Saving Sophie: A Novel (20 page)

“Who are the Palestinians? There are approximately 4.5 million people who call themselves Palestinians; 2.7 in the West Bank and 1.8 in Gaza. They are generally Arab, but not entirely. They are young, mostly under thirty-five, they are predominantly Muslim, more Sunni than Shia, and they are comparatively well educated.

“As I have mentioned to you, for the last ninety years, the al-Zahanis have been militants, extremists, and promoters of violence in the Middle East. They have always espoused the radical Arab causes, rejecting the right of Jews to live anywhere in the area and denying the existence of the State of Israel. Their violent struggle, their
état de guerre,
really begins during the British Mandatory period, so that is where we will start.”

Kayla tapped the keyboard, and a map of the Middle East under Ottoman rule appeared on the monitor. “The Ottoman Empire ruled the Middle East for four hundred years. With a few minor interruptions, the inhabitants—Muslims, Jews, Christians, pagans—all lived under the reign of the Ottoman Turks. Arif’s grandfather, Ibrahim al-Zahani, was born in 1892 in the city of Hebron, shown here on the map, which was then a part of the empire.

“By the time of the First World War in 1914, the Ottoman Empire was in decline, but still a global power. In August 1914, the empire declared jihad against Britain, France, and the Allies and entered the war on the side of Germany, Prussia, and the Central Powers.

“It was during the war, in anticipation of victory, that Britain and France began to discuss how to carve up the Middle East. In May 1916, there were secret meetings between British colonel Mark Sykes and French diplomat François Georges-Picot. The sole purpose of these meetings was to map out a division of the Ottoman Empire for Britain and France to share after the war was over.

“Sykes and Georges-Picot literally sat down, in secret, and drew lines on a map. We’ll give this part to England, this part to France. And, oh, yes, Asia Minor we’ll give to the Russians. They spelled out their agreement in a written letter dated May 9, 1916, to Sir Edward Grey, the British foreign secretary. It came to be known as the Sykes-Picot Agreement, and that became the blueprint for the next thirty years—the Mandatory Period.”

Kayla moved to the next slide. “This is what they drew.” The map depicted the Middle East and the lands apportioned for France, Britain, and Russia.

“France was given direct control over coastal Syria, Lebanon, and the area from Acre to the Sea of Galilee. East of that, in interior Syria, the French were given a mandate, that is to say, a governing power.

“Britain was to have direct control over Iraq and interior portions of Arabia. The British Mandate included the lands east and west of the Jordan River all the way into the Arabian Peninsula. It included what we know today as Israel and the West Bank territories. Jerusalem was the exception. The Holy City was to be under the international control of Britain, France, and Russia.

“In 1917, another concept began to gain momentum, that of setting aside a portion of the British Mandate for a Jewish homeland. Now, you might ask, why was Britain so prone to support this concept? Why declare it to be the official policy of Great Britain to favor a Jewish homeland in Palestine during the middle of the First World War?”

In the cramped quarters, Kayla turned to face Liam to listen to his answer. Her face was inches from his. He reacted to the awkward juxtaposition by unconsciously leaning back as Kayla spoke. “I’m sure you’ll tell me.”

“Are you uncomfortable? I can get us another office.”

“No.” He smiled. “We’re fine.”

“Okay. Why should Britain discuss devoting part of the land for a Jewish homeland? Several reasons. Partially, it was the war. Chaim Weizmann, a staunch Zionist, brought strategic military support, a process to synthesize acetone for cordite explosives, and Winston Churchill ordered thirty thousand tons of the stuff. Rothschild came to the table with Jewish financial support. America entered the war in 1917, and Americans supported Zionism. Then there was Russia, with its significant Jewish population. One British official noted that there was already ‘widespread sympathy with the idea of restoring the Hebrew people to their land.’”

“I assume that Britain’s intention was not so well received by Arab countries?” Liam said.

“True, generally speaking. Some opposed the declaration, some did not. But, what’s important to us at this point is the emergence of the al-Zahanis. Ibrahim al-Zahani became a radical opponent of Zionism and the return of Jews to their homeland. The moment the declaration was issued, Ibrahim found an ally and aligned himself with the Mufti Haj Mohammed Effendi Amin al-Husseini. Have you heard that name before?”

Liam shook his head.

