Saving Sophie: A Novel (17 page)

Liam shook his head. “I haven’t been hired to find a little girl. I’m searching for stolen money.”

“They have a common nucleus.”

“Well, so far I’ve learned very little. I was planning on talking with Sommers’s sister in Louisville.”

“She won’t talk to you,” Miller said. “She practically threw me out of her house. Told me to get a court order.”

Catherine wagged her finger. “Ah, but Liam has his Irish charm. Just ask him.”

“’Tis true.”

“In any event,” Foster continued, “a private investigator looking for a missing six-year-old daughter has a valid reason to ask a lot of questions, maybe even get close to al-Zahani. People are sympathetic about a missing child. That activity isn’t likely to arouse suspicion. There are places you can go and people you can talk to that we can’t.”

“I’m not looking for his daughter.”

“Maybe the money is.”

“Maybe. So far, I haven’t uncovered any proof that Sommers has the money or even took the money.”

“We think he did,” Foster said.

“I thought you said you didn’t know where the money was,” Jenkins said.

“Oh, we don’t. But we know that Sommers went to Panama a couple months ago. We traced the missing funds from the escrow account to the First Republic Bank, but the money’s not there anymore. First Republic transferred the money to Pacifico Bank. And we’ve since learned that the money’s not there anymore either. That’s about all we know.”

Walter stood. His face was red. “You people knew all this and said nothing? You knew he went to Panama? My firm is on the brink of collapse and we’re fighting to stay alive. Fuck you. You’re the government. You’re supposed to work for me.”

“Calm down, Mr. Jenkins,” Foster said. “We’re trying to get the money back just like you are, and we don’t know where the money is any more than you do.”

“How did you learn about the money transfers?” Catherine said. “I thought Panama banking was clothed in secrecy, that even our government couldn’t get information.”

“I can’t comment on that.”

“But you want to use me?” Liam said. “Have
me
ask questions and give
you
the answers?”

“We use civilian assets all the time, Liam. Just like we did when you were in Ulster. If your world-renowned Irish charm opens a few doors, gives you a lead, all the better. People will talk to a guy trying to find a little girl.”

“Why do you keep saying ‘trying to find’? We all know where she is. If the government is so concerned that money will be paid to ransom Sophie Sommers, why don’t you just go to al-Zahani’s house and get her?”

Foster had an exasperated look. “We don’t send the Navy SEALs into a foreign jurisdiction to snatch children in a custody dispute.”

“Well, Israel does.”

“Perhaps. But, there’s more. Right now Undersecretary Whiting is quietly in Cairo meeting with PA officials. It’s an important step in the peace process. We may actually be making some headway after all these years. As you know, the president is planning to travel to the Mideast in a few months. Maybe even to make a bold announcement.” Foster smiled patronizingly. “We can’t have a terrorist act derailing the peace process.”

Liam leaned back. He tapped his fingers on the table. “So, it’s really not about the girl. You don’t want her rescued, do you, Kayla? If she were back home, you wouldn’t have a reason to poke around. You want to use Sophie as a cover to get close to al-Zahani and learn more about his little beehive. You hope my snooping around will flush out a terrorist plot.”

“I don’t deny we’d love to have your help,” Kayla said, “flush out those terrorists, as you say, but we’re not that hard-hearted. If you could bring Sophie home, that would suit us just fine.”

“Bullshit. Anyway, that’s not why Mr. Jenkins is paying me.”

Walter stared hard at Foster. “Are you telling me that if we help get the girl back, you’ll help us get the money back?”

“They’re joined at the hip, Mr. Jenkins. If the money is earmarked to ransom the girl, then the money and the girl converge on the same corner. But let me be candid. We don’t know that Sommers still has possession of the money. And, despite Kayla’s theories, we don’t know for certain there’s any deal in the works, we only suspect it. Or should I say, Kayla suspects it. But we would agree to assist you in recovering the money. After all, wire fraud is a federal crime.”

“Wait a minute,” Walter said. “Taggart doesn’t come cheap. Why should I finance the search and rescue of the daughter of a man who stole eighty-eight million dollars from me? The United States government has a lot more money than I do. Why don’t you pay Taggart?”

“If that embezzled money is paid to terrorists, there are a lot of daughters whose lives will be at risk,” Kayla said.

