Chosen People

by Robert Whitlow

  “That was fast,” Jakob blurted out.

  “Yes, it’s potent,” Colbert answered.

  Suddenly, one of the mechanics who worked for Tony appeared in the video. He grabbed a fire extinguisher from the wall and began spraying it on the car with little immediate effect. A second mechanic came into the frame and sprayed foam on the car. Tony returned with a third extinguisher and all three aimed their extinguishers at the fire, which finally retreated, leaving the car a smoldering wreck.

  “Back it up and play it again,” Colbert said to Tony.

  “I don’t want to see it,” Jakob said.

  He left the garage office. It was early evening, and the air had cooled down. He should be relaxing on the deck at his apartment, not watching a surveillance video of his car burning up. Detective Freeman joined him.

  “I’ll report this to the FBI and Homeland Security to see if they want to get involved,” Freeman said.

  “Do you believe they will?”

  “They’ll open a file. Beyond that I don’t know.”

  “And the guy caught driving the blue car is still in jail, right?” Jakob asked.

  “Yes, with no bond set because he fled North Carolina.”

  Jakob stared across the lot at what was left of his car. “What would you do if you were me?” he asked the detective.

  “Circumstances point to more than a run of bad luck, but it’s still a big jump to conclude everything is linked to the antiterrorism case you mentioned. Let me ask you a question: Is there anything else going on, either professionally or personally, that might explain why someone is mad at you?”

  Jakob ran through a quick inventory of his cases. “A former client filed a grievance against me last year after we lost his case at trial, but the state bar association found the complaint without merit. The guy came from a rough background and sent me nasty emails for several more months.”

  “Any threats?”

  “None except that he wished I would go bankrupt, develop cancer, and never be happily married.”

  “He said all that?”

  “No, he wasn’t that articulate. I can’t think of anyone who has a serious personal or professional grudge against me.”

  The two men were silent for a moment.

  “The destruction of the car could be more harassment than direct threat,” Freeman said.

  “Those flames looked threatening to me.”

  Jakob’s head was hurting, but the dizziness had passed after standing in the cool air.

  After the police officers and the insurance investigator left, Tony joined Jakob outside. “I know you’re not driving, but if you want a loaner until tomorrow, I have an old Mazda you could use—”

  “No, thanks. Let me text my driver. If she’s not available, I’ll get someone else.”

  Jakob sent a message to Emily:

  Initial investigation complete. Can you pick me up at the garage and drive me to my apartment? If not, I won’t hold it against you.

  Within seconds he received a response.

  Be there in eighteen minutes, and I don’t mean nineteen.

  Jakob turned to Tony. “My ride is on the way.”

  CHAPTER 21

  These are your copies,” Daud said, pushing the report across the table. “I’m going to focus on Tawfik, and anyone associated with him. The members of terrorist cells can’t resist hanging out with one another. It’s a close brotherhood. That may let me know if he and Abdul truly acted alone or not. What are you going to do?”

  “I won’t be interviewing any more private investigators so my schedule is flexible. Is there anything we could do together?”

  As soon as she asked the question, Hana wished she had phrased it differently. “I mean, joint activity on the case,” she corrected herself.

  “That’s what I thought you meant.” Daud smiled. “Why don’t I call you tomorrow afternoon? Would you like to eat dinner again?”

  “Yes.” Hana nodded, feeling an excited flutter in her stomach.

  Daud picked up his leather satchel. They walked together to the lobby.

  “I look forward to seeing you,” Daud said.

  The investigator left. Hana glanced at one of the desk clerks, a young Arab man who had watched their brief exchange. He pointed at Daud and smiled broadly. Hana fled to her room.

  Even though the time difference between the United States and Israel was seven hours, Hana took a chance and called Jakob.

  “Were you awake?” she asked when he answered the phone.

  “Yes, but I’m tired. It’s been a busy day.”

  “I wanted to tell you about my meeting with Daud Hasan.”

