Promised Land

by Robert Whitlow

  “Yes, and let Jakob know when it arrives.” Daud finished wiping down the kitchen counter.

  Hana spoke. “Let’s wait a few weeks to tell our families. Once my mother knows that I have news, she’ll guess what it is.”

  Later Daud walked Hana and Leon to the car.

  “Text me while you’re away,” she said.

  Daud wasn’t a prolific text writer, but at that moment he wasn’t going to deny Hana anything she asked.

  “Absolutely.”

  During the drive to the dog day care center, Hana talked to Leon about the baby.

  “It doesn’t mean I love you less,” she said. “And I’m sure your heart is big enough to welcome a new member to the household.”

  She stopped for a red light. Leon’s broad tongue was hanging partway out of his mouth. Hana didn’t look forward to the dog licking the baby’s face.

  “Put that tongue back in your mouth,” she said.

  Leon looked at her with his big brown eyes, flapped his tail against the floorboard, and left his tongue out as far as possible.

  Hana decided not to share her big news with anyone in Atlanta until she went to the doctor for one hundred percent confirmation. But inside she knew a massive change had occurred.

  “Good morning,” she said to Janet when she reached the assistant’s desk.

  “You’re later than usual,” Janet replied. “Are you okay?”

  Hana thought about the sweet pea in her purse and smiled. “Yes. Daud left this morning for a couple of days in Beirut to set up security in a new branch office for one of his clients.”

  “And that makes you smile?”

  “No, of course not. But it’s a quick trip.”

  “If Donnie goes on a business trip, I miss him because he’s not there to help with my younger daughter’s homework.”

  Janet had a son and two daughters. Her oldest child, a son, would be going away to college in the fall. The younger daughter was in middle school, and the older daughter was just entering high school.

  “Oh, I put the early mail on your desk,” Janet continued. “There was a long cardboard tube that someone mailed from Israel. The name and address for the law firm were handwritten and barely legible. It’s a miracle that it arrived.”

  Hana took out the green pea and placed it beneath her computer monitor where she could see it all day. It would be fun bringing in an object comparable in size to the baby, at least until the unborn child reached cantaloupe size. Touching her abdomen, Hana offered up a quick prayer that both she and the baby would have a good day.

  She pried open the cardboard tube. Inside were several rolled-up sheets of paper written in Hebrew. She could quickly tell they contained information related to the art dealer’s efforts to locate the ceramic figure once owned by Jakob’s client. Remembering Mr. Lowenstein’s warning not to work on non–law firm business, Hana slipped the sheets into the top drawer of her desk. Curious as to why the information was shipped in a cardboard tube instead of an envelope, she picked up the tube and peered into it. There was something else. Inserting her finger, she was able to pull out another rolled-up piece of thick paper.

  It was a signed print by an Israeli artist whose name Hana didn’t recognize but who used a bright, casual style that she instantly liked. The oil painting depicted a Jerusalem street scene from an older part of the city. A young woman with wisps of black hair flowing onto her shoulders and wearing a bright green dress and simple sandals was leaning back in a chair that rested against a limestone wall. Shafts of sunlight revealed interesting textures in the stones. At the woman’s feet was a cream-colored blanket with two babies lying on it. One child was grasping the other’s foot, as if about to put it in his or her mouth. Affixed to the bottom of the print was a Post-it Note from Avi Labensky. The print was a wedding gift. The title of the work was Jacob and Esau at Play, which answered the question about the babies’ gender. Hana suddenly wondered if there might be some similarity between Avi and her uncle Anwar. If so, maybe she should have brought two peas to work instead of one.

  She considered taking a photo of the painting and sending it to Daud, but she decided it would be better for him to see it in person first. Instead, she sent a group text to him and Jakob, letting them know about the arrival of the information from the art dealer. Jakob immediately responded with a request to meet with her. She answered.

  Only during lunch or after work. Not at the firm.

