Saving Sophie: A Novel (10 page)

“What about the father?”

“Her father was distant to her, but not
imperious
. Again, Sharon’s words. He spoke to her from a distance. He’d look at her and shake his head in disapproval. He never asked about Jack or Sophie. Any conversations between the two of them focused on Alina’s mother and the care she needed. But Alina told Sharon that toward the end of the visit she thought his demeanor was softening. Right before she left, Alina saw a framed picture of Sophie sitting on the mantel. She looked at her father, right into his eyes, and he acknowledged her. He nodded with a little bit of a smile. Alina thought that was a big break in the ice.”

“So then Alina returned home to Jack?”

Liam nodded. “But she was not well. Sharon told me that, when Alina returned, she looked a little thin and sickly, which was unusual for Alina. She was a healthy woman, very fit. Sharon figured Alina was exhausted, but that wasn’t it. Apparently, she had picked up something on her trip. In her weakened condition, she began to run a fever and she couldn’t shake it. One afternoon, Sharon called Jack at the office and told him to come home. ‘Alina needs to see a doctor right away,’ Sharon said. ‘She can’t hold her food down.’

“Jack took her to Northwestern Memorial, where she was admitted and seen by a team of specialists. They pumped her full of antibiotics and fluids and sent vials of her blood to infectious-disease centers, but the disease was very aggressive. Despite their care, she just wasn’t getting any better. Jack practically moved into the hospital. Sophie stayed with Sharon.

“The doctors tried everything, but Sharon said it was like trying to hold a handful of water. No matter what they did, she just kept slipping through their fingers. Too much damage had been done. Then she started bleeding internally. Five weeks after she returned home, Alina died.

“Jack was overwhelmed with the suddenness of the loss. In a moment, his life had changed. Nevertheless, he and Sophie did their best to carry on. They were great for each other. At Sharon’s urging, Jack and Sophie attended some therapy sessions. That helped somewhat. Then he went back to work and Sophie went back to preschool, and that helped as well. By Christmas, Jack was on his feet. It seemed like he and Sophie were standing on a stable platform. And then the second wave hit him.”

Catherine sat mesmerized. “What second wave?”

“Alina’s parents came to Chicago and hired Fenton and Gibbs.”

“The divorce firm?”

“Right. They sued for guardianship, claiming that Jack was unfit, that Sophie’s life was in danger, and that the best interests of Sophie would be served by a change of custody to the grandparents.”

“Was that true? Was Sophie’s life endangered?”

“Not according to Sharon. She says Jack and Sophie were as close as any father-daughter she’d ever known. They went everywhere together. Sophie was very well adjusted and doing well in school.”

Catherine gestured for the waiter to bring another cup of coffee.

“Cat, I paid the bill,” said Liam. “Don’t you want to go home?”

“Not until you’ve finished. What about Jack’s parents? Were they still alive?”

“No. But Jack was not about to give up custody of Sophie to anyone. He hired Harold Fine.”

Catherine nodded. “Good hire.”

“The case lasted for months and was a nightmare of a legal battle, but in the end, Jack won. The grandparents’s petition for guardianship was denied, and Jack retained sole custody of Sophie. The judge gave Alina’s parents limited weekend visitation within the Chicago city limits. And that ended up being the problem. One weekend they came, took the child, and never returned.

“Jack called their hotel and was told they had checked out. He called the police, the FBI, there was an Amber Alert.” Liam shook his head and shrugged his shoulders. “Gone.”

Catherine leaned forward. “Did anybody find out what happened?”

“Nope. Speculation only. I think it’s a safe bet they’re back in the Middle East.”

“Can’t the State Department get her back?”

“Not from where they are. I know there’s some law on international child abduction, but I doubt that the Palestinian Authority is a signatory. You would know better than I. Jack made several inquiries through diplomatic channels with no success. Anyway, all of this happened a couple months ago. Then this Kelsen deal came up, and now both Jack and the eighty-eight million dollars are gone.”

“And you don’t think Jack’s in Brazil?”

“Could be, but it doesn’t make a lot of sense. Jack wants his daughter. He needs to mount a plan to get her back. How does he do that from exile in Brazil? By himself? I don’t know, it doesn’t fit the story.”

“What fits the story?”

