Chosen People

by Robert Whitlow

  It was early in the morning when Jakob woke up and brewed a pot of coffee. Dr. Bedford had recommended limited intake of caffeine, so Jakob nursed a cup of weak coffee as he began investigating Andre Sarkasian. All the initial hits on the internet were related to Sarkasian’s activities in the United States, including references to petty offenses committed when he was a teenager in Dearborn. Jakob suspected that the rap sheet in Detective Freeman’s file was more comprehensive. There were two photographs of Sarkasian taken within the past five years. In the pictures an unsmiling young man in his mid- to late twenties stared coldly into the camera.

  As Jakob went deeper, more and more Russian-language references began to surface. Lifted from the ethos of the search engine algorithms, most of them had no obvious connection to Sarkasian, and Jakob spent two hours without uncovering anything relevant. While taking a break, he tuned in to a classical music station featuring Beethoven as the composer of the week. He resumed his search to the strident opening of Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony. The notes sounded like hammer blows that could crack rock.

  Ten minutes later, Jakob opened a link to a blog originating from Dagestan that advocated Islamic purity. Included on the page was a photograph of ten Islamic fundamentalists swearing allegiance to jihad. Almost all of the faces in the photo were Caucasian. Standing slightly off to the side of the group was a face that appeared familiar. Jakob looked closer. It wasn’t Sarkasian. Checking his saved files, Jakob pulled up the recruitment video filmed by the tall, slender white man with the American accent. It was the same individual.

  Returning to the blog from Dagestan, Jakob carefully searched everything on the website. There were a total of ten blogs, and he read them all. Much of the language was repetitive. There were only so many ways to say the same thing. The message of militant Islam was clear—Dar al-Salam and Dar al-Harb—house of peace and house of war. The former were the areas of the world under Islamic control; the latter were parts yet to be conquered either through conversion or by force.

  Tired, Jakob lay down for a nap. Before he did, he sent a text to Emily Johnson asking if she was available to take him to the office at noon.

  Hana put on the nicest dress she’d brought on the trip. The restaurant was located in the swankiest new area of the city. The prices on the à la carte menu would put a big dent in the food budget she’d set for the entire trip. She inspected herself in the full-length mirror on the bathroom door and adjusted her sleek black dress. Going downstairs, she asked the concierge to order a cab. When the concierge asked where she was going, he rubbed his fingers together to signal that the restaurant was expensive. The driver of the cab was an Israeli, and Hana gave him her destination in Hebrew. She arrived at the restaurant a few minutes early, and the maître d’ escorted her into the bar to wait. It was a Jewish crowd, and Hana didn’t see any other Arabs besides the bartender.

  Five minutes after she sat down, an Arab man hurriedly entered the bar. Hana instantly knew it had to be Daud Hasan. The investigator was about six feet tall with broad shoulders, black hair, and a square chin. He saw Hana and came over to her. He lowered his head slightly and greeted her formally in Arabic.

  “And nice to meet you,” Hana answered in the same language.

  “Do you have a brother named Mikael?” Daud asked. “I played club football with a man named Mikael Abboud about six or seven years ago.”

  Hana nodded. “That’s my older brother. He lived in Jerusalem back then and worked for a food wholesaler.”

  “That makes sense. He always brought snacks to the matches. Where is he now?”

  “Working with my father and uncles in the family irrigation pipe company. Mikael handles sales to Africa and India where they are trying to expand the business. He’s out of the country a lot.”

  “He was a good football player and scored at least half our goals. I stayed on the defensive end of the field.”

  Mikael was the best athlete in the Abboud family.

  “I thought your name sounded familiar when Anat mentioned you to me,” Hana said. “Mikael must have mentioned you back then.”

  The investigator had an engaging smile and came across as less serious than Hana had anticipated.

  “Are you ready to eat?” he asked.

  “Yes. I’ve never been here before.”

  “It’s new and has the best steaks in Jerusalem.”

