Saving Sophie: A Novel (31 page)

“One never knows though, eh, Jamal? Who knows how he spends his money? Let me ask a more difficult question. How would I get word to Dr. al-Zahani that I would be interested in proposing such an arrangement? I’m sure there would be a generous payment to you as well.”

“I want nothing from such commerce. Were it not for the little one, I would send you on your way. But I am troubled for Sophie. Myself, I have been the target of Arif’s anger. I have seen the demon in him. And a man such as Arif could surely fill a child with hate.”

“I’m sorry if I offended you, Jamal.” Liam rose and reached into his back pocket. He handed Abu Hammad a business card. “I meant no harm in offering to pay you for your help. I’m only trying to reunite a daughter with her father. Here is my contact information. If you learn something you think I should know, I’d appreciate a call.”

“I took no offense. I will help if I can because it is right, not because I seek to profit. You should know, there are many good, honest people on this side of the barrier, people who seek only the right to live in peace.”

Liam nodded. “I am honored to know such a man.”

F
ORTY
-E
IGHT

F
AKHIR LED YOUNG DANI
into the apartment’s front room, where the Sons of Canaan were seated in a circle. One by one, the members of the group welcomed the sixteen-year-old and offered him tea and date-filled cakes. Dani was confused and scared.

“Sit please, Dani,” Fa’iz said, pointing to an empty chair. “Join us.” The old man’s whiskered face wrinkled with a beneficent smile.

Dani nodded tentatively and took the empty seat beside al-Zahani, who patted him on the shoulder.

Fa’iz continued, “You probably wonder why you have been brought upstairs, when you usually guard the door for us, no?”

The boy nodded.

“Dani, we would like to invite you to have a very important role in our project.”

“Very important,” echoed Nizar.

“What do you know about jihad, Dani?”

The boy shrugged. “It’s our continuing struggle in the cause of Allah.”

Fa’iz smiled broadly and nodded. “And we understand our struggle to be for the cause of truth, don’t we? A true jihadist is a warrior whose whole purpose is to establish the truth. You understand that, don’t you, Dani?”

He nodded reflexively, unsure where all this was leading.

Fa’iz leaned back in his chair and folded his hands on his stomach. His ample beard covered his chest. “That is good. Do you know the meaning of
shahid,
son?”

Dani shook his head slowly.

Fa’iz spoke gently. “A
shahid
is one who sees the truth and witnesses it. He dedicates himself to the truth and is prepared to fight and give up his life for the cause of truth. That is why a
shahada,
a martyrdom, guarantees that a
shahid
shall know paradise and be exonerated from the torments of the grave.”

“And let’s not forget seventy-two dark-eyed virgins,” added Nizar with a sly smile.

“Is that actually true?” Dani said, finally grasping the meaning of his presence.

Fa’iz nodded. “It is written. The
shahid
will be wed to the
houri
and will not know the torments of the grave.”

Dani looked around the room. All eyes were focused on him, and all were smiling paternally.

“The concept of
shahada
is very similar to the concept of prophethood,” continued Fa’iz. “Both martyrs and prophets are paradigms. They are examples. They are models for us all. Do you follow me, Dani?”

“I’m not sure. I … I don’t think so.”

“
Shahids
are the leaders who spearhead our struggle. They embody truth. Martyrs are elite models of the Divine Message. They ensure the success in our struggle for the cause of Allah. Dani, you can become such a
mujahid.
”

“You want me to blow myself up?” the boy said in a shaky voice.

“No, Dani.”

“Whew,” he said with a smile. “I thought…”

Fa’iz raised his finger. “We want you to join us in our holy struggle. Are you with us?”

“Sure,” Dani said slowly.

“We have developed a weapon, a very potent weapon. Much more devastating than a bomb. But it needs to be tested.”

Dani swallowed hard. “You want me to test this weapon?”

Fa’iz nodded deeply with a smile. “We will honor you with that opportunity.”

“Is it dangerous?”

“Very. It will take the courage of a true martyr. That is why we look to you, Dani.”

“Would I have to die?”

Everyone looked to al-Zahani, who nodded. “I’m afraid so. It’s irreversible.”

