Liam grabbed Kayla by the shoulders. “Your neck. That’s a bad cut. Did he inject that crap into you?”
“No. Maybe. Maybe a little. Doesn’t matter. I’m fine. We have to go the outbuilding. We have to find out what he meant by ‘the damage is done.’”
Liam grabbed a cotton doily from the table and held it tight against her wound. “I don’t like this cut. Keep the pressure on,” he said.
They dashed out the door to where Yonit stood in the yard. She was holding an IV bag, embossed with the logo of Sexton International. “This is what they were making. The woman over there told us that two thousand of these bags, all with the Sexton logo, have been shipped out.”
“IV bags!” Kayla said. “They plan to infect patients intravenously. That’s what’s in the Jerusalem warehouse. Send the word out to every hospital and clinic in Israel. Tell them not to use Sexton IV sets. Tell them to make immediate arrangements to obtain sets from alternative sources. Do not use Sexton.” Yonit dispatched her lieutenant to make the call.
In the library, Jack sat on the floor, his back against the wall, Sophie on his lap. Sophie’s face was buried in Jack’s chest as he wrapped his arms tightly around her. She shook and cried. Jack smoothed her hair, kissed her on the forehead, and rocked from side to side, their tears commingling.
“I’m so sorry, Sophie,” he said between kisses. “I tried so hard to get to you. I’m so sorry I failed you, sweetheart.”
“I just want to go home.”
Jack nodded and carefully got to his feet. Sophie looked back at her grandmother, sitting on the couch, her face in her hands. “I have to say goodbye to Jadda.”
Jack walked her over to Lubannah. “Oh, my child, I’m so sad all this has happened,” Lubannah said as she embraced Sophie. “Jaddi was very troubled. He didn’t know what he was doing. The jihadists made him think like that. But he did love you very much. He told me so. Now it’s time you go home and be happy with your father.”
Jack turned to al-Zahani, prostrate and lifeless on the floor. He walked slowly to where al-Zahani lay and stared at the body. A line from Julius Caesar played out in his mind and he repeated it aloud: “‘When could they say till now, that talked of Rome, that her wide walls encompassed but one man?’ And like Caesar, Arif, your ambition devoured you. ‘Ambition’s debt is paid.’”
Jack reached down and lifted his daughter. “Oh, my little butterfly, I missed you so much.”
She looked at her grandfather. “He was going to hurt me.”
“No, I don’t think he was. Your grandmother was right. He was very troubled, but he loved you very much and he would not have hurt you.”
“Jaddi told me you had gone away without me. But I knew he was lying. I knew you’d never leave me.”
Bashir quietly approached the two, bowed, and held out the little stuffed bear. “Here is your Sweetness.” He kissed Sophie on the top of her head. “Good-bye, my little joyous one, so pure of heart. May Allah favor you in all your life’s journeys.”
In the yard, Yusef and the other handcuffed prisoners were filing into the IDF vans. A perimeter had been established around the laboratory. Jack walked on unsteady legs from the house into the yard, Sophie beside him. He walked directly to Kayla. “The syringe is empty,” he said, holding it for her to see.
Kayla pawed at her neck. She looked at the blood-soaked cloth.
“Kayla, listen to me,” Jack said. “The doctors told me they would’ve had a better chance to save Alina if they’d caught the infection early. The problem was she waited too long to get treatment. You need to get to the hospital right away.”
“He’s right,” Liam said. “These soldiers will take you there.”
“I’ll be okay. I think it’s just a simple cut. He winged me. Most of the solution probably went on my clothes.”
“Well, we need to get you to the hospital right now, even if it’s just a cut. There’s a lot of blood,” Liam said.
Kayla shook her head. “This operation’s not done. I want Nizar Mohammed. I want Fakhir Ali, and most of all, I want that bastard Fa’iz Talib. Alive. My husband and sister demand their justice, and I won’t leave without finishing the job.”
Yonit flipped her car keys to Liam. “We’ll pick up Fakhir and Nizar,” she said. “You go get Fa’iz.”
Kayla looked at Liam. “C’mon, Irish, back me up.”
