Chosen People

by Robert Whitlow

  “Hana read the report you gave me,” Daud said. “We wanted to know what else you have uncovered, either on the record or off the record.”

  “Everything I say is off the record. You will not be able to call me as a witness in an American court,” Levy replied with an easy smile. “My government wouldn’t allow it, and your government wouldn’t make me.”

  Jakob didn’t doubt the truth of the man’s statement. Levy picked up a thin folder that was on his desk and slid it across to Daud. “There’s not much in there, but you’re welcome to it. We have kept our eyes on Tawfik Zadan since he was released from detention and believe he has been recruited by a terrorist group based outside Israel, but we have no proof this cell was connected to the attack that killed Mrs. Neumann. Our current hypothesis is that Tawfik attracted the group’s attention because of what he and his brother did at Hurva Square.”

  “What can you tell us about them?” Daud asked.

  Levy shrugged. “It’s small. There are at least a few men involved who were associated with ISIS. I cannot tell you names or details for security reasons, but it is like a hurricane that hasn’t yet fully formed. We are the weathermen closely watching it.”

  “Are you sure Abdul and Tawfik did not attend any planning meetings by a recognized group before the attack?” Daud asked.

  Jakob was impressed. It was a great leading question that opened the door for Levy to talk about the video within the video.

  “I wouldn’t be surprised if they were associated with other Islamic fundamentalists. But that is not the same as an organization with a chain of command that plans and carries out attacks. We have no conclusive evidence of those types of links. This was a lone-wolf attack.”

  “Did you review the data from the computers seized at the Zadan residence?” Daud asked.

  Jakob held his breath.

  “Yes, and we found nothing relevant,” Levy answered.

  Jakob felt deflated. If the Israeli intelligence services couldn’t find a connection between Abdul and a terrorist organization, how could he and Hana hope to do so, even with Daud’s help? Daud told Levy about his encounter with Tawfik in Deir Dibwan. Levy seemed interested and entered a few notes on a tablet.

  Hana turned to Jakob. “Tell Mr. Levy how you were attacked in Atlanta after you went public with your desire to file a lawsuit against those responsible for Gloria Neumann’s death.”

  Jakob summarized basic facts about the attack at the apartment and the destruction of his car.

  “That sounds like a chain of command with a strategy to me,” Hana said to Levy when Jakob finished. “I believe there is an organizational connection to what’s happened. It just hasn’t been identified.”

  “Maybe, maybe not,” Levy said equivocally. “We don’t close our minds to new information.”

  “Did you tell Sylvia Armstrong the same things you’ve said to us?” Hana asked.

  “Basically, yes,” Levy replied. “But with additional details that are only shared at the governmental level.”

  “Is she going to drop her investigation?” Hana asked.

  “You will need to ask her, but my impression is that the two of you share an equal zeal.”

  Back in the car, Hana quickly flipped through the documents in the folder Levy gave them. “There’s not much here,” she said.

  “Any mention of the information copied from the computers seized at the Zadan residence?” Jakob asked.

  Hana read a paragraph and translated it from Hebrew to English. It contained no mention of the video within the video or the identity of the participants at the “meal with brothers.” It concluded with the statement “No relevant data found.”

  “Exactly what he said in his office,” Jakob said.

  “Aaron did not tell us a fraction of what he knows,” Daud said. “This was his way of gently telling us we are wasting our time.”

  “Do you think we’re wasting our time?” Hana shot back.

  “No,” Daud said with a shake of his head. “But part of my job is to interpret what I hear from others. I am not ready to give up. Not yet.”

  During the return trip to Jerusalem, Jakob received an email from Emily. She’d talked with Detective Freeman, who had agreed to investigate the apartment in East Point and notify patrol officers assigned to the precinct where Ben and Sadie lived of the situation. Ben turned down Emily’s offer to drive him and Sadie. Jakob told Hana about the email and Emily’s conversation with Ben.

