Chosen People

by Robert Whitlow

  Hana pointed up. “He’s doing it, but I’m not sure exactly why.”

  “God loves the orphan,” Janet answered. “Here’s the memo. I double-checked it because I knew you were spending time in here with Sadie.”

  Hana held the sheets of paper in her hand resting lightly on Sadie’s back.

  “Looks good,” she said. “Please make three copies.”

  Hana softly talked to Sadie while carrying her back to the conference room. The little girl stirred and raised her head. Her eyes blinked open.

  “Where’s my daddy?” she asked.

  “Waiting for us,” Hana answered. “I’m taking you to him.”

  Sadie wiggled to the floor. “I can walk now,” she announced.

  They held hands. The little girl’s grip was strong. Upon reaching the conference room, Sadie ran over to her father. Hana handed the two men copies of the memo.

  “Thanks,” Jakob said. “Ben and I talked, and I’m not going to join you on this trip to Israel. I’m not in shape to do so, but I want to remain in the loop of information.”

  “Yes—” Hana began.

  “And I insist on it,” Ben added before she could continue. “Jakob took my case when no one else would give me a call back. He’s my lawyer.”

  “I understand. I’ll communicate with both of you.”

  “Hana sang to me,” Sadie cut in.

  “What did she sing about?” Ben asked.

  “I don’t know,” Sadie said with a shake of her head. “But I liked it.”

  Hana explained the history and meaning of the song.

  Ben smiled. “I’m sorry I missed that,” he said.

  “It made me feel all warm and cozy in here.” Sadie touched her chest.

  CHAPTER 15

  Ben gave Jakob a ride home from Collins, Lowenstein, and Capella. Jakob’s head was pounding, and as soon as he was inside his apartment, he took two pain pills, wolfed down a few saltine crackers, and lay on the sofa with a hot rag on his forehead. After about thirty minutes the pain began to subside as the potent medicine kicked in. He repositioned himself on the couch and wondered how much longer he was going to be plagued with side effects from the injuries he’d received in the attack. He’d never been sick for more than a few days in his life. His phone, which was on the coffee table in front of the sofa, vibrated. Jakob’s first impulse was to ignore it, but when he saw the call was from the Atlanta Police Department, he answered.

  “This is Detective Freeman, returning your call,” the man on the other end of the line said.

  Jakob told him about the conversation between Butch’s wife, Nelle, and the woman at the apartment complex.

  “Do you have the name and phone number for the neighbor?”

  Jakob realized he hadn’t asked Butch for this basic data. “No, but I can give you Butch Watson’s number.”

  “The incident with the car fits other information we’ve uncovered,” the detective replied.

  “What other information?” Jakob asked, sitting up straighter on the couch.

  “It’s an ongoing investigation,” Freeman said in a matter-of-fact voice. “I can’t reveal any specifics to you, even though you’re the victim. But this case isn’t sitting dead in a filing cabinet.”

  Jakob’s headache had retreated under the assault of the strong pain medication, and he felt more lucid. “There’s something else that might be relevant,” he said and then told Freeman about finding the misbaha beads and his involvement in the Neumann case.

  “Where are these prayer beads now?”

  “At my office.”

  “I’ll send a patrol officer to pick them up tomorrow.”

  After the call ended, Jakob went downstairs to the small room where all the tenants had post office boxes. As he thumbed through a stack of advertising flyers, he heard a noise and saw movement through the glass top half of the exit door. The door was locked on the inside, barring any entrance. Holding the mail in his hand, Jakob looked out. It was dark, and he could see only as far as a security light a few feet from the door. No one was there. A flying object flashed through the circle cast by the light. It was a fruit bat. Jakob had seen the bats hunting insects on warm evenings. He returned upstairs with his mail.

  The following morning, Hana sent a short memo to Mr. Lowenstein about the meeting with Jakob and Ben. She also sent an email to Anat Naphtali asking her friend about a good time to call. It was early afternoon in Tel Aviv. Anat answered with a single word: Now!

