Saving Sophie: A Novel (38 page)

“I have an order placing him in my custody,” Kayla said. “Will you please go get him? Send a car?”

Nelson shook his head. “He’s in DOC custody. You’ll have to take your order over to the warden. There’s nothing I can do for you.”

“Could you at least make a call? Have him brought to the front office? I’m worried about his safety.”

“Warden Jennings is a tough guy. He won’t listen to me. Just go on up there. Show him your order.”

“Where’s the prison?”

“Up on Kamehameha, not too far. Don’t worry though, Sommers isn’t going anywhere. He’ll still be there.”

“Captain, this man is crucial to a State Department operation,” Kayla said, showing him her ID. “There are people who don’t want him to cooperate with us, people who want him dead. He has to be protected. You’ve got to go get him.”

“I’m sorry, ma’am. That’s way above my pay grade. I don’t tell wardens what to do.”

“A federal judge does,” Kayla said.

“Yes, he does. So go get a federal marshal or take that order up there yourself, it’s just a few blocks away.”

“One more thing,” Liam said. “What happened to the officer who got shot last night?”

“He’ll be okay. He was shot in the leg.”

“Did they catch the guys who shot him?”

The captain shook his head. “Nope. Not yet. They ditched their car up at the Convention Center. The security cameras showed them splitting up and running off in different directions. But they were driving a rental car and paid for it with a credit card. We got a few leads. We’ll catch ’em.” He smiled.

“Liam, they’ll try to get to Sommers at the jail. He could be dead before we get there,” Kayla said.

“Captain,” Liam said, “the guys who shot your officer last night were waiting for Sommers to leave the building. For all I know, they may have people on the inside of the prison who’ll take care of business for them. Can you help me get him segregated?”

“I’ll call, but Warden Jennings runs things his way. He doesn’t like interference.”

*   *   *

“O
UR FLIGHT TO OSAKA
leaves in thirty minutes. We’ve already checked in,” the tall man said into his cell phone.

“That’s good. Good. From there you can make it safely to Moscow. Are you sure everything is taken care of?”

“Without a doubt. Yuri knows his assignment. He will not let you down. He was arrested three days ago, and, of course, he did not try to make bond. At visiting hour this morning, he told us he would take care of the matter in the yard or at midday meal. There are always fights.”

“I will provide a lawyer for Yuri. He will bond out, he’s only charged with theft. He will soon join us. Your loyalty will be rewarded, Evgeniy, I will see you later this month in Moscow.” The line went dead.

Evgeniy put the cell phone in his pocket and tugged at the sleeve of his companion. “Come along, Gregor, our flight is boarding. We’re going home. Dmitri is proud of us.”

S
IXTY
-T
WO

S
INCE ARRIVING AT THE
prison in the early-morning hours, Sommers had settled into the corner of his cell, cross-legged on the floor. The cell had six beds and six mattresses, but a 350-pound Samoan had taken three of the mattresses for himself. Sommers, discreetly choosing not to argue the point, took his place in the corner, pondering all of the possibilities and praying that Liam and Kayla would somehow find a way to get him released. At 8:30
A.M.
, the doors on his cellblock clanged open and the prisoners were allowed to mingle on the block. The noise, the level of shouting, the clanging on the bars, was both insufferable and terrifying. Sommers remained in his cell, sitting in the corner, with Sophie haunting his thoughts.

At 11:50, his wing was assembled and led to the dining hall for lunch. Most of the men at his table were loud, boisterous, and even lighthearted, the incongruity of which Sommers found unsettling. As he sat with his lunch tray, Sommers felt eyes on him. A tall, muscular man with buzz-cut, widow’s-peaked hair, and a crescent scar on his right cheek, sitting two tables away, was staring at him. Sommers kept averting his eyes, but from time to time he’d take a quick check. There was no doubt. The man continued to glare. Sommers felt vulnerable and longed for the seclusion of his cell.

A heavy man to his right, with tattoos covering both of his hairy arms, pointed at the plate of SPAM and greens that sat before Sommers. “You gonna eat that?” he said in a low voice. Sommers shook his head and pushed the plate to the side, leaving only his juice and the crackers that came with his meal. The man with the scar never took his eyes off him.

A bell rang and the lunch crowd stood in unison. They made a quick turn toward the aisle and shuffled forward. The man with the scar was gone.