He nodded. “Okay. You’re the boss. Let’s go.”
“You might need this.” Yonit handed Liam a gun. “Sorry about the guns in the van. It looks like al-Zahani’s guards jammed the mechanism.”
“Didn’t you hear us?” Liam asked. “What happened to the cavalry?”
She smiled. “We were listening, but we were kind of busy. Besides, we had confidence in you. And then, when you told us to stand down, we figured you had it under control.”
A uniformed officer pushed the wheelchair over to Jack and Sophie. “May I give the two of you a ride back to Tel Aviv? It would be my honor, sir.”
SEVENTY-NINE
LIAM SCREECHED TO A stop in front of Fa’iz’s home and banged on the door. A maidservant met them and immediately backtracked when she saw the gun in Liam’s hand.
“Where is Fa’iz?” Kayla said.
The maidservant slowly pointed to the right.
“Ask her how many more servants are inside,” Liam said.
“She says no others.”
They found Fa’iz lying on an overstuffed futon when they entered his room. He stroked his wiry beard. “As they say, money is the root of all evil. We should never have considered the ransom. So, you have come for me. I am informed of the disturbance at the home of Dr. al-Zahani.” In his right hand he held a fourteen-inch scimitar.
“Get up, you murdering asshole. Drop the knife and put your hands behind your back,” Liam said.
He shook his head. “You’re too late,” he said. “For many things. Too late to stop me from my shahada.” He pulled his tunic up and ran the scimitar along the inside of his leg, slicing his femoral artery. Blood instantly began to pool from beneath his gown and inch across the floor.
“I will die a martyr and I will know paradise,” he said thinly. “You come too late to stop our jihad, as well. The bags were delivered to hospitals all over Jerusalem and are now in use. Hundreds, maybe thousands, are already infected. I have declared to the world the triumphant news that the Sons of Canaan are to be given credit for their glorious deeds.”
“Look at my face,” Kayla snapped, taking the gun from Liam’s hand. “Because this is the last thing you will see before you die. A face that curses you. Curses you for Naomi, curses you for Brian, curses you for all the innocent people of this land who have their lives tarnished by shit like you. Carry this face into your eternal damnation. You’re not a martyr. Your legacy is shame. The likes of you will never stop the promise of peace. You’re not even a speed bump.”
“Let’s go,” Liam said, taking Kayla by the elbow. “This guy is history.”
Kayla took a step toward the door, stopped, turned, and pumped three rounds into Talib’s chest. “Now he is.”
Liam pointed to her neck. “You’re still bleeding. Pretty badly. We need to get you to the hospital.”
Backing the car away from the curb, he said, “How do I get to Tel Aviv?”
“This is Yonit’s car. We have to bring it back to her.”
“I’m taking you to the hospital.”
“I’ll be fine. I just need a few stitches.”
“How do we get to Tel Aviv?”
Kayla pointed the way out of town. Her eyes were losing their focus. She blinked several times. Her breathing was shallow. Liam headed west through the town and into the barren West Bank hills. They rode in silence for a while. He looked at Kayla, who seemed to be slipping in and out of consciousness.
“Kayla, talk to me.”
“I’m not feeling so hot, Liam.”
“Stay with me, damn it. Stay alert. I need you to guide me. We’ll be ther
e soon.”
“You know … he didn’t just wing me,” Kayla finally said with a catch in her throat. “He didn’t miss. I felt the hypodermic needle. I felt him push the plunger. I felt the liquid enter my neck. I knew what had happened and I knew there would be no reversing it.”
“Let’s not start the eulogies. When this is all over, I’m taking you for the best steak dinner in Israel. You’re going to be okay.”
“No, I’m not. I have that poison in me. Just like my sister.” She turned her face toward Liam. “I’m scared, Liam, it’s a horrible death. She suffered so badly.”
Liam looked straight ahead. “I said you’re going to be okay.” He slammed hard on the accelerator.
“But I’m not sorry. It was worth it. We did it, didn’t we? We stopped the attack and rid the world of the Sons of Canaan. We saved a lot of lives today, Liam.”
“You did, Kayla.”
