Promised Land

by Robert Whitlow

  Settling onto the sofa, Daud opened his computer and looked at photos of the house in Abu Tor that he’d transferred to his laptop. He’d genuinely liked the Atlanta house and understood why Hana loved it. And as he listened to her talk and saw the property through her eyes, he began to wonder if the possibility of living in Jerusalem was more imagination than reality. If passion lay at the center of Hana’s heart, Daud knew his core was practical. And keeping Hana and the new life within her safe and secure would be his number one priority for as long as he had breath in his body. He lowered the top of his laptop, but it didn’t click shut.

  * * *

  When she awoke in the middle of the night, Hana was groggy. Although she usually got out of bed, she occasionally slept through the night. This seemed like one of those nights. She rolled onto her side to return to sleep, but minutes later she was still awake.

  After making a cup of tea, she sat on the sofa with her legs curled up beneath her. She reached over to move Daud’s laptop. When she did, her thumb slipped beneath the lid and opened it farther. The welcome screen appeared. It was a photo from their honeymoon in Spain. Hana was standing at the edge of the Mediterranean on a sunny day with several multicolored sailboats as a backdrop. She typed in Daud’s password so she could look at other pictures from the trip. When she opened his general photo file, she noticed there was a batch of recent pictures taken within the past week. The first one was a street scene from Jerusalem. Curious, she clicked on another photo, then another and another. The same older Jewish man appeared in several of them, along with the exterior of a small house built with Jerusalem stone. Suddenly, she pushed the laptop away.

  Hana glanced over her shoulder at the bedroom to make sure Daud wasn’t spying on her and stared at the laptop as if it were alive and threatening her. She looked over her shoulder again. There was no doubt in her mind that Daud had looked at a place to buy or rent when he was in Jerusalem. That thought called into question the whole reason for his detour from Beirut in the first place. Anger at his dishonesty rose up inside her. His promise to be open with her had proved hollow. She stood up rapidly so she could storm into the bedroom, jerk him awake, and demand an explanation.

  Once on her feet, she felt the room begin to spin and plopped back down on the sofa. She’d read that she might experience unsteadiness during pregnancy. As she waited a couple of seconds for her head to clear, she looked again at the laptop. The photo on the screen showed the exterior of a stone cottage that didn’t look much bigger than the house where they lived now. She was appalled that Daud would consider dragging her into danger to hide in a tiny stone cave.

  Repositioning the laptop, she flipped through the photos. Once she viewed the pictures from inside the Jerusalem house, she was surprised by its size but unimpressed by the style and layout. Additional bedrooms had been stuck haphazardly onto the central core with a narrow, elongated kitchen. The rear of the property revealed a nice walled garden and a much larger house adjacent to the smaller one. Hana still didn’t know where the buildings might be in the city, but the additional pictures answered one question.

  “It was the servants’ quarters,” she muttered.

  She followed Daud and the Jewish man up the stairs to the flat rooftop. The first image from the roof provided the clue she was looking for. In one corner of the frame was a small section of the stone wall surrounding the Old City of Jerusalem. From the angle of the photo, Hana guessed Daud was facing north, which meant he was near either Talbiya or Abu Tor. Both were areas with a long history of Arab presence. The rooftop was surrounded by a low wall, but Hana doubted it would be safe for a small child. She immediately stopped her train of thought. The only issue was how to best communicate her rejection of the idea to Daud. Where they were going to live was a question she’d assumed they settled when he joined her in America.

  Hana closed the photo file and turned off the laptop. Opening her Bible to the Psalms, she read for a few minutes, but the words on the page didn’t penetrate past her eyes into her mind. Then she suddenly closed the book. There were many verses in the Psalms about Jerusalem, and she didn’t want to stumble across one that by coincidence challenged her opinion. Reopening the Bible, she turned to much safer ground in the New Testament.

  In the morning Hana fixed Daud a full breakfast even though her stomach wouldn’t allow her to eat it.

