* * *
CATHERINE TOSSED AND TURNED, waking Liam every few minutes.
“Can’t sleep?”
“It’s the time zone. I’m wide-awake and it’s only three A.M. And there’s quite a bit on my mind. I think I need to go for a walk.”
Liam rubbed his eyes. “All right, I’ll go with you.”
“You don’t have to.”
“It’s okay.” Liam climbed out of the bed and put on his bathing suit. “Come on, we’ll take a walk on the beach.”
The grounds of the Moana Surfrider were still and quiet. Oil torches lit the path to the beachfront, where the full moon laid an undulating path of yellow paint on the surface of the sea. Liam and Catherine walked barefoot onto the cool sand and then ankle deep into the surf. Hand in hand, they sloshed along, making their way south in the direction of Diamond Head.
Catherine squeezed Liam’s hand. “I know you wanted to talk to me at dinner. Is this a good time?”
“I do want to talk, but … but not right now. I’d like to wait a little bit.”
Catherine, an obvious look of disappointment on her face, stood still. “That’s why I came out here.”
Liam put his hands on her shoulders and looked into her eyes. “I know. But it’s just … I want it to be perfect, and I need to do something first. Look, can I promise you, the tide will not go out without us? You can depend on it. I have my reasons. Let me do this my way. Okay?”
She nodded and took his hand, and they continued their slosh through the surf.
“We do make a good couple, you know,” Liam said.
Catherine nodded. “I know.”
They eventually came upon a secluded, little alcove on the beach beneath a palm. Liam spread his T-shirt like a blanket, and there, on a warm Hawaiian night, they lay on the soft sand watching the moon make sparkles on the water.
* * *
KAYLA RETURNED TO THE hotel the next morning. She found Catherine and Liam at the breakfast buffet. “I need to borrow your boyfriend for a few minutes,” she said to Catherine.
“There are lots of reasons that I should not like you,” Catherine said. “Including the fact that you are sending him into a war zone. Please take care of him. He’s got this goofy macho mentality that makes him do things he shouldn’t do.”
“I understand. He’ll be well protected.”
“Did you talk to Harry?” Liam asked Kayla as the two of them walked along the beach path behind the Moana Surfrider.
“We’re all set.”
“That’s a little too general for me. How are we all set?”
“We’ll have proper support, outside and in.”
“The CIA’s going to fully support this operation?”
Kayla stopped and turned to face him. “Not the CIA. The support will come from in-country assets. I’m not CIA, Liam.”
“So, we’ve finally decided to be honest? Who the fuck are you?”
“Nice talk. I’m Shabak. Israel Security Agency. Arab Affairs Department. Counterterrorism. We’ll get our support for this mission from the Israeli intelligence community. You can be assured of adequate manpower and matériel.”
“And Harry? Is he Shabak?”
She shook her head. “No. Harry is CIA, but in a liaison role.”
They walked a bit farther in silence, then Kayla said quietly, “I never meant to deceive you, you knew I wasn’t just a resource analyst.”
“That’s not the same as being honest.”
Liam’s phone buzzed. He took it out of his pocket, read the text message, and showed it to Kayla: Arif agrees to your terms. He will see you in three days at his home. April 12 at noon.
“Good work, Liam. You got us in. We’ll leave tomorrow.”
* * *
MIDAFTERNOON AND KAYLA AND Liam entered Sommers’s hospital room to find the bed empty. The station nurse informed them that he and his young lady were taking a walk. They found him sitting in a wheelchair in the hallway just around the corner. His IV was still in place and attached to the hook on the wheelchair. Jack was out of breath.
“We didn’t get very far,” Marcy said.
“Keep up the good work, Jack, you’re looking very good,” Kayla said chipperly.
“You need to get your eyes checked,” he said.
“How much have you done?”
He shook his head.
“More than he should,” answered Marcy. “He had a hard time getting from the bed to the chair, and it’s painful for him to sit. He had to have an injection of painkiller just to sit in the wheelchair. I’m pushing him because he doesn’t have the strength in his arms to wheel himself. But he’s got his mind set on going to Hebron. There’s no talking him out of it.”
