All is well with our sweet pea and me.
Daud sent a long response to Hana. Before going to bed, he checked his phone one last time. There was an email from Avi Labensky.
Received a nice email from your wife. Have you thought about moving back to Israel? If so, I know about a bungalow in Abu Tor. It’s not on the market, but the owner is willing to sell.
Abu Tor, meaning “the father of the bull,” was a neighborhood south of the Old City of Jerusalem. It was named after one of Saladin’s generals, a man who in legend rode a bull into battle against the Crusaders. Abu Tor had a long history of joint residence by both Arabs and Jews, and the predominantly Jewish section was one of the staging grounds for the Israeli army before it captured the Old City during the Six-Day War in 1967. Currently, the entire neighborhood was an example of coexistence between the different groups.
Daud read the email several times. With each reading his interest increased. He knew what Hana’s reaction would be. But Daud felt unrooted in America. Except for Jakob and his girlfriend, Emily, Daud and Hana hadn’t developed any close friendships. Hana’s social world still revolved around her family in Reineh. Daud had joined a local soccer club, but once the season was over everyone had drifted their own way. He and Hana had visited multiple churches but never settled on a spiritual home. The only real benefits to living in America were that being in a foreign country brought him and Hana closer because they spent so much time together, and they were safer. Daud’s enemies were six thousand miles away.
He sent Avi a quick thank-you and told him he was in Beirut on business for a couple of days. The art dealer replied immediately.
Come to Jerusalem when you finish.
Daud had a dilemma. A side trip to Jerusalem would require him to change his return flight to America by at least one day, possibly two, which would upset Hana, both because of the delay and because he would be returning to Israel. But the pull of the ancient city on his soul was great. He paced back and forth in his room for several minutes before answering Avi.
I’ll be there tomorrow evening.
Chapter 19
Throughout the evening Hana checked her phone for more messages from Daud. She’d finally received his texts, but he hadn’t replied to her responses. She suspected a problem with internet service in Beirut. Hana had spent time in the city, especially when she was in high school, and knew it well.
Some of the emotional feelings and physical sensations Hana had experienced over the past couple of weeks now made sense. After eating a light supper, she spent the evening studying fetal development and nutritional recommendations for pregnant women. There were innumerable opinions and blogs. Some were clearly off the wall; others raised issues that seemed legitimate.
In an ideal world, Hana’s relatives would play a huge role during her pregnancy and immerse her in so much love her emotional tank wouldn’t run dry. But for Hana and Daud, safety issues trumped everything. At least she would soon be able to talk long-distance to her mother, Farah, and Fabia about all things related to childbearing.
Before going to bed, she checked a website she followed about local real estate. For several months she’d sporadically read about new houses coming onto the market. Pregnancy created a new dynamic. Even though she was still in her first trimester, her mother-to-be status kicked into gear. A cute older home about fifteen minutes from where they currently lived caught her eye, and she entered the address in her phone so she could drive by the following day to check out the neighborhood. The listing price for the house was high, but finding the perfect property would justify flexibility.
When she awoke in the night, Hana expected her time with the Lord to focus on prayers for the baby. After all, the tiny child had been secretly living and growing for several weeks without a single prayer uttered on his or her behalf. But after thanking the Lord for the new life, Hana’s thoughts turned toward Daud. That prompted another round of the all-too-familiar fight with anxiety and fear. Agitated, Hana rose from the couch and paced back and forth across the room for several minutes. She hated the disruption but felt powerless to banish it.
Sitting down with her journal, she flipped back to some of the prayers she’d written while Daud was on the mission for the CIA. Repeating them brought small comfort. Before returning to bed, she sent him a text, asking how he was doing and telling him how much she looked forward to seeing him. It was midmorning in Beirut, and he should be awake. The message did not show delivery, and she followed up with a phone call that went to voice mail. Nevertheless, hearing the sound of his voice in his away message calmed her. Daud never sounded anxious or afraid. He was a rock from which calming water could always flow to her.