  “Go ahead.”

  A copy of the report in front of her, Hana went through it, translating from Hebrew into English.

  “You didn’t mention the date it was prepared,” Jakob said when she paused. “How close in time was it to the attack?”

  “That part was deleted, but it has to be several weeks later because it included the jail sentence given to Tawfik Zadan for his role.”

  “Several weeks? He would be tried and sentenced in so short a period of time?”

  “Yes, it was handled in the military courts. And there wouldn’t have been any dispute about the facts.”

  “There’s always a dispute about the facts. I wouldn’t want to be the lawyer who defended him, but that’s a rush to judgment.” Jakob paused. “He would have been provided a lawyer, wouldn’t he?”

  “Yes, but no jury trial.”

  “I get that,” Jakob said. “Juveniles don’t receive a jury trial in the US unless they are charged as adults. What’s on your agenda for today?”

  “I’ll work on the case independently of Daud and then drive up to visit my family for a few hours. Daud and I will meet again tomorrow evening.”

  Jakob was silent for a moment. Hana braced herself for a teasing comment or question.

  “Something serious happened here today,” Jakob said.

  He told her about the destruction of his car and results of the initial investigation. Hana, who had been walking around the room, sat down on the bed to listen.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. Then another thought flashed through her mind. “Does Ben know?”

  “No.”

  “He needs to have his car inspected.”

  “You’re right,” Jakob responded. “I’ll call him as soon as we hang up.”

  The call ended. Before going to sleep for the night, Hana spent time praying for Ben’s and Sadie’s safety. She woke up at 3:30 a.m. with the same theme running through her mind. She slipped out of bed and sat in a chair in front of the window in her room. Leaving the lights out, she opened the curtain. The view wasn’t anything spectacular or historic, but she could see lights on the hills surrounding the city. A verse from Psalm 125 rose up in her spirit: “As the mountains surround Jerusalem, so the LORD surrounds his people both now and forevermore.” While the primary focus of the promise rested on the Jewish people, God’s hands are filled with goodness and blessing for all the people of the earth who belong to him. Hana felt safe in the all-encompassing embrace of the Lord and prayed the same reality would extend to Sadie, Ben, and Jakob. She paused. And included Daud Hasan.

  The following morning, Hana ordered breakfast via room service and spent a couple of hours poring over the report Daud had given her. She ended up with several pages of notes and questions. Many of the action points fell on the investigator, but she had her own list, too. Picking one item, she called Yamout News, one of the most widely read sources of information about events in Israel, the West Bank, and Gaza. Written from an anti-Israel perspective, the articles published in English and Arabic advanced a sophisticated and consistent narrative of Israeli oppression.

  Speaking again in Arabic, Hana identified herself as a researcher and asked to speak to someone who worked in archives. After waiting for ten minutes, she was about to hang up when a man answered the phone.

  “This is Farad,” he said
.

  “I’m trying to reach any journalists who wrote articles about the death of an American Jewish woman four years ago in Hurva Square. The man who killed her, Abdul Zadan from Deir Dibwan, was shot by Israeli border police. I tried to locate the articles myself, but the website doesn’t support a search over two years old.”

  “Expanding the database is one of our goals for the year,” Farad replied. “Do you have the specific date?”

  Hana gave it to him along with the name of Gloria Neumann.

  “I will check,” the man said.

  Hana held for another ten minutes before Farad returned.

  “There were eight articles about the attack and Abdul Zadan’s martyrdom. Most of them were written by a man who worked here full-time. He died six months ago, but I have a batch file of the articles. I can provide you a link to access them directly.”

  Hana scribbled down the link. “What about any nonpublished information?” she asked. “Is it still available, and if so, how would I gain access to it?”

  Farad was silent for a moment. Hana held her breath.

  “What sort of research are you doing?” Farad asked.