“I won’t try,” Kayla said. “We want to leave tomorrow night.”
“Oh, come on, Kayla. What the hell? He’s not well enough to travel and you know it,” Marcy said. “The doctor told us next week at the earliest. You’re going to kill him.”
“I’m sorry, but next week is too late. The exchange is set for Friday. It’s all been arranged. We have a flight out tomorrow night.”
“Hold on, Kayla,” Liam said. “You can’t kill the man. If he’s not well enough, we’ll have to go without him. As long as we’re carrying the money, they won’t care who’s bringing it in. They think they’re going to kill the messenger anyway.”
“That’s encouraging,” Jack said. “Don’t you think there’s some possibility that Arif will go through with the exchange? That he’ll keep his word? That he’ll give us Sophie and we can leave?”
“No. None at all,” Kayla said. “But if she’s there, I intend to bring her back.”
“What do you mean ‘if she’s there’? Do you think he’d send her away or hide her?”
“In a heartbeat. But he’s been told that it has to be a straight-up exchange. She’ll need to be present for him to get the money.”
Sommers turned to Marcy. “I’ve got to go, Marcy. Sophie will need comforting, reassurance, and someone whose number one priority is her protection. This whole business can fly out of control, can’t it, Liam?”
He nodded. “Yes, I’m afraid it can. For everyone involved.”
“Then we’ll go tomorrow.”
SIXTY-EIGHT
DMITRI POURED A GENEROUS portion of twenty-five-year-old single-malt into a crystal tumbler with a single block of ice and settled into his soft leather couch in his multimedia room to watch the Elite Eight quarterfinal basketball game with his twelve-year-old son.
Dmitri put his arm around his boy and anxiously awaited the tip-off on his eighty-inch screen. “I think we’re in for a hell of a game tonight, Davit. Two teams ranked in the top five.”
“It’s only a shame that St. Joe’s didn’t get this far, isn’t it, Dad?”
“A shame indeed. But next year, Darius will return.”
Dmitri’s cell phone rang. He looked at the number and denied the call. It rang again. And again. Finally, he answered it. “Yes, Victor, how are you?”
“Shitty. Why won’t you take my calls?”
“Oh. Have you been trying to reach me?”
“Don’t fuck with me. I’ve called a hundred times.”
“You worry too much, my friend.”
“I want to come see you. We need to talk.”
“No, not tonight. I am watching a game with my son. We talk another time.”
“Dmitri, I’m already on my way. I’m in my car. You can break away from your game for a few minutes.”
“Ach. So then come.”
Fifteen minutes later, the doorbell rang and Dmitri’s shapely young wife showed Kelsen into the darkened multimedia room. Dmitri, in his white, cable-knit sweater with the sleeves pushed up, motioned Kelsen forward. “Come in.”
Kelsen walked slowly into the darkened room.
“Victor, welcome. Have a seat. We talk at the halftime. Inessa, bring Mr. Kelsen whatever he wants to drink.”
Kelsen sat in silence during the fi
rst half of the telecast. His breaths were short. He barely touched his glass of beer. Dmitri and Davit, on the other hand, were loud and animated in support of their team. Halftime finally arrived and Dmitri said, “Davit, Mr. Kelsen and I have a little business to discuss. Would you excuse us for a few minutes, please?”
“They know about our gambling,” Kelsen said when the boy had left the room.
“You’re upset because the woman lawyer knows we gamble? The NCAA tournament is the biggest gambling event of the year. Every business office has a bracket.”
Kelsen wagged his finger. “I’m not talking about a bracket, you asshole. She knows about you and me, and even Evgeniy. And she brought up Darius McCord.”
Dmitri turned around sharply, his gold chain necklace swinging to the side. “First of all, never call me an asshole. Are we understandable?”
Kelsen nodded. “Sorry.”
“Second, I told you it was foolish to injure Darius.” Dmitri took a sip of his Scotch. “I only wanted you to scare him. You were a madman.”