Nausea forced Hana out of bed the following morning and into the bathroom. She’d increased her fluid intake, but that didn’t seem to help. After taking a shower she ate a cracker, but her body was craving hot tea. Knowing it would eliminate a later cup of coffee, she reluctantly gave in and brewed a cup of tea. The tea calmed her stomach so much that she concluded it was smart to surrender to what her changing body demanded. Leon leaned against her leg, and she scratched the dog’s ears.
“With the money we save on coffee, I can buy you more treats,” she said, taking another sip of tea. “But there are going to be other expenses that will eat up those savings.”
Leon panted quietly in satisfaction, and Hana daydreamed about the future. After dropping him off at the dog day care center, she didn’t drive directly to the office but took a detour so she could see the house she’d read about the previous evening. Near the entrance to the neighborhood was a small commercial area that had a grocery store, a drugstore, and a couple of restaurants, including one that served Greek food. At the moment no food seemed appealing to Hana, but a gyro with extra onions, fresh tomato, and tangy tzatziki sauce might be welcome someday.
She came to a four-way stop and turned into a neighborhood of homes that looked around fifty or sixty years old. Built on small lots, many of the houses had been renovated and updated. Hana instantly liked the feel of the area. She passed a young woman pushing a double stroller with twins on board. Hana thought again about the painting from Avi Labensky and smiled.
She slowed to a stop in front of the home recently listed for sale. Painted a creamy tan, the house sat on a lot that gently sloped to the street. There were two pop-out dormers on the second level. From the description she’d read, Hana knew all three bedrooms and the two full baths were upstairs. The most attractive exterior feature of the house was a small sunroom to the right of the front door. The dwelling was surrounded by carefully maintained flower beds and azaleas with a pair of red maples in the front yard. A wooden privacy fence peeked out from either end of the house. Having an enclosed area where Leon could roam free would be wonderful. There was a single garage with a white door. Cars were parked alongside the curb up and down the street. Hana remembered her uncle Anwar’s word about a promised land. This might be it for her, Daud, and their family. She took her phone from her purse and began to take pictures.
* * *
Daud ate breakfast at the hotel. He’d already changed his flight plans. Instead of traveling from Beirut to New York, he would go to Athens, Greece, and then take a short flight to Ben Gurion Airport. He would arrive by early evening, spend the night in Jerusalem, and return to the US twenty-four hours later than planned. He sent his schedule to Avi, who agreed to pick him up at the airport. An email to Hana was much briefer and left out any details of the side trip to Israel so she wouldn’t worry. Daud simply let her know he would be returning to Atlanta a day later than originally planned.
It was a thirty-minute taxi ride to the airport. Outside the terminal, Daud reached for his wallet so he could pay the fare. Glancing up, he saw a young Arab man raise his hand to attract the driver’s attention. The man looked vaguely familiar, but Daud couldn’t place him. He didn’t know anyone in Beirut except Youssef and the brothers who ran the transportation service. Daud handed the driv
er enough money to pay the fare, adding a generous tip.
“Thank you, sir,” the driver said, grinning in appreciation.
Daud’s suitcase and a leather satchel were on the seat beside him. He opened the door as the man who’d hailed the cab reached the passenger window and spoke to the driver. Now that the man was closer, he reminded Daud of the assassin from Sharm el-Sheikh. There was a remarkable resemblance. The man didn’t pay attention to Daud. “Phoenicia Hotel,” he said with a Lebanese accent.
Daud exited the cab. The man slipped past him into the backseat. As he made his way into the terminal, Daud wondered if the report of the assassin’s death was erroneous. However, it couldn’t be the same man he encountered at the Kolisnyks’ villa. If so, the recognition would have been mutual and violent. Daud didn’t completely relax until he’d safely boarded his flight to Athens.