  Hana placed the call, and Anat answered in Arabic.

  “How are you feeling?” Hana replied in the same language.

  Anat switched to Hebrew. “Okay, but not well enough to practice my Arabic with you. I’ll mix up words like scrambled eggs.”

  “Your Arabic worked at the airport.”

  “Not good enough. That’s why we needed you. But this has been a good day, even though I have zero appetite in the morning and can’t use words like ‘pickled fish’ in a sentence before noon. What’s new in your world?”

  Hana told her friend about her new puppy.

  “I would have predicted you’d adopt a cat, not a dog,” Anat replied. “Make sure he understands you in multiple languages. That will come in handy if you have to order him to attack someone to protect you.”

  “My dog is a lover, not a fighter,” Hana said. “Can you keep this conversation between us?”

  “Sure.”

  Hana told Anat about the Neumann case without violating the attorney-client confidentiality rules. However, she did include the attack on Jakob Brodsky and his finding the misbaha prayer beads.

  “I remember when the American was murdered,” Anat said. “I was sitting in a café in Dizengoff Square when I heard the news. I never knew what happened to the child except that she was injured. I’m glad she’s okay.”

  Hana didn’t respond. Sadie was alive, but no one could claim she was okay.

  Anat continued, speaking more rapidly. “And I don’t think you should get involved in this. You may be living in America, but you will eventually come home. It only takes one crazy person to find out what you’re doing and make you his next target. Does your family know about this?”

  “No.”

  “They would drag you to Reineh and lock you up until they could find a proper husband for you. They could be at risk, too. This is a terrible idea.”

  Anat was a smart, opinionated person. Hana inwardly repeated Isaiah 12:2.

  “I’d only put myself in potential danger for a good reason,” Hana said, but she instantly knew that hadn’t sounded persuasive.

  “Listen to yourself!” Anat shot back. “Just because you didn’t serve in a combat unit in the IDF is no reason to do something stupid now. You did a lot more for the country serving in security at the airport than you could have sitting in a tent on the Golan watching the snow melt on Mount Hermon. It’s the cowards in charge who send the young men out to die in jihad. The leaders talk tough but stay behind.”

  Hana could tell Anat wasn’t going to stop unless interrupted, so she cut in. “You’re right, and I’m glad you care about my safety. Will you at least let me tell you why I wanted to talk to you today?”

  “Okay, but that’s not going to shut me up.”

  “I know,” Hana said, then continued, “I’m coming to Israel to interview investigators and do preliminary research. I’ve talked to Sahir Benali but not Daud Hasan. Now that you know the facts, are there any larger firms that might be better equipped to help me?”

  “My opinion is that you should get out of this mess before your name is linked to it.”

  “I understand.”

  Anat was silent for so long that Hana checked her phone to make sure her friend hadn’t hung up on her. “Are you there?” she finally asked.

  “Yes, yes, yes,” Anat replied in the common Israeli fashion of rapidly repeating short answers to questions. “Let me think about it and make a few phone calls. As to Sahir and Daud, Sahir is a grinder who will dig unt
il he comes up with an answer. Daud is younger and more up-to-date on technology. Also—” Anat was silent again for a moment.

  “What?” Hana asked.

  “If you were ever in danger, I’d want Daud looking after you. He never talks about some of his training, but I think he can do things most people only see in movies.”

  A shudder ran down Hana’s spine. “I’ll consider that,” she replied.

  “Make the smart move and let someone else go down this dark hole in the ground. The units assigned to Gaza tunnel duty have the scariest job in the army. They don’t need any competition from you.”

  The phone call ended. Hana stared out her small window for several moments. She didn’t see the Atlanta skyline; she saw Reineh and the deep concern she knew would be on the faces of her family members if they knew what she was doing.