Liam, Kayla, and Marcy arrived at the prison just after noon. The warden, a hefty man, in his midfifties, was in his office and about to leave for a meeting with the lieutenant governor. “How can I help you, miss?”

Kayla handed the order to the warden. “We’re here to take custody of John Sommers, also known as Eugene Wilson.”

Warden Jennings spent a long time studying the paper, making twisting movements with his lips. “All in good time. Eugene Wilson was brought in early this morning. He may still be in processing.”

Warden Jennings sat behind a broad desk of polished koa. Flags of the United States and the State of Hawaii were perched in stands on either side. A framed picture of Jennings and the governor, in their Bermuda shorts on the first tee of Waialae Country Club, sat on the corner of his desk. He picked up his phone, said a few words, listened, nodded, shrugged his shoulders, and ended with “I’ll let them know.” He looked across his desk. “His wing’s at lunch. He’ll be back in his cell in about forty minutes.”

“Will you have him brought up here immediately, please?” Kayla said. “There is good reason to believe he could be attacked in a group setting. It might be a mistake to let him go to lunch.”

The warden shook his head. “Listen, young lady, I have a prison to run here. And we’re pretty careful about mistakes. I don’t like your insinuations. Besides, it’s easier for us to bring him from his cell than to have one of my guards take him from a lunch table.”

“There’ll be a lot of unhappy people in Washington if anything happens to John Sommers,” Liam said.

The warden leaned over his desk. “Are you threatening me, Mr. Taggart? Was that a threat? I don’t answer to people in Washington. I answer to the people of the state of Hawaii and the governor who appointed me.” The warden sat back in his chair and smiled. “When Mr. Sommers finishes his lunch and he’s marched back to his cell, and if there’s a guard available that can be spared from his duties, I will consider having him brought up front.”

The warden stood and hitched up his trousers. He took his suit jacket from the hook behind the door and slipped it on, checking his appearance in his mirror. “Now, if you ladies and gentleman will wait on the chairs outside by Ms. Figgens, I have to leave for an important policy meeting with Lieutenant Governor Duncans. I’ll take care of this matter when I return.”

As they walked through the office doorway, a buzzer alarm sounded. The warden quickly grabbed a phone. He listened and looked sheepishly at Liam. “There’s been an incident in the lunch hall. Your man’s been injured. Apparently, he was involved in a fight. They’re taking him to the infirmary.”

“Son of a bitch,” Liam said.

“Just one minute, son. Who the fuck do you think—”

Before he could finish, Kayla dialed Judge Kim on her cellphone. She spoke a few words and handed the phone to Jennings.

“Yes, sir, I understand,” said the warden saccharinely. “Of course, Your Honor, we’re taking all immediate steps to comply with your order. This young lady has only been here a few minutes and we are already in the process of having the prisoner rushed to my office. But, unfortunately, before I could act, there was an incident. Mr. Sommers got himself involved in an altercation and he was stabbed by an unknown assailant. We’re taking him to the infirmary.”

“The hell you are,” Kayla interrupted. “He’s in my custody. You get an ambulance here. Now! He’s going to a hospital.”

“Well, Your Honor,” Jennings said smugly into the phone, “it seems like my responsibilities are concluded. The young lady says she’s going to take custody of Mr. Sommers and have him brought to a hospital. I want you to know that we are terminating our protective custody of this man. He is no longer in the care of the Department of Corrections.”

Five minutes later, paramedics arrived and were directed into the facility where Sommers lay bleeding. They wheeled him out on a stretcher and into the EMS van. Bandages on his back and left side were turning red. Oxygen and fluids were being administered. Jack gazed weakly at Marcy, who frantically scrambled up into the van to sit beside him. She grabbed Sommers’s hand and squeezed. “Hang on, Jack. Be strong. There’s a lot for us to do.”

“Sophie,” Jack said softly. “You must…” He swallowed. “You must…”

“I’ll get her, Jack. Whatever I need to do. You can count on it.”

Sommers was rushed to the Queen’s Medical Center and wheeled into the emergency room. When Liam and Kayla arrived, Marcy told them that a surgical team was already at work. Hours went by. They paced the waiting room, intermittently strolling by the receptionist to ask if she had any news. They stared blankly at the little TV hanging from the ceiling. They fed money into the vending machines. They fidgeted.