“But it was your guy, Evgeniy, who broke his leg, and she knows about Evgeniy. What’s next, Dmitri? Does she ask me about the money? Does she want to know who sent Sommers to Panama? I walked out before she could do that, you know.”
“She will know nothing unless you open your mouth. I have taken care, because I am a responsible man, of everyone who could put the finger on us. Evgeniy is back in Moscow. Harrington, Ellis, and now Sommers. All dead. Thank you very much.”
“Sommers is dead?”
Dmitri raised his eyebrows and nodded. He reached for his iPad, downloaded a page from the Honolulu daily paper, and handed it to Kelsen.
“Killed by a convict in jail?”
“Da. My convict. Which is now costing thousands of dollars for lawyers. But Sommers is dead and no one is left who can testify against us. No one alive but you, Victor. Ha ha ha.”
“Not funny, Dmitri.”
“Depends on the audience.”
“What do I do if she asks questions?”
“I thought you already gave your testimony.”
“I walked out. My lawyer was a stiff and I got scared. I’m going to have to go back for another session.”
Dmitri leaned toward Kelsen. “Well, don’t say anything. You don’t know anything. You can’t remember anything. Money was stolen from you and no one can prove otherwise.”
“I don’t know, she makes me real nervous. She knows stuff. It’s like she can look through me. Maybe you should take care of her.”
“You’re a fool. Even if I did, someone else would pick up the case. I can’t kill all the lawyers in this town. Maybe I should kill you.”
“I don’t appreciate your Russian humor.”
“Stop your anxiety. I want to hear no more of this. Everything is buttoned up. Nice and neat. Now go. The second half is starting.”
Kelsen stood. He shook Dmitri’s hand. “Okay, okay. Good job with Sommers, but I’m still worried. What if she asks me how I know Evgeniy? It’s not exactly a common name in Chicago. There ain’t that many Russians around here. She’ll connect you two together.” Kelsen paused. “I know, I know. Shut my mouth. I don’t know nothing.”
“Right.”
Kelsen turned to leave. “I hope you didn’t have Duke in this game. You’d’ve laid eight points.”
“Good-bye, my friend.”
When Kelsen left, Dmitri punched in a number on his cell phone. “Evgeniy. I need you to come back to Chicago. We have one more door to shut.”
SIXTY-NINE
MARCY PUSHED JACK’S WHEELCHAIR up to a table outside Lappert’s Ice Cream shop, in the main concourse of Honolulu International, beside Kayla and Catherine. Liam approached carrying a tray with an assortment of ice cream cones, set them on the table, and distributed them.
“I told you coconut macadamia-nut fudge,” Catherine said. “What is this?”
“White-chocolate macadamia nut.”
“How could you possibly confuse the two? They’re nothing alike.”
“Well, excuse me. You could’ve done the shopping.”
“I wouldn’t have made that mistake.”
“Here, take mine.”
“What is it?”
“Kauai Pie.”
“Kauai Pie? Seriously? What the hell is Kauai Pie?”
“You’re about to find out when you wipe it off your nose.”
“Stop,” Jack said. “You’re making my side hurt.”
“What time is your flight to Chicago?” Marcy said to Catherine.
“Five thirty.” Catherine looked at Liam. “I wish you were coming home. I’m getting neurotic about this mission.”
“He’ll be fine,” Kayla said. “We’ll take good care of him.”
“I’m not sure I like the way you phrased that.”
Kayla smiled. “There’s a planning meeting in Tel Aviv tomorrow. They’ll lay out the details of the rescue. They know what they’re doing. Jack, Marcy, Liam, and Sophie will all be home before you know it.”
“You promised you’d talk to the prosecutor,” Marcy said. “Jack’s risking his life.”
“I talked to him this morning. They’re reviewing it. There will definitely be an offer for his role in this operation. Unfortunately, I think a walk will be out of the question. Clemency? A possibility. Reduction in sentence? For sure. But a total drop of the charges—I don’t think there’s a chance. They’re mindful of Jack’s cooperation, but there’s still the matter of the eighty-eight million dollars. Even though Jack may not have personally kept the money, he was an active conspirator in a major financial theft. The court will have to respect the victim and the financial injury done to his company. Jack will have to spend some time in custody. How many years, well, that’s up to the judge. Nevertheless, the prosecutors will meet with Jack and his attorney when he gets back to Chicago.”