  The maître d’ took them to a table for two in a back corner of the restaurant. Hana was aware of the attention they received as they passed through the restaurant.

  “If we want to be inconspicuous and talk about business, this isn’t the place to do it,” she said after they sat down.

  “I disagree,” Daud replied. “Would it be better to discuss investigating a terrorist attack while eating at a restaurant in East Jerusalem or surrounded by Jews?”

  “Good point,” Hana admitted.

  A waiter took their drink orders. Daud spoke knowledgeably with him about the wine list.

  “Will it offend you if I order a glass of wine?” Daud asked.

  “No, go ahead.” Hana avoided alcohol and ordered tonic water with a twist of lime.

  The waiter left, and Daud faced Hana. “I’m also friends with Ibrahim Ghanem,” he said. “We’ve known each other since we were teenagers.”

  The mention of Hana’s former fiancé caused a light to come on in her mind. That was how she’d heard Daud’s name. Several times Ibrahim had mentioned a longtime friend who served in a secret branch of the Israel Defense Forces.

  “How is Ibrahim?” Hana asked somewhat awkwardly.

  “He and his wife just had their fourth child, a boy after three girls. He works in the radiology department at St. Louis French Hospital.”

  “Tell him congratulations on the birth of his son,” Hana said, then immediately added, “without revealing why we talked.”

  “I’ll save your congratulations for an appropriate time.”

  Hana wondered what Ibrahim had said to Daud Hasan about her. The waiter returned with a glass of wine for Daud and tonic water for Hana. Daud waited until the waiter had stepped away from their table before continuing.

  “I know you’re here to interview me,” Daud said. “But I’d like to volunteer some information to save time. The first has to do with my fees if you decide to hire me. Given the circumstances of the case, I’m willing to charge fifty percent less than my usual rate.”

  Stunned, Hana didn’t immediately respond. “What circumstances?” she managed.

  “Two factors,” Daud said as he leaned forward slightly. “Working on a matter involving a terrorist attack is a rare opportunity.”

  “And that’s good?” Hana asked. “You already mentioned how risky and dangerous it will be.”

  “Risk isn’t necessarily a bad thing. Why did you agree to become involved?”

  Hana thought about Sadie, but she wasn’t comfortable revealing her feelings for the little girl to a man she’d just met. “Could we leave that to the side for now?”

  “No problem, you’re here to find out about me,” Daud replied. “This is my chance to work on an important case, not just for the client, but for the country. Terrorism is everyone’s enemy. Second, I don’t often get to work with an Arab attorney who is a Christian.”

  The investigator’s second statement was even more surprising than his first.

  “Really?” Hana managed.

  Daud leaned forward and smiled again. “To be completely honest, I’ve been curious to meet you ever since you ended your engagement to Ibrahim. I even asked your brother about you when we played on the football team. He told me you were totally dedicated to your career.”

  “That’s not entirely true,” Hana responded. “But I guess it could look that way to members of my family.”

  The server arrived with salads. In typical Middle Eastern fashion, it wasn’t a bed of lettuce but rather a variety of olives, cheeses, and fresh fruit.

  “Do you mind if I pray?” Daud asked.
<
br />   “That would be great.”

  Hana watched as the investigator unashamedly bowed his head and closed his eyes.

  “Father, I thank you for this meal and the opportunity to meet Hana. I pray that you will comfort Ben and Sadie Neumann in the loss of a wife and mother and bring healing to their lives in the ways that only you can do. May you direct the steps of everyone who helps them. In Jesus’ name, amen.”

  Hearing the words of the prayer in Arabic for Ben and Sadie deeply touched Hana. She looked up into Daud’s face. There was an intensity and tenderness in his gaze.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  “Now, in between bites, I’ll tell you about me,” he said.

  Daud was the third of four children, and his mother lived in the fast-growing Negev city of Beersheba. Most of the Arabs in Beersheba were Bedouins, but Daud’s great-grandfather had come to Israel from Egypt after the end of World War I.

