Chosen People

by Robert Whitlow

  “Why lunch?”

  “He’s hungry,” Janet offered.

  Hana went into her office and picked up the phone. “What’s going on, Jakob?” she asked.

  “I have news about the criminal investigation into the assault at the apartment complex, and I want to talk to you about our case before you leave. I know it’s an imposition, but could you pick me up? I’m not far from your office and can text you the address.”

  “Okay. I’ll leave here in about fifteen minutes.”

  “I’ll be waiting in front of the building so you won’t have to park.”

  Jakob stood at the curb. It was a warm day. In a few weeks the humid summer heat would descend on Atlanta and cause the pavement and concrete to reach scorching temperatures. He’d taken off his suit jacket and slung it over his shoulder. A car pulled to the curb and stopped. It was Hana. The air-conditioning system was blasting cold air.

  “Thanks for picking me up and having the AC on max,” Jakob said, leaning over so that the cool air blew directly into his face.

  “Where I come from, we consider air-conditioning one of the greatest inventions of all time,” Hana replied. “Where would you like to eat?”

  “You decide.”

  “Do you have any dietary restrictions?”

  “No, I eat barbecue, bacon, lobster, and shrimp.”

  “My conscience doesn’t prohibit pork, but I rarely eat it. I thought we would go to an Indian place. It’s not far from here.”

  “Fine with me. Do Arabs avoid pork?”

  “Islam prohibits pork as strongly as Judaism. That means it’s not a common part of Arab diets, even for Christians like me. The Jewish Christians I know usually don’t eat pork either.”

  “Jewish Christians? How is that possible?”

  “It’s becoming more common all the time.”

  The car slowed, and Hana pulled into a small public parking lot with several open spaces. “The restaurant is only a couple of blocks from here.”

  Jakob left his suit jacket in the car and loosened his tie as they walked down the street. Hana was wearing a gray skirt and a light blue blouse. Her black shoes had low heels. They waited at a corner for a streetlight to change. The sun momentarily slipped behind a large cloud.

  “It’s in the middle of the next block,” Hana said when the light changed.

  As Hana stepped off the curb, Jakob saw a car running the red light and turning directly in front of them. He instinctively grabbed Hana by the arm and jerked her back. She stumbled, and he had to catch her to keep her from falling.

  “Thanks,” she said when she’d regained her footing. “I only looked at the red light and didn’t see that car coming.”

  “I’ve been in hypervigilance mode for several days,” Jakob replied. “That’s one of the things I wanted to talk to you about at lunch.”

  The restaurant was tucked into a space between a shoe repair shop and a nail salon.

  “How did you find this place?” Jakob asked as he held the door for Hana.

  “If you research good Indian food restaurants in Atlanta, this one is at the top of the list. I don’t go a month without curry.”

  There were twelve to fifteen tables arranged in a long, rectangular room. The pungent smells of Indian cuisine met them at the door. All the tables were set up for four people. It was a business crowd. A redheaded woman in her twenties brought them water and a list of the items on the lunch buffet. Jakob had very little experience with Indian food.

  “What do you recommend?” he asked Hana.

  “I usually go with the lamb curry, vegetable root curry, or rabbit curry,” Hana said as she pointed to a section of the buffet. “There are other dishes that don’t have a strong curry taste. I know the chilli paneer is popular.”

  Curry wasn’t Jakob’s favorite spice, so he piled a generous portion of chilli paneer on his plate.

  Before eating, Hana excused herself to the ladies’ room. While she was gone, Jakob switched chairs so that his back was to the wall and he could see everything and everyone in front of him. He checked his phone to see if he’d missed a call or text message.

  Hana gave her hair a couple of quick brushes and reapplied a touch of lipstick before leaving the restroom. She’d inwardly kicked herself over the missed opportunity to respond in greater detail to Jakob’s question about Jews believing in Jesus. Jakob Brodsky seemed to have a spiritual blank slate. She returned to the table. Jakob had changed seats and now sat to her left instead of across from her.