Liam raised a finger. “The Taggart hypothesis? Brazil’s a clever diversion. I think he wants us to believe he’s in Brazil, but he’s really somewhere else. He’s got the money and he’s planning to use it to finance Sophie’s rescue.”

“If he’s not in Brazil, then where is he?”

“I don’t have a clue. Someplace where he can hide out and raise Sophie. Maybe he’s still in Chicago.”

Catherine stood. “What’s the next step?”

Liam helped her with her coat. “Keep asking questions, keep poking around. Something will come up. It always does.”

S
IXTEEN

S
OPHIE SAT AT HER
desk and stared out the window of her bedroom. Her chin was cradled in her palm. The outbuilding to the side of the house was going through its shift change. Three times a day, workers would come and go from the building. Sophie wondered what was in the building. Why was there so much activity? But Jaddi would not let her go there. “You are forbidden,” he told her sternly.

She ambled over to her closet. It was full of strange new clothes that Jadda had hung there. She didn’t like them. She wanted to wear the clothes that she and her mother had picked out together. Colorful, fun clothes. It was warm most days in Hebron, but there were no short sets, no T-shirts, no pink Nikes. There were white blouses with sleeves that buttoned at the wrist, which she had to wear with ankle-length skirts. And long dresses from the neck to the shin. And the long, heavy coats that Jadda called jilbabs. Those were the uniforms for madrassa. She didn’t belong in those clothes. She didn’t belong in this bedroom. She belonged in her own house. Why couldn’t she go there?

“Come here, my little one. Come,” al-Zahani called from the other room. He sat in his large wingback chair and patted his lap. “Come sit and have a cup of chocolate.”

Sophie, her head lowered slightly, walked to her grandfather and stood beside him. He reached down and lifted her onto his lap. “And how was school today?”

Sophie slowly shook her head from side to side.

“I am told that one of the little girls, Jamila, has invited you to play at her home tomorrow. Yes?”

Sophie nodded. “We’re going to paint pictures.”

“That is good. You will have many friends here in Hebron. I promise you.” Al-Zahani turned to his side table, lifted his silver-filigreed pitcher, and poured warm chocolate into a demitasse cup. He offered it to Sophie, who took it with both hands.

“Thank you, Jaddi,” she said softly.

“You know, my precious one, we have many friends in our city. We are a proud family here. We are known here for many, many years. I can trace my ancestors, my great-great-great-grandfathers, all the way back to the land of Canaan. Do you know of Canaan?”

Sophie raised her eyes from her cup. She shook her head.

“I will tell you, because they are your great-great-great-grandfathers as well.” Al-Zahani smiled and kissed her on the forehead. “Many, many years ago, thousands of years ago, our ancestors lived peacefully in the valleys of Canaan in the middle of Palestine. In this very area, here in the mountains of Hebron, lived the people known as Hittites. They were descended from Heth, the second son of Canaan. And you know what? So am I, and so are you. We are also descendants of the great warrior Heth. And do you know how I know this?”

With wide-eyed curiosity, Sophie shook her head.

“Because when I was just a small boy, no older than you, my blessed grandfather Ibrahim sat me on his lap with a cup of chocolate, the same as you and I are today, and told me of the glories of our ancestors. We are proud Canaanites, Sophie. Do not ever forget that. Once there were seven nations of Canaan. And they all dwelt peacefully in these lands. Until”—he stopped and pointed his finger—“until the Israelites were sent to wipe them out.”

“Who sent them?” Sophie said.

“Ah, child, it’s all in the Bible. No doubt you are too young to have studied the Bible, but it is in the book of Deuteronomy, chapter seven. The Israelites are commanded to smite all the people in the seven tribes of Canaan. They say that God commanded them and said to them, ‘Thou shall have no pity upon them.’ But, I ask you, what good and loving God would command such a thing?”

Sophie shrugged.

“It was at that time that one of the spies of Moses … do you know of Moses?” Sophie nodded. “Oh, of course, your father must have told you the Jewish stories of Moses. Well, Moses sent one of his spies, Joshua, to explore the lands of Canaan. After Moses died, Joshua became the leader of a massive army, and with thousands and thousands of Israelites, he invaded the lands of the Jordan Valley to settle his people. The peaceful people of Ammon were not fighters. They did not have the weapons of Joshua’s army. But they were proud and told Joshua he could not have their land. They tried to defend their homes, but Joshua conquered them and showed no mercy.

