“What did you think?” Hana asked.
“It seemed quiet and mysterious. But not in a creepy way that I would have expected with an empty tomb. It was—” He stopped.
“Holy?”
“Maybe, but I’m not exactly sure what that means.”
CHAPTER 39
Hana didn’t try to pry any more information from Jakob. Clearly, the tour of the Garden Tomb had touched him, and the experience needed to percolate. They retraced their steps toward the main street, now lined with even more buses. Jakob sent a text message to Wahid asking him to pick them up. A large group of Asian tourists approached, followed by at least fifty men and women from an African nation wearing their native garb and enthusiastically singing a song in an unknown language.
“You’re right,” Jakob said to Hana. “A lot of people visit this place.”
“From all over the world.”
They reached the street and found an opening in the line of buses. Wahid arrived in about ten minutes.
“Where to?” asked the driver as soon as they were settled into the old Mercedes.
“I’m leaving it up to Hana,” Jakob answered.
“Do you want to go to another Christian site?” Wahid asked.
“No,” Hana replied. “I have two other places in mind.”
Over the next few hours they visited a model of the city of Jerusalem as it had appeared in the first century. The 1:50 scale depiction at the Israel Museum complex covered almost half an acre and revealed how massive Jerusalem was at the time of Jesus of Nazareth. From there, they drove a short distance to Yad Vashem, the Holocaust memorial.
“We can only see a small part of Yad Vashem today,” Hana said as they bought tickets. “Someday, you must return.”
Hana took Jakob through a few of the many exhibits and displays that documented Hitler’s Final Solution. He didn’t say much but lingered the longest at the interactive videos with Holocaust survivors. They visited the Children’s Memorial, an audiovisual remembrance of the 1.5 million children who perished in the Holocaust, and walked slowly through a large room of flickering lights reflected in multiple mirrors and heard the names, ages, and nationalities of individual children who died. The list of the dead ran twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, fifty-two weeks a year.
“To hear those names again, you would have to come back in several months,” Hana said when they were outside. “It takes that long to repeat them all.”
“The names of Russian children especially touched me,” Jakob replied soberly. “Who knows? I could be related to some of them.”
Hana checked her phone. There was still no message from Daud.
“I can leave now,” Jakob said as he watched her. “But you’re right. I’ll return.”
While they waited for Wahid, Jakob told Hana about overhearing the man praying in Russian at the Western Wall. Chill bumps ran over Hana’s arms, but she didn’t blurt out that it was a divine encounter, perhaps with an angel.
“After visiting the Garden Tomb, I understand more what he was praying,” Jakob said. “And realizing that Jesus was Jewish is a big deal to me.”
“Why?”
“You know that I’m secular. But it’s a huge leap for a Jewish person to consider the possibility that Christianity is true.”
Jakob then told her about his experience in Hurva Square and the unexpected identification with his Jewishness.
“I hesitate to share that because—”
“I’m an Arab?” Hana finished the thought.
“Yes, but you’re different.”
Hana knew exactly what she wanted to say. “My heritage and ethnicity isn’t the most important reality that defines who I am. I’m thankful for my background and what my family has accomplished, whether persecuted by the Turks or marginalized by Israeli society. But my relationship with God through Jesus is my core. I know that’s a religious statement, but it’s not just a belief or an idea; it transforms everything about who I am and how I relate to all people, regardless of who they are and where they come from.”
“That’s something else I can’t get my head around,” Jakob said as Wahid’s Mercedes came into view. “At least not yet.”
During the drive to the hotel, Hana kept checking her phone.
“Are you worried about Daud?” Jakob asked.
Hana didn’t answer. Instead, she pointed at Wahid and shook her head. Jakob sat back and looked out the window. He’d not felt as emotionally spent since the end of a four-day jury trial that had kept him up most of two nights. He checked his own phone. There was nothing significant on his office email account or any messages from Emily.
“If you want a first-class dinner in Jerusalem, I know exactly where to take you,” Wahid said from the front seat. “Not many tourists go there. It is very authentic Middle Eastern cuisine. If I make the reservations, you will have the best seats in the house with great views of the Old City.”
“No, thanks,” Hana replied.
“What’s the name of the restaurant?” Jakob asked. “I might go by myself.”
Wahid gave the name. Jakob glanced at Hana.
“Never heard of it,” she whispered.
“It’s only been open for six months,” Wahid said. “Six months from now it will be so crowded even I will have a problem getting a reservation.”
“You’ve sold me,” Jakob replied. “But will I still be welcome if I come alone?”
Wahid smiled. “Only if you give a big tip.”
As they arrived at the hotel, Hana called out, “There it is!”
“What?” Jakob responded, looking around.
“Daud’s Land Rover,” she said as she threw open the door and dashed out of the taxi.
“You see why I eat alone,” Jakob said to Wahid.
“Yes. Next time when you come to Israel, bring your girlfriend.”
“I need to work on that,” Jakob answered.
“When do you think you’ll be ready for dinner?”
“Seven o’clock.”
Jakob found Hana and Daud embracing in the courtyard. She stepped away as Jakob approached. Several other hotel guests were watching.