  “Why did you move?” Hana asked.

  “Like I said, I’ve been a bit skittish since the attack.”

  Hana listened as Jakob told her about his most recent conversation with the police detective, the flight of one of the attackers, and the arrest of Andre Sarkasian.

  “Was he from Dagestan, Uzbekistan, Chechnya, or one of the other Islamic countries?” she asked. “The Islamic fundamentalists recruit heavily from there.”

  “Detective Freeman wasn’t sure of his ethnic origin, but I wanted to inform you before you left for Israel. I called Ben about it last night.”

  Hana thought for a moment. On rare occasions she carried a Jericho 9 mm pistol. Perhaps it was time to take the gun out of its case and put it in her purse.

  Jakob ate another bite of his food. “This chilli paneer has a kick,” he said. “Maybe that’s why they put an extra ‘l’ in chilli.”

  Hana was eating a baby turnip with the greens still attached. She took a sip of Indian chai.

  “You need to know about the conversation I had with Mr. Lowenstein this morning,” she said. Hana then told Jakob about the interest by the US Attorney’s Office in Gloria Neumann’s murder and the connection with Daud Hasan.

  “I doubt the US Attorney’s Office would be investigating the case unless they believed someone or something bigger than the Zadan brothers was involved,” she concluded. “And in my mind, that makes it more likely there are individuals with a connection to the terrorists aware of your efforts to help Ben Neumann.”

  “That blows my mind,” Jakob said. “When I did my initial legal research, I ran across references to US Attorney Offices in both the Eastern and Southern Districts of New York that have prosecuted terrorists. They didn’t sit back and wait for a military drone attack to take out the bad guys. They acted within the scope of their authority and faced the same problems we have in identifying the right persons and then bringing them within the jurisdiction of US courts. They’ve had success. Several people have gone to prison, including some who were extradited from foreign countries after an indictment was issued by a grand jury in the United States. I’ve saved my findings and can forward them to you.”

  “Yes. I saw references to that, but I don’t have a lot of details.”

  Jakob ate another bite of food followed by a quick sip of water. “But I’m not sure I agree with Leon Lowenstein about Daud Hasan. Mr. Lowenstein makes it sound like Hasan would function like a double agent. That seems naive to me.”

  Hana had harbored similar thoughts, but her job at the moment was to defend her boss. “His point is that our interests would parallel those of the US Attorney’s Office and give us access to levels of intelligence beyond our capabilities.”

  “I’m not buying that argument. It implies a level of trust in a man who’s lied to you already.” Jakob paused and wiped his forehead with a napkin. “I must be getting better. Anyone who can eat this dish without having to call an ambulance or the fire department is healthy.”

  “Your face is red,” Hana said.

  “That happens to me when I eat spicy food.”

  Jakob left to go to the restroom. Hana glanced around the room at the other people eating lunch. At least two-thirds were from the Indian subcontinent, which validated the authenticity of the food. When Jakob returned his cheeks were less rosy. He insisted on paying for lunch.

  “Do you want me to drop you off?” she asked when they reached her car.

  “No, thanks. The
Uber driver I’m using should be here in a couple of minutes. I sent her a text as soon as we finished eating.”

  A small yellow car zipped into the parking lot and stopped directly in front of them. Hana could see a young blond-haired woman wearing very dark sunglasses in the driver’s seat. Jakob got in the passenger seat, and the car took off. The driver squeezed into traffic and accelerated without waiting for a clear opening.

  “Is it okay if I ride up front?” Jakob asked as he fastened his seat belt.

  “It brings you closer to the action,” Emily replied as she spurted into traffic. “Who’s the woman in the parking lot? She has an interesting look.”

  “She’s an Arab Israeli lawyer who is working for an international law firm with offices in Buckhead. Oh, and she’s a Christian.”

  “That’s different.”

  “Very.”

  Emily was taking Jakob back to his office. The music, which featured a flute, wasn’t as loud as before.

  “Haydn?” Jakob guessed after he listened for a minute.

