Saving Sophie: A Novel

by Ronald H. Balson

  On the return to Kiryat Arba, they once again walked passed the Avraham Avinu Synagogue. Kayla pointed. “In August 1929, this was one of the locations of the Hebron Massacre.”

  “You didn’t tell me about the Hebron Massacre.”

  “I told you, when we were back in Chicago, that 1929 was a violent year. Mufti Amin al-Husseini and Ibrahim were waging a heated campaign against Jewish immigration and those who had already settled here. They called them ‘Zionist invaders.’ They demanded that they all leave Palestine. In the heat of the summer, tensions heightened. Jews were randomly attacked leaving their schools.

  “Then, in August 1929, there was an incident—three Jewish children and three Arabs were killed in Jerusalem. That was a starter’s pistol shot for Amin and Ibrahim. They riled up their followers with wild street demonstrations. An Arab messenger raced to Hebron on his motorcycle and announced, ‘I bring news from the mufti. The blood of thousands of Muslims is being shed like water in Jerusalem.’ A crazed mob then took to the streets with knives, clubs, and axes. They stoned Jewish houses, ransacked the hospital, raped, murdered, mutilated, tortured.” Kayla shook her head.

  “Where were the police?”

  “Because Hebron was such a peaceful town, there weren’t many British police stationed here. Basically, the Jews and Arabs in Hebron got along pretty well before the riot. Anyway, here in this synagogue, many came to hide from the marauders. But, eventually the doors were breached and the people were slaughtered.

  “Hebron’s Chief Rabbi Slonim sheltered several of the Ashkenazi yeshiva students in his home, but they were soon surrounded. Many of the Arab rioters knew and respected Rabbi Slonim. They banged on his door and offered him a choice: hand over the Ashkenazi students and we’ll let you, your family, and the Sephardic Jews live. ‘I’m sorry,’ the rabbi said, ‘that, I cannot do.’ Thereupon, Rabbi Slonim, his entire family, and all the Jews he was sheltering were slaughtered.

  “All in all, sixty-seven Jews were murdered. Finally, British reinforcements came to Hebron and took the four hundred eighty-four survivors north to Jerusalem.”

  “Never quits in this region, does it?”

  “It will quit, Liam. You have to believe it. When we rid this land of extremists like the al-Zahanis, it will quit. And the proof was here in Hebron. Before the Hebron Massacre, it was a peaceful town of Arabs and Jews living side by side. It can happen. The proof was here.”

  “But not anymore.”

  “Not yet.”

  FORTY-SIX

  MARCY WAS BOOKED FOR a weekend photography show at the Sheraton, so she and Jack loaded up his car at her house and headed into Waikiki. Sommers’s mood was light. It had been that way since he received the e-mail four days earlier. Jack had downloaded the parental-authorization form, signed it, scanned it, and immediately returned it by e-mail. Soon Deb would pick up Sophie, and if he managed to stay under the radar, he’d figure out a way to get Sophie out to the islands. After she was healthy and stabilized, he would get her back to Deborah and turn himself in. He knew that sooner or later law enforcement would catch up to him. He couldn’t run forever. And he didn’t want to. Turning himself in and confessing was the right thing to do.

  He dropped Marcy at the hotel and drove to the Coral Reef, parking his car on the street in front of the motel office. He was on the way up to his room when Glenn stopped him.

  “Say, Mr. Wilson, you had some visitors a couple days ago.”

  “Visitors?” Jack’s face immediately flushed.

  “Yeah, man. One said he was a cousin of yours. They showed me your picture and asked if you was living here or if I seen you.”

  “A cousin? I don’t have any cousins.” Jack’s adrenaline was pumping. “What did you tell them?”

  Glenn put his hand on Jack’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, man. Ol’ Glenn’s got your back. Them fucking bill collectors’ll say anything. I know from experience. I told them I ain’t never seen anybody looked like that picture.”

  “Thanks, Glenn, you did the right thing. Why do you suppose they came here, to the Coral Reef? Did they tell you?”