* * *
Hana wasn’t surprised when she received the text from Daud letting her know he’d be arriving home a day later than planned. It was an ambitious goal to think he could accomplish everything he needed to do quickly in Beirut given the deterioration of infrastructure in many parts of the city.
She spent the rest of the evening translating and typing a summary of Avi Labensky’s report for Jakob. The concentration required got her mind off the news from Daud. As she worked, she thought about how amazing it would be if any of the stolen items could be recovered by Jakob’s client. It was late when she finished and sent the summary to Jakob and crawled into bed. She didn’t pray in the night and slept past her usual time to get up in the morning. After a quick breakfast of tea and crackers, she dropped off Leon and drove to the office. When she had finished checking her emails, Hana invited Janet into her office.
“I looked at a cute house yesterday,” Hana said. “Would you like to see some pictures?”
“You bet.”
Hana pulled up the listing photos and also showed Janet the pictures she’d taken on her phone.
“It’s adorable,” Janet said. “Are you going to make an offer?”
“Daud doesn’t know anything about it. Remember, he’s out of the country for a few days and won’t be back until the end of the week.”
“That didn’t keep you from buying his dream vehicle. It’s only fair that you could take the first steps toward your dream house.”
Hana eyed Janet skeptically. “Are you serious?” she asked.
Janet grinned. “No, but I feel empowered giving you advice that I wouldn’t take myself. Look, you don’t have to wait until Daud gets back to contact the Realtor and set a time to see the inside. The outside is cute, but there might be something funky about the interior that’s a deal breaker.”
“Funky?”
“Odd or so bad that it knocks it off the list. Usually it has to do with the kitchen or the layout of the bedrooms.”
Hana hesitated. “I guess there’s nothing wrong with calling the Realtor.”
“Absolutely not, and you might get a feeling about the place that’s either good or bad, which means a lot to a woman but is incomprehensible to a man.”
“Okay.” Hana nodded. “I’ll do that.”
“Do it soon. A house like that might not last long on the market.”
Hana called the listing agent and scheduled a viewing of the house later in the day. After she talked to the agent, her excitement began to build. She even kept thinking about the house while she was working on a complex purchase/sale agreement for one of Mr. Collins’s clients. Shortly before leaving for the appointment with the real estate agent, she received a call from Ben.
“Sadie was talking about you on the way to school this morning,” Ben said. “She suggested the five of us get together for dinner.”
“Five of us?”
“You, Daud, Sadie, Laura, and me,” Ben answered.
“Did she explain what she had in mind?”
“You know Sadie. Sometimes you only see the tip of the iceberg, and there’s a lot more hidden beneath. The question popped out of her mouth as I was pulling into the school, and I didn’t have a chance to ask her reasons. Would you be open to the idea?”
“Yes, if you think it’s a good idea, but I’d still like to understand Sadie’s goal, at least in a general way.”
“Yeah,” Ben replied. “But Laura jumped on it and suggested I call you.”
Hana was apprehensive. “Would you talk again with Sadie and let me know?”
“Sure.”
The call ended, and Hana left her office.
“Are you going out for lunch?” Janet asked, looking up from her computer.
“No, I scheduled an appointment to look at the house I showed you.”
“That’s exciting!” Janet beamed. “Take tons of pictures of the inside.”
“I’ll take a few, but I’m more interested in how it feels.”
“Oh, that will hit you within a few seconds of entering the front door.”
“Do you want me to pick up something for you to eat on my way back to the office?” Hana asked. “I may stop off for a salad.”
“No, thanks. I have leftover spaghetti in the refrigerator in the break room.”
Hana had eaten Janet’s spaghetti in the past. The assistant made it with thick noodles and a spicy meat sauce. It was better than any spaghetti Hana had ordered in an Italian restaurant since moving to America.
“That sounds delicious.”
“Would you like some? I brought more than I should eat. It’s a good batch. Donnie ate three servings before I made him stop.”
“Are you sure?”
“That will give us a chance to talk more about the house.”
