“Look at the floor or I’ll cut your eyes out!” he threatened in Arabic.
Hana fixed her gaze on the floor at her feet. Pieces of broken glass and china lay everywhere within her line of sight. A pair of hands tied a gag across her mouth.
“Bring him over here and put them back-to-back,” another voice said.
She felt a body press against her back, followed by more plastic ties that bound her arms to the arms of the body behind her. The other person groaned. Hana suspected it was Jakob, but she dared not steal a look to find out. The men in the apartment continued to shout at one another about securing the area. There was still no sound of Daud, and Hana feared the worst. As the only real threat to the attackers, he would be the one most likely to be killed immediately. Hot tears stung her eyes and rolled down her cheeks as she kept her gaze fixed on the floor. The voices died down. A man with an unusual Arabic accent spoke.
“Do you have their cell phones?” he asked.
“Yes,” another voice answered.
“Bring them here.”
A moment later Hana heard the sound of splintering glass and plastic. The person bound to her jerked slightly.
“What—” he began.
“Quiet!” yelled a man in English. “Look at the floor! Gag him!”
“Okay, okay,” Jakob mumbled.
Hana felt Jakob shift his weight against her and then grow still. Her heart, which had been pounding since she was knocked to the floor, began to slow down. Blinking back her tears, she focused on her sense of hearing. Men were moving around the apartment. She tried to remember details of the layout.
“Here are all the computers I could find,” a new voice said. “They belong to Hasan.”
The mention of Daud’s name caused another wave of tears to flow from Hana’s eyes.
“Bring him to me,” the man with the unusual accent said.
Hana closed her eyes and offered a silent prayer of thanks that Daud was still alive.
The fuzziness that fogged Jakob’s mind began to clear. He wasn’t sure if he’d been knocked unconscious or merely stunned by a blow to the left side of his head. He heard the sound of breaking glass and mumbled. Someone gruffly ordered him to be quiet in English and to stare at the floor. Jakob twitched. He thought there might be blood running down the side of his face, but with his hands bound together he couldn’t be sure. Jakob knew one of his fingers had been sliced by broken china in the initial melee because it was stinging with pain. He suspected he was bound to Hana. As his mind cleared, he became more aware of his surroundings. Hana wasn’t making a sound. Jakob didn’t hear Daud.
At least eight men had crashed through the door of the apartment. Jakob saw them knock Hana to the floor, and he had jumped to his feet. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Daud pull open a drawer in the kitchen and pull out a large knife. At that moment, Jakob’s world went dark, whether for only a few seconds or longer, he didn’t know. When he came to, his hands were bound behind him, and he was tied to Hana. He assumed the men were speaking Arabic. The most prevalent voice he heard came from the direction of the kitchen, but there were other voices calling out from different parts of the apartment. Jakob closed his eyes. If he died, he hoped there was something better beyond this life.
Suddenly, Jakob heard a sound that caught his attention and caused him to sit up straighter. Someone was speaking in Russian.
“Talk in Russian,” the man said. “None of these men understand it. They do what they’re told and believe it is for the glory of Allah and the goal of jihad.”
“You’ve made a stupid mistake,” another man replied. “And there’s no turning back. This is going to change everything.”
Jakob licked his lips. There was no mistaking the voice of the second speaker—it was Daud.
“I’m following orders,” the first man replied. “And you’re the one who flew too close to the flame.”
“Anzor, I had everything under control. Weren’t you paying attention yesterday in Deir Dibwan? I laid out a perfect plan that would eliminate the problem and keep everything hidden from the Israelis and the Americans. Now, my first priority is to find a way to protect my own cover. You’ll have to deal with this mess without my help.”
Jakob remembered the snippet of conversation in Russian when he had eavesdropped at the hotel and now wished he’d heard more.
“We pay you a lot of money for your services,” Anzor replied. “And that gives my brothers the right to tell you what to do. If your cover is blown, you’ll have to leave this fancy apartment and your expensive cars and go where they tell you for a new assignment. Do you have a problem with that?”
“If I do, I will take it up with them, not you.”
“Don’t get smart with me,” Anzor replied. “I’m the one holding a gun.”
“And you wouldn’t dare use it because that would cost you your own head.”
“Listen,” Anzor said. “You’ll escape and look like a hero.”
“Who shouldn’t have left himself open to a surprise attack,” Daud answered. “At least let me handle that part of the operation. I know how the Israelis think better than you do, and I can figure out the best way to sell my story. You may have to give me a black eye to make it look genuine.”
“Gladly.”
“What’s the plan for the hostages?”
“Do you care? I know you’ve been spending a lot of time with the woman.”
“She means nothing to me.”
“We’ll kill her.”
Daud was quiet for a moment. “I have a better idea,” he said. “Throw her in the back of a truck and send her to your headquarters in the mountains near Vladikavkaz. She would be a great prize for a commander’s harem.”
Anzor laughed sharply. “Risky, but it would be a bold move. If she is as smart as you say she is, it will be easy for her to learn the language and live in submission without too many beatings.”
“And the American Jew?” Daud asked.
“He dies. We’ll make it look like an accident.”