  “That wasn’t necessary,” he said when he came into the kitchen and discovered what she’d done.

  “I can still cook something nice for you,” she said.

  She handed Daud a miniature cup filled with thick, jet-black coffee flavored with cardamom and saffron.

  “Can’t you have a sip?” he asked, smacking his lips. “This is fabulous.”

  “No, it’s tea for me.”

  Hana sat at the table and nibbled on crackers and drank tea while Daud ate. He liked eggs over easy with the yoke spilling onto the plate when pierced. Along with the eggs, she’d toasted an English muffin and topped it with orange marmalade. It was a breakfast of mixed cultures.

  “How was your time in the night with the Lord?” he asked, his mouth still partly full.

  “Fine,” Hana replied.

  “I woke up once when you were awake,” Daud continued.

  “You didn’t sneak into the living room and spy on me, did you?”

  “No,” Daud replied, giving her a puzzled look. “If I had, what would I have seen you doing?”

  Hana’s morning nausea rushed to the surface, and she ran from the table to the bathroom. After getting sick, she splashed water on her face, but it didn’t really refresh her. She returned to the table and took a tentative sip of tea.

  “Are you better?” Daud asked with concern in his eyes.

  “A little, but I won’t feel right until I find out why you lied to me. I saw the pictures of the tiny house in Jerusalem. Where is it? In Talbiya or Abu Tor? I couldn’t tell for sure from the portion of the Old City wall in the background. Daud, you can’t hide something important from me and pretend that we are communicating the way we should. It really hurt my feelings.”

  Daud looked stunned as the torrent of words spilled forth from Hana. “I probably would have showed you the photos of the house eventually,” he said when she finally paused. “And one of your two guesses was right. It’s in Abu Tor. Avi Labensky knows the owner, a Frenchman in Marseilles who’s interested in selling to the right buyer.”

  Daud was speaking in such a matter-of-fact tone of voice that Hana wasn’t sure how to respond.

  “Is that an apology? Why didn’t you tell me the reason you went to Jerusalem?”

  “Because I wasn’t sure about it myself. I liked the house but didn’t mention it when I returned home because you were so excited about the house here in Atlanta.”

  “I thought we agreed that living in Israel was out of the question.”

  “For now. I wasn’t trying to deceive you. I didn’t see the point in telling you because there’s no way I’d force you to move someplace you don’t want to live.”

  Daud’s last statement drained the fight out of Hana, who still felt lousy. She felt tears pool in her eyes. She wiped them away with a napkin.

  “So can we make an offer on the house here in Atlanta?” she asked.

  “Yes.” Daud nodded. “I’ll call the real estate agent myself.”

  Chapter 26

  The US government paid twice as much for food and cleaning services as the going rate in the rest of Qatar. Large, well-placed bribes with key members of the ruling family routinely guaranteed that Rahal was the successful bidder. He was relaxing over coffee with the two men who supervised the operation at the Al Udeid base when Khalil entered the room and bowed respectfully.

  “Join us,” Rahal said to his favorite assistant.

  The other two men exchanged a surprised look. As a Shiite underling, Khalil was never included in Sunni social gatherings.

  “We’re still talking business,” Rahal continued as he glanced at
the other two managers.

  “Thank you, sir,” Khalil replied, “but I don’t want to intrude and will wait outside until you finish.”

  “Very well,” Rahal said with a wave of his hand.

  After Khalil left, Rahal spoke to one of the remaining men. “Khalil is very valuable to me. I want you to hire some Shiite workers to assist here in the office. They can be very good employees.”

  “Are you sure?” the man asked. “And not just to be janitors?”

  “Do as I ask,” Rahal replied smoothly.

  “Yes, sir,” the man replied.

  Thirty minutes later Rahal and Khalil were alone, and he told his assistant what he’d done.

  “That is gracious and pleases the Almighty,” Khalil said. “But do you think your action might cause them to question whether there has been a change in your beliefs?”