“Whether I get clemency or not,” Jack said, “I have to go. We have no chance of getting Sophie if I don’t show up. The disposition of my case is always secondary. Whatever happens to me, at least Sophie will be back in the U.S. and cared for by my family.”
“Jack might die and you can’t even promise him a deal.” Marcy’s voice cracked.
“I think we have to face facts,” Jack said. “I committed a serious crime. A prosecutor might recommend a lighter sentence, but I knew what I was doing. I helped a man steal a lot of money from Mr. Kelsen, and I’m not going to return home a free man. I don’t deserve to be a free man. That’s why I keep telling you it’s time to cut your losses.”
Catherine stood. “My flight’s boarding. I better go.” She threw her arms around Liam and held him like a vise. “Please come back to me, you crazy Irishman. We have to finish our talk.”
“I promise. Count on it.”
“Don’t you let anything happen to him,” Catherine said to Kayla.
SEVENTY
THE INSTITUTE FOR INTELLIGENCE and Special Operations, known as the Mossad, a Hebrew word for “institute,” has its principal office in a fortified campus, a block and a half from the sea in north Tel Aviv. In a second-floor conference room, midmorning sunlight beamed across a long, polished table where a laptop played a recorded conversation:
“Nizar is quick to call names, but here I agree with him. I’m in the middle of production. I can stop, but three hundred more victims, three hundred more wailing, mortified families begging Israel to concede the land and stop the occupation? That has great value. Twenty-three hundred dead enemies will certainly be regarded as the most glorious jihadist victory since the Twin Towers. And right in the heart of our enemy. Do not fear the discovery of my lab. I have wired it for destruction. If necessary, I can instantly firebomb the building and obliterate all remnants of our operation.”
“It appears that Kayla has been right all along,” Harry said to the group as the recording played on.
“And five Iyar is the date? Yom Ha’atzmaut?”
Harry nodded. “Makes sense, doesn�
�t it?”
The rest of the group grunted their approval.
“What have we overheard since then?”
“Nothing. Bakery noises. Apparently there have been no further meetings at the Breadstone Bakery. That was the last recording of the group.”
“So, what stops us from going into this maniacal doctor’s factory and grabbing what he’s got?” remarked Eliezer, an older man in an open-collar, white shirt, curls of gray hair poking out from beneath his woven kippah.
“You heard the tape. He’ll blow the building if there’s an assault. Besides, two thousand devices have already been delivered to an unspecified warehouse in Jerusalem. They’re not at the factory anymore.”
“All the more reason to strike immediately. Let him blow the building and all the terrorists with it. Who gives a shit?”
“And where are the two thousand bags? And what’s in them?” Harry said. “Kayla feels that if she can enter the compound and distract the doctor, allowing us to quickly gain access to the outbuilding, we’ll find out the details of the plot—the nature of the devices, when and where the attack will occur. She thinks a precipitous strike would prompt the group to destroy the factory and all evidence of the operation, or worse, move up the attack.”
“This group, these are the so-called Sons of Canaan?” Eliezer said.
“Right.”
“We should not wait,” said a woman in an IDF colonel’s uniform. “We should go in tonight. The devices may be in a warehouse, but it’s possible the logistics are not yet in place. We gain an advantage in scrambling their plan.”
Around the table were grunts of approval and nodding heads. “Good point, Yonit.”
Harry interrupted, “Getting Kayla inside is our best chance of learning what we need to know to stop the attack. She and Sommers are due in a few hours. Why don’t we give her the benefit of the doubt? We owe her that courtesy. It’s her op. A few hours won’t make any difference. The entire operation is scripted. Give her an audience.”
“Agreed,” Eliezer said. “That’s only fair. We’ll reconvene at three P.M. and listen to her.”
* * *
DMITRI LOOKED AT THE caller ID on his cell phone and uttered a Russian expletive.
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