“Then finish the job properly,” Daud replied. “It’s been botched twice.”
Nausea swept over Jakob—for himself, for Hana, and because of the level of deceit perpetrated by Daud. He strained against the bands binding his wrists, but the thick plastic didn’t budge. The voices moved away as the two men left the kitchen. Jakob felt Hana trembling uncontrollably against his back. Even though she didn’t speak Russian, she had certainly recognized Daud’s voice.
When Hana realized that Daud was communicating with one of their captors in a foreign language, she hoped he was trying to find a way to save their lives. But as she continued to listen, something about his tone of voice didn’t fit that scenario. Daud was intense and argumentative but sounded more frustrated than fearful. Hana began to tremble from the shock of capture. Daud and the other man moved away, continuing their conversation. Hana shut her eyes and prayed.
Suddenly, she and Jakob were grabbed and lifted to their feet. Upright and wobbly, Hana had a chance to view their captors. Tawfik was no longer in the room. She and Jakob were surrounded by four men, one of whom spit in her face and cursed her in Arabic as a loose woman. The spittle ran down her left cheek. Another man took out a long knife and pressed it firmly against her neck.
An incredible calm washed over Hana as the ancient Aramaic word for “peace”—shlama—echoed through her soul. She managed to stand more upright and stared into the man’s eyes as she waited for his next act. Death might be an end, but she knew it was also a beginning.
And in that moment the grace of the martyrs was hers. One slash of the knife and Hana knew without a doubt she would be in a place of never-ending peace and joy. The man pressed the blade harder against her neck. But then, instead of slitting her throat, the man jerked the knife away and severed the plastic ties that bound her to Jakob.
Two men dragged her across the floor. Hana wasn’t able to make eye contact with Jakob, who was dragged toward the bedroom
nearest the front door of the apartment. Hana was hauled into another room and forced to the floor. Her arms were bound to the metal leg of a large chrome desk. The smaller of the two men slipped a black plastic tie over her ankles and pulled it tight. Standing up, he ran his fingers through his hair. Sweat was pouring down his face. The men turned off the lights and left her alone in the dark.
As her eyes adjusted, Hana inspected the room, which was Daud’s home office. There was a single window in the opposite wall. The blackout blind was rolled down, and only a narrow sliver of light illuminated the edge. Computer cords were lying on the floor near her feet. Now that she was alone, her confidence in Daud began to return. The language he spoke to the other man sounded like Russian or another Slavic language, but she wasn’t one hundred percent sure. Daud had never told her how many languages he spoke. It was one of the countless items to discover in a lifetime together.
As she sat motionless in the dark, Hana knew that Daud would do anything he could to save her life. Closing her eyes, she prayed for strength and courage no matter what she faced. She prayed the same prayer for Daud and Jakob. Time passed. The pain caused by the plastic ties became more familiar. The door opened and someone turned on the lights, temporarily blinding her. When she could see more clearly, two men stood before her. One was Tawfik, who touched the side of his face and glared at her. The other man was clearly Caucasian. He spoke to Tawfik in Arabic. “Remove the gag.”
Hana felt the hands of the young man who’d been present when his brother killed Gloria Neumann press against the back of her head. Once the gag was gone, she took a few deep breaths through her mouth.
The man in charge spoke to her in Arabic. “Hana Abboud, you are going to live and not die,” the man said. “But do not speak unless I give you permission to do so.”
Hana nodded slightly. She recognized the speaker’s accent because of her contact with immigrants who had flooded Israel after the collapse of the Soviet Union.
“Good. I am going to ask you some questions. Tell me the truth or you will suffer greatly. You will not die, but you will suffer so much pain that you will wish you were dead. I already know some of the answers to my questions, so do not try to trick me.”
Hana’s mouth was dry, and she wasn’t sure she could speak without croaking out her words.
“Tell me where your family lives.”
Hana had been prepared to answer any question, but the possibility of harm coming to her family suddenly kept her mouth shut.
“I’m not going to wait long,” the man said.
“Reineh,” she managed.
“And like you, they are Christian infidels.”
“We believe that Jesus Christ is Lord.”
At the profession of her faith, some of the calm Hana had felt when the knife threatened her throat returned. She studied the man’s face more closely. He was in his thirties with sandy brown hair, narrow lips, and a clean-shaven face, unusual for a radical Muslim. He placed a cell phone on the glass table above Hana’s head.
“I am going to record our conversation. Tell me everything you know about Gloria Neumann.”
“I’m not sure what you mean—”
The man motioned to Tawfik, who took a cigarette lighter from the front pocket of his pants and flicked it on. He leaned over and held it close enough to Hana’s nose that she could smell the flame. She strained backward with her head to the side to avoid getting burned.
“Tell me everything,” the man repeated as Tawfik kept the lighter in front of Hana’s face. “I’ll decide whether it’s important.”
“Yes,” Hana said.
“Good.”
Tawfik released his thumb from the lighter, and the flame went out.
“Get her some water,” the man said to Tawfik.
Tawfik returned with a bottle of water. The Caucasian man unscrewed the top and tipped the bottle up so Hana could take a drink. She savored the liquid in her mouth before letting it run down her throat.
