. Everett.” She shook her head. “I don’t know what he’s talking about.”

  Jack chuckled.

  “You! Did you have something to do with this?”

  Jack shrugged. “I don’t think he’ll hassle you anymore.”

  She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. “I don’t know how you did it, but I don’t care, you’re awesome.”

  “It’s no big deal.”

  “Yes, it is, I don’t have to move.” She poured another round of wine. “Damn, how did you do it?”

  “Skill and cunning.”

  She kissed him again and sat down on the glider. “You were telling me that the al-Zahanis were denied visitation. So, how did they get it? Did they re-petition the court?”

  Jack shook his head. “When the judge finished reading his decision, Lubannah broke into tears. She ran up to the bench and begged the judge to allow her to see Sophie. The dep
uties had to restrain her. I thought she’d collapse right on the courtroom floor. As bitter as the case had been, I couldn’t help but feel sorry for her. I’d never seen anybody so upset, so disheartened.

  “But Judge Karr was resolute. ‘I’ve made my decision,’ he said. ‘That’ll be the order.’ Lubannah wailed inconsolably. And then I made the biggest mistake of my life.”

  Marcy knew what was coming. She reached over and took his hands and waited for the rest.

  “I told the judge I would agree to visitation. Please put it in the court order so they know and Sophie knows I’m not trying to keep them out of her life. Give them one weekend a month and restrict it to Chicago. If they choose to exercise it, fine. If they don’t, well, that’s up to them. But Sophie should know her grandparents. Sophie should know the people who raised her mother.” Jack shook his head. “And that’s how I lost her.”

  “You blame yourself for that decision?”

  “It was my decision.”

  “Yes, but for all the right reasons. You were trying to do what’s best for Sophie. After what the al-Zahanis had put you through, trying to take your daughter from you, for you to act so generously, I know I wouldn’t have been so noble. You’re a good man, Jack.”

  “Good, but stupid. The bottom line is I failed to protect my daughter. I’m her father and I failed her. The judge was wise. He saw right through them. If I had listened to him, she’d be here right now.”

  Marcy put her arm around his shoulders. Her touch was comforting. “I will never believe that was a mistake on your part. It ended up badly, but only because of the deceitful acts of the grandparents, not because of the goodness in your heart.”

  “Thank you for that, Marcy, but it doesn’t matter.”

  “When you offered to give the al-Zahanis weekend visitation, what did they say?”

  “At that moment, Lubannah dropped to her knees and thanked me. It was all in Arabic, and I’m sure the judge had no idea what she was saying, but the import was obvious. Arif, who had refused to even make eye contact with me during the entire trial, shook my hand and nodded. He never did speak to me, but I felt that the wall of ice that existed between us was starting to melt a little. During the trial, he had seemed sincere, so caring where Sophie was concerned, and in some ways I tried to understand his despair at Alina’s decision to leave Hebron. The fact that she died so many miles away from him. You know, he’s a doctor. Maybe he thought if she got sick in Hebron, he could’ve cured her. Wouldn’t I have felt the same way? I felt good about giving them visitation, but I underestimated what a deceitful son of a bitch al-Zahani was.”

  Jack picked up his glass. “At that time, I really believed we could connect, that Alina would have wanted it that way. I tried to believe that, deep down, Arif was a good man.”

  “So, how did they take her?”

  “Visitation went smoothly two times last fall. The first weekend, they flew in and visited with Sophie in my living room. I left the house. Our friend Sharon was there to observe in case it didn’t go well or Sophie was upset. But, apparently it was okay.

  “The next visit, I let them take Sophie to a movie and dinner on Saturday. They picked her up in a limousine and brought her back in the evening. Sunday, they took her to the museum and to lunch at their hotel, the Ritz-Carlton.

  “In December, they asked if Sophie could spend Saturday night with them at the hotel. They were going to take her to the evening presentation of ZooLights at the Lincoln Park Zoo. I agreed. It seemed so innocent and proper. She was to return after lunch on Sunday.

  “When they didn’t show up by two P.M., I started to get concerned. I was pacing by the front window. At three P.M., I called Lubannah’s cell phone but only got through to her voice mail. Then I called the hotel. There was no answer in their room, and of course, the hotel wouldn’t tell me anything about a guest. So I called the police and showed them the court order. They were able to verify that the al-Zahanis had checked out of the hotel in the morning.

  “The police urged me to wait on any actions, that they might just be stuck in traffic somewhere, but when they didn’t bring her back by eight P.M., they put out an Amber Alert. The airlines were put on alert for their passports. Their return reservations were booked to Amman through Zurich, but they never checked in. They just disappeared.” Jack took another drink and rocked back on the swing.

  Marcy slowly shook her head. “How could you know? You did what you thought was right for Sophie. We all have to trust our instincts, that’s all we’ve got. None of us have a crystal ball.”