  “It’s a common way to deal with a threat,” Daud interjected. “Some of the bravest people I have known reject every effort to make them fearful or cautious. It does not mean they were careless. I think it helps them think more clearly.”

  “Is that the way you are?” Hana asked Daud.

  The investigator shook his head. “No, I am paranoid and suspicious. That works best for me.”

  It was midafternoon when they reached the outskirts of Jerusalem. Hana felt like they’d already put in a full workday. They hadn’t eaten lunch, and she was hungry.

  “Let’s stop for food,” she suggested to Daud.

  “But I want to take you out for an early dinner,” he replied.

  “Without me,” Jakob piped up from the back seat. “I can tell when I will be a third wheel.”

  “Third wheel?” Daud asked.

  Jakob quickly explained.

  “Half of what Americans say to each other consists of idioms,” Hana said. “I spend most of my time trying to catch up to the meaning of conversations. I understand the words but not how they are put together.”

  Daud turned to Hana and said in Arabic, “The sound of one hand clapping.”

  “Exactly,” she replied and translated the phrase into English for Jakob. “What do you think it means?”

  “Uh, that it takes a crowd to support something?”

  “Not bad,” Hana answered. “It means that cooperation from everyone is necessary. It’s a phrase used to encourage teamwork.”

  “Repeat it again in Arabic,” Jakob said.

  Hana did so, and Jakob mimicked the words. To Hana’s surprise, he did so almost perfectly.

  “That’s good,” Daud said, glancing over his shoulder at him. “As a Jew you probably want to learn Hebrew first. We can add Arabic later.”

  They turned onto the city streets of Jerusalem. Daud’s phone beeped, and after checking the identity of the caller, he answered it. Hana realized it was Tawfik, and in a whisper she told Jakob. Daud did more listening than talking, but there was discussion about where to meet.

  “Yes, I will be there,” Daud said as he ended the conversation.

  “What did he say?” Jakob asked.

  “Tomorrow, I will return to Deir Dibwan and meet with Tawfik to find out if we can do business with his organization,” Daud replied.

  “Why?” Jakob asked. “Aaron Levy says Tawfik’s contacts developed after the attack in Hurva Square, not before.”

  “Aaron is probably right, but he is not the prophet that his ancestor was to Moses. Tawfik is interested in buying the software and wants to meet with me tomorrow at the Zadan family home in Deir Dibwan. He promised to bring his bosses.”

  Before the meeting with Levy, Hana would have thought this was good news. Now, she wasn’t sure. “Is this going to be dangerous?” she asked.

  “Maybe if I went to the Zadan house, but I told him we had to meet at a coffee shop that is in the middle of town.”

  “Okay, that makes sense. What will you show him?”

  “A demonstration on a laptop I use in my business. That way if someone steals it, what they will find on the hard drive makes me look like I would fit in with the group on the Meal with Brothers tape. I may leave the computer running while I go to the restroom so they can look at it. That makes me seem more casual than professional.”

  “What about us?” Jakob asked.

  “Tomorrow, you are both tourists,” Daud answered. “It would not be smart for Hana to be with me at this meeting. A woman�
�s presence would be suspicious.”

  They reached the hotel in the German Colony.

  “What would be a good time to pick you up for dinner?” Daud asked Hana. “We are going to a nice place.”

  “Two hours?”

  “See you then.”

  “Don’t worry about me,” Jakob said as they got out of the car. “I’ll find something to eat at the convenience store a couple of blocks away. They sell an odd kind of potato chips.”

  “I will not worry about your diet,” Daud called after him.

  The Land Rover pulled away, and Hana and Jakob walked into the courtyard.

  “What are you thinking that you didn’t say in front of Daud?” Jakob asked.

  “I’m still upset about you transferring the video to my laptop without his permission. At some point it’s going to come out, and Daud is going to be furious.”

