Promised Land

by Robert Whitlow

  “And you’re worried whether it would be safe for you and Daud to live in Israel, not only for yourselves, but even more so now that you’re pregnant.”

  Hana half expected to burst into tears, but none came. “Yes,” she replied simply. “Like I mentioned, I’ve found a perfect house about twenty minutes from the office, but without telling me, Daud checked out a place in Jerusalem when he was there last week. All this came out at the breakfast table this morning, and I’m not sure I handled it very well.”

  “My wife isn’t a morning person so we avoid serious conversations before noon,” Mr. Lowenstein said.

  “It wasn’t a question of timing to talk; it has to do with figuring out God’s will for our future.”

  Mr. Lowenstein smiled. “I’m not a rabbi.”

  “I know, and it’s unfair to dump this on you.”

  “But I can still offer advice if you want to hear it,” Mr. Lowenstein continued.

  “Okay, I’m listening.”

  Mr. Lowenstein leaned forward slightly in his chair. “Don’t make an important decision until you’re both confident it’s the right thing to do. That may not sound profound, but it’s true.”

  “Daud doesn’t even know about my doubts,” Hana said with a sigh. “And if we don’t make an offer on the Berkdale Drive house, we’ll lose it.”

  “I obviously know you a lot better than I do Daud, but he seems like an honest, sincere man. Otherwise you wouldn’t have married him. It’s important where you and Daud live, but it’s more important how working through this decision impacts your relationship with each other. Neither one of you wants to look back with regret or blame.”

  Mr. Lowenstein’s words pulled Hana out of the pit she’d fallen into.

  “That helps a lot. Thanks.”

  “My desire would be for you and Daud to buy a house and settle down here in the US,” the senior partner replied with a smile.

  “I value your opinion.”

  “Here’s my opinion,” Mr. Lowenstein responded. “You are a unique, remarkable woman who doesn’t realize the impact you have on everybody who comes in contact with you for more than five minutes.”

  The tears Hana suspected were lurking behind her eyelids gushed to the surface. She grabbed a tissue from a box near her computer.

  “And I’m not going to apologize for making you cry. It’s probably good for you.”

  Hana simply nodded. “Why did you stop by to see me?” she asked after she wiped her eyes and blew her nose.

  “So we could have this talk,” Mr. Lowenstein replied as he stood up. “Anything else on my mind can wait.”

  After the conversation with Mr. Lowenstein, Hana sent Daud a short text:

  Don’t make an offer on the house yet

  The message showed delivery, but Daud didn’t immediately answer. Hana began reviewing the documents for the conference call, which ultimately lasted almost two hours. Shortly after she returned, the receptionist buzzed her.

  “Your husband is here,” the young woman said.

  “What?” Hana blurted out. “I’ll be right there.”

  Wearing a sport coat, Daud was chatting with the receptionist, who was staring at him with big eyes.

  “I could listen to him talk all day,” the young woman said to Hana. “His accent reminds me of someone in a movie.”

  Daud stepped forward and kissed Hana on the lips. “I want to see my lawyer,” he said.

  Hana entered the security code for entry to the office suites. Daud followed her into the hallway.

  “What’s going on?” Hana whispered intently as they passed cubicles where people were working. Several stared at them.

  “I have legal business to discuss with my lawyer,” Daud said.

  “I heard that.”

  She led the way into her office and closed the door. Daud sat in the solitary chair across from Hana’s desk.

  “I have a document I want my lawyer to look over,” Daud said as he reached into the inner pocket of his jacket and took out some papers. “My English is getting better every day, but I don’t trust myself to understand legal words.”

  He slid the papers across the desk to Hana, who soon recognized the standard-form residential real estate contract. She saw the name of the Realtor who had shown them the house and recognized the address of the property.

  “No,” she said. “Didn’t you get my text telling you to hold off making an offer?”

  Daud leaned forward in the chair. “I paid more attention to the words of my wife, whom I love and cherish.”

  Hana glanced at the opening paragraph of the contract. “You made a full-price offer,” she said. “Didn’t you want to negotiate?”

  “Not if it means we run the risk of losing it. The listing agent confirmed what we heard the other day. A house like that isn’t going to sit on the market and could end up in a bidding war. The smartest way to move would be to accept the asking price.”

  Hana knew she should act grateful and elated. “We both know we really weren’t in agreement this morning,” she said slowly. “Are we in agreement now?”

  “Do you still want the house?” Daud replied.