  “Yes. Symphony no. 104, his last major work.”

  They turned off the main roadway.

  “Is this another one of your detours?” Jakob asked.

  “Only so we can avoid a broken water main. Normally, it’s not any quicker.”

  They went through two residential neighborhoods before emerging onto a familiar road.

  “Were you kidding or did you really work for the police department?” Jakob asked.

  “Dead serious. I have the commendations in the bottom drawer of my dresser to prove it.”

  “Did you ever come across a detective named Caleb Freeman? He’s the detective in charge of the investigation into the mugging that sent me to the hospital and into your car.”

  “Not that I can remember. It’s a huge police force, and the last few years I worked in a small unit.”

  “Drug enforcement?” Jakob asked, confident in his deduction but doubtful she’d confirm it. He could easily see Emily blending in as an undercover officer on a drug buy.

  “No,” Emily said as she made it through a light that was turning yellow. “Human sex trafficking. We worked with the feds trying to cut down on the exploitation of women brought in to Atlanta from all over the world. The Hartsfield Airport is busy for a lot of negative reasons as well as the good ones. You wouldn’t believe the scope of the problem.”

  Jakob remembered a criminal court case in which he represented a man charged with his third DUI, and also on the docket that day was a defendant who didn’t speak English and faced multiple counts of kidnapping related to sex trafficking. He mentioned it to Emily.

  “Yeah, the biggest problem is convincing the girls to testify. Most of them are minors and scared to death. Now I volunteer for a nonprofit that works with the women who are trafficked.”

  They rode in silence for a few minutes. Jakob spoke again. “Why did you stop?” he asked.

  “That’s what a red light means,” Emily answered, pointing up at the traffic signal.

  “No, I mean working for the police department.”

  “Two years as a patrol officer and four years in the special unit taxed me beyond my limit. I saw a lot that I’d like to forget. Music takes me to a much happier place.”

  Emily whipped the car into the parking lot for Jakob’s office building and stopped. Jakob opened the door.

  “Thanks. I’m going to catch a ride home with one of the guys in my building today. I’m staying home in the morning, but I’ll text you my schedule for coming into the office in the afternoon.”

  “Just remember that I turn into a pumpkin at four o’clock.”

  As Jakob walked into the building, he thought about the terrorism that had snuffed out Gloria Neumann’s life and the sex trafficking of young girls. The world was an evil place that needed as much justice as he could give it.

  CHAPTER 18

  How was lunch?” Janet asked in a conspiratorial tone when Hana returned to the office.

  “He found it spicy,” Hana answered.

  “Really?” Janet raised her eyebrows. “That doesn’t sound like you, but I’m willing to listen.”

  “Oh, it wasn’t me. He selected chilli paneer, one of the hottest things on the buffet at the Indian restaurant where we ate. I lost track of the number of glasses of water he drank. It must have been at least five.”

  “Indian food?”

  “Yes, it influenced Middle Eastern cooking. Arabs and Jews like similar dishes.”

  “So, he’s a foodie?”

  “What?” Hana asked.

  “A person who’s interested in different types and kinds of food.”

  “I don’t know. We mostly talked about the Neumann case.”

  “Scintillating,” Janet replied. “But I know lawyers enjoy acting smart when they get together. It’s like sharing a secret handshake. What’s next?”

  “I’ll try to bill a few more hours before picking up Leon,” Hana replied.

  “You know what I mean. What’s the next step with Jakob Brodsky? Is he going to Israel? You never told me if he’s recovered enough to make the trip.”

  “Not this time,” Hana replied. “His doctor hasn’t released him to drive. But when Jakob does go to Israel with me, it will be a working relationship, nothing more. There is no romantic attraction between us. My parents fell in love and knew they were going to marry a week after they met. I want the same thing for myself.”

  “We call that love at first sight.”

  “I like that,” Hana replied, repeating the phrase.

  “But I’m not sure you’re the spontaneous type,” Janet said doubtfully as she reinserted her dictation buds in her ears.