Dani moved around uncomfortably on his chair. “I don’t know. I have a lot of things I have to do. My mom needs me. I—”

“Your family will be well taken care of,” Fa’iz said warmly. “They will be given a home and a place of honor in Hebron. Your sisters will have money to attend school. Your memory will be cherished by all.”

“And you will be given paradise,” added Nizar.

“C-can I think about this?”

“Of course,” Fa’iz said. “Think about it, but tell no one. Can we count on you to be silent?”

Dani nodded.

“Not even your mother,” Fakhir said. “Our holy struggle depends on secrecy.”

“And if I don’t want to do this?”

Fa’iz spread his hands. “Then you can go back to watching the door like before.”

The group stood. Nizar came up to Dani and put his hands on his shoulders. “Be a hero to our people. Your family will be honored forever. And you, Dani, well, seventy-two virgins is not so bad, eh?”

“Come back tomorrow, Dani,” said Fa’iz. “Let us know your decision.”

Dani turned to leave the room, but Nizar put his arm around him. “Let us all join hands.”

The group stood in a circle, hand in hand, Dani between Nizar and Fa’iz, and chanted, “From the river to the sea. From the Golan to the Gulf. We will take Jerusalem brick by brick, stone by stone, until the land is once more ours.”

“You are one of us, Dani,” said Rami, and the boy beamed with pride. They patted his back as he left the room, albeit a little unsteady on his feet.

“Will he betray us?” asked Rami.

“I have no doubt he will discuss this all with his mother. We will have to dispose of her, no matter what his decision,” Fa’iz said, retaking his seat. He then turned to al-Zahani. “Be prepared to run the test tomorrow when he returns.”

“I am already prepared, but what if he decides not to volunteer?”

Fa’iz shook his head. “We will run the test with him regardless.”

Everyone nodded. As they stood to leave, Rami said, “I have one more piece of good news. As you know, Ghanim applied for a job in the pharmacy department of Haifa’s B’nai Zion Hospital. Well, yesterday his application was approved and he will start in June.”

Fa’iz smiled. “Allah shines on us today. We will hit Tel Aviv and Haifa in July. Arif, you must step up production. Day and night.”

“Understood.”

F
ORTY
-N
INE

M
OTHER NATURE DANGLED A
taste of spring in the face of Chicagoans on a mid-March afternoon. But it was just a teaser. The thermometer climbed into the high fifties, and winter coats and scarves were set aside for cotton jackets. Though St. Paddy’s Day had come and gone, the Chicago River still flowed with vestiges of kelly green. The fountain in Daley Plaza still bubbled green water, and the tops of downtown buildings still lit up like four-leaf clovers. Just a teaser, for the Northeast Hawk would soon return to Michigan Avenue and the snow would blow a few more times before winter would loosen its grip.

On North Clark Street, a mother held the door open while her son struggled on his crutches and entered the law offices of Catherine Lockhart. “We’re here to see Attorney Lockhart,” the woman said to the receptionist. “Please tell her that Darius and Violet McCord are here.”

A moment later, Catherine came out to her lobby. “Very nice to meet you both. And, Darius, I confess, I don’t know much about college basketball, but I was saddened to read about the assault and your tragic injury. Have they caught the assailants?”

“No, ma’am,” Violet said. “That’s why we’re here. Darius has something he wants to tell you.”

Catherine gestured toward the hallway. “Come on back to my office and we’ll talk. Gladys, will you please get them both a soft drink.”

“I’ll just have water, thank you,” Violet said.

Violet helped Darius settle into one of the two client chairs opposite Catherine’s desk. Gladys brought in the drinks and closed the door on her way out.

“Again, Darius, it pains me to see you struggle with those crutches. When do the doctors think you’ll be up and around?”

“I don’t know,” he said sheepishly. “Maybe a few months.”

“Do the police have any leads? Any way to find out who did this?”

Violet leaned forward, putting her forearms on the desk. She was thin and tall, but still considerably shorter than her son. She appeared to be no older than her late thirties. “Miss Lockhart, what we tell you today, is it a secret?”

Catherine nodded her head. “Yes, it is. It’s confidential and privileged. And call me Catherine.”

“That means you can’t tell no one if we don’t want you to?”

“That’s right.”

“Are you the attorney in the case against Mr. Kelsen?”

Catherine nodded. “I’m defending a client that’s being sued by Mr. Kelsen’s company.”