  Hana remembered Mr. Lowenstein’s advice. “Yes, but only if you do too. I don’t want either one of us to look back with blame or regret.”

  “No regrets and no blame,” Daud answered. “Sign below my signature so we can scan the contract and send it to the listing agent. I told her to be on the lookout for it before the end of the day.”

  “Let me read it more closely.”

  Hana began reading the standard real estate contract approved by the Realtor association. She knew the process involved filling in the blanks with any special restrictions clearly identified. Daud hadn’t included any conditions beyond the normal requirements related to clear title and home inspection. He’d even included more earnest money than typically required. If the owners wanted to sell at the asking price, the offer would likely be accepted.

  “The listing agent said increasing the earnest money deposit would help convince the sellers to pick us if a competing full-price offer came in,” Daud said as if reading her mind.

  “And we’re not asking them to leave the furniture in the sunroom.”

  “The agent said we can bring that up later but not to include it in the offer.”

  Hana forced herself to read the contract again.

  “Is there a problem?” Daud asked after several minutes passed.

  “Yes.” Hana dropped the document on her desk and stared at her husband. “I’m not satisfied with the process.”

  “Process? I tried to simplify it as much as I could.”

  “I’m talking about the process between you and me,” Hana said and pointed her finger at Daud. “I heard what you said about no regrets or blame, but I feel like you’re caving in to emotional pressure from me and agreeing to something that you’re not convinced is the right decision for us as a couple and a family.”

  “Are you saying we didn’t argue enough?”

  “No,” Hana replied with frustration. “It’s just that—” She stopped.

  Daud spoke. “Look, I knew before we married that we were going to live in the US, and I moved here with a clear understanding of our immediate future.”

  “We agreed on that.”

  “Yes, and even though I’d like us to consider moving back to Israel, nothing has changed about the genuine concerns you have about our security and safety. In six or seven months we’re going to have a child to think about. Maybe it’s a matter of timing, and it’s too early to consider a place like the house in Abu Tor. Someday that might be possible, but not now.”

  “That helps me a lot,” Hana said slowly.

  Daud pointed to the contract on her desk. “Sign it, and I’ll deliver the agreement to the real estate office in person.”

  After a moment’s hesitation, Hana picked up her pen and turned to the final page. Daud always signed his name with a bold flourish that communicated a con
fident man who wasn’t ashamed or apologetic about who he was or what he thought. It had always been an accurate representation of the real person. Until now. The signature on the contract was emphatic, but his act of signing it didn’t match the Daud Hasan she’d married.

  “Let’s give it another night,” Hana said, lowering her pen.

  “Why?” Daud asked.

  “Because I can’t sign it, at least not yet.” Hana’s voice trembled.

  “You realize we might lose—”

  “Yes!” Hana cut in. “Yes! There’s no point in repeating the obvious!”

  Daud pressed his lips together tightly. He slowly picked up the contract and returned it to the inner pocket of his jacket. They sat in silence for a few seconds. Hana didn’t trust herself to speak and was apprehensive about what Daud might say.

  “Would you like me to pick up Leon so you don’t have to do it later?” he asked calmly.

  “No, I’ll do it.” Hana sighed. “Go home, but don’t eat a big lunch. I want to fix dinner for us. It’s the least I can do after jerking you around about the new house.”

  Chapter 27

  Rahal and Khalil sat beside each other in comfortable chairs. It was early evening, and the lights of Doha were beginning to twinkle. They were high above the city, a perfect vantage point for perspective on the world below. Khalil was reciting a long section of the Qur’an. Rahal closed his eyes as he listened to the unparalleled beauty of the flowing Arabic.

  Khalil stopped at the device alert sound that interrupted his narration. Rahal opened his eyes and turned toward his assistant. “Continue.”

  “It could be the Chechens,” Khalil said, picking up one of two tablets he’d brought with him. “This tablet is dedicated to the account in Dubai.”

  Rahal wanted to close his eyes and return to the inner place he’d been before, but it was impossible to do so. Instead, he sipped dark coffee from a small cup. Khalil finished reading.

  “They are prepared to act against Hasan if he returns to Palestine. People loyal to their cause remain in the vicinity of Al-Quds, and the reward for his death will attract interest from others.”

  “Who knows when that might happen? What about eliminating him in America? We can finance any operation and provide sufficient details about Hasan’s activities and habits to make an operation much easier.”

  “I told them all of that. Perhaps they don’t have the logistical ability to act in the US.”

  “How hard can it be? All it takes is someone willing to sacrifice himself for jihad. Nothing is going to come from reaching out to these Salafis.”

