Promised Land

by Robert Whitlow

  Their target was a Ukrainian scientist named Artem Kolisnyk who was fleeing from his homeland after being charged with selling classified information to the highest bidder. The Egyptians were one of his clients. Kolisnyk’s area of expertise wasn’t designing the heavy-payload rockets capable of striking any city in the Middle East, but something smaller and in some ways more dangerous—the development of short-range missiles capable of evading the Iron Dome defense system that had proved so effective in knocking short-range rockets and conventional artillery fire from the skies over Israel. Daud wasn’t briefed in detail about the underlying science of the Ukrainian’s work beyond the fact that the compact weapons he designed could mimic the million-dollar cruise missiles in the American arsenal by flying extremely close to the ground, thus making it difficult for the radar component of an Iron Dome battery to detect the missile and intercept it. The Egyptians had arranged to buy the exclusive rights to Kolisnyk’s services. The Americans and the Israelis didn’t want that to happen.

  As an Arab who spoke fluent Russian, Daud was tasked with convincing the scientist to accompany him to a meeting with American officials who would offer Kolisnyk a better deal than the Egyptians, a proposal that included political asylum in the US and guaranteed financial security through a nonmilitary job. The mission would require subtlety and finesse. Kolisnyk was in Sharm el-Sheikh on his way to Cairo, so this was the last chance to intervene. A complicating factor was the presence of the Ukrainian’s fiancée, a young Egyptian woman. It was assumed the couple would travel under fictitious names.

  Daud stepped out of the air-conditioned hotel into the dry heat and tossed a lightweight sport coat over his shoulder. It was a five-block walk to the central shopping district of Na’ama Bay where he could have a good meal. Finding a seafood restaurant, Daud slipped the maître d’ a twenty-dollar bill and was seated at a table with a view of the entire room.

  Fifteen minutes later four succulent prawns arrived resting on a bed of delicately seasoned rice. Glancing up, Daud saw a man and a woman approach the maître d’ and instantly recognized them from the briefing material for the mission. It was Kolisnyk and his fiancée. Encountering the Ukrainian at the restaurant gave Daud a prime opportunity to initiate contact in a public environment without interference. He took out his secure cell phone and quickly sent Charlie a text message.

  A and B are in the restaurant where I am eating. No security present. Permission requested to approach and engage.

  Chapter 2

  Hana brewed a cup of traditional Arab coffee flavored with cardamom and ate a breakfast of yogurt and fresh fruit. While she ate, she anxiously watched Israeli news reports on her computer. Daud had reassured her that he wouldn’t be in Israel or the West Bank, but she couldn’t help worrying. She grabbed her journal and reread her prayers from the night.

  After breakfast, she checked the social media accounts in Israel for her relatives and read the latest posts about her many cousins, nieces, and nephews. Hana didn’t maintain a public Facebook presence and sent only private messages. Her two favorite cousins, sisters named Fabia and Farah, no longer sent out daily requests for updates on Hana’s life as a married woman, but Hana knew they remained eager for any tidbits of news she could pass along. She sent them photos of a dinner of shish taouk, a skewered chicken dish she’d prepared for Daud the night before he left.

  Hana put on a tan skirt and white blouse and brushed her long black hair. Office attire at Collins, Lowenstein, and Capella was a step above business casual, and she frequently participated in corporate meetings, for which it was better to be overdressed than underdressed. Leon sat expectantly at the front door.

  “Ready for school?” Hana asked the dog, who flapped his big tail against the floor.

  There was no need to put Leon on a leash. He walked directly to Hana’s car and waited for her to open the door. He licked Hana’s hand when she moved the shifter from park to drive.

  “I love you too,” Hana said, scratching the dog’s favorite spot behind his right ear.

  Once they arrived at the doggie day care facility, she snapped on Leon’s leash. He matched her pace across the parking lot, but once they were inside, he pulled hard in the direction of the area where his four-legged friends waited.

  “I’ll take him from here,” said a male worker who’d watched Leon grow into a full-grown dog from a pup. “Rusty is out sick today, so it will only be Leon, Butch, and Oscar in their pack.”

