Saving Sophie: A Novel

by Ronald H. Balson

  Nizar bolted out of line and ran toward the sea. He was quickly apprehended but appeared to be choking. He collapsed and died in the arms of an IDF soldier.

  EIGHTY

  LIAM STARED AT HIS buzzing phone. The text message read, Please call me.

  “Hey, Cat, what’s up?” Liam said.

  “It’s been four days since the rescue and I just wanted to know when you’re coming home. I’m missing you.”

  “I miss you too.”

  “I’m not sleeping well since that incident with Kelsen. I wake up. I leave the light on. I need you to come home.”

  “I know. I’m sorry, but I can’t leave Israel just yet.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I made a promise.”

  “A promise? What does that mean? I thought the operation was finished. When are you coming home?” Liam heard the tension in her voice.

  “I’m not sure. I’m not sure when I can leave.”

  “What do you mean you’re not sure? What’s going on Liam?”

  “I made a promise.”

  “It’s Kayla, isn’t it? That’s why you can’t leave?”

  “Yes.”

  “Damn you, Liam!” The line went dead.

  He called her, he redialed her, but she wouldn’t pick up. Finally, he texted, I think Kayla’s dying.

  A few minutes later his phone rang. “I’m sorry,” Catherine said softly. “I thought…”

  “My fault, I should have explained. You remember, I told you that Kayla suffered a bad injury at the compound and al-Zahani managed to inject that poison into her. What I haven’t told you is that the doctors have been unable to stop the disease. Even though we took her straight to the hospital, it didn’t matter. They’d never seen anything like it, and they didn’t know how to treat it. Now they tell me they’re trying a new antibiotic, but so far she’s real sick. She can’t eat, she’s lost a lot of weight. Cat, she looks terrible.” He paused. “She doesn’t have any family, she doesn’t have anyone. I promised her I would stay.”

  “I’m so sorry, Liam. You should stay. Shame on me.”

  “Listen, Cat, I miss you a lot. There’s a United flight out of Newark at ten fifty tonight. What do you say?”

  “You want me to come to Israel? Just drop everything?”

  “Yes, I do. More than anything.”

  “I don’t know…”

  “Please?”

  Pause. “I’ll try. I have an appointment at the US Attorney’s Office later this morning. I’ll see what I can do.”

  * * *

  LIAM CHECKED THE ARRIVAL board for the hundredth time. Catherine’s flight was delayed yet again. Rain in Newark. Damn the rain. Does anyone ever get out of Newark on time? He sat at a table in the arrival hall, drinking his fourth cup of coffee, watching as passengers wheeled their luggage through the customs doors to meet their friends and family. He fidgeted. This was to be a big moment—he hoped.

  Finally, Catherine walked into the lobby. Liam smiled broadly, rushed up, and hugged her tightly, lifting her off the floor.

  “My goodness, Liam.”

  Liam looked around the busy hall, turning his head in every direction, surveying the crowded terminal in consternation.

  “Is something wrong? What are you looking for?”

  “Nothing.” He took her by the elbow and led her to an area near the coffee shop. He took a deep breath. “Excuse me,” he said nervously to a couple standing nearby, “I need a little room here.”

  The couple backed up. Liam dropped to his knee and held out the open jewelry box. “Oh my God,” Catherine said, “are you crazy?”

  “Cat, I’m sorry the setting isn’t more romantic, but I can’t chance another interruption.”

  “Oh my God.”

  The crowd of passengers began to form a circle. “I want to see this,” a woman said as she yanked at her husband’s sleeve and pulled him over to the front of the gathering.

  “Cat, there’s only you. All my life, there’s only you. It’s high tide, sweetheart. Will you marry me?”

  “Oh, yes, I will. You bet I will.” She wrapped her arms around him, and the welcome hall of Ben Gurion International Airport broke into cheers and applause.

  EIGHTY-ONE

  AS THE SUN RISES over the spires of Jerusalem’s Old City, a man in a black suit, the fringes of his white tallit showing beneath his jacket’s hem, like a slip beneath a skirt, walks through Jerusalem’s Jewish Quarter to say his morning prayers at the Kotel, the Western Wall. He walks spritely, proudly, with his two young sons. Hundreds of others are already praying there. No matter the time of day, prayers are offered to God at the wall of Herod’s Citadel. Above, on the Mountain of the House of God, is the Dome of the Rock and al-Aqsa Mosque. Beneath the Dome lies the Foundation Stone, the holiest site of the Jewish religion, upon which the Ark of the Covenant was placed in the First Temple.