  Glenn shook his head. “Nah. They just said they was your cousins and they were pretty sure you was living here. But I seen them go into the Breakers across the street. So maybe they don’t really know where you live.”

  “What did they look like? Did they show you any ID?”

  “Well, they weren’t cops. That I could tell you. They didn’t show me any badges or ID cards, and they talked with some funny foreigner accent, like they was from Europe. Maybe Russia. And Mr. Wilson, they called you Mr. Summerfield, or something like that. They didn’t even know your right name. But they did have your picture.”

  “Thanks a lot, Glenn. I owe you. If they come by again, just tell them you never heard of me.”

  “Don’t have to worry a bit. I ain’t helping out no bill collectors.”

  Jack went into his room and packed his suitcase, removing every trace of his tenancy. He threw the bag into the car and went back into the office.

  “Glenn, here’s the rent for the next two months.” Jack laid $1,600 on the counter. “And here’s an extra five hundred dollars for you. You never heard of me, right?”

  Glenn smiled widely. “Heard of who?”

  Sommers then drove back to the Sheraton, where he sat in the corner of the bar with a cocktail trying to settle his nerves. After Marcy’s show, while they were loading her photographs into his trunk, she said, “What’s wrong, Jack? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

  “Some guys came snooping around the Coral Reef and showed the manager my picture.”

  “I thought no one knows where you’re staying.”

  “Don’t know how they did it. No one knew. Not even my sister. Damn. The last e-mail message said they were close to bringing Sophie home. They needed my authorization. I sent it to them.”

  “Why do you think it’s them? Maybe it’s the police.”

  Jack shook his head. “Glenn said they didn’t have any IDs and they spoke with a European accent. It’s them all right.”

  “Glenn would know that? A European accent?”

  “He said they sounded Russian. He said they were asking about me, even knew my name, except in Glenn’s mind they said Summerfield.”

  “You sure you haven’t told anybody where you are?”

  “Nobody.” Jack shook his head. “If they were truly speaking with a Russian accent, I got a pretty good idea who they are. But it doesn’t make any sense. I just got an e-mail saying they were bringing Sophie home. Why would they be out looking for me?”

  “Jack, you’re scaring me. You’re the third person, the only one left who knows about the theft. The only one who can tie them to the murders.”

  Sommers slipped into the driver’s seat and started driving in the direction of the North Shore. “Do you think they could have traced my cell phone or my computer? What if that’s how they caught up to me?” Sommers pulled off the highway.

  “What are you doing?”

  “If they can find the Coral Reef, why can’t they find your house? What if they traced me through phone records? I used my cell phone at your house. There are phone calls between you and me. We have to think this through.”

  “Jack, you told me that you and your sister have safe cell phones. They were purchased by other people and no one knows the numbers.”

  “That’s true. Maybe they found me through the Internet. They could have traced me when I went online to check for e-mail.”

  “That’s paranoid. How would these guys have that kind of equipment? If that stuff even exists. I mean, maybe if you were in an Internet café and they could trace the connection…”

  “That’s it. I always went online from the coffee shop around the corner. That must be why they were searching through the neighborhood.”

  “Did you ever go online from my house? From my Internet connection?”

  Sommers thought for a minute and shook his head. “No.
Never. Not even on my phone.”

  “Then how would they know about me? We’ll be safe at my house. I’ll lock my doors.”

  “Lock your doors? Seriously? Whoever these people are, they’re killers, not burglars. They killed two people and now they know where I am.”

  “I don’t think they do. They were canvassing the neighborhood. They don’t know anything about Eugene Wilson. They were asking about a guy named Summerfield. They don’t know about me, or where I live. You didn’t make contact from my house. You’re a needle in a haystack. There’s a million people out here.”

  “Maybe. But I sure can’t go back to the Coral Reef. I’ll have to stay somewhere else.”

  “You can stay at my house. Lay low for a while until they leave the island.”

  “Thanks for the offer, but I’m going to find another place to stay for a while. It might be best if we didn’t see each other.”

  “I’m not afraid. They have no idea who I am.”

  He started the car. “We need to think this through.”