  “I may have to pay a late fee this evening,” Hana said. “I have a conference call at six o’clock.”

  “Send us an email if that happens, and we’ll feed him supper.”

  Before leaving the kennel parking lot, Hana checked an app on her phone that let her watch Leon remotely. He and Oscar, a black Labrador, were already playing tug-of-war with a thick cotton rope.

  * * *

  For most of the morning Hana worked on a buy-sell agreement between an Israeli software company and an American private equity firm. A key part of her job involved translating documents into Hebrew or English without changing the meaning or intent of the parties. After finishing one long section, she took a break, leaned back in her chair, and quietly sang a snippet of the new song she’d received in the night. Janet appeared in her doorway.

  “Could you sing louder?” the assistant asked in her Maine accent. “I want to record that on my phone so I can sell it and make both of us rich.”

  “It’s in Arabic.”

  “Which adds to the mystery.”

  Janet had worked at the firm for over fifteen years and took Hana under her wing when the Arab lawyer arrived in Atlanta.

  “Have you listened to your voice-mail messages?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Jakob Brodsky called.”

  Jakob was a young Jewish lawyer who’d associated Collins, Lowenstein, and Capella in a wrongful death claim arising out of a terrorist attack in Jerusalem that resulted in the death of Sadie Neumann’s mother. While working on the case, Hana first met Daud, whom she hired as a private investigator to assist them.

  “Did you listen to it?” Hana asked.

  “I was curious. He said there’s a case he wants to talk to you about. No details.”

  Hana’s heart skipped a beat. The Neumann case had been a success, but she and Jakob came close to losing their lives when taken hostage by terrorists in Jerusalem.

  “What kind of claim?” she asked cautiously.

  “He didn’t give details.”

  “Okay,” Hana sighed. “I’d better call him. It will be hard to concentrate on anything else until I know what he wants.”

  Hana stared at the photo of Sadie for a moment before calling Jakob.

  “Brodsky Law Offices,” Jakob answered in a voice that revealed his roots in Long Island. “How may I help you?”

  “It’s Hana. Didn’t your phone recognize my number?”

  “Of course, but it could have been Leon Lowenstein.”

  The senior partner initially tried to marginalize Jakob’s involvement in the Neumann case but had grudgingly developed appreciation over time for Jakob’s perseverance and courage.

  “When was the last time Mr. Lowenstein called you directly?” Hana asked.

  “To ask me for a charitable contribution a couple of weeks after my cut of the attorney fee in the Neumann case landed in my bank account. It had to do with buying an ambulance for the equivalent of the Red Cross in Israel.”

  “That’s Magen David Adom. It means ‘Red Shield of David.’”

  “Yeah, but Magen David Adom sounds more legit when you say it than when Mr. Lowenstein does.”

  Hana smiled. Leon Lowenstein’s knowledge of Hebrew was limited to words and phrases he’d absorbed by osmosis in synagogue and during a lifetime in the Jewish community of Atlanta. He’d visited Israel only once and spent most of his time on the Mediterranean coast.

  “What kind of claim did you want to talk to me about?”

  “Are you interested i
n archaeology?”

  “I’ve visited lots of sites and volunteered for a week on a dig when I was a teenager.”

  “That’s good enough for me. I’m going to send you a news article. After you read it, I want to introduce you to a new client named Vladimir Ivanov.”

  “I’m busy.”

  “Just read the article.”

  Five minutes later Hana received an email from Jakob with the subject line “Rare Archaeological Find.” The email included a link to an article in the Israeli press about archaeologists discovering a miniature three-thousand-year-old ceramic head that was originally part of a detailed figurine of an unknown king. The small ceramic piece was uncovered near the modern town of Metula on the Israel-Lebanon border, close to the ancient village of Abel Beth Maakah mentioned in 1 Kings 15:20. The Iron Age artifact was only two inches in size but featured exquisitely crafted facial details enhanced by brown and tan colors almost as vibrant as they must have been when created by a highly skilled artisan. The newswriter hypothesized that the head could be of an Israelite, Aramaean, or Phoenician ruler. The exceptional find was immediately placed on public display at the Israel Museum in Jerusalem. There was no mention of a man named Vladimir Ivanov. Puzzled, Hana closed the email and began working on a project for Mr. Collins. Thirty minutes later her cell phone vibrated. It was a text message from the ever-persistent Jakob.