“After conquering Ammon and leaving no person alive, Joshua and his people did not even settle there. No, they went north to conquer more of Canaan. Again, my precious, the peaceful people of Canaan had attacked no one. They threatened no one. They only wished to be left alone to live on their land. But the Israelites and their ruthless armies marched north to fight against them.”

“Why, Jaddi? Why did the Israelites want to fight?”

“They say in their Bible that God commanded them, but in truth, that is their way. They are conquerors and occupiers of other people’s houses and lands. Even today. Just the same. Did you ever hear the simple song ‘Joshua Fit the Battle of Jericho’?”

Sophie’s eyes brightened. “‘And the walls came tumbling down.’”

“Just so. Only, the song is a fable. We are not told the real story. Do you want to know?”

Sophie nodded.

“Jericho, the oldest city in the world, was a peaceful little village in Canaan. It was small, but it had a large wall around the city to protect the people. Jericho didn’t have very many soldiers. Only about five hundred. Joshua had a huge army of eight thousand Israelites, some on horses, some on foot, but all with weapons. There were four times as many men in Joshua’s army as there were all the people in the town of Jericho. But the people had built a wall, six feet thick and twenty-six feet high, so they felt safe.”

“Like the wall around your house, Jaddi?”

Al-Zahani laughed. “Maybe. Only a little bigger than mine, no?”

“How did the walls come tumbling down?”

“That is only a fairy story. The truth is that Joshua and his army encircled the city and for six days marched around making terrible noise and blowing loud horns. Then a woman named Rahab, a very evil woman who thought only of herself, made a secret deal with Joshua. In exchange for her safety, she snuck Joshua’s soldiers into the town and they opened the gates for the army. What happened next is too terrible to tell. The Canaanites who lived in Jericho were brave and honorable, but no match for such a large army. After Joshua finished fighting them, he set the whole town on fire. Then he marched on to fight other towns in Canaan.”

“And our family comes from Canaan, Jaddi?”

Al-Zahani nodded. “For thousands of years. Even though their lands were taken and they were left to wander without a home, they struggled against their oppressors and resisted the unlawful occupation then, as we do now.”

“Did you ever have to leave your home?”

“Yes, I did. My whole family, my friends, and everyone I knew had to flee from the bombs. I was just about your age. We lived in Haifa, by the ocean.”

“Did you have a home like mine?”

“Well, I’ve never been inside your home, but I think they were probably very much alike. I had my own bedroom.”

“Why did you leave your home?”

“Because a war was about to start. Because far, far away from us, in New York City, a group of other countries decided to split up the land of Palestine and take our part away from us and give it to the Jews for a new country called Israel. So that we could keep our family safe from the war, we had to flee from our home. And we could never come back.”

“That’s not fair.”

“You are right, little one, it is not fair.”

Al-Zahani lifted Sophie from his lap and kissed her on the forehead. “And now it is time for bed.”

S
EVENTEEN

L
ARGE SNOWFLAKES, ILLUMINATED BY
the headlights of Kelsen’s black Bentley, gave the illusion of space travel as it motored through the streets of a quiet subdivision north of Chicago. The Bentley turned into a driveway at the end of a cul-de-sac and flashed its high beams against the side of the house. A figure soon emerged, dressed in a black, hooded parka. He sloshed through the snow to the back of the Bentley and a window was lowered.

The man leaned in. He spoke with a Russian accent. “Is it all arranged?”

“Yes,” Kelsen said.

“You are sure? Dmitri will be playing large. This must be assured. Nothing can go wrong.” The man wagged his finger side to side.

“Nothing is assured, Evgeniy. It’s a basketball game. Things can go wrong. Tell Dmitri to lay off if he’s worried.”

“Dmitri want to know, are you in?”

“Big-time.”

“Okay. Okay. Then I give you this. You better be right.” Evgeniy passed an envelope through the window.

Kelsen held the envelope by the window. “Don’t give me any of that ‘better be right’ crap. I did what I had to do. Either he wants this money played or he doesn’t.”