  FORTY-SEVEN

  LIAM ENTERED ABU HAMMAD’S antiquities store before noon. As before, there were no customers. “Jamal?” he called.

  The old man shuffled out from the back room. “As-salaam alaikum.”

  “And peace be upon you.”

  Abu Hammad smiled, nodded, turned, and retreated to his back room without an additional word. Liam followed and stood patiently by the wooden chair while Abu Hammad brewed his tea. When both were seated, Abu Hammad spoke. “Of course, I do not know everyone in Hebron, but I believe if an arrangement for a ransom or a payoff was in place, certain people would know. Even so, in discussing this matter, one must be cautious. One may only broach the topic from a distance, like jackals circle their prey.” He shook his head. “But, so far I have learned nothing. People speak of the doctor’s love for the little child, not of an arrangement to pay money. They dismiss the notion that he would agree to sell her, even back to her father.”

  “Thank you, Jamal. I am grateful for your efforts. I suppose the next question is, would he consider return of the child if he were offered a great deal of money? Perhaps many millions? I could arrange it.”

  Abu Hammad leaned back and with his weathered fingers stroked the whiskers in his goatee. He took a long, wheezy breath through his nose and wagged his index finger up and down. “You know, Liam, for many, many years, Hebron was just a simple town, a market place for bedouins. There they could come and buy water bags, wine, cloth, shoes—provisions they would need. There they could sell their sheep and goats, or the milk and cheese they made. In many ways, Hebron is still a simple town. But Arif, he is different. He stands in his walled palace and looks down upon the peasants in the town. He is wealthy beyond the imagination of most Hebronites. Many millions would make a difference to almost everyone in this poor town. And surely in other towns as well.” He shrugged his shoulders. “But maybe not to Arif.”

  “One never knows though, eh, Jamal? Who knows how he spends his money? Let me ask a more difficult question. How would I get word to Dr. al-Zahani that I would be interested in proposing such an arrangement? I’m sure there would be a generous payment to you as well.”

  “I want nothing from such commerce. Were it not for the little one, I would send you on your way. But I am troubled for Sophie. Myself, I have been the target of Arif’s anger. I have seen the demon in him. And a man such as Arif could surely fill a child with hate.”

  “I’m sorry if I offended you, Jamal.” Liam rose and reached into his back pocket. He handed Abu Hammad a business card. “I meant no harm in offering to pay you for your help. I’m only trying to reunite a daughter with her father. Here is my contact information. If you learn something you think I should know, I’d appreciate a call.”

  “I took no offense. I will help if I can because it is right, not because I seek to profit. You should know, there are many good, honest people on this side of the barrier, people who seek only the right to live in peace.”

  Liam nodded. “I am honored to know such a man.”

  FORTY-EIGHT

  FAKHIR LED YOUNG DANI into the apartment’s front room, where the Sons of Canaan were seated in a circle. One by one, the members of the group welcomed the sixteen-year-old and offered him tea and date-filled cakes. Dani was confused and scared.

  “Sit please, Dani,” Fa’iz said, pointing to an empty chair. “Join us.” The old man’s whiskered face wrinkled with a beneficent smile.

  Dani nodded tentatively and took the empty seat beside al-Zahani, who patted him on the shoulder.

  Fa’iz continued, “You probably wonder why you have been brought upstairs, when you usually guard the door for us, no?”

  The boy nodded.

  “Dani, we would like to invite you to have a very important role in our project.”

  “Very important,” echoed Nizar.

  “What do you know about jihad, Dani?”

  The boy shrugged. “It’s our continuing struggle in the cause of Allah.”

  Fa’iz smiled broadly and nodded. “And we understand our struggle to be for the cause of truth, don’t we? A true jihadist is a warrior whose whole purpose is to establish the truth. You understand that, don’t you, Dani?”

  He nodded reflexively, unsure where all this was leading.

  Fa’iz leaned back in his chair and folded his hands on his stomach. His ample beard covered his chest. “That is good. Do you know the meaning of shahid, son?”

  Dani shook his head slowly.