  “We were Coptic Christians for many, many generations,” he said. “But my father met Jesus in a deeper way before his death ten years ago. That changed everything in our family. His encounter with God sent me on a journey of my own.”

  Hana felt tears well up in her eyes as Daud described his realization that Jesus wasn’t merely a historical figure but a personal Savior and Lord. It had been a watershed moment that impacted his life from that point forward. He read the Bible, prayed, and looked for chances to share his faith with others.

  The investigator lived in a modern apartment building in the Arab area of East Jerusalem. He attended a church Hana had heard about but never visited. She shared the story of her grandfather and Uncle Anwar.

  “Why did your family leave Egypt for the Negev?” she asked.

  “My great-grandfather worked with horses and mules, and in those days people still used a lot of draft animals in the desert because the roads were so poor. My father was a civil engineer. Did your family come from Syria or Lebanon? I never asked Mikael or Ibrahim.”

  “Lebanon. Four hundred years ago to Nazareth and sixty years ago to Reineh.”

  They continued to share family history. When Hana checked her phone, she saw they’d been at the restaurant for over two hours. The time had flown by. Hana remembered one of the negative questions she had for Daud.

  “I have to ask: Why did you tell me you’d turned down a job offer from the US Attorney’s Office in New York to work on the Neumann case and then call your contact there as soon as we talked?”

  Daud shook his head. “I didn’t tell anyone about our conversation except Anat Naphtali. Who claims that I did?”

  “An assistant US attorney in New York City phoned my boss and said her office was looking into the Gloria Neumann murder. How would a prosecutor in New York know to call my law firm if you didn’t tell someone about our interest?”

  “Did the lawyer claim I provided the information?”

  “No.”

  “What’s her name?”

  “Sylvia Armstrong.”

  “Never heard of her.”

  “Okay, my boss and I jumped to a wrong conclusion, not that we believed there would be a problem with you working for the US government along with us. Our interests are parallel.”

  “It’s clear that the United States government either hired somebody to keep very close tabs on this situation or has access to conversations originating from your phone or mine.”

  Hana stared at her phone for a second. It had always seemed a benign part of her life.

  Daud continued, “I always assume that my phone calls are recorded. And that my computer is subject to being hacked.”

  Hana knew for certain she wasn’t equipped to move forward into such alien, potentially hostile territory. And after meeting Daud, she couldn’t imagine hiring anyone other than the man sitting across the table to be her guide.

  “I want your help,” she said. “I need your help.”

  “Good.” Daud beamed. “May I start by buying your dinner and giving you a ride to your hotel?”

  “No to dinner because you’re already agreeing to cut your fees, but yes to a ride.”

  They stepped outside into the cooler air of nighttime in Jerusalem. The Holy City is over two thousand feet above sea level and enjoys a more temperate climate than lower-lying areas like Galilee and the Dead Sea. The valet brought up a dark green Land Rover. It wasn’t a common vehicle in Israel. Daud held Hana’s hand as she climbed into the passenger seat. His light touch couldn’t hide his strength.

  “I travel off-road a lot in the Negev, for both business and recreation,” he said when they were seated.

  Hana enjoyed sitting high above the roadway as Daud smoothly navigated his way through the winding streets. She couldn’t remember when she’d felt so instantly comfortable with a man.

  “I’d like to see you tomorrow,” Daud said when they reached the hotel.

  “Yes,” Hana said more eagerly than she intended.

  “I have information about the Neumann murder to pass along,” Daud continued. “I started working on the case even though I told you I wouldn’t. We could meet in one of the conference rooms at your hotel.”

  “Okay. Would you like to join me for breakfast?”

  “No, I’m meeting someone in Tel Aviv. Why don’t we get together around two o’clock?”

  They confirmed that they had each other’s correct cell phone numbers. As she entered the hotel, Hana glanced over her shoulder at the receding taillights of Daud’s vehicle. That night, she tossed and turned, replaying everything Daud had said over their dinner. She tried to calm her heart, but it was no use.