  Janet was getting ready to leave for the day when Hana emerged from her office. “I sent Donnie a text about the Indian restaurant, and he made arrangements for a babysitter so we can go there tonight. He claims to love Indian food. How can I be married to a man for seventeen years and not know that he has a passion for Indian food? He wants to try the chili thing you mentioned. I have no idea what I’ll order.”

  “The dinner menu has pictures. And tell Donnie to order goat’s milk. It cuts the heat from the chilli paneer.”

  Janet gave Hana a skeptical look. “Goat’s milk?”

  “Yes.”

  Janet checked her watch. “What time do you have to be at the airport?”

  “Around six. I’ll arrive in Jerusalem late in the afternoon.”

  “Will you be emailing me twenty times a day like you did when you went to Germany last year?”

  “At least,” Hana answered. “Actually, though, you might not hear much from me since I’ll only be gone for three days.”

  “Okay, but tell me you’re going to be very careful and not go to places that aren’t safe. This has a different feel to it than the times when you’ve gone to see your family or to Tel Aviv for a business meeting.”

  “I’m not going to take any risks out of line with my role as a lawyer. And I know my way around the country. Remember, it’s my home.”

  “Tell your father about my idea that you bring all potential husbands to him and line them up so he can pick one for you, just in case your love-at-first-sight strategy doesn’t work out. That can be your backup plan.”

  “He will think that is a good idea.” Hana laughed.

  Janet touched her heart. “I can’t deny what’s in here. You’re too beautiful in every way to live a solitary life.”

  Hana leaned over and gave Janet a hug.

  “Please send pictures,” the assistant said when Hana stood up. “And you know who I want to see more than anyone else.”

  Hana flew from Atlanta to Reagan Airport in Washington, DC, and after a layover was on a plane to Israel. She had an aisle seat, and the woman to her right was an Arab from East Jerusalem returning to Israel after visiting a son and grandchildren who lived in Baltimore. They spoke in Arabic. The woman’s son was enrolled in a PhD program in computer science at Johns Hopkins Unive
rsity and hoped to find a permanent job in the United States upon graduation. The woman asked Hana a lot of questions about life in the US. One of her chief concerns for her family was the loss of ethnic identity and assimilation into American culture. They were nominal Muslims. When Hana explained that she was a Christian, the woman nodded.

  “It’s easier for you because America is a Christian nation.”

  “Not as much as you might think,” Hana answered. “It depends on who you’re with.”

  Hana was no Alexis de Tocqueville, but she did her best to summarize contemporary American life. As she talked, she realized how much she’d come to love her temporary home. It reminded her of the command in Jeremiah 29:7 to pray for the peace and prosperity of the place where you live.

  Halfway through the flight, the older woman yawned and soon took a long nap. Hana closed her eyes but didn’t sleep. She wanted to sync her biological clock to Israeli time as soon as possible. They landed at Ben Gurion Airport. The woman kissed Hana on both cheeks before they parted ways.

  Hana rented a car and drove to Jerusalem. She’d considered staying with friends, but she wanted to focus on business and so selected a hotel that catered to business travelers in the modern western part of the city. Both investigators knew where she was staying. As soon as she was in her room, she checked her office email for messages. At the top of the list were ones from Sahir Benali and Daud Hasan. Hana read the one from Benali first, stopped, and read it again. The experienced investigator was withdrawing his name from consideration for the job. The only reason he gave was “new circumstances that have come to my attention.”

  Hana opened the email from Daud Hasan. His reply in English was shorter and puzzling in a different way: “I will pick you up at your hotel at seven and take you to dinner.” He left a different phone number than the one on his office website. It would be efficient to interview Daud over a meal as soon as possible. If she hired him, he could begin working immediately. If not, she could move on to other firms in the morning. However, one thing was certain: Daud Hasan wasn’t going to pick her up at her hotel. Hana typed a quick reply: “Tell me the name of the restaurant and I will meet you there at seven thirty.”