  Fa’iz spoke gently. “A shahid is one who sees the truth and witnesses it. He dedicates himself to the truth and is prepared to fight and give up his life for the cause of truth. That is why a shahada, a martyrdom, guarantees that a shahid shall know paradise and be exonerated from the torments of the grave.”

  “And let’s not forget seventy-two dark-eyed virgins,” added Nizar with a sly smile.

  “Is that actually true?” Dani said, finally grasping the meaning of his presence.

  Fa’iz nodded. “It is written. The shahid will be wed to the houri and will not know the torments of the grave.”

  Dani looked around the room. All eyes were focused on him, and all were smiling paternally.

  “The concept of shahada is very similar to the concept of prophethood,” continued Fa’iz. “Both martyrs and prophets are paradigms. They are examples. They are models for us all. Do you follow me, Dani?”

  “I’m not sure. I … I don’t think so.”

  “Shahids are the leaders who spearhead our struggle. They embody truth. Martyrs are elite models of the Divine Message. They ensure the success in our struggle for the cause of Allah. Dani, you can become such a mujahid.”

  “You want me to blow myself up?” the boy said in a shaky voice.

  “No, Dani.”

  “Whew,” he said with a smile. “I thought…”

  Fa’iz raised his finger. “We want you to join us in our holy struggle. Are you with us?”

  “Sure,” Dani said slowly.

  “We have developed a weapon, a very potent weapon. Much more devastating than a bomb. But it needs to be tested.”

  Dani swallowed hard. “You want me to test this weapon?”

  Fa’iz nodded deeply with a smile. “We will honor you with that opportunity.”

  “Is it dangerous?”

  “Very. It will take the courage of a true martyr. That is why we look to you, Dani.”

  “Would I have to die?”

  Everyone looked to al-Zahani, who nodded. “I’m afraid so. It’s irreversible.”

  Dani moved around uncomfortably on his chair. “I don’t know. I have a lot of things I have to do. My mom needs me. I—”

  “Your family will be well taken care of,” Fa’iz said warmly. “They will be given a home and a place of honor in Hebron. Your sisters will have money to attend school. Your memory will be cherished by all.”

  “And you will be given paradise,” added Nizar.

  �
�C-can I think about this?”

  “Of course,” Fa’iz said. “Think about it, but tell no one. Can we count on you to be silent?”

  Dani nodded.

  “Not even your mother,” Fakhir said. “Our holy struggle depends on secrecy.”

  “And if I don’t want to do this?”

  Fa’iz spread his hands. “Then you can go back to watching the door like before.”

  The group stood. Nizar came up to Dani and put his hands on his shoulders. “Be a hero to our people. Your family will be honored forever. And you, Dani, well, seventy-two virgins is not so bad, eh?”

  “Come back tomorrow, Dani,” said Fa’iz. “Let us know your decision.”

  Dani turned to leave the room, but Nizar put his arm around him. “Let us all join hands.”

  The group stood in a circle, hand in hand, Dani between Nizar and Fa’iz, and chanted, “From the river to the sea. From the Golan to the Gulf. We will take Jerusalem brick by brick, stone by stone, until the land is once more ours.”

  “You are one of us, Dani,” said Rami, and the boy beamed with pride. They patted his back as he left the room, albeit a little unsteady on his feet.

  “Will he betray us?” asked Rami.

  “I have no doubt he will discuss this all with his mother. We will have to dispose of her, no matter what his decision,” Fa’iz said, retaking his seat. He then turned to al-Zahani. “Be prepared to run the test tomorrow when he returns.”

  “I am already prepared, but what if he decides not to volunteer?”

  Fa’iz shook his head. “We will run the test with him regardless.”

  Everyone nodded. As they stood to leave, Rami said, “I have one more piece of good news. As you know, Ghanim applied for a job in the pharmacy department of Haifa’s B’nai Zion Hospital. Well, yesterday his application was approved and he will start in June.”

  Fa’iz smiled. “Allah shines on us today. We will hit Tel Aviv and Haifa in July. Arif, you must step up production. Day and night.”