  Directly to the west, in the Christian Quarter of the Old City, Catholic mass, served in Latin, is beginning in the Church of the Holy Sepulcher. The church stands directly upon the Hill of Calvary, where Jesus Christ was crucified, anointed, and laid to rest in the limestone cave donated by Joseph of Arimathea. The small aedicule in the center of the rotunda embraces the tomb. A line has already begun to form, and worshippers wait their turn to pray in the aedicule. The Church is Christendom’s most holy site, a place of pilgrimage, the site of the Resurrection.

  In the Muslim Quarter, a man passes through a guarded gate and walks up the ramp to the Haram al-Sharif, the Noble Sanctuary, on the Temple Mount. The Dome of the Rock, the golden shrine completed in the year 691 to cover the Foundation Stone and the place where David and Solomon had planned their temple, is open for him to enter and pray. Across the square is the silver-domed al-Aqsa Mosque, Islam’s third-holiest site, where the Prophet Mohammed was transported from Mecca during his Night Journey, and from where he ascended to heaven. From a small room inside the mosque, a man chants the adhan into a microphone and the Arabic call to prayer is heard throughout the Old City.

  Throughout the narrow walkways of the four quarters, shopkeepers begin to unlock their doors and unfold their awnings. They sweep the stone sidewalks and lay out displays of their colorful wares. Even old Abu Hammad will soon shuffle up to his door, open his antiquities store, and wait to have a cup of tea with a curious visitor. Jerusalem is waking up, coming alive. The streets will soon be filled with tourists, shoppers, worshippers, pilgrims. Another glorious day begins in this troubled land. Safe and secure from the threats of yesterday. On guard for today.

  Fifty-five kilometers to the west, on the sixth floor of Tel Aviv Medical Center, a group has gathered.

  “Another hospital room, another enclave,” Marcy says, pouring a glass of water into a tumbler. Jack sits by the foot of the hospital bed near Sophie, who is perched at a little desk with a coloring book, Sweetness on her lap. A McDonald’s hamburger and shake sit on the corner of the desk.

  “Thank you,” Kayla says, accepting the water with both hands. She lays propped up on her bed, hooked up to patient monitors, with antibiotics dripping into her veins.

  Suddenly the door opens and Catherine and Liam enter the room. Marcy smiles. “How was your flight?”

  “Long and tiring, but well worth it. Liam told me he’s not leaving until Kayla gets better, so here I am, Catherine the world traveler. I can’t leave my man alone with a gorgeous spy.”

  Kayla looks at Liam. “Did you do it?” she whispers.

  He nods. He blushes.

  “Let me see the ring,” Kayla says with a broad smile.

  Catherine holds out her hand. Kayla and Marcy examine the diamond closely and give their enthusiastic approvals.

  “Mazel tov,” Kayla says. “Tell me. Did he do it with pomp and circumstance?”

  “Oh, did he ever,” Catherine answers. “He got down on his knee in the middle of the airport. Everyone was watching.”

  “Way to go, Irish,” Kayla says with a wink.


  Catherine stares at the video monitors. “So, how’s our gorgeous spy doing?”

  “Not feeling so gorgeous right now. They’re working on me,” she says with a shrug. Her complexion has lost a shade or two. “They tell me it’s a real nasty bug, but they think this new antibiotic is doing the trick. I’ll have to stay here for a while until my blood work comes back clean, but they’re optimistic.”

  “You’re looking much better today,” Liam says.

  Kayla nods. “I’m feeling better. I think the medicine’s working. I even had some breakfast.”

  “You’re an amazing woman,” Catherine says. “You saved a lot of lives and rescued a very sweet little girl.”