“He would emerge as the region’s biggest troublemaker and a harbinger of what was to become years of violence. When the First World War ended, the Sykes-Picot Agreement was put into effect, and Britain, France, and Russia were given their mandates. The British, through Herbert Samuel, the high commissioner of Palestine, appointed al-Husseini as the grand mufti of Jerusalem, a puzzling choice because Amin was anti-British and had fought with the Ottomans against Britain in the war. Samuel, a Jew and a Zionist, believed that al-Husseini would bridge the divide between Arabs and Jews. He was dead wrong. Amin did just the opposite.

“Amin turned out to be anti-Mandate, anti-British, anti-Zionist, anti-Jewish, and anti any group that didn’t agree with him. He was a violent, intolerant man who incited murders, not only of Jews, but of any Arab he considered to be a traitor. He despised the members of the Arab middle class who worked within the Mandate. And here’s the thing: Amin’s adjutant and constant companion was Ibrahim al-Zahani, Arif’s grandfather.

“For sixteen years Amin served as the grand mufti of Jerusalem with Ibrahim right by his side. To be close to the mufti’s cabinet, Ibrahim moved to east Jerusalem with his wife. It was there in 1921 that she gave birth to Hamid al-Zahani, Arif’s father. Ibrahim later bought a house in Haifa at the foot of the Carmel Mountains, which became the family home for twenty years.

“While acting as mufti and the head of the Arab Higher Command, Amin fomented chaos whenever and wherever he could, all designed to rid the land of foreign settlers, especially Jews. He demanded a cessation of all Jewish immigration to Palestine, no further land sales to Jews, and international recognition of Arab control over all the land, with him as its supreme leader, of course.

“Throughout the era, Amin and Ibrahim provoked armed revolts, violent uprisings, and labor strikes, especially in 1929 and 1936, which were exceptionally bloody years. Finally, in 1936, the British forced the AHC to dissolve and declared it to be illegal. Arrest warrants were soon issued for Amin, Ibrahim, and the other militant leaders.

“With the British police closing in, Amin and Ibrahim snuck off in the middle of the night dressed as bedouin women and made their way into French Mandatory Lebanon to set up base in Beirut. From there, they supplied arms, plotted attacks, and organized uprisings against the British. From time to time, Ibrahim would bring his family from Haifa to join him. It was during one of those sojourns that Hamid met Mariam. When the family returned to Haifa, Mariam accompanied them and soon thereafter married Hamid. Together they had two children: Arif and Safiya. Arif was born in Haifa in 1944.”

Kayla turned and smiled. “Liam, would you mind if we take a break? I have a conference call in ten minutes. Can we continue after lunch?”

“Sure.” He stood and stretched his legs. “How about two o’clock?”

T
HIRTY
-T
WO

S
OMMERS AWOKE BEFORE SUNRISE
in Marcy’s guest room and strongly considered a quiet exit and an early-morning drive back to Waikiki. Several thoughts were going through his mind, and they all seemed to be arguing with each other.

What am I doing here at Marcy’s house drinking wine? I need to concentrate on rescuing Sophie and not hanging out with Marcy. Still, she’s been good medicine for me and for that I’m grateful. She’s a distraction and probably a liability. Truth be told, I’d be smart to get in the car and leave before she gets up. But, how do I do that without insulting her again? It would be wrong to disrespect her, she’s a good person.

He fumbled about the kitchen trying to set a pot for coffee, but grimaced when all he could find was a bag of whole beans. The grinding would be sure to wake her up. He’d just have to sit outside on the swing until she got up.

In the predawn hours, the breeze was light. The only sounds came from the rolling surf, sounds that came to him in patterned intervals, like slow breathing rhythms. Sommers rocked on the swing and contemplated his options. To say that he was frustrated by the inactivity on the e-mail account and the failure of any progress was a gross understatement. The only responses to his e-mails had read
Be patient
and
Working on it
. Now it was becoming painfully obvious that no one was working on it. The delay in implementing Sophie’s rescue was making his blood boil. Something had to be done.

Suddenly his cell phone chimed with a text message:
Please call me when you can. It’s important
. It was Deborah—no one else had his number. He checked his watch. It was noon in Louisville.

“Hello, Jack,” she said.

“Deb, are you okay? Sean okay?”

“We’re great. I’m worried about you.”

“You don’t need to worry, I’m all right.”

“Jack, I got a visit from a private detective.”

“Tell me you didn’t say anything.”

“He showed up at the house and warned me that your life was in danger. He scared me, Jack. He said a man named Harrington had been killed, shot in the head. And then yesterday he called and told me that a man named Ellis was killed by a hit-and-run driver. He said that would mean something to you, that you would know them both.”