“So, you’re against him, right? I been reading about it in the paper.”

Catherine smiled. “I guess you could say I’m against him. It’s his company.”

Violet sat back in her chair. “Then you’re the right person.”

She unscrewed the cap on her water bottle, took a drink and a deep breath. “Miss Lockhart, I need to tell you about my son and me. We been down a long, hard road. You prob’ly don’t know what families have to do to get their boys into Division One basketball.”

“No, Violet, I don’t.”

“Well, it starts when they’re babies. From the time Darius was just a squeaker, he had talent. I could see it. Everybody could. When he was old enough to hold a ball, he had to have a ball in his hands. It was like him and the ball was one. All the time bouncing a ball. Off the floor, off the walls.” Violet smiled at her son.

“I wanted him to be a good ballplayer, as good as he could be. Everybody in our part of town dreams of their baby playin’ pro ball, but I didn’t have any idea what we were getting into.” Tears came to her eyes. She wiped them with the back of her hand.

Catherine took out a box of tissues and set them on the desk.

“He was only eight years old and there was scouts on the Forty-Seventh Street playground talking this way and that. Eight years old and they come to watch Darius. When he got into the fourth grade, I got a call from Mr. Robinson. ‘We want Darius to be on our AAU team, the Chicago Tigers,’ he said. ‘One of the best in the country.’”

“At nine years old?”

Violet nodded. “I didn’t know anything about the AAU, but the other mothers told me, if Darius wants to be anybody at all, he’s got to sign up. So we did. Before I know it, there was shoes, jerseys, strength equipment, all delivered to my apartment. They put us in touch with Father Paul over at Holy Resurrection so we could use the gym in the afternoon. Every day, all year, Miss Lockhart, except for the time he was practicing with the team, and then we still would go at night sometimes. Darius’d come home from school and go straight to the gym. Three hundred layups, four hundred free throws, three hundred spot-ups. I stood under the basket and fed him the ball. Then we’d go home and have our dinner at eight.” She looked at her son. “He was ranked as the second-best ten-year-old in the country by
Youth Hoops Magazine
.”

“The second-best
ten-year-old
?”

“Yep. From time to time, this coach or that would come over to the church and work with Darius. It was all a business to them, but I could see they were teaching him and getting him ready for college and pro ball. Who’s paying all these people? I don’t know. And I guess I don’t need to tell you about all the sneaky agents who ain’t supposed to be talking to kids, wantin’ me to sign their papers. AAU took us all over the country, Miss Lockhart.”

“Catherine.”

“Tournaments almost every week. New York, Washington, Dallas, LA. His baby brother, at first I could bring him ’cause he’d sit on my lap, but later he’s too big and I don’t have the money, and I have to stay at home or get people to watch him.” Violet’s eyes glassed over and her voice would occasionally seize up. “Terrell, he didn’t get the attention he needed growing up. He needed attention too, but there was no more of me to go around.” She took a few pieces of tissue and rocked a bit in her seat. “Now he’s in and out of trouble.”

Catherine waited while Violet composed herself. Darius sat with his head bowed. “By the time Darius was ready for high school, he had played hundreds of games and everybody wanted him. We had coaches from private high schools sitting in our front room from the time he was in seventh grade. Catholic schools offering full tuition. One of them even said they’d pick him up and drive him to school every day. High school up in Maryland would’ve moved us to an apartment in Baltimore. An academy in Florida showed us pictures of first-rounders and told us he could stay in the dorm. Major university lab school—he’d live right on the campus.

“Darius didn’t want Catholic school, he didn’t want no academy or lab school, he wanted to be with his friends and play in the Public League. You may have read about him when he was at Jefferson. He was a high school all-American and ranked number twenty-two in the country in his senior year. Number four point guard.

“Then there’s certain days when the colleges can come visit you. Mercy me. You’d a thought we was the king and queen of England. Letters from people and places we never heard of. They all be your best friend.”

“I get it.”

“No, ma’am, you don’t. You see, every last one of ’em is sitting in our front room, all sayin’ that the years of practice and sacrifice is gonna finally pay off. Someday, Darius, you gonna play in the NBA, and we gonna get you there. Then you’ll be able to take care of yourself, your baby brother, and your mama. This is your ticket out, they say.