  It had been two days since Jakob’s meeting with Ben Neumann and Hana Abboud. He’d transitioned to a smaller bandage that barely covered the knots on his skull. The bumps were getting softer, and the area of bruising more yellow than purple. He eased into the rear seat of Emily Johnson’s car after making arrangements with her to serve as his driver for the day. As promised, the blond driver had arrived exactly on time to pick him up for work. She pushed the passenger seat forward to increase his legroom.

  “How’s traffic between here and my office?” Jakob asked as he closed the door.

  “No wrecks or delays unless they happen while we’re en route,” she replied as she lowered the volume of the music that was blasting from the speakers.

  “That’s from Swan Lake, isn’t it?” Jakob asked.

  “Yes.” Emily glanced at him in the rearview mirror. “You’re good.”

  Emily zigzagged through traffic and beat a light just as it was turning yellow. Jakob was thrown back and forth in his seat. He checked to make sure his seat belt was securely fastened. His cell phone vibrated with a call from Detective Freeman. He held the phone to his ear and answered. Emily turned down the volume of the music.

  “We’ve identified a possible suspect in your case,” the detective began.

  “Who?” Jakob asked as Emily failed to make a light and the car came to a sudden stop.

  “We’re not sure about his real name, but based on facial recognition software, he turned up as a person of interest for the customs branch of Homeland Security.”

  “Homeland Security?”

  “Yes.”

  “And how did you get a picture of his face?”

  “At your apartment complex two nights ago. He was driving a car matching the description of the vehicle that almost ran over the woman the night of the attack. After we interviewed her, we were able to narrow down the car to a late-model Buick from her description of the taillights. And the camera located by the barrier gate at your complex entrance gave us a screenshot of the suspect.”

  Jakob was speechless. He vaguely remembered seeing the camera on a metal pole.

  “You’re watching my apartment?” he managed.

  “Not all the time, but aspects of the assault bore the marks of a hit, not a robbery. We weren’t sure, of course, but we placed your case in a protocol that allocates resources to check on you for a few weeks to make sure you’re not an ongoing target.”

  Jakob tried to calm his rapidly beating heart. Emily turned onto Roswell Road. They were ten minutes away from Jakob’s office.

  He looked at the back of Emily’s head. The blond music student didn’t need to know his business.

  “What else can you tell me?” he asked in a low voice.

  “Homeland Security believes the man we identified left the country yesterday. They were in position to apprehend him in the southwest part of the city on other charges, but he evaded capture and used a fake passport to book a flight to Venezuela where we can’t touch him.”

  “He’s from Venezuela?”

  “No, somewhere in the Middle East. The feds wouldn’t give us a specific country of origin. But there’s no question he was here illegally and involved in smuggling untaxed cigarettes.”

  “I’m not following this.”

  “The suspect was making money selling bootleg cigarettes and then funneling the profits overseas.”

  Jakob sat up straighter in the seat. “What’s his name? And the identity of the organization he’s linked to. That could be important to me in a civil case I’m handling.”

  “They wouldn’t tell me any of that information. Once they had the image of his face and identified him, my contact told me they’d take it from there.”

  Emily pulled in front of the office building and stopped.

  “Hold on,” Jakob said to the detective. “I have another question for you.”

  Jakob got out and waved bye to Emily. His thoughts flashed to how his father must have felt when under constant threat from the KGB. “What precautions should I take?” he asked.

  “Exercise common sense and keep your eyes open,” the detective replied. “We’re an open society. The address of an ordinary citizen can be located within seconds with the right online program.”

  “I guess I’m looking for an Arab?”

  “Most likely, but there’s no guarantee. Terrorists come in all nationalities. Terrorism is based on belief, not ethnicity. I’ll call again as soon as I have relevant information to pass along.”

  The call ended. Jakob stepped inside the two-story building.

  “You look better,” Maddie said brightly. “How do you feel?”

  “Worse,” Jakob mumbled as he continued up the stairs.

  Hana ordered a tabbouleh salad at Mr. Akbar’s restaurant. The spicy dish woke up her taste buds.

  “Where’s Gadi?” Hana asked when she didn’t see Mr. Akbar’s son at his usual place in front of the flattop grill.