“I’m not that humanitarian,” Walter said.

“Well, let me put it another way,” Foster said. “We’ll supply intelligence. You supply the Irish guy. You’re looking for your client’s funds, and you’re looking to save your law firm. It can’t hurt to have the blessing, not to mention the intelligence resources, of the United States government.”

Walter looked at Liam and nodded. “I guess your assignment is officially modified.”

“Look, if Kayla’s right,” Foster said, “if there is a deal in the works, then Sommers is in more trouble than he knows. He’s in way over his head. If he’s trying to trade eighty-eight million dollars to the Palestinians for his daughter’s return, he’s more likely to lose the money and get himself and his daughter killed. After you go to Louisville and talk to his sister, I’d like to meet with you again.”

“She won’t talk to him,” Miller said.

“Call me when you get back from Louisville,” Foster said.

T
WENTY
-S
EVEN

L
IAM WALKED UP THE
front steps of a red brick home in the Asbury Park section of Louisville. The house was a traditional two-story colonial on a wooded lot, with white trim and shutters. A smattering of blue crocuses poked through the ground on either side of the front stoop.

Liam knocked and the door was opened by a boy with a PlayStation controller in his hand. Standing in his white socks, he kept a cautionary hand on the doorknob, allowing the door to open just a sliver. “Are you looking for my mom?”

“Yep. I’m a friend of your uncle’s.”

“Uncle Jack?” A smile brightened his face. “Well, Mom’s not home yet. She’s picking up my sister at school.”

Liam gestured at the controller. “What are you playing?”

“Black Ops II .”

Liam shook his head. “I can’t play that game. I always die. Now, if you had
Madden Thirteen,
I could whip your butt.”

“No, you couldn’t.”

“Yes, I surely could. I’d eat your lunch.”

The boy laughed. “No, you wouldn’t.”

“In my sleep. That’ll be the day I lose to a fourteen-year-old.”

“I’m twelve and I’m a pro at
Madden Thirteen.
No one beats me.”

“That’s ’cause you haven’t played me. Course, if you’re chicken…”

With that, the boy swung the door open, turned, and walked confidently through the foyer. “It’s in the other room. Prepare to be humbled.”

Liam followed him through the hallway, past the kitchen, and into a paneled den. A large flatscreen was mounted on the center wall. The picture was frozen on a scene from
Black Ops II:
a smoky, bombed-out neighborhood in a nondescript Eastern European locale.

“My name’s Liam.” He held out his hand.

“Sean,” the boy said, putting a controller in Liam’s hand and ejecting the war game from the console. “Just don’t cry too loud when I beat you.”

Sean’s gaming skills far exceeded Liam’s, and Sean laughed heartily every time he scored or Liam fumbled. “I thought you said you were good.”

“I’m just getting warmed up. You have home-field advantage.”

“A controller is a controller, Liam. There’s no home field.”

Just then, a woman, car keys in her hand, entered the room and stopped short. “Who is this, Sean?”

“His name is Liam. He’s a friend of Uncle Jack’s.”

Liam stood. “Sorry to barge in, Mrs. Wilson, but—”

“Just barge right out. You have no business here. How dare you come into my house uninvited? Get out or I’m calling the police.”

“I invited him, Mom. He’s a friend of Uncle Jack’s and he knows how to play
Madden Thirteen
. But he sucks.”

“Get out.”

Liam stood and handed the controller back to Sean. “You’re right. You’re a pro. You kicked my butt.” Turning to Sean’s mother, Liam said, “Would you just give me five minutes. Five minutes. I’m trying to help your brother. I think he’s in danger.”

Her stiff arm and pointed finger directed him toward the door. “Out. Out. You’ve got no business here.”

“Deborah, listen to me, I may be one of the few people that can actually help your brother.”

She stood at the front door and flicked a backhand. “You stand out on the stoop. I stand in the doorway. You have two minutes to tell me why I should listen to you.” She turned around and pointed at her son. “Sean, you go and start your homework.”

“Mom…”

“Go.”

As directed, Liam stood just outside the doorway.

As her son had, Deborah stood with one hand on the doorknob, holding the door partially closed. “I told the FBI that I have nothing to say. I don’t know anything and I haven’t spoken to Jack in weeks. And you can be damned sure I don’t have that missing money.”