  “Everyone tells me that, but I still bear the responsibility for what happened to my daughter. I thought al-Zahani was a decent man. I thought the same thing when Alina introduced us. And even when he kicked me out of her house, I thought, ‘He’ll get past it. He’s just a dad afraid of losing his daughter. We’ll wind up being a close family.’ But in the end, I gave him my daughter.”

  “No, you didn’t. You gave Sophie a chance to know her grandparents under secure conditions.”

  “I guess they weren’t very secure. I didn’t protect her. That’s the bottom line.”

  “What about the State Department? You used to work there.”

  “Well, I was in the diplomatic corps, but I did know some pretty well placed people and I called them all.”

  “And?”

  Jack shook his head. “You have to understand the Israeli-Palestinian flash pot, they said. It’s an explosion waiting to happen. A tinderbox. They won’t send Israeli soldiers into a secure private residence to grab a child in a Palestinian-controlled area. Certainly not one as violent as Hebron. They have to do it through diplomatic channels, if at all. When it comes to the PA’s autonomy in its West Bank cities, Israel is extremely sensitive to world opinion. They don’t want to risk an incident with the Palestinians, and breaking into al-Zahani’s compound in the middle of Hebron would likely cause an incident.

  “Hebron is basically a Palestinian city with almost two hundred thousand Arabs. Except for a small section, it’s a Zone A city, meaning that the Palestinian Authority is in administrative command of the city. Israel has agreed not to interfere and doesn’t want to interfere in Hebron’s affairs. That’s the political reality. Israel has withdrawn its police forces and won’t risk an incident by muscling its way in there to get my child.”

  “But you could go.”

  “By myself? With no backup or political support? It would be nearly impossible and perilous for both of us. Hebron is a very hostile city, especially for outsiders. There are shootings and murders all the time. And, Arif is a power in that town. He lives in a house with a large stone wall around it. Gated entrance. Plenty of security guards. There are checkpoints all around the city. Even if I got in and grabbed Sophie, I’d have a hell of a time getting out.” Jack shook his head.

  “I understand.”

  “Still, when the government wouldn’t help me, I bought a ticket to Tel Aviv. My Arabic’s a little rusty, but I figured I could get by.”

  “What were you going to do?”

  “I didn’t really have a plan. I was going to go over there, hang out in Hebron, try to catch Sophie alone outside the compound, maybe at school, a friend’s house, or maybe she’d only have one chaperone.”

  “And do what? Shoot the chaperone? That sounds like a dumb plan, Jack.”

  He shrugged. “It was, but I wasn’t about to give up. Then, before I could leave, an opportunity arose. I met people who said they could get the job done.”

  “What people?”

  Jack shook his head. “I can’t.”

  “So, now you’re in Hawaii. Why? Why are you out here using your brother-in-law’s ID?”

  “All the things I had to do, the deal I had to make to rescue my daughter, required me to leave Chicago. Go underground. Disappear at least for a while. I had good memories of Hawaii and I thought it would be a nice place for Sophie and me to live when she came back.”

  Marcy whistled softly.
“These people, what makes you think they can get Sophie out of Hebron?”

  “I can’t tell you. I just know they can.”

  She lifted her wineglass. “Here’s to Sophie’s rescue, whatever it takes.”

  “Whatever it takes. Thanks, Marcy.”

  She picked up the bottle of wine and held it up to the light. “I think we’ve dominated this muscat. Will you have another drink with me? I’ll see what I can find.”

  Jack watched her walk into the house. Reconnecting with Marcy was a stroke of luck. Having someone to help him think through his problems was a plus, and he knew he could trust her.

  He strolled to the edge of the patio, where the sea was visible. In the twilight he could just make out the surf. The waters were rough on the North Shore. Twenty-foot breakers, at least. A challenge to stability. Like the storms that were battering Jack’s emotional centerboard. Swirling riptides. Hard to stay on course.

  Jack thought about the secret e-mail address. He trusted that person too. Was that another bad decision? “You bastard,” he said softly. “Why don’t you post a damn reply? Why don’t you answer me? If I don’t hear soon, I’m coming after you.”

  Marcy returned with a bottle and a plate of cheese. “Fumé Blanc. It’ll have to do.”

  She poured two glasses, handed one to Jack, and sat back down beside him. They rocked in silence for a moment on the small glider.

  “Thank you for sharing all the details,” she said. “I know it wasn’t easy.”

  “It’s painful to relive. All of it. But I’ve got to get through it. Thanks for your support.”

  As they rocked together on the glider, a gentle island mist began to fall. Jack stood. “I’ve had too much to drink. I’m going to call a cab.”

  Marcy put her hand on his shoulder. “You can stay out here, I…”

  “I don’t know, Marcy.…”

  “No, Jack. It’s fine. I have a guest room. You already slept in it once. I’ll get a blanket.”

  * * *

  KELSEN’S BENTLEY TURNED THE corner at Belden, near the field house, and pulled to a stop at the curb. A few minutes later, two tall, thin men wearing gray hoodies slipped into the backseat and shut the door.