  “He left yesterday for Beirut,” Mr. Akbar replied. “He feels chained down here at the restaurant and doesn’t appreciate the opportunity for his future. When I tried to stop him we had an argument, and he left the house without saying good-bye.”

  Hana’s heart went out to the grieving father. “Maybe he’ll appreciate America and a future in the family business when he returns.”

  “I’m worried about more than that.”

  “I know,” Hana said, not wanting to verbalize the possibility that Gadi might join a militant Islamic group and never return.

  The restaurant was busy, but Mr. Akbar lingered. “I thought about you praying for Gadi,” the older man said anxiously in a softer voice. “What do you pray except ‘if Allah wills it’?”

  Hana offered up a quick plea for heavenly help. Before she could speak, one of the other workers called out to Mr. Akbar, and he stepped away. Hana’s heart was beating so hard she wondered if the woman standing next to her in the noisy restaurant could hear it. It was several minutes before the owner returned. Hana’s salad was almost gone when he did.

  “You enjoyed the food?” he asked.

  “Yes,” Hana answered. “I loved it. And that’s what I pray for you and Gadi. That you will experience God’s goodness and love.”

  “Experience love?” Mr. Akbar asked, a puzzled expression on his face.

  Hana looked directly into the older man’s eyes. “Mr. Akbar, I come from a Christian family. We’ve believed in Jesus Christ for hundreds of years.”

  “Oh, I see,” the restaurant owner said and nodded slowly with a serious expression on his face. “I would not want you to dishonor the faith of your fathers. I had Christian friends when I was a boy. We played together all the time. That was during the time when we believed the different groups could live together in peace.”

  Hana knew all about the valiant attempts by Maronite Christians and the two branches of Islam in the country to coexist after World War I.

  “And you are welcome here at my restaurant as an honored guest,” Mr. Akbar continued. “Hearing your words makes me wish for the old days. And please, keep praying to your God.”

  After leaving the restaurant, Hana spent mos
t of the time during the short drive to her office building thinking about Mr. Akbar and his son. The concept of God’s mercy was common in Islam, but the Qur’an contained only a few references to divine love, all linked to the performance of religious duties. God’s unconditional love didn’t exist in the Islamic world. Hana’s heart ached. She reached Janet’s desk.

  “Do you know that God loves you?” Hana blurted out.

  “Uh, yes,” her assistant replied, her eyes big. “That’s what it says in John 3:16. I memorized that verse when I was just a girl, and it was one of the first things I taught my kids.”

  “Right, I didn’t mean to—”

  “It’s okay. Did something happen at lunch?”

  “Yes,” Hana answered, knowing she shouldn’t relate her conversation at the restaurant with Mr. Akbar. “And be glad you live in America.”

  “I am,” Janet said. “Mr. Collins, one of your American bosses, wants to see you.”

  When she returned to her office after an hour-long meeting with Mr. Collins, Hana had an email from Anat Naphtali providing information about three more investigative firms. Hana spent the rest of the afternoon checking them out and setting up appointments. She also sent emails to Sahir Benali and Daud Hasan requesting times for face-to-face interviews while she was in Jerusalem. She wrote a group email to members of her family letting them know she wouldn’t have time for more than a brief visit in Reineh.

  As she was shutting down her computer for the evening, she received a response from Daud Hasan. It was after midnight in Israel. The investigator wanted to talk with her on the phone the following afternoon. Hana sent an email agreeing to a call and copied Jakob, inviting him to join them.

  CHAPTER 16

  The police officer sent to collect the misbaha beads left Jakob’s office. Thirty minutes later, Jakob was in the rear seat of Emily’s car on his way to a deposition.

  “The insurance defense lawyer wants to start a few minutes earlier,” Jakob said.

  Emily floored the accelerator, and the car shot forward. She turned up the volume of her music, a Bach fugue played on a massive pipe organ. She took an unexpected turn away from the main thoroughfare onto a side street. Jakob knew the best route to their destination.