  Read the article yet?

  She entered a reply.

  Yes.

  Jakob immediately answered.

  What if the king had a queen? Can you meet with me and Ivanov for lunch? I’m craving curry.

  Hana smiled. She’d introduced Jakob to an Indian restaurant that had become one of his favorite places to eat.

  12:30?

  The Jewish lawyer responded with a thumbs-up sign.

  * * *

  Daud ate a prawn as he waited for a response to his text message. Kolisnyk and his fiancée sat at a table for four on the opposite side of the restaurant. The presence of a horseshoe-shaped bar made it difficult for Daud to keep them clearly in view, but there was only one exit, so they couldn’t leave without him knowing it. He chewed thoughtfully. The fact that he’d not received an immediate reply from Charlie denying his request gave him hope that a frantic discussion was going on behind the scenes. His phone remained dark. He finished eating his meal, and the waiter approached with a dessert menu in his hand. Daud’s phone lit up with an incoming message.

  “No dessert,” Daud said curtly.

  As soon as the waiter left, Daud read the message.

  Proceed with contact. Rendezvous point M is operational for the next two hours. Confirm.

  Daud acknowledged the message. Catching the waiter’s eye, he summoned him back to the table.

  “There is a couple sitting across the room. The man is wearing a tan sport coat, and the woman has on a black dress. Please see what they’re eating and pair it with a bottle of the best wine in your cellar.”

  A puzzled expression crossed the waiter’s face.

  “Add it to my bill,” Daud continued. “And don’t tell them who bought the wine. Say that it’s compliments of the house.”

  The waiter nodded.

  “Oh, and find out their names,” Daud added.

  “How do I do that, sir?”

  “Ask the maître d’ if they made a reservation. If they didn’t reserve a table, then ask their names when you deliver the wine to confirm they’re the correct people to receive it. It doesn’t matter how they answer, but remember their names so you can tell me.”

  The waiter hesitated.

  “You can do it,” Daud continued. “I’ll make it worth your while.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Daud watched as the waiter checked with the maître d’, then looked at Daud and shook his head before making his way across the room. Several minutes passed. Daud shifted in his seat. The waiter returned.

  “It’s done, sir. They’re eating fish so I brought them an unoaked Premier Cru Chablis,” he said. “Their names are Mr. and Mrs. Bakaj.”

  “Mr. and Mrs. Bakaj?”

  “Yes. They’re on their honeymoon.”

  “Excellent. I’m ready for my check.”

  Daud paid the bill with a credit card bearing the name that matched his fake Egyptian passport. Because his family had moved to Beersheba from the Alexandria region at the mouth of the Nile, Daud spoke Arabic with an Egyptian accent, which made it easy to pass himself off as an Egyptian. He added a generous tip.

  “Thank you, Mr. Sayyid,” the waiter said with a slight bow of his head.

  Daud stepped over to the bar so that he had a clear view of the couple. They lifted their wineglasses and clinked them together. After sipping the wine, the woman leaned closer to the man and placed her left hand on top of his. A diamond glistened on her ring finger. Daud waited until they’d enjoyed two more sips of wine before moving toward their table. As he came closer the woman glanced up and saw him. Daud intentionally made eye contact with her. A curious yet welcoming expression crossed her face. When Daud reached the table, he could see a wedding band nestled beside the diamond ring on her finger.

  “Excuse me,” Daud said to the man in Russian. “I hope you’re enjoying the wine. I asked the waiter to deliver it to you and Mrs. Bakaj. Congratulations on your wedding.”

  Kolisnyk looked up. “Who are you and how do you know our names?” the Ukrainian asked sharply in Russian and then spoke to his wife in Arabic. “Esma, do you know this man?”

  “He looks like someone I knew once,” the woman answered in heavily accented Russian with a friendly nod to Daud. “Thank you for the wine.”

  “May I join you for a moment?” Daud asked in Russian.

  “No,” Kolisnyk shot back with a look toward the maître d’ station.