  “Let me tell you another American idiom: Don’t borrow tomorrow’s trouble. Take it a day at a time. At this point, I’d like to send the video to Detective Freeman and explain the situation. Hopefully, he has access to facial recognition software that will confirm or rule out Tawfik’s presence.”

  Hana hesitated. “I’m not sure.”

  “This is the right thing to do for our client,” Jakob replied. “Consider this: if any of the men around the table turn out to be militant fundamentalists, Levy’s theory about Tawfik is wrong. The Zadan brothers met with known terrorists prior to the Hurva Square attack. And if Levy is wrong about that, he could be wrong about Abdul. I believe Freeman will work within our guidelines.”

  “Okay,” Hana surrendered. “But I want no part of any conversation with him.”

  Jakob held up his phone. “I have his personal cell number.”

  Thirty minutes later, they hung up the phone with the detective after making clear the type of help they needed and the restrictions on further transfer of the images. Hana sent the video and offered up a silent prayer.

  “He’ll get on it and give us an answer,” Jakob said.

  “I hope this was the right thing to do.”

  Hana left Jakob’s room to get ready for her dinner date with Daud. Keeping a secret when she had a guilty conscience wasn’t one of her strengths. There was a huge chance she would blurt out what she and Jakob had done before dessert.

  Jakob dozed off while relaxing on his bed. He woke up to an incoming phone call and grabbed his cell from the nightstand. It was Detective Freeman.

  “It’s been a slow day, so I ran the facial comparison program we have at the department,” Freeman said when Jakob answered. “Is Ms. Abboud available?”

  Jakob sat up straighter in bed. Hana would have left already for dinner with Daud. “No, she’s out for the evening, but go ahead.”

  “Okay. The young Arab man who removes his mask is a ninety-five percent match with Tawfik Zadan in the video you sent taken during the attack on Gloria Neumann. The only reason the percentage isn’t higher is the fuzziness of the images. A defense lawyer might disagree, but we consider a match like this rock-solid evidence, especially when the two images are close in time chronologically.”

  “That’s good, although I’m not sure what that does to help our case. We already knew Tawfik was radicalized, just not how deeply.”

  “And I sent the execution video to one of my contacts at Homeland Security.”

  Jakob almost choked. “We asked you specifically not to share it with anyone!”

  “Ms. Abboud took that position, not you.”

  “What difference does that make? We can’t risk it coming out that we obtained a copy of the video.”

  “Did you steal it?”

  “Technically, no, since we viewed it with permission, but we didn’t have authority to copy it to Hana’s laptop.”

  “Don’t burden me with technicalities. Do you want to know about the dossier my friend at Homeland Security sent me?”

  “Yes,” Jakob said immediately.

  “The Caucasian man wearing glasses is a professional videographer hired by terrorist groups to produce high-quality material for website and publicity purposes. He’s originally from Minnesota and became radicalized about fifteen years ago. My friend thinks it’s likely he edited the video but may not have been present when the events actually took place. His birth name is John Caldwell, but now he goes by Latif Al-Fasi. He’s a zealot, a true believer in violent jihad. Caldwell has a film degree from UCLA. He’s cagey, which is why he sticks to editing the violent stuff, not producing it. His original content is limited to propaganda material.”

  “Where does he live now?”

  “Overseas mostly, but he returns to the US occasionally through Canada. Caldwell has a teenage daughter who lives with her mother in Payson, Arizona, not far from Phoenix.”

  “Is there an arrest warrant out for him?”

  “That wasn’t mentioned in the material I received, but he’s obviously on Homeland Security’s radar because of who he knows and what he does.”

  “That makes sense,” Jakob said and paused for a few moments. “Even if Caldwell isn’t currently wanted on criminal charges, he could be subject to civil liability for inciting terrorist activity. I wonder if he has any money.”

  “There wasn’t anything in the materials about his financial status, but if he retained any capitalist genes, he’s making money for his services.”

  Jakob turned on his laptop so he could later review what he’d saved about the videographer. “Can you send me a copy of the dossier?” he asked.