“Start at the beginning and leave nothing out.”
Hana started with the initial meeting at Collins, Lowenstein, and Capella. It was bizarre talking about the fancy conference room while bound and in pain. When she mentioned Abdul, Tawfik took a step forward, but the other man put out his hand to restrain him.
“Obey or you leave,” he barked at Tawfik, who glared at Hana but stood still.
“Go ahead.”
Hana talked about everything except Sadie. When the first sentence about the child formed in her mind, she quickly moved past it and did the same with each encounter, trying not to break the rhythm of her voice. Finally, she tossed in a comment that they had made a tactical decision not to include the child in a potential lawsuit because of her young age. Her interrogator remained silent. Several times he gave her another drink of water. After the third drink, he told Tawfik to leave.
“Relieve Achmed in the room where the Jew is held and tell him to go to the balcony.”
“But I want to—” Tawfik began to protest, taking out the cigarette lighter.
“Go!”
With a final glare at Hana, Tawfik handed the lighter to Hana’s interrogator and left the room.
“Tell me about your investigation,” the man said.
When describing her initial trip to Israel to interview Daud and Sahir, Hana desperately wanted to shield Daud but instinctively knew it would be impossible to do so. She revealed everything except the budding romantic relationship between them. Upon shifting back to Atlanta, Hana left out Sadie’s birthday party but included Jakob’s interaction with Detective Freeman and Emily Johnson. She was beginning to summarize the investigation of the past few days when she heard a sound behind her and paused.
“Someone wants to see you,” her interrogator said. “He’s been listening the whole time.”
A figure came into view to her left. To Hana’s shock, it was Daud. He looked at her with such an absence of feeling that it made her wonder if he was another man. She felt a mixture of confusion and horror wash over her face. The man spoke to Daud in Arabic.
“Has she been telling me the truth?”
“She didn’t tell you that she wants to marry me,” Daud replied.
The man flicked on the cigarette lighter. “And I warned her of painful consequences if she left anything out.”
“No!” Hana screamed.
“Do as you like,” Daud said, his eyes dead.
The man held the flame close to Hana’s bare right foot. She silently appealed to Daud, who seemed about to step forward but didn’t. The man extinguished the flame and stood up.
Hana’s eyes frantically went back and forth between Daud and her questioner as she struggled to absorb what was happening.
“Should we keep her here any longer?” the man asked Daud.
“Only until we finish questioning Brodsky,” Daud said. “Something may come up that she’s tried to hide from us. In that case, you should certainly teach her a stricter lesson.”
“Daud, please,” Hana started.
Before she could say anything else, Daud leaned over and struck Hana’s jaw with the back of his hand.
“Don’t speak to me!” he yelled.
Tears gushing from her eyes, Hana’s lower lip trembled. The room became blurry. The two men left.
Jakob lay with his face to the floor. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the feet of the man sent to guard him. The guard was wearing expensive Nike basketball shoes. Every so often, he nudged Jakob with his foot.
Jakob desperately wanted to live, but it was a hopeless situation. To distract himself, he thought about his parents, his friends, Emily, Ben, and anyone else who came to mind. He imagined how they would react to the news of his death. Whatever method these men used to kill him wouldn’t be accepted as accidental. Too many people knew Jakob had been stalked like a hunted animal from one side of the world to another. Maybe someday those responsible would be brought to justice. Especially Daud Hasan, whose level of betrayal transc
ended all other manifestations of evil.
Jakob’s guard jerked him to his feet and shoved him into a chair. The sudden movement, along with the effects of the earlier blow to his head, made the room spin for a few moments. When Jakob’s vision stabilized, Daud stood in front of him flanked by two other men. One of the men looked familiar, and Jakob soon realized it was Tawfik Zadan.
“Tawfik,” he said before he could stop himself.
“Shut up, Jewish swine!” Tawfik yelled at him in English.
Jakob closed his mouth. The other man spoke in heavily accented English. “You are a prisoner of the military arm of the Abu Azzam Brigade. I am Anzor Varayev, a commander of the army operating in Palestine.”
Jakob’s eyes darted from Anzor to Daud. Daud’s expression revealed nothing. Anzor motioned to the investigator.
“I have interrogated Hasan and the woman,” he said. “Now it is your turn. Tell me everything you know about the death of the American Jewish woman and the martyrdom of Abdul Zadan.”
Knowing they had already decided his fate, Jakob’s mind was racing through what to do and say. The only thought that came to his mind was to delay as long as possible.
“I will start at the beginning,” he responded.
After fifteen minutes he was still describing his efforts to find cocounsel to assist in the case.
“Enough!” Anzor threw up his hand. “You are wasting my time. Gag him and take him to the room with the woman.”
“Don’t you want to hear about John Caldwell?” Jakob asked, desperately trying to come up with something that might catch Anzor’s attention.
Anzor held up his hand to stop Tawfik, who was approaching Jakob. “What did you say?” Anzor asked.
“John Caldwell, also known as Latif Al-Fasi.”
Agitated, Anzor turned to Daud and spoke in Russian. “Did you know about this?”
“No. I would have reported it to the brothers immediately.”
Chosen People Page 35