“Shit.”

“Jack, he also said you could be next, that you were a loose end. He said there were probably people looking for you. He told me to contact you right away.”

“Deb, this is a trap. What do you know about this guy? How do you know any of that’s true? He could be working for the wrong people. Christ, he could have some fancy electronic equipment on you right now. Hang up.”

“I’m at a friend’s in Newburg, Jack. No one’s followed me. The investigator left two days ago.”

“Hang up, Deb, and go home.”

“Jack, the man said he wanted to help you get Sophie. He said he would deal with you on your own terms.”

“You know we can’t trust anybody. Especially somebody who just shows up at your house looking for a job. Did this guy give you his name?”

“Liam Taggart”

“Taggart? Big Irish guy?”

“Right.”

“I know him. I’ve met Taggart at the office. He does contract work for J and F. He doesn’t want to help me, Deb, he’s been hired by Jenkins to find the money.”

“He admits that. But he said you were a good man, and if he could, he would help us get Sophie back. I trust him, Jack. I don’t know why, but I do. He’s got kind eyes.”

“Oh, Christ, Deb. Kind eyes?”

“Yes, he does. He says he wants to talk to you, that he can help.”

“I doubt that Jenkins’s PI wants to do anything to help us. He’s being paid to catch me. What else did he say?”

“He said that you couldn’t get Sophie back by yourself and that he could help. Is he right?”

“Maybe. I don’t know. I really don’t know what to do. I’m running out of options. The people I’m counting on continue to put me off. They’ve all but disappeared. Half the time they won’t return my messages. Other times they tell me to be patient. I’m thinking I should come back to Chicago.”

“No, Jack, don’t. Taggart said it’s way too dangerous.”

“Taggart doesn’t want me back in Chicago? That’s odd. He’s the one who’s looking for me.”

“That’s what he said. If you come back to Chicago, you could get killed.”

“Of course. If I get killed, he never finds the money. Right. I need to know how Taggart thinks he can help me, Deb. What does he think he can do to get Sophie back?”

“He didn’t say. He just said he’d do it on your terms. Do you want to talk to him?”

“Maybe, but I’ll have to figure out how. I can’t talk to him on the phone, they can trace the call. Will Taggart meet with you again in person?”

“I don’t know. He gave me his card. Do you want me to meet with him and find out what he can do?”

“I’m not sure what I want you to do yet. Deb, you better get off the phone. Can we talk tomorrow?”

“Sure. Same time?”

“Okay, same time. Be careful. I love you.”

“Love you too.”

Jack went back to the swing. More complications. More shoals to navigate.

Marcy walked out to the veranda with two cups of coffee. The hem of her light cotton robe, belted at the waist, fluttered softly in the morning breeze. “Were you just talking to someone?”

Sommers nodded. “My sister.”

“Everything okay?”

“Not really.”

Marcy sat beside him on the swing. “I’m sorry, Jack, isn’t there something I can do?”

“I wish there were.”

“What’s the problem?”

“There’s a person I’d like to talk to, but I can’t figure out how to do it.”

“Can’t use the phone?”

He shook his head.

“Who do you need to talk to?”

“There’s a guy back in Chicago who thinks he can help me, who may have some information, but I can’t figure out a way to safely communicate with him. The only way seems to be in person, but that’s out of the question.”

“What about me? I can go to Chicago.”

Sommers shook his head. “It’s not an option. The last thing I want to do is get you mixed up in this.”

“I feel like I’m already mixed up, like I’m living in a spy novel.”

Sommers reached for her hand as she sat with him on the swing. “You’re not. But I am. And sooner or later it’s bound to catch up with me. I was a fool to think this would go smoothly.”

“Hit a roadblock?”

Sommers nodded. “The people I told you about, the ones with connections, I thought I could count on them. I did what I promised to do. Now they’ve abandoned me or betrayed me. Whichever. They’re not keeping up their end of the bargain. When I left the city, they were supposed to e-mail me, give me progress reports on what they were doing, their half of the deal, which was to bring Sophie back to the US. I’ve been checking my computer every day. I’ve sent dozens of e-mails.” Sommers opened his hands. “There’s been little or no response. I can only assume that nothing’s being done. And I’m totally frustrated. I’m treading water. It doesn’t matter if the sea is calm or angry, I can’t make progress in any direction. I can’t go forward, I can’t go backward. All I can do is wait for these people.”