  Early the next morning, Hana was up and on her computer. She canceled the appointments with the other investigative firms and composed a memo to Mr. Lowenstein notifying him that she was retaining Daud Hasan as their investigator. She also let him know about Daud’s denial of any involvement with the US government. After sending the memo to the senior partner, she forwarded it to Jakob Brodsky and Ben Neumann. Circling back, she sent Janet a few sentences about Daud Hasan. She concluded with

  No photos—yet.

  CHAPTER 19

  Jakob read the memo from Hana. Rather than sending a reply, he called her.

  “You acted with lightning speed in hiring Daud Hasan,” he said when she answered. “I didn’t take you as a person who would make a snap decision.”

  Jakob thus joined Janet in expressing his opinion about Hana, albeit in a different context.

  “Two things changed,” Hana said. “Sahir Benali withdrew his name for some unknown reason, and Daud offered to cut his normal rate by fifty percent. It was too good to pass up, especially since he has the same sense of call to the case that we do.”

  “You could tell that after one meeting?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you’re one hundred percent satisfied with his explanation about no follow-up contact with the US Attorney’s Office in New York? He’s not secretly working for the US government?”

  “No, he’s not. And we share the same faith.”

  “What does that have to do with anything?”

  “Religion plays a big part in everything that occurs in the Middle East.”

  “Well, if it saves us a bunch of money, I’m all for it. What now?”

  “We’re meeting again this afternoon. He’s already pulled together some information to pass along.”

  “I wish I could be there for that,” Jakob said.

  “I’ll put together another memo for you and Mr. Lowenstein.”

  “What else can you tell me about Hasan that won’t be in the memo?”

  “I learned a lot last night at dinner.”

  “He took you out to dinner? Was this an interview or a date?”

  “We have several common connections with people, which isn’t unusual in Israel, especially in the Christian Arab world. We talked a lot about that, too. He played on a soccer team with one of my brothers several years ago.”

  “If he’s a soccer player, that’s a po
sitive sign for me. Did he pick you up and take you back to your hotel?”

  “I took a taxi to the restaurant, and he drove me back after dinner.”

  “It was a date,” Jakob said confidently. “If you meet a woman in a bar and drive her home, it’s a date.”

  “Please don’t—”

  “I’m kidding,” Jakob cut in. “I think you made the right choice with Hasan. Does he speak other languages?”

  “I haven’t asked, but he speaks the ones we need: Arabic, Hebrew, and decent English.”

  “What will you do today?”

  “I’m going to Hurva Square before Daud arrives this afternoon. I know the Jewish Quarter well, but I want to see it through the eyes of the case.”

  After hanging up, Jakob prepared to call a prospective client. But before he could, Maddie buzzed him.

  “You’d better take this,” she said. “It’s your mechanic. He says he really needs to talk to you.”

  “What’s up, Tony?” Jakob asked, puzzled at the urgency of the message.

  “I’ve been waiting for you to call me back all morning,” the mechanic responded. “Didn’t you get the text message and photos from Diane?”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “Your car was destroyed by a fire.”

  “What?” Jakob asked in shock.

  “The damage will be covered by our shop insurance policy, and as a lawyer I’m sure you can make them pay what they should. I’ll help in any way I can as to valuation, but there’s no question that it’s a total loss.”

  “How did it happen?” Jakob managed.

  Tony paused for a second. Jakob could hear him yell instructions at someone else.

  “I had your car up on a lift first thing this morning. I found an aftermarket device that I didn’t recognize installed next to your fuel line. I assumed it was a gimmicky product that’s supposed to save gas mileage. I took a picture of it on my phone and tried to move it around to see how it was mounted. I left for a minute to see if I could identify it online, and the next thing I knew, one of my mechanics was yelling that your car was on fire. I’m waiting on a call from an investigator with the insurance company. He’s going to come out today or tomorrow to see if he can determine what happened. I can’t believe you didn’t get the news. I’m sitting in the office right now. Let me check the phone number we have on file for you.”