  Jakob suggested noon for lunch. Before responding, Hana contacted her doctor’s office to see when she could schedule an appointment for a pregnancy test. It would be a couple of weeks before the obstetrician could see her. Hana followed up with Jakob and gave him a later time to meet for lunch because she wasn’t sure how long the meeting with Mr. Collins and some clients would last.

  After catching up on her emails, she left her office and walked to the break room for a cup of coffee. As the dark liquid hit the bottom of the cup, Hana realized strong coffee might not be good for her baby. She poured the coffee down the sink and returned to her office where she quickly researched the issue and read that pregnant women should limit caffeine intake to 200 milligrams a day. That equaled a single cup of coffee. Because the English tea Hana drank at home contained caffeine, she’d likely met her daily limit. Hana rubbed her temples where a headache was forming and tried to concentrate on her work. The pain in her head increased during the meeting with Mr. Collins and the clients from Ra’anana, a modern technology hub near Tel Aviv. Fortunately, she didn’t have to do much translating because everyone on the conference call spoke English. She was rubbing her head when she returned to her office for a few minutes before leaving to meet Jakob.

  “Headache?” Janet asked.

  “Yeah, no coffee all morning.”

  “Why not? You always have a cup or two.”

  Realizing the conversation might quickly go where she didn’t want to follow, Hana gave a short answer. “I drank tea with breakfast this morning.”

  “Which probably had as much kick as brown-colored water.”

  “I don’t always drink coffee,” she said.

  “Name a day in the past month when you didn’t,” Janet replied. “And you’re squinting your eyes like you’re really in pain.”

  “It hurts some,” Hana admitted.

  Janet opened a desk drawer and took out a bottle of pain pills. “Two of these should help.”

  Hana reached out with her right hand but quickly pulled it back. She wasn’t sure the pills would be safe.

  “No, thanks,” she said. “I’m off to lunch with Jakob Brodsky and should be back by two o’clock.”

  Hana took three steps and realized she’d left the information from Avi Labensky in her desk drawer. She returned, grabbed it, and held it up as she approached Janet’s desk.

  “The packet from Israel is really for Jakob,” she said. “And I didn’t read it here since I couldn’t bill the time to a client.”

  Suddenly, Hana felt dizzy. She placed her hand on the corner of Janet’s desk to steady herself. She blinked her eyes until the room stabilized.

  “I need to eat,” she said. “Get some carbohydrates in my system.”

  “Are you sure you should drive?” Janet asked with concern in her voice.

  “Yeah, I’m fine now.”

  Chapter 18

  It was only a fifteen-minute drive to the restaurant where Hana was to meet Jakob. She’d recommended it because it featured hot sandwiches, a favorite of Jakob’s, and provided booth seating for privacy. When she walked by Jakob’s car, Hana saw two large boxes of documents in the rear seat. The Jewish lawyer was waiting for her near the front door of the restaurant. Vladimir Ivanov was with him. The man from Belarus stood and bowed when she approached. The lunch crowd had thinned, and there were plenty of places to sit.

  “I hope you haven’t been waiting long,” Hana said.

  “It worked out for the best. I was able to get in touch with Vladimir so he could join us. He’s excited
that we’re making progress.”

  “I’m not sure if that’s true. I haven’t reviewed the information from Daud’s contact in Jerusalem yet.”

  They stepped to the counter to place their orders. Ivanov spoke to Jakob.

  “Vladimir wants to order the same thing as you. He really enjoyed the lamb curry at the Indian restaurant.”

  “You first,” she said to Jakob.

  He ordered a large Italian sub with double meat. Hana eyed the menu posted on the wall and stepped up to place her order.

  “I’d like a side of sauerkraut, two dill pickles, and several pieces of salami. No bread.”

  The young woman taking orders stared at her for a second.

  “And I’ll pay whatever it costs since it’s not a menu item,” Hana added.

  The clerk called over the middle-aged manager and told her about the order. The matronly woman glanced at Hana and nodded. Meanwhile, Jakob spoke to Ivanov, who gave Hana a puzzled look. The two men talked back and forth in Russian. Jakob ordered another large Italian sub.