  “Don’t be rude,” his wife responded in Arabic. “You were just telling me this was a superb Chablis.”

  The man hesitated for a moment. “Very well,” he replied. “What do you want?”

  Daud sat down, leaned forward, and placed his hands on the table.

  “Would you prefer I speak in Russian or Arabic?”

  “Arabic,” the woman answered. “My Russian is atrocious.”

  Kolisnyk brusquely waved his hand as a signal for Daud to continue. Daud locked eyes with the Ukrainian before he spoke.

  “I’m here to inform you about a better deal,” he replied. “A much better deal.”

  “What kind of deal?” the man asked.

  “Your real name is Artem Kolisnyk,” Daud replied. “I know why you fled Ukraine and the reason you’re on your way to Egypt.”

  The woman clutched her napkin tightly and stared at her husband for a moment before facing Daud. There was panic in her eyes.

  “How do you know these things?” she asked.

  “From the people who sent me to talk to you,” Daud answered, keeping his gaze on Kolisnyk. “I was also instructed to tell you that Uri Bondar remembers the days you spent together fishing in the stream that flows through the mountain meadow.”

  “What does that mean?” the woman asked her husband, who was staring at Daud.

  The dossier about the mission indicated Uri Bondar and Artem Kolisnyk were longtime friends and colleagues. The information had a clear impact on Kolisnyk.

  “Is Uri in Sharm el-Sheikh?” Kolisnyk asked. “I haven’t heard from him in over two weeks.”

  “Uri is here, and my job is to accompany you to the boat at the marina where he’s waiting,” Daud answered. “You will learn more there.”

  “Who are you working for?” Kolisnyk asked. “I’m not going anywhere until you tell me.”

  “As I said, people who want to give you a better deal than the Egyptians.”

  Kolisnyk was silent for a moment. “I told the Iranians I wasn’t interested at any price. They can’t guarantee my safety.”

  “It’s not the Iranians. It’s the Americans.”

  “The Americans!” Kolisnyk blurted out.
“I can’t trust them!”

  “Uri does.”

  Kolisnyk looked at his wife and shifted nervously in his chair. “I need to make a phone call,” the scientist said.

  “Who are you going to call?” his wife asked. “Uri?”

  Kolisnyk ignored her question.

  “Are we in danger?” His wife turned to Daud.

  “You’ve been in danger since long before your husband left Kiev,” Daud answered.

  “Go!” Kolisnyk said abruptly to Daud.

  “No,” Esma Kolisnyk cut in anxiously. “I want him to stay here with me. I don’t want to be left alone if what he says is true.”

  “Suit yourself,” Kolisnyk said gruffly.

  The Ukrainian walked past the bar and disappeared in the direction of the men’s restroom. Daud moved to follow in case the scientist was going to abandon his wife and leave the restaurant, but Esma reached out and grabbed his right arm with surprising strength.

  “Please, don’t leave me alone,” she pleaded. “Artem is doing this for me so we can begin a new life together.”

  Daud felt a measure of pity for the new bride. He didn’t know her background, but her future was cloudy.

  “Have you seen Uri?” she continued. “What can the Americans do for us? For me?”

  “I’m here to see that both of you are safely escorted to a meeting where everything will be explained to you,” Daud replied as calmly as he could. “Consider me a bodyguard.”

  He pulled his arm loose and headed toward the restroom. As soon as he rounded the bar, he saw Kolisnyk holding a cell phone to his ear and standing in a secluded corner. Daud stepped back and glanced over his shoulder at Esma, who remained at the table with her face buried in her hands. Kolisnyk lowered his phone, turned around, and made eye contact with Daud.

  From the look in the Ukrainian’s eyes, Daud knew Artem Kolisnyk wasn’t going with him voluntarily. Other types of persuasion were going to be necessary.

  Chapter 3

  Hana’s nose welcomed the pungent smells associated with South Asian cuisine. Lunch featured an expansive buffet that included lamb curry, vegetable root curry, rabbit curry, chilli paneer, tandoori chicken, and five or six other entrées. Jakob wasn’t in sight. The hostess seated Hana at a table with a good view of the door.