  “They make too much money to complain about anything.”

  “I trust your wisdom,” Khalil replied, glancing over Rahal’s shoulder at the closed door. “And I have an update for you about Hasan.”

  “I’m listening.”

  Khalil turned on his tablet as he spoke. “We hired a private detective in the US and told him that we needed a background check on Daud Hasan and his wife. He confirmed what we had already learned from the private investigator in Al-Quds and supplied some additional information. They are indeed living in Atlanta, where the wife works at a law firm with the name of Collins, Lowenstein, and Capella. One of her bosses, a man named Leon Lowenstein, is a Jew.”

  “This woman has no shame,” Rahal said.

  “It was harder to find out what Hasan is doing, but since leaving Palestine, he hires himself out as a consultant for businesses wanting to open offices in Arab countries. And based on what happened in Sharm el-Sheikh, we know he is also working for the CIA and the Mossad.”

  Khalil handed the tablet to Rahal. “This is a photo of where Hasan and his wife live. If you scroll over, you can see their vehicles and the outside of the office building where Abboud works.”

  “This is a tiny house,” Rahal said in surprise. “I would think they would live in a nicer place.”

  “Who knows what they do with their money?” Khalil shrugged. “But there is no security at the house. It is in a residential neighborhood with multiple points of entry and exit.”

  “No gates or guards?”

  “None,” answered Khalil.

  “They are either careless or stupid.”

  “Perhaps,” Khalil said, raising one shoulder. “But this is America, where people feel safe. I also obtained a copy of a lawsuit Abboud’s law firm filed to recover money from a US company linked to a martyr who killed an American Jewish woman several years ago in Al-Quds. Abboud worked on the case along with a Jewish lawyer named Jakob Brodsky. They traveled together to Al-Quds.”

  Rahal nodded. “This is good work.”

  “It is easy to find information in America. Their army has powerful weapons, but the people are weak and unprotected.”

  “What else?”

  Khalil scooted his chair closer. “I contacted the Chechen group that issued the bounty on Hasan’s head directly.”

  “Was that wise?” Rahal asked sharply. “We know the Americans and Jews are probably watching them.”

  “I set up a false online identity in the UAE. I even flew to Dubai to do it. Any investigation will lead to Dubai and no further. The Chechens are aware that we’ve located Hasan, and I sent word that there is specific information available to them if they furnish a plan of action.”

  “Did you offer them money?”

  “No, but we can use cryptocurrency if needed.”

  Rahal put his fingers together in front of him. “What if the Chechens can’t act within the US?”

  Khalil stared directly at Rahal. “I would go.”

  * * *

  Daud left a message for the listing agent about the Atlanta house. As a lawyer, Hana was better suited to handle the discussion, but Daud wanted to show her how serious he was about following through on his commitment to make an offer on the house. A few minutes later Jakob called.

  “Fresh news gets attention,” he said when Daud answered.

  “What do you mean?”

  “The posts you set up for me on the Israeli forums have drawn lots of responses. The problem is, I don’t have any idea what the people are saying,” Jakob explained.

  “I’ll log on to my computer and let you know if there’s anything important.”

  “Great. I’m also supposed to hear from Daniella Rubin before the end of the day. She’s meeting with the rich woman who may have some of the Bar Kokhba coins. My gut tells me this could be a breakthrough, but my mind warns me not to get my hopes up.”

  “Is Avi going with her to the meeting?”

  “I’m not sure. I communicated directly with her. Daniella’s English is great, and she seems very interested in what I’m trying to do.”

  “I hope Avi will be there. I trust him. I’m not sure about the archaeologist,” Daud said.

  “Avi seems to trust her.”

  “In his business he can’t trust anyone but has to work with everyone. I’ll call him. I need to talk to him about something else.”

  “And I’m still working on your Ukrainian scientist. It’s clear that most of the customers for their consulting firm were located in the Middle East, Mexico, or South America,” Jakob added.

  “I understand the Middle East, but why Mexico or South America?”

  “Most likely drug cartels looking for advanced weaponry to use in their private wars and against government troops. I don’t speak Spanish, but a woman who works for another lawyer in our building translated the information for me.”

  “Does she know what you are doing?”

  “Nothing beyond research for a client. Everyone is aware that I’m always getting involved in something outside the normal scope of law practice. Anyway, there wasn’t anything specifically written about Kolisnyk in Spanish. I’m still trying to track down the sources for the negative comments about him that I found the other day. That will be hard to do since the entries were on the Khartron website and didn’t reveal the email address of the sender. I may be able to peek behind the curtain since the consulting firm is defunct and not maintaining a current firewall.”

  “You know how to do that?” Daud was impressed.

  “Not at a sophisticated level, but I recognized the platform used to create the website and downloaded a manual that explains how to access it. The Russian internet has always been more like the Wild West than what we have in the US and Europe.”

  “Wild West?”

  “It’s a reference to the frontier days of American expansion before the government was in control of a region.”

  After his conversation with Jakob, Daud logged on to the Middle Eastern forums. The comments and responses, in both Arabic and Hebrew, were all from people wanting to sell items, not replies to the specific requests for information. It was late afternoon in Jerusalem, and Avi would likely be at his shop.

  “Daud?” the familiar voice asked when he answered the phone. “Good timing. I’m meeting tomorrow with Louis. He’s flying in from Marseilles to buy two paintings from me. What should I tell him about your interest in the bungalow in Abu Tor?”

  “Hana has found a house that she loves here in Atlanta.”

  “Atlanta? Is it built with Jerusalem stone?”

  “No, but there’s no use talking with Louis about Abu Tor.”

  “That won’t stop me,” Avi said.

  “Maybe you should buy it.”

  “Only to rent it to you.”

  Daud smiled, but he also felt a twinge of regret.

  “Listen,” Avi continued, “you and Hana should come to Jerusalem and see the house before you decide what to do. Often a person can’t figure out if they like a painting until they see it in person. Photos don’t do it justice. It’s the same with a house.”

  “I’m not sure she�
��d make the trip for security reasons.”

  “Security reasons? Are you running from the police?”

  Daud regretted his honesty. “No, but there are complicating factors for me in Israel from my previous work.”

  Avi was silent for a moment. “Okay, I respect your decision.”

  * * *

  Instead of feeling joy at Daud’s agreement about the house, Hana was unsettled. A dark cloud surrounded her thoughts as she made her way to her office.

  “Good morning,” Janet said cheerily. “I put the information you need for the conference call with Mr. Collins on your desk.”

  “Thanks.” Hana continued past the assistant and closed the door of her office.

  When she turned on her computer, Hana saw the now shriveled-up green pea she’d brought from home after first learning she was pregnant. The pea was no longer an accurate representation of the tiny child, and she gently placed it in the trash can. There was a knock on her door.

  “Come in!” she barked.

  The door opened and Leon Lowenstein entered.

  “Mr. Lowenstein,” Hana said.

  “Yes,” the senior partner replied with a puzzled expression on his face. “And I intend to stay that way for the rest of the day. Are you in the middle of something important?”

  Remembering Mr. Lowenstein’s kind offer to be a paternal sounding board if she ever needed one, Hana started to speak but stopped. “Sorry. I do have a conference call scheduled to begin in the next half hour.”

  “Okay, I’ll be brief.”

  “Actually, I’m confused about something that doesn’t have anything to do with the office,” she blurted out. “Except that it does because it has to do with whether Daud and I buy a house in Atlanta or consider moving back to Israel. We’re about to make an offer on a house that I really like on Berkdale Drive here in Atlanta. Mr. Collins once mentioned the possibility that I could continue working for the firm from Israel, but I wouldn’t want to presume that without the partners deciding it made sense—” Hana stopped her stream-of-consciousness dam break midsentence.