  “Vladimir is wisely following my culinary guidance today,” Jakob said to Hana. “Are you on some kind of weird low-carb diet?”

  “No.”

  They sat in a booth. Hana placed the papers she’d received from Avi Labensky on the table. Jakob thumbed through them. Ivanov picked up one of the sheets and nodded.

  “That’s a copy of the inventory for the Russian bank loan,” Jakob said. “Daud sent that to Avi for me. He didn’t have to return it. Everything else is in Hebrew.”

  Hana quickly began translating. There was a list of people Avi had contacted about the item he described as a “ceramic figurine.” Beside each name, the art dealer provided a short description of the person and what he’d learned from his initial communication with them. Their food arrived. After a few bites, Hana continued translating. It was a varied group with less than half of the people identified as “antiquity dealer.” There were three archaeologists on the list.

  “That’s interesting,” Jakob said. “I hadn’t thought about contacting a professional archaeologist, but it makes sense. There’s a chance someone might ask an archaeologist to evaluate the queen’s head.”

  Hana swallowed a bite of salami wrapped around a pickle. Her head still hurt, but her stomach felt better. She flipped to the next page.

  “The third archaeologist is an Israeli woman who agreed to meet with Avi in person and offer suggestions.”

  “What’s her name?”

  Hana referred to an earlier sheet of paper. “Daniella Rubin. She’s been digging in the Negev for the past few years searching for more relics related to the Essenes who lived at Qumran and wrote the Dead Sea Scrolls. She’s also an expert in Bar Kokhba coins, so Avi must have mentioned those to her.” The color-coded spreadsheet included Avi’s remarks about the inventory presented to the Russian banker and the range of value for some of the items on the list. Hana explained what the art dealer wrote and Jakob translated for Ivanov, who smiled and nodded his head appreciatively.

  “There’s more about the Bar Kokhba coins,” Hana continued. “Avi says the coins could range in value from a few hundred dollars to tens of thousands depending on the date of minting and value. The coins from the first year of the revolt are worth a lot more than those from years two and three. Your client’s great-grandfather had several first-year coins, and Avi says that even though the old photographs Daud sent him aren’t the best quality, the earliest coins could be extremely valuable. He recommends that you have the photographs digitally enhanced so the peculiarities of each coin can be analyzed. They’re as unique as a human fingerprint.”

  “The enhanced photographs are already done,” Jakob replied. “And they are amazing. I can send them to Avi immediately. I knew that might be important and wanted to be proactive.”

  Hana kept reading. “Avi didn’t share the photos with anyone yet.”

  “Daud and I talked about that,” Jakob said, leaning forward. “We decided to keep things generic, especially with the queen’s head, until it makes sense to share more details. Even then, I don’t want the photos loose on the internet. The trick is to attract interest and obtain information without giving too much away ourselves.”

  “I have no idea how that works,” Hana replied, pausing to eat another bite of sauerkraut.

  Jakob took a drink of water. “What else does Avi have to say? I’m liking this guy more and more.”

  The art dealer had done a lot of work, considering there was no promise of payment. To her, it indicated how much he must respect and like Daud. Avi had included a summary of the current state of the law in Israel about buying and selling antiquities and the penalties for violating the law.

  “But those provisions wouldn’t apply because Vladimir’s great-grandfather acquired everything when the Ottomans were still ruling Palestine,” Jakob said.

  “True, but it might take a court proceeding to establish the chain of title prior to 1978 when Israel passed a law regulating antiquities.”

  “That’s where you come in,” Jakob began.

  “Not so fast,” Hana replied. She told him about her conversation with Mr. Lowenstein.

  “Maybe if I call him—”

  “That would make it worse,” Hana interjected. “Let’s keep things between us informal.”

  Jakob chewed thoughtfully. “The odds aren’t that great that any part of the collection is in Israel. Most likely everything is somewhere in the former Soviet Union.”