* * *
Daud had an uneventful flight from Athens to Israel. Once at Ben Gurion Airport, he called Avi Labensky.
“Sorry I’m not able to pick you up,” the art dealer said.
“I can catch a cab. Should I tell the driver to drop me off at your home or the art shop?”
“Neither. We’re having a nice dinner. There’s someone I want you to meet.”
“Who?”
“Daniella Rubin, the archaeologist I mentioned in my report to you and Jakob Brodsky.”
“I skimmed the report, but I don’t remember her name.” Daud paused. “And remember, I don’t want my name associated with the search.”
“Which I’ve mostly honored, but Daniella is a professional who understands the need to be discreet. We can fill you in on what she thinks at dinner.”
Daud was irritated with Avi for not maintaining confidentiality but didn’t complain. The art dealer was doing a lot of work without any demand for payment.
“Let’s meet at the Jerusalem Overlook?” Avi suggested. “I’ve not been there for a while.”
The Overlook was an excellent restaurant, more popular with Arabs than Jews. But it wasn’t a good place for Daud. He could easily run into someone who knew him, and even a friendly face could create a problem.
“Not there,” Daud replied and suggested a kosher restaurant in western Jerusalem.
“Great!” Avi exclaimed. “You’re still the best investigator on the planet. How else would you know that’s one of my favorite places? The Argentinian beef there is very good, and because it’s passed kashruth, I can order it rare. I’ll make a reservation.”
After talking to Avi, Daud gave the name of the restaurant to a young Jewish taxi driver who nodded his head. “I know it.”
During the forty-minute drive, Daud checked his emails and sent a text to Hana confirming his return flight. She immediately responded.
Great! Hope you’re getting everything finished. I’m having a wonderful day! Can’t wait to tell you about it. Much love.
Relieved that Hana sounded upbeat, Daud relaxed as the vehicle sped toward Jerusalem on Highway 1. When they arrived at the restaurant, the parking lot was full of expensive cars.
“I hope you have a reservation,” the driver said when Daud paid the fare.
Inside, Daud glanced around but
didn’t see Avi. The maître d’ gave him a long look, most likely due to Daud’s Arab ethnicity.
“Daud!” a loud voice called out.
He turned and saw the rotund art dealer, a drink in his hand, hurrying toward him from the bar. Beside him was an attractive, deeply tanned Israeli woman in her mid- to late thirties. She was wearing dark slacks and a white blouse, with a thick gold chain around her neck. Avi shook Daud’s hand and spoke in Hebrew.
“I’d hug you, but I don’t want to baptize you with my scotch and water,” Avi said. “This is Daniella Rubin.”
The archaeologist shook Daud’s hand with a strong grip and gave him a formal greeting in Arabic spoken with a British accent.
“Hebrew is fine with me,” Daud replied. “Especially in this place.”
“Of course.” Avi patted Daud on the back with his free hand. “It is so good to see you. A lot has happened in your life since we last met. There is a table reserved for us.”
“Avi tells me you served in the IDF,” Daniella said as they followed the maître d’.
“Yes.”
Daud was again miffed at the art dealer for sharing this sort of background information.
“What unit?” the archaeologist continued.
“I can’t discuss it,” Daud replied.
“Intelligence unit would be my guess,” Daniella said and touched her finger to her lips. “I’m an inquisitive person, but I know when to stop asking questions. I worked as an archaeologist in the army. They called me in when the military uncovered something that might be of historical importance.”
They reached a table in the rear corner of the restaurant. Daud instinctively sat with his back to the wall so he could see the entire room.
“Does everyone want beef?” Avi asked. “If so, let me order for the table.”
Both Daud and Daniella nodded. Avi selected entrées, appetizers, and wine.
“I’ll leave the sweets to you,” he said after the waiter left. “Let’s get right to it. Daniella, please tell Daud why you may be able to help his American friend.”
Promised Land Page 16