  Kayla smiles and reaches out for Catherine’s hand. “Thanks, but I had a lot of help. Sadly, there were fatalities. The IDF didn’t recover all the bags in time. Some patients received the IV solution before the hospitals were alerted. News reports warning of possible infections were broadcast on every channel, in every paper, but some folks are remote and won’t hear. They probably won’t know to get treatment. Some are bedouins who have returned to their simple lives in the desert. They weren’t even targets of the terrorists.”

  “And the Sons of Canaan?”

  “Like Canaan, they are no more,” Kayla says. “Seven of them were taken alive and they will spend their lives in prison. Nizar Mohammed took his own life at the Jordanian border crossing. Ironically, he poisoned himself. Fakhir Ali gave Yonit all the details of the operation—everyone involved, every location. He even provided the address of the cold-storage warehouse, where we discovered the boxes of Sexton IVs that were switched out for the poison.

  “The IDF destroyed Al-Zahani’s laboratory and all vestiges of the deadly bacteria. Israel incinerated thousands of IV sets. In the hospital storage rooms, it was impossible to tell the originals from the fakes, so they had to destroy them all. Several nations shipped replacements. Now, tell us the news from Chicago. A little birdie told me you have good news.”

  “A little birdie from the State Department?” Catherine looks at Jack and then at Sophie, who smiles and continues coloring pictures on her papers, many of which have been taped to the walls of the hospital room. “Jack, I met with the U.S. Attorney right before I left Chicago. It was through your cooperation that a point-shaving ring was busted, murderers were arrested, embezzled money was recovered, and an international kidnapping was resolved. A major coup for the Chicago office.

  “Kelsen, Dmitri, and Evgeniy are all in custody thanks to you. Kelsen and Dmitri face a number of federal charges stemming from the embezzlement and sports bribery. Dmitri and Evgeniy are additionally charged with three counts of murder. Yuri Porushkin is charged with attempted murder and will await trial in Hawaii. The escrow money has been recovered and placed in a government account pending forfeiture proceedings. But most significantly, because of Kelsen’s involvement, there is no longer a victim of the embezzlement, nor any reason for a court to vindicate the interests of Kelsen Manufacturing. The lawsuit against Jenkins and Fairchild has been dropped. Walter is so happy, he paid for my airline ticket.

  “All of Kelsen’s and Dmitri’s assets were seized as fruits of a criminal enterprise. The government took their cars, their money, their homes, even Dmitri’s wife’s jewelry. Everything. Boy, is she pissed. If she could, she’d personally administer the death penalty.

  “And then the strangest thing—I don’t know how this happened.” Catherine winks at Kayla. “But the Israeli government has made a strong request through diplomatic channels. Jack is credited with helping to foil a major terrorist attack. I dare say, he’s an international hero. I understand the president himself wants to thank you, Jack. All in all, you will not be prosecuted.”

  Jack turns his head to blot a tear. “Sophie and I thank you all so much. You saved our lives.”

  “The gratitude is all ours,” Kayla says.

  “Are we going to our home in Chicago soon?” Sophie asks.

  “Maybe for a while,” Jack responds. “Would you like to go to Hawaii? Maybe even live there someday?” He glances at Marcy.

  Sophie’s eyes widen. “Is that where they do the hula-hula dance?”

  “You better believe it,” Marcy says.

  “Then I would.” Sophie smiles and says, “Can Jamila come and play at our house in Hawaii?”

  “Who is Jamila?” Jack asks.

  “She’s my very best friend in Hebron.”

  The room is silent for a moment.

  “The answer is yes, Sophie,” Liam interjects. “Definitely yes. I have come to believe, on good authority, that it will happen someday. Jamila will come to your house and you will go to hers. Not today, maybe not tomorrow, but someday, maybe when your generation is in charge. And you know why it will happen? Because there are more people like Kayla than there are bad people. And because, sooner or later, good people who deserve peace will stop listening to bad people.”

  Jack put his arm around Sophie. “He’s right. Good people like you and your mother, who have the courage to accept people and love them for who they are, no matter what they’re told by others. Racism will never win out. It’s flawed in every sense because love is much stronger than hate.”

  Kayla smiles proudly.

  “It seems you are surrounded by your disciples,” Liam says to her.

  “My last supper?” Kayla looks at her tray of Jell-O and fruit juice. “Not so fast, Irish. You’re not getting out of it so easy. I intend to collect on that steak dinner.”