  Hana reorganized the papers. “If you’d like, I’ll take these home and translate from Hebrew to English while Daud is out of town.”

  “That would be great.”

  When they were ready to leave, Ivanov reached into his pocket and tried to hand Hana a wad of money. She could see a collection of wrinkled five- and ten-dollar bills.

  “That’s not necessary,” she said.

  “Let him pay you,” Jakob suggested. “It will make him feel better.”

  “But that’s exactly the sort of thing that violates my employment contract at the firm.”

  Jakob shook his head. “You teach me something almost every time we get together. Find out the name of one of Mr. Lowenstein’s favorite charities, and I’ll recommend Vladimir make a donation in your honor.”

  Hana thought about the interfaith forum and told Jakob about it. “There will be charities linked to the event,” she said.

  “Sounds good. And I want to come hear what you have to say.”

  “Only if you sit near the front of the room and make silly faces to get me to laugh.”

  “Would I do that?” Jakob grinned.

  * * *

  While he waited for his flight from New York to Beirut, Daud clicked open an email from Hana that contained a link to the information sent by Avi Labensky. He read the information before boarding his Air France flight.

  It was midmorning when the plane landed at the Beirut airport. Daud took a taxi to Le Gray Beirut, a local hotel. Even though Lebanon was under the de facto control of Hezbollah, the Shiite-based “Army of God,” the business and cultural center of Beirut retained its classic French-inspired beauty and cosmopolitan feel. Daud’s client was located in a district where international businesses clustered together. When he arrived at the office, Daud was greeted by a young woman dressed in European clothes.

  His local contact was a Lebanese man named Youssef who came from a Maronite Christian family. The Maronites were an ancient Christian sect that traced their roots to the disciples in Antioch and had lived in Lebanon for over a thousand years. Youssef, a slender young man with a thin black mustache, picked up Daud at the hotel.

  “Welcome to Beirut,” Youssef said with an upper-class Lebanese accent. “Would you like some coffee?”

  They stopped at a fancy coffee shop where Daud learned that Youssef had spent time studying at the Sorbonne in France and turned down an opportunity to immigrate to France upon graduation.

  “Many of my Lebanese classmates
saw the degree as a way to escape Lebanon,” he said. “But Beirut is my home, and when the opportunity to work with an American tech company came up, I took it.”

  “Were the Americans looking for someone like you with extensive local connections?”

  “Yes,” Youssef answered, nodding. “One phone call can lead to many others. What do the Americans call it? The domino effect?”

  “Maybe. My wife is the one who knows the American idioms.”

  They spent the rest of the day inspecting and evaluating Youssef’s implementation of the security protocols included in Daud’s plan. The American company wanted to develop local business but also bring in clients from other Middle Eastern countries for presentations. Daud wasn’t an expert in cybersecurity, but he knew how to protect the physical location of the office and the people working there, and how to set up safe ingress to and egress from the city for wealthy clients at risk of kidnapping for ransom. During short breaks he kept checking his phone for news from Hana, but nothing came through. True to his promise, he sent her several texts.

  “I agree with the hotel you selected,” Youssef said. “It’s close by, and the owners want to protect their reputation with foreigners. One of the managers at Le Gray is a distant relative on my mother’s side. I wasn’t familiar with the transportation company you recommended. It’s small.”

  The transportation service was owned by two brothers who had a secret relationship with Israeli defense officials. Daud knew they’d provided intelligence information about local terrorist activity. Their drivers were skilled operators of armor-plated vehicles and performed double duty as bodyguards.

  “They can handle any situation,” Daud said.

  Toward the end of the day, Youssef invited Daud to join him for dinner.

  “My wife and parents will be there,” he said. “I think you will enjoy meeting my father.”

  “Thanks, but I’m tired from the flight,” Daud replied.

  Back at the hotel, he ordered room service for dinner. There was no word from Hana. Finally, he received multiple text messages sent throughout the day. His favorite was the one that read: