Morning would not come soon enough.
I needed to make a telephone call.
In the middle of the night, a vision came to me while I was asleep at my sister’s home in Arizona. It was four a.m. This peculiar vision was an image of a beige cardboard box with paper files. Almost in a trance, I went to the closet. On top of the first box I opened was the business card with the name and telephone number of a private investigator I had contacted seven years earlier. What was the likelihood of finding his card, and on the very top of the box? An omen, a good omen, I desperately hoped.
Shortly after Aisha had been taken in 1987 I had contacted “PI Bob.” At that time, however, I could not begin to pay $100,000 for his services. Now, almost seven years later, things were different. I had bought a home, my lifelong dream, which was soon to be sold for money for my cause. Additionally, after my parents had visited Aisha and me in Saudi, they had wanted to help secure my daughter’s freedom. I had monetary resources now that I hadn’t had before.
After the dream, a comfort I had not felt for days seemed to come over me. Morning would not come soon enough. I needed to make a telephone call. PI Bob’s time difference was one hour earlier, and I didn’t want to leave a message. Later that morning, without thinking twice, I made the call. I reminded him that we had talked before, some seven years prior. He remembered my story. Who wouldn’t? I continued in a controlled breath, “I would like to talk with you about getting my daughter out. I am on my way to California. Do you think we could meet?”
Two days later, we met at a restaurant and got reacquainted. I informed him of my first aborted attempt in Turkey less than a month earlier. He said he actually had some experience with getting someone out of Turkey and asked when I wanted to proceed.
After agreeing to start immediately, we arranged initial payment options. He knew that I needed to sell my house, but he started his work immediately. He wanted to do reconnaissance in Turkey before the family left for Egypt. He got his “group of men” together, one of whom he had worked with in the past. He didn’t travel to Turkey himself, and I flew to my parents’ home in Kansas to wait for the verdict.
In comparing stories, his men were doing reconnaissance in the same locale I’d been to in Turkey. PI Bob called me at my parents’ to tell me that he didn’t think my daughter and her family were in Turkey anymore. I knew they were going to be in Turkey for a couple of weeks, and then they were going to Egypt, but he asked if there was a way to find out for sure. I felt confident that I could get this information. I called Abdul in Jeddah.
Abdul was shocked when I called. I hadn’t talked with him for months, even at his parents’ home, and I hadn’t called him for years. “I hope your mother is doing well,” he said.
I gasped at his awareness of my mother’s made-up illness. How did he know? “Thanks for asking,” I said cordially. “She is doing better after surgery.” I got to the point. “I am calling to see if I might be able to talk to our daughter.”
He replied empathetically, “Honey, she is not here. My dad came back to Saudi because my uncle died. My mom, sister, and Aisha flew directly to Egypt.”
I gave my condolences regarding his uncle and thanked him for the information. As I said goodbye, he reprimanded me for taking mail out of the country, which I had done as a favor for some maids. Instead of just hanging up, I replied, “I do not have any problem taking their mail.” How had he found out this had even happened? This was typical of the kind of conversations we had.
As we said goodbye, he said he loved me. My ex-husband’s bipolar personality was showing through. Though I had not heard of a diagnosis for his illness, I had once seen lithium, which was often used for this condition, among his belongings.
Clearly, he had been surprised to hear from me, but he was already aware I was out of the country. How would he know my mother was sick? I’d had no contact with him or his family.
Later, when I returned to Saudi, I found out from my roommate that Abdul had called to talk with me while I was gone. This was not the norm for us. She was purposely uninformed as to what went on in the secretive part of my life. The excuse I had used when leaving was that my mother was sick and I had to go home to visit. Abdul had called to gather information, as word had probably filtered back to the family that there was a woman who was looking for them in Turkey.
My intuition has helped me throughout my life, and it was likely that my cover had, in fact, been blown and that my instincts were right on the day I had aborted the first mission.