She started to cry and hid her face in her hands. Liam pulled over onto the shoulder and put his arm around her. “Oh, Christ, look at that wound.” He took off his shirt, ripped it into strips, and tried to clean the cut and stop the bleeding. “What’s Yonit’s number?”
With a shaking hand, Kayla handed her phone to Liam.
“Kayla, listen to me. I’m going to get you to the hospital. We’ll be there soon. You heard Jack. The doctors told him they could have saved Alina if they got to her right away. They’re going to get to you right away. Stay with me now. Keep the pressure on that cloth.”
“It won’t matter. They tried to save Naomi. They tried everything. I’ve got those bugs in me now. I know they’re crawling though my veins. I saw my sister waste away. It was horrible.”
Liam pushed the numbers on the cell phone and then spoke to Yonit. “I’m on the highway to Tel Aviv, but Kayla’s in bad shape. We need help here. She needs a hospital and I don’t know where the hell I’m going.”
“Where are you?”
“Highway 35 heading west.”
“Keep on going and leave the phone on. We’ll come to you.”
Kayla slumped to the side. “Liam, I’m not feeling too good. I’m real dizzy.”
“You’re going to be okay. I promise.”
Kayla swallowed hard. “Will you stay with me, Liam? Till the end? I have no one else.”
“I’m right beside you, Kayla.” Liam wove in and out of traffic.
“Promise me, please, you won’t leave me until the end.”
“I won’t leave you, Kayla. I promise. I’ll be right by your side, but I’m telling you, you’re going to be all right.”
“I’m so glad to have met you, Liam. So glad.” And she closed her eyes.
“Kayla, don’t you die on me, goddamnit.” Liam gunned the BMW. In his rearview mirror he saw the flashing lights of an IDF paramedic van. He pulled to the side, and Kayla was transferred from the car to the ambulance. Liam followed, and the flashing lights and sirens took them north toward Tel Aviv.
* * *
FAKHIR WAS STANDING BEHIND the glass counter arranging sweet rolls when he saw two jeeps and a van pull up. “The IDF,” he mumbled. He grabbed the cash out of his register and darted for the back door. The sweat on his palm made it hard to turn the doorknob. He pushed it open and stopped suddenly.
“Going somewhere, Fakhir?” Yonit said.
“I’m going home.”
“I don’t think so. Not now. Not ever.”
“I have done nothing. The IDF has no right to stop me. This is H1 territory. Let me by.”
“Al-Zahani’s dead.”
“Unfortunate for al-Zahani, but it has nothing to do with me. I’m just a simple baker.”
“Not any longer.” Yonit cuffed him and walked him around to the street. “Who was in charge of delivering the bags?”
“I will tell you nothing. You’ll get no information from me.”
She pushed him forward to the paramedic van, where two guards roughly shoved him onto a gurney and strapped him down. A paramedic opened the cabinet and extracted a plastic tube, a clamp, and a needle.
“Tell me the name of the person who delivered the IVs,” Yonit said.
“What IVs? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Yonit smiled and held up a Sexton IV bag. She turned to the paramedic. “He looks dehydrated to me. I think he needs IV therapy.”
The paramedic took the bag from Yonit and set it on the hook. Fakhir tilted his head to watch in horror. Sweat poured off his forehead. Large wet circles grew in the armpits of his shirt. He struggled against the straps. The paramedic took the needle and catheter out of the kit and tapped the veins on Fakhir’s wrist.
“No, no, wait. Wait. I will tell you. Don’t do that, please. I have a wife and children.”
“Who delivered the IVs?”
“I think his name is Samuel, but I’m not sure of his address. Somewhere in East Jerusalem.”
“Not good enough.” She nodded to the paramedic, who swabbed Fakhir’s wrist with alcohol and inserted the needle into his vein.
“I want his address and I want to know how and where he made the deliveries.”
Fakhir’s eyes were fixed on the paramedic. He began to cry. “Oh, stop. Please don’t connect that bag. Please. Sami works for the Mediterranean company. Mediterranean Medical. That’s his job. He’s a delivery driver to Jerusalem hospitals. Please don’t give me that solution. It has a horrible disease in it. I don’t want to die. You can’t do this. It’s inhuman.”