  Hana was ready for that question. “To understand what motivated Abdul Zadan and others like him to serve Allah in jihad.”

  Hana wouldn’t lie, even in pursuit of the truth, and she hoped the vague sentence with a few friendly buzzwords would produce results.

  “You would have to speak to someone with the authority to grant you that kind of access,” Farad replied.

  “Who would that be?” Hana asked.

  Farad gave her a name and added, “But he’s not here. He’s on an assignment in the UAE for the next two weeks.”

  “Thanks.”

  Hana clicked open the link to the Yamout articles. True to form, they categorized Gloria Neumann as a person visiting the region in support of Israeli occupation, as proved by a visit she and Ben had made to two settlement towns in the West Bank. It was a new detail, and Hana made a note to ask Ben about it. There was also a piece about Tawfik’s conviction following the brutal execution of his brother Abdul by Israeli soldiers. A final article, written upon Tawfik’s release from custody and return to Deir Dibwan, included photos. Tawfik was a tall, lanky teenager who looked no different than many young Arab men Hana had known. Her phone vibrated to signal a text message. It was from Daud in Arabic:

  Will not be back in Jerusalem until tomorrow. Can we schedule our dinner then?

  Hana’s return flight to the United States was not until noon of the following day.

  Yes.

  With so much free time available, she knew what she wanted to do—see her family in Reineh.

  Jakob waited outside his apartment building. He held two cups of coffee.

  “Black with one sugar,” he said to Emily when he handed her the drink. “Extra hot. Correct?”

  Emily took a large sip. “Perfect,” she said, placing the cup in a holder. “How did you sleep last night?”

  “Not the best,” Jakob admitted. “But at least I didn’t dream about burning cars.”

  “Hold on to your coffee,” the driver said.

  She accelerated away from the curb. They reached the exit from the apartment complex, and she shot into a small gap in traffic. Jakob hurriedly sipped his coffee and balanced it in his right hand.

  “I guess you can tell I’m a bit of an adrenaline junky,” Emily said as they made it through a traffic light just before it turned red. “Hanging out with you isn’t as much danger as when I worked undercover, but I realized yesterday that in a crazy way I enjoy the feeling that comes when a threat exists. Most folks would run the other way, but people like you and me embrace it because it means we’re doing something significant.”

  “I feel more stubborn than brave,” he replied.

  “There’s really not much difference between the two.”

  “You deserve to know some of the background for what’s happened,” Jakob said and told her a bit about the Neumann case without mentioning any names.

  “I get it,” she said, nodding as she turned into the parking lot for Jakob’s office. “First you get mugged. Then your mechanic finds a crude bomb in your car. Do the cops have any leads on the mugging?”

  A Brahms piano concerto started playing. Jakob told her what he’d learned from Detective Freeman.

  “He sounds like a good one,” she said. “Would you mind if I called him?”

  “Go ahead. I talked to the client last night, and he’s getting his car checked out this morning,” Jakob said.

  “Makes sense. I might do the same.”

  “Really?” Jakob asked.

  “It would be foolish not to, although I suspect the bad guys are out of the picture after one fled the country and another was arrested. Any who are left are likely to be supercautious.”

  “That’s what I was thinking before my car burned up. Now I’m not so sure.”

  Emily shrugged. “It’s impossible to know. I try to stay ready for all contingencies.”

  She reached under the driver’s seat and pulled out one of the biggest revolvers Jakob had ever seen. It reminded him of something from an old Clint Eastwood movie. The appearance of the long-barreled gun during a delicate section of the Brahms musical piece created an odd irony.

  “It takes two hands to hold this, but one shot does the job,” Emily continued, returning the gun to its hiding place.

  “I’ve tried to be a good customer,” Jakob said.

  Emily laughed. It was the first time she’d shown any humor. Jakob grinned.

  “What’s your schedule today?” she asked. “I have classes this evening.”

  “I’ll send it to you as soon as I log on to my office computer.”