  “No. And don’t worry about me sending the execution video to Homeland Security. They already had it.”

  “Okay,” Jakob sighed with relief. “Is there anything else that might help us in the dossier?”

  “Addresses for known contacts with Caldwell have been redacted, so I can’t pass those along. You’ll have to get that from the feds yourself if they’re willing to share.”

  “I understand.”

  “One other thing,” Freeman said. “Emily Johnson, the detective turned music student, is acting too much like a vigilante for my liking. Some former cops have trouble turning off the juice when they no longer carry a badge.”

  “She’s concerned about the Neumanns for good reason.”

  “I’m not so sure. I requested increased patrols in your client’s neighborhood for the past twenty-four hours. None of the officers noticed anything suspicious. The apartment Johnson identified in East Point as a terrorist hangout is rented by a young couple with two small children. A big extended family of brothers, sisters, and other relatives visit a lot.”

  Freeman’s words didn’t shake Jakob’s confidence in Emily. “Did you tell her this?” he asked.

  “No, I’ll let you do it. But she needs to rein it in.”

  “I’ll talk to her. And thanks again.”

  “Hey, I’d enjoy seeing you bust any of these guys and drag them into court.”

  Wide awake, Jakob quickly made notes about as much of the conversation as he could remember and went online to see if there was any public information about John Caldwell, aka Latif Al-Fasi.

  Hana had packed two nice dresses, one green and one blue, for the trip. She selected the blue one and was putting the finishing touches on her makeup when Daud texted that he’d arrived. She went to the hotel entrance, but there was no sign of the Land Rover. Daud got out of a large, dark blue BMW sedan parked alongside the curb and approached. He was wearing a green tie, a black jacket, and gray slacks.

  “I didn’t know you owned two cars,” Hana said in Arabic.

  “I bought this recently,” he replied. “I don’t drive it much so it won’t get scratched.”

  He held the door open for her, and she slid onto the soft leather. Hana wasn’t an expert on automobiles, but it was clearly an expensive car.

  “This is very nice,” she said when Daud was seated behind the wheel.

  “It’s been a dream of mine to own one for years,” Daud replied.

  They pulled away f
rom the curb and into late-afternoon Jerusalem traffic.

  “It’s a bit early to go to a nice restaurant, but you said you were hungry,” Daud said. “At least it won’t be crowded.”

  She glanced out the window at the passing street scenes. Surrounded by the quiet ambience of the car, Hana felt like she was in a movie or a dream. People stared as the car swished past. They made their way northeast and began to climb in the direction of Mount Scopus and Hebrew University, where Hana had attended law school.

  “Are we going to Mount Scopus?” Hana asked.

  “Yes,” Daud answered. “The restaurant there has my new favorite view of the Old City. I like it better than the traditional one from the Mount of Olives.”

  They navigated the winding streets until they reached a small building that seemed suspended over the edge of the hill. Daud stopped and handed his car keys to a valet. In the early evening light, the sun reflected off the stones of Jerusalem, the City of Gold. They stood in front of a small entrance framed with the same stones.

  “This is gorgeous,” Hana said. “Was this a house?”

  “Two houses that the owner combined to make the restaurant.”

  The maître d’ seated them in what was once a living room with large windows overlooking the city. Daud positioned Hana at the table so she had the best view.

  “I never would have been able to eat at a place like this when I was in law school,” Hana said, glancing at the prices.

  “Which I hope makes it that much nicer now that you can,” Daud replied. “Do you want me to order for you?”

  Hana hesitated.

  “Trust me,” Daud continued. “Consider it a test.”

  “Okay,” Hana said with a smile as she closed the menu. “But I’m sure everything is delicious.”

  Enjoying the view from the window, she remembered the incredibly stressful evening when she and Ibrahim had sat on a bench less than a quarter mile away and ended their engagement. With Daud, she was more mature and confident of what she wanted in life, in faith, and with a man.