Finally, a young doctor came out and the group scrambled to encircle him. “He’s hanging in there. Good thing you got him here quickly. He wouldn’t have lasted much longer. Of course, his condition is critical. His vital signs are not yet stable, but I would not say his indicators are necessarily unfavorable.”

“Doctor,” Marcy said and shrugged, “what does that mean?”

“His injuries were very serious and he required a lot of repair. We’re hopeful, but he’s not out of the woods yet. In some ways, he was very lucky. He was stabbed with a narrow knife. There are three entry points. Two on his back and one on his side. Although they caused damage, none of his vital organs was beyond repair. How well they’ll heal remains to be seen. If he stabilizes, as I hope he will, he’ll need rest, medications, fluids. He’ll probably be here for quite a while.”

“What’s quite a while?” Kayla asked.

“Oh, it could be weeks. There’s organ damage, muscle damage. Walking without assistance will be out of the question for at least four weeks. Given his injuries, I expect a considerable rehab period.”

“I don’t think we have that much time,” Kayla said. “I may have to move him.”

The doctor shook his head. “I don’t know what you have in mind, but he can’t be moved.”

“No, Doctor, the question is, how
soon
can he be moved?” she said firmly.

“You mean if he survives?”

“What’s wrong with you?” Marcy snapped at Kayla. “We’re talking about Jack’s life. Don’t you care anything about his life?”

“His life and many, many more, Marcy. He may be our only hope of diverting a catastrophe.”

“You can’t move this man,” the doctor said. “And that’s final. Who’s his next of kin?”

“He has a sister in Louisville,” Marcy said.

“As of right now, this court order makes me his next of kin,” Kayla said. “I’ll decide when and if he should be moved.”

“You bitch,” Marcy said.

“Calm down, Marcy. I want him alive as much as you do. Doctor, I want him to get the very best care this hospital can provide. The United States government will stand for all expenses. I want the best specialists on the island. I want you to treat this man as though he were the president of the United States. Are we clear?”

“Clear.”

*   *   *

“S
O HOW LONG
ARE
you going to be in Hawaii? With the demure Miss Cummings, I might add,” Catherine said.

“Demure? You should have seen her today. She was as cuddly as a porcupine. If Sommers survives, we’re going to stay here until she can move him, which I would guess will be several days. So, can I get you to fly out?”

“If Sommers survives?”

“That’s what the doctor said. Stop changing the subject. Will you come out? We have some unfinished business. Can I buy you a ticket?”

“I don’t know. I’m very busy. I’m really putting in some heavy hours. Let me think about it. Does Sommers know who tried to kill him?”

“No. He was standing at the lunch table when a guy came up from behind and stuck a shiv in his ribs. That’s the last he remembers. HPD says the assailant’s name was Yuri Porushkin, a Russian citizen here on an expired visa. He was arrested a couple of days before Sommers on a charge of breaking into a jewelry-store display case at the Westin and grabbing a handful of watches. At eight in the evening in a busy hotel.”

“Sounds like he wanted to get arrested.”

“That’s what I think. But I want you to come out here after the deposition.”

“Liam, the only thing on my mind right now is Victor Kelsen’s depo tomorrow. If you think you’ll be there for a while, I’ll think about it. But no promises.”

“I think if Kayla had her way, she’d bring him to Hebron tomorrow, but the doctors won’t let her move him. I’m sure we’ll be here for some time.”

“Liam, did you say the assailant was a Russian named Yuri Porushkin?”

“Yes.”

“They’re sure he’s a Russian?”

“That’s what they said, on an expired visa. It seems like the Russians are all over this. Sommers told us that he and Harrington made the deal to steal Kelsen’s money at a bar in Wrigleyville with a Russian named Dmitri. Dmitri has contacts in the Middle East and was supposed to set up the ransom—Sophie’s release in exchange for some of the embezzled money. And the motel clerk, before he caught a bullet in the chest, said that the men who came looking for Sommers spoke with a Russian accent.”

“Liam, Kelsen’s connected to Dmitri.”

“How do you know that?”

“I can’t tell you. But Kelsen, Dmitri, and a man named Evgeniy have been involved in fixing sporting events. Kelsen’s in bed with the Russians. They’ve been working together.”