  As he prepared to get out of the car, Emily handed him the empty coffee cup. “Thanks again for the coffee,” she said. “Send the schedule ASAP. I need as many rides as possible today. There’s a tuition payment due next week.”

  As soon as he reached his office, Jakob ordered a check for $250 from his bookkeeper payable to Emily Johnson for “professional transportation services.” The bookkeeper’s office was in one of the other buildings in the same office complex. As soon as he sent the request, he had second thoughts and increased the amount to $500.

  Shortly before noon, Maddie buzzed him. “Ben Neumann is calling.”

  Jakob quickly answered the call. Ben said, “Officer Colbert inspected my minivan for a bomb and didn’t find anything unusual except for a cracked boot in the front end that’s leaking grease and needs to be replaced. I didn’t want to upset Sadie; she would have asked a hundred questions, so I waited to call until she was at school.”

  “That’s good news,” Jakob replied.

  “And I’m not going to tell Gloria’s parents or my family about what happened to your car,” Ben said. “There’s enough to worry about in the world without adding something new.”

  “Agreed.”

  “Any update from Hana? I received the memo about the report the investigator gave her.”

  “Not this morning, but she should be having dinner with Hasan soon. I hope to hear from her tonight or tomorrow.”

  CHAPTER 22

  It was a 150-kilometer drive from Jerusalem to Reineh. Hana spent the two-hour trip debating whether to say anything about Daud and, if so, what that should be. Thirty minutes after she arrived in Reineh, she was alone with Fabia and Farah and blurted out the news.

  “I’ve met someone,” she began.

  “I knew it from the look on your face when you got out of the car,” Fabia responded.

  “Farah, didn’t I say something to you when we took the boys into the kitchen for a drink?”

  “Yes,” Farah replied with a kind smile directed at Hana. “Where does he live?”

  “Beit Hanina in East Jerusalem.”

  “He’s not in the US?” Fabia asked. “How did this happen? Did you meet him on the internet? I know some of those relationships work out, but I’m
always suspicious.”

  “Do you remember Anat Naphtali who worked with me at the airport?” Hana asked. “She introduced us, and we started talking from there. He’s working with me on a case that has connections here in Israel.”

  “Is he a Christian?” Farah asked.

  “And a lawyer?” Fabia added before Hana could answer.

  “Yes and no. He’s a private investigator.”

  Fabia and Farah exchanged a look. “Why do you need to hire a private investigator?” Farah asked.

  “For the case. I can’t provide any details because of attorney-client confidentiality rules.”

  “Rubbish!” Fabia retorted. “We share everything!”

  “No, I really can’t. But I have a lot more to share about Daud,” Hana said, and continued, “He played on a football team with Mikael six or seven years ago—and he’s friends with Ibrahim Ghanem.”

  The other two women exchanged a glance. “Keep going,” Farah said.

  Hana told them all she could remember from the dinner. It took awhile because of frequent interruptions and demands for more details.

  “Have you talked to Mikael about him?” Farah asked.

  “No, I decided not to bother him while he’s in Africa.”

  “You should,” Fabia responded. “He has good discernment.”

  “Okay,” Hana answered tentatively.

  “Promise,” Fabia pressed. “I know you’ve been looking for a man who steps into your life with a light from heaven shining above his head.”

  “I never said that.”

  “Not exactly, but it’s what you’ve wanted.”

  “Show us a picture of Daud,” Farah said.

  “I don’t have any,” Hana replied. “There isn’t one on his business website.”

  “Describe him anyway.”

  While Hana talked, Fabia was busy on her phone. “Is this him?” she asked, showing the phone to Hana.

  Daud, his dark hair slightly mussed by what must have been a stout breeze, was standing on top of Mount Hermon. The picture appeared to have been taken in the springtime, after the snow had melted and the flowers had leapt from their hiding places beneath the soil. Carrying a small backpack, he leaned on a hiking pole.