Daud coughed into his hand. “Let’s go to Hana’s room,” he said.
“Did you enjoy being a tourist?” Daud asked once they were settled.
“‘Enjoy’ isn’t the right word,” Jakob answered.
“Where did you go?” Daud asked, puzzled.
“The Garden Tomb, the first-century city model, and Yad Vashem. It’s going to take time for me to process what I saw and heard. If she decides to quit the practice of law, Hana would make a great tour guide.”
Hana and Daud laughed.
“Can you tell us about your day?” Jakob asked Daud.
“It was long but good,” the investigator replied. “Tawfik was only present for the initial meeting at the coffee shop. Nabil is right. He is more of a playboy than a fundamentalist.”
“But it’s Tawfik in the execution video,” Jakob said. “I was able to obtain the results of a police facial recognition program that confirms it.”
“I will not debate that,” Daud says. “Who knows? Tawfik may be trying to forget what he has done by drinking and partying. But the men he works for want to buy the software program. They did not seem interested in hiding who they are and their goals. They are committed to militant fundamentalist ideology. When I asked about Tawfik, the one in charge said he has known him since he was a boy. He mentioned Abdul with respect as a ‘brother’ in their cause.”
“Do you believe they are linked to any identified terrorist group?” Hana asked.
“Maybe,” Daud said and turned to Jakob. “People in the US do not realize there is jealousy and competition among terrorist factions. They compete for glory in the pursuit of jihad. But these men are different. They are businessmen interested in profits to fund jihad.”
“Any names?” Hana asked.
“Mostly first names, which I do not believe are true.�
�
“Whatever their names, this is exactly the sort of group we’re looking for,” Jakob said.
“Only if we can link them to Abdul prior to Gloria’s death and bring them under the jurisdiction of a US court,” Hana said cautiously. “They may have millions of dollars or euros in a Middle Eastern or European bank, but there has to be a way to connect their enterprise to America.”
“I know, I know,” Jakob replied. “But you have to admit this is a positive development. Good work, Daud. What’s next?”
“I need to deliver the software and see if I can obtain more information about them. When I reach the end of that process, I will have to decide whether to deliver an encrypted product or walk away.”
“Financial information or personal information?” Hana asked.
“Both,” Daud replied.
Daud suddenly jumped out of his chair and flung open the door to the outside. No one was there.
“Did you see or hear something?” Jakob asked in alarm.
“Maybe, but I was wrong.” Daud resumed his seat. “I’ve been on guard all day. I will ask the group to provide proof of funds to complete the purchase from their bank or financial institution. I will do the same on my side for the receiving bank.”
“Why would they care about your bank?” Jakob asked.
“Because of the reason we are sitting in this room. They know if they transfer funds to a bank that would disclose information to an unfriendly foreign government or lawyers wanting to sue them, the deal is not worth the risk. I have a bank account in Qatar that I will use. Qatar is a major state sponsor of terrorist groups. I would not be surprised if they also use a bank there or in the UAE.”
“As an Israeli citizen, how were you able to set up an account in Qatar?” Hana asked. “It’s not easy to do.”
“It took effort,” Daud acknowledged. “But it was not the hardest thing I have done. The address on the account is not my apartment in Beit Hanina.”
“What about identifying the men you met with?” Hana asked.
Daud reached in his pocket and took out a SIM card. “I took at least forty photos with a hidden camera. Aaron Levy can help identify them.”
“This sounds great,” Jakob said, glancing at Hana. “Speaking of photos, we need to bring Daud up-to-date on John Caldwell, aka Latif Al-Fasi.”
Daud nodded several times while Jakob talked. Jakob took that to be a sign of interest.
“I will ask Aaron about him, too,” Daud said when Jakob finished.
“Will that do any good?” Jakob asked. “Levy should have known Al-Fasi was in the video transferred from the laptops seized at the Zadan residence, but he didn’t tell us about it.”
“Just be patient while I talk to him.”
“I’ll try,” he said, standing up. “In the meantime, I’m going out to dinner alone.”
“No, no,” Daud replied. “I want you and Hana to join me for dinner tonight at my apartment. I have already made arrangements for a private chef and his staff to prepare the meal.”
“A private chef?” Hana asked, her eyes wide.
“I don’t want to crash your party,” Jakob said.
“Hana would prefer a chaperone, correct?”
“Uh, sure,” Hana replied with a nod. “I know it makes no sense to an American, but Daud is right. I’d like you to be there, too.”
“Wahid will be upset,” Jakob said.
“Wahid?” Daud asked.
“Our driver for the day,” Hana answered. “Jakob, tell Wahid that the three of us will eat dinner at this new restaurant later in the week. That will make him happy.”
“Okay,” Jakob said reluctantly. “But I have no experience as a chaperone.”
“I will send Ensanullah to pick you up at six thirty,” Daud said.
“I thought you had fired him,” Jakob ventured.
“We worked through what happened. In our business, we need each other’s help more than a disagreement.”
CHAPTER 40
After Daud left, Hana made a short video and sent it to Sadie. She included a panorama of the courtyard and told the little girl how much she missed her. Before ending the recording, she asked Sadie to make a video and send it to her.