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Although Saving Sophie is a work of fiction, I have endeavored to portray the surrounding settings and historical events as accurately as possible. The history of Israel and the Middle East, from the Ottoman Empire to the present, is complex and rich, and I have capsulized it in the briefest of manners and only insofar as is necessary to paint the background for the novel. To that end, I have been aided by my good friend, historian, and law partner, David Pogrund. Because of his guidance and the wealth of materials available, I am comfortable that the environment in which the characters play their roles is authentic.

  Of course, the al-Zahani family is entirely fictional and not based upon any particular person or family in Hebron or anywhere else. Similarly, the principal characters in the Israeli intelligence community are imaginary. However, the events concerning the Grand Mufti Haj Amin al-Husseini are accurate and may be confirmed through numerous sources, including available pictures of al-Husseini with Hitler, various Nazi officials, and reviewing his Bosnian troops.

  I have described Hebron and Kiryat Arba as I saw them. I am indebted to Don Rabinovitz, Yerachmiel Weiss, and their families for taking me into their homes and communities and imparting not only a historical foundation, but a feeling for the people who call this dangerous part of the world their home. They are kind, courageous, and generous.

  I am grateful to Michael Turkenich, a licensed Israeli guide and expert on Israel’s history and culture. Mike, a former IDF paratrooper, conveyed the religious and historical significance of numerous sites and made them come alive. He holds an advanced degree in Christian studies, and his perspective into the mix of Jewish, Muslim, and Christian influences was an invaluable contribution to the fabric of the story.

  I am indebted as well to my good friend Michael Jay Green, Hawaii’s finest trial lawyer, for introducing me to the Honolulu legal community, in which I was privileged on a few occasions to ply my trade as an attorney. Nevertheless, the judges and attorneys in Chicago and Hawaii, as portrayed in the book, are fictional and not based on actual persons.

  I am grateful to my editors, Jennifer Weis, Hilary Rubin Teeman, Stephen Boldt, and the staff at St. Martin’s Press for their assistance and wise guidance. I am also grateful to my agent and good friend, Maura Teitelbaum. Thanks, as well, to my close friend Rabbi Victor Weissberg, who took the time to review the manuscript and offer his always-cogent suggestions. Thanks to my readers for their suggestions, among them, Rabbi Sidney Hel
braun, Kathy Huck, Katie Lang Lawrence, Kathleen Smith, and Richard Templer. A big thank-you and hug to my son David, a fine editor in his own right, and my son Matt, who prepared the maps, and to each of them for their contributions to the raw manuscript.

  And as always, my deepest gratitude to my wife, Monica, for her continuing support and encouragement.

  A Reading Group Gold Selection

  SAVING SOPHIE

  by Ronald H. Balson

  About the Author

  • A Conversation with Ronald H. Balson

  Behind the Novel

  • A Selection of Photographs

  Keep on Reading

  • Recommended Reading

  • Reading Group Questions

  Also available as an audiobook from Macmillan Audio

  For more reading group suggestions visit www.readinggroupgold.com.

  ST. MARTIN’S GRIFFIN

  A Conversation with Ronald H. Balson

  Could you tell us a little bit about your background, and when you decided that you wanted to lead a literary life?

  I can’t say there was a date or a time or an event where I made a decision to lead a “literary life.” I just added writing books to my nonliterary life. Through the years, writing has always been a central focus for me: I was an editor of my high school and college newspapers. I’ve been a litigation attorney for over forty years and, of course, in that capacity I’ve written countless briefs, memoranda, appeals, and arguments. When you get right down to it, it’s all really storytelling. I always thought that writing a novel was on my horizon, but I never got around to it, or I never got my mind wrapped around a story that impelled me to get around to it. Finally, opportunity knocked hard nine years ago when my practice took me to Poland on a telecommunications case. Traveling around that country, encountering the remnants and scars of World War II, I was inspired to write a book about a family in wartime Poland, which ultimately became Once We Were Brothers. Getting back to “leading a literary life,” I concede it’s been a shift. I still practice law and go about my routines, except now I get to travel all around the country (world, even) and talk to people who want to engage me in discussions about my books. I confess: It’s fun.