“I’m not the FBI, Deborah.” Liam held his palms out like a stop sign. “I’m a private investigator and I’m working for Jack’s law firm. I know that Jack is a good man. I know he wouldn’t hurt anyone. I know that he didn’t have anything to do with the murder.”

Deborah’s eyes widened. Her lips quivered. “What murder?”

“Can I come in? Can we talk for a few minutes?”

“We can talk right here.”

“Last month, eighty-eight million dollars went missing from a business deal and was diverted to a Panama bank. The written instructions to the title company, directing them where to wire the money, came from an escrow controlled by your brother and a man named Harrington. Harrington was found in Lake Michigan with a bullet in his brain. That leaves your brother as a witness to the transaction. Whoever is behind these crimes is motivated to—”

“Who’s behind this?”

Liam shook his head. “I don’t know yet. But I don’t think Jack was the centerpiece of this crime.”

“Why not?”

“I’ve been working on this case for the better part of a month. I’ve talked to several people who were close to Jack. I’m working with a lawyer who has been studying the trial transcripts of the custody hearing. All in all, I think I’ve come to know what Jack was like, and that he was a good man. A smart lawyer. Desperate? Yes. But a criminal mastermind? No. Deborah, you have to believe me, right now he’s in real danger.”

“How do I know I can trust you? Who are you?”

“Just an investigator from Chicago.” He handed her a business card. “I was hired by Jenkins and Fairchild, which, along with your brother, has been sued for eighty-eight million dollars.”

“Why don’t you think my brother is involved?”

Liam hesitated. “I’m not saying he’s not involved. And he may have that money. But unless you think he killed Dennis Harrington by shooting him in the head, he’s not the only one involved. We’ve also been looking into Sophie’s disappearance.”

“Kidnapping.”

Liam nodded. “Kidnapping. We know that Jack would do almost anything to get Sophie back. And that money … who knows? But really, do you think Jack is capable of engineering an exchange of millions of dollars to Palestinians for the release of his kidnapped daughter all by himself?”

Deborah backed away from the door and motioned for Liam to come in. They sat across from each other on wingback chairs in the front room. On a little end table sat a silver-framed picture of Deborah with her arm around her husband.

Liam gestured toward the picture. “Your husband looks a lot like Jack.”

Deborah smiled. “Yes, he did. With their hair cut short, their features were very similar. Eugene died last year.”

“I’m sorry,” Liam said quietly. He leaned forward. “Where’s Jack?”

She shook her head. “If I knew, I wouldn’t tell you, but I don’t know.”

“You’re making a mistake. I need to talk to him. If the bad guys find him, and they will, they’ll kill him. He’s just a loose end to them. A liability—dangerous and disposable. You need to help me find him.”

“I’m not stupid. Whatever I tell you goes straight to the FBI. They’ll find Jack and they’ll lock him up. I’m not helping you put my brother in jail. Then Sophie’ll be lost forever.”

“It doesn’t serve my purpose to put Jack in jail. I want to help Jack and I want to help Sophie.”

“Oh, please. You want to find the money.”

“Yes, I do, but those ends are not incompatible. Let’s be practical. Do you think he can rescue Sophie by himself? Halfway around the world in some West Bank town? Is he going to take a shopping bag full of money? Deborah, the whole world’s looking for him. The CIA, the Mossad, they’re not going to let him deliver that money. Wherever he is, he can’t even get on a plane. How’s he going to get Sophie back? You know as well as I that he has to involve other people—operatives that exist in a community way above his pay grade. He’s a pigeon out there. He needs help, Deborah.”

She took a deep breath and sat back in her chair. “Really, I don’t know where he went. He wouldn’t tell me.”

“But…?”

“I may have a way to reach him.”

Liam stood. “My contact info is on my card. I’ll do it all on his terms.” He started for the door and stopped. “Be careful how you try to reach him. Your phone, your computer, your best friend’s computer, the library computer—they’re not safe.”

“Understood.”

T
WENTY
-E
IGHT

“S
O, AT THE END
of the trial, the judge awarded you sole custody?” Marcy said as she poured Giovanni’s Grenache into two wineglasses, handed one to Jack, and sat beside him on her cushioned glider. The trade winds were settling down in the late afternoon, and light breezes were gently rustling the bougainvilleas bordering Marcy’s veranda.