“Where did he deliver the bags?”
“He took them to the hospitals on his route. The company will know which ones. I don’t know, on my mother’s grave, I don’t know.”
“When were the deliveries?”
“Yesterday, the day before.”
“I want the names and addresses of everyone involved in your godless plot. I want to know where they are right now.” She gave him a pen and paper. Fakhir was crying convulsively. His hand shook so badly, he could barely hold the pen.
* * *
THE CENTRAL INTERCOM OF Jerusalem Memorial broadcast an emergency message. All Sexton IVs were immediately to be taken out of use. Any patients receiving IV treatment with any Sexton product within the past two days were to be identified and contacted. In the moments after Mediterranean Medical Supply called each of the hospitals on Sami’s route, the Sexton IV bags were segregated. Substitute IV sets were rushed from other hospitals. Calls went out to alternative medical supply companies in several countries.
* * *
“OKAY, MR. KELSEN, WE’RE going on the record.” Assistant US Attorney Thomas Tryon sat opposite Victor Kelsen and his lawyer in the small government conference room. A ten-page statement lay on the table in front of Kelsen. A video camera was recording the event. “Please identify yourself.”
Kelsen nodded. “My name is Victor Wallace Kelsen.”
“The purpose of this meeting is to place your signed statement into the record, is that right, Mr. Kelsen?”
“Yeah, and to make a deal for a reduced sentence.”
“As we’ve explained to you, the Justice Department can only make recommendations to the court. The judge will determine your sentence after you plead guilty and your presentence investigation is finished.”
Kelsen looked at his lawyer. “But we’ve made a deal for twelve years, with a chance I could get out in ten, right, Marty?” The lawyer nodded.
“That will be our office’s recommendation,” Tryon said. “But as we’ve explained to you at least three times, there are no guarantees on your sentence. The judge can disregard the recommendation. Please affirm you understand that.”
“Yeah, yeah, I understand. No guarantees. And you’ll put me in some minimum-security prison under a false identity so that those fucking Russians won’t know where to find me. Right? I mean, that’s the deal.”
Tryon nodded and patted the statement. “Again, that will be our recommendation. You need to sign and identify your statement.”
“And my wife.
Can you put her in witness protection somewhere?”
“We’ll see.” Tryon tapped the paper. “Please read and sign your statement.”
Kelsen read the ten-page statement into the record.
“Have you fully and accurately supplied the information about Dmitri Borsinov and his involvement in the scheme to kidnap the Sommers child and embezzle the escrow money?”
Kelsen nodded. “It was all his idea.”
“But you willingly participated?”
Kelsen nodded. “Yeah. I shoulda never let him into the basketball payoffs. That was my big mistake. Wish I never met him or his goon Evgeniy.”
“Have you fully and accurately set forth the details of your sports bribery scheme?”
“Yeah, it’s all there. All eleven years.”
“Finally, you understand it is your obligation to testify in accordance with this statement at the trials of Borsinov, Karisov, and Porushkin. If you refuse to testify or testify falsely, this plea agreement will be voided and you will additionally be prosecuted for perjury. You understand all that?”
Kelsen nodded.
“Do you affirm that the statement you just read is true and correct?”
He nodded. “Yeah.”
“And made voluntarily with no threats or coercion.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah.”
“Sign your statement.”
Kelsen flipped to the last page and signed his name.
“Okay. This recording is completed. Take him away.”
* * *
TWO DAYS LATER, ON a blistering-hot afternoon, just east of Eilat, at the Yitzhak Rabin Border Crossing, several travelers stood patiently in line with their passports. One such man in traditional white desert garb—an ankle-length thobe and a full, white keffiyeh held in place by a golden, braided igal—anxiously awaited his turn to present his documents and enter Jordan.
A woman’s voice caught his attention from behind. “Hebron no longer suits you, Nizar?”
He spun around to see a woman and two men in IDF uniforms. Yonit beckoned him with her index finger. “This way, please.”
Saving Sophie: A Novel Page 40