As she got ready for dinner, Hana thought about the extravagant expense of hiring a private chef and his staff to prepare a meal. She didn’t love or hate money, but since landing her first job, she’d tried to live a lifestyle that didn’t violate her conscience. Daud had a different filter, a fact they would have to discuss.
Hana put on the other nice dress she’d brought on the trip. It was green with a lower-cut back than she usually wore. A single strand of pearls hung around her neck. If she needed to dress up again during the trip, she decided she would have to buy a fancy new outfit. Hana stopped. How could she be concerned about Daud’s extravagance and do the same thing herself? She straightened her shoulders and resolved to wear the blue dress again if the situation arose.
There was a knock at her door. Hana quickly threw a scarf around her shoulders before opening it. Jakob and a stocky young Arab man stood outside.
“I’m Ensanullah Al-Amuli,” he said. “Daud sent me to fetch you and the American.”
Hana introduced herself. She could quickly tell that Ensanullah didn’t approve of the way she was dressed.
“I’m ready,” she said in English.
Ensanullah was driving Daud’s new BMW.
“What happened to your other car?” Jakob asked. “You drove me around in a subcompact.”
“This belongs to Daud.”
Jakob looked at Hana and nodded approvingly. “More proof that being a private investigator in Israel is the way to go.”
Hana and Jakob sat in the rear seat. Ensanullah sped through the streets to Beit Hanina.
“If he wrecks, Daud will be furious,” Hana whispered to Jakob.
“He’s good behind the wheel,” Jakob replied in a low voice. “He’s been trained.”
By the time they reached Daud’s apartment, the sun was disappearing beneath the rooftops of the nearby buildings. Ensanullah parked in a private space behind the building. He held the door open for Hana. She clutched the scarf tightly around her and hoped it covered her bare back.
“Thanks,” Jakob said to the driver. “I hope to see you again.”
Ensanullah responded with a formal Arabic good-bye that included the phrase “May Allah be with you.”
Hana translated.
“Say it again, please,” Jakob said to Ensanullah.
He did so, and Jakob repeated the phrase with only a minor slip-up. Ensanullah smiled, and the two men shook hands. Hana and Jakob entered the apartment building.
“Ensanullah likes you,” Hana said.
“So long as I stay in America.”
As they climbed the stairs, Jakob told Hana about his previous conversation with the driver.
“Daud wouldn’t work with Ensanullah if he didn’t trust him,” Hana said.
They reached the apartment and Jakob rang the bell. A teenage Arab boy wearing a tuxedo opened the door and ushered them in. The living area had been transformed into a dining room with a table set for three, covered with a white linen tablecloth, candles, and sparkling silver place settings. Daud appeared wearing a light gray jacket.
“Hana, you look beautiful,” he said with a wide smile. “How was the ride with Ensanullah? Did he scare you?”
“I was worried about the car,” Hana answered.
“I liked it,” Jakob said.
“He is a very good driver,” Hana said.
Several people were working in the kitchen. The chef, an older man with a large mustache, came out to greet them.
“Ali has everything prepared,” Daud said. “He and his staff are going to leave, and I’ll serve you myself.”
“I told Daud I should wait on you,” Ali said in English. “But he insisted that he do it himself. If he makes a mistake, blame it on him!”
With a wry smile, Hana an
swered, “I will.”
Several minutes later the chef and his crew left. There were silver platters on the counters in the kitchen.
“What’s on the menu?” Jakob asked.
“We will start with three appetizers,” Daud replied. “Eggplant dip, cranberry labneh, and miniature meat pies.”
“Let me help,” Hana offered.
“No,” Daud said and raised his hand. “This is the way I want to do this.”
He returned to the kitchen. There was a knock on the front door.
“Please check that,” Daud said. “It’s probably Ali or one of his staff who forgot something.”
Hana was sitting closer to the door than Jakob. When she opened it, several men rushed inside, knocking her to the floor. She ended up lying on her stomach with someone on her back forcing her face against the hard floor. Someone else grabbed her hands, forcing them together. Hana tried an evasive maneuver to break free and was able to kick one of the men very hard in the side of the head. He grunted and fell backward. However, two more replaced him, and before she could attempt anything else, her wrists were bound together with a plastic tie that cut into her skin, causing her to cry out in pain.
“Quiet or you die!” a male voice commanded in Arabic.
Hana closed her mouth and tried to wiggle free, but the hand on her head pressed down harder, smashing her face against the tiles. Other voices in the apartment were yelling in Arabic. She couldn’t make out Daud’s voice in the chaos of the moment.
“Stop! That’s not—” She heard Jakob call out and then suddenly go quiet.
Someone flipped Hana onto her back and dragged her by her feet into the dining area. The table where she and Jakob had been sitting was flipped over. All the men were dressed in black. Hana looked around and saw a man with a red splotch on the side of his face. It had to be the man she’d kicked. He looked familiar, and she suddenly realized who he was—Tawfik Zadan. Another man standing nearby roughly forced her head downward.
Chosen People Page 34