  Rahal took another drink of the bitter liquid in the cup. He could tell Khalil was waiting for additional instructions. Rahal lowered the cup to the table. “Develop our own plan,” he advised.

  “It’s in process,” Khalil said and touched his tablet.

  “Good. Who will be in charge of the operation?”

  “I will.”

  “You’d go to America?” Rahal asked, sitting up straighter in his chair. “We can recruit others to act on our behalf and supervise from here. The three cousins from Yemen would be perfect. They can obtain refugee status in the US and are zealous for our cause.”

  “I must avenge Mustafa.”

  “No!” Rahal shook his head. “I forbid it. You are too valuable to me here.”

  Khalil bowed his head and left the room. Rahal stared unseeing through the windows as the sky darkened. To risk losing Khalil was too great a sacrifice. Even for jihad.

  * * *

  The advice Daud received before marriage about the unfathomable mysteries of the feminine psyche was true, especially when a woman was pregnant. But because of Hana’s deep spirituality, he’d not had serious concerns. The events of the past weeks had shaken his confidence. He tightly gripped the steering wheel of the Land Rover as he maneuvered through traffic. Not that his commitment to the marriage was weakening. On the contrary, he’d felt surprisingly empowered by his decision to yield to Hana’s desires about living in America. His own decision was a paradox he still needed to figure out—how giving up his rights was an act of strength, not weakness. His phone vibrated. It was Hana’s law firm, which meant she was calling from her office phone. He offered up a quick prayer before answering.

  “Did you change your mind about me picking up Leon?” he asked in anticipation of her likely request.

  “Excuse me,” a male voice responded. “This is Leon Lowenstein.”

  “Mr. Lowenstein.” Daud swerved slightly and then made a quick correction to stay in the correct lane. “I thought it was Hana calling from the law firm.”

  “Who is Leon?” the senior partner asked.

  “Hana’s dog. He wandered out of the woods a couple of years ago, and she took him in.”

  “And she named him Leon?”

  “Yes.”

  “After me?”

  Daud suddenly realized Hana had never told Mr. Lowenstein that she’d borrowed his first name and given it to her pet. He felt trapped.

  “Yes, and he’s a fine animal.”

  Mr. Lowenstein was silent for a moment and then burst out laughing. Daud slowed to a stop as a traffic signal turned red.

  “Promise me that you’ll send me a picture of my namesake,” the lawyer said, regaining his composure. “I can’t wait to tell my wife about this. She’s a huge animal lover and will think it’s hilarious.”

  Not always sure about the twists and turns of American humor, Daud was relieved by Mr. Lowenstein’s response.

  “I’ll take a photo this evening. Hana and I usually board him during the day while we work. That’s why I mentioned picking him up.”

  “Leon,” Mr. Lowenstein repeated and chuckled into the phone. “Is he a purebred or a mutt?”

  It took Daud a few seconds to decipher the question. “He has mixed parents,” he replied, hoping that made sense.

  Mr. Lowenstein laughed again. “I have a checkered history myself,” he said. “But I didn’t call to talk about dogs. I’m sitting here with Amanda Fletchall, the event planner for the interfaith convocation. She’s giving me a strange look, so we need to move this conversation forward. I’m putting you on speakerphone.”

  “Mr. Hasan, it’s nice to meet you,” a high-pitched female voice said. “Mr. Lowenstein has been telling me a bit about your professional qualifications. You’re from Israel and worked as a private investigator?”

  “Yes.”

  “Tell me about your experience handling security for events.”

  “My time was mostly spent questioning people pulled out of line at a checkpoint since Arabic is my first language.”

  “Arabic. That’s odd for an Israeli, isn’t it?”

  “Daud is an Arab,” Mr. Lowenstein cut in. “I thought that would be clear from his name.”

  “I’m not familiar with Middle Eastern names,” Amanda replied.

  The phone was silent for several seconds.

  “Hello?” Daud asked. “Are you still there?”

  “Yes,” Mr. Lowenstein replied. “Amanda had a question for me off-line.”

  Daud suspected he knew the topic. “Is it about an Arab supervising security at an event where there will be a lot of Jewish people present?”

  “Yes,” the lawyer answered. “And that’s not going to be an issue.”

  Daud wasn’t so sure but didn’t voice his doubts.

  Amanda spoke. “Given the anticipated attendance, we’ve reserved a large ballroom at a local hotel not far from the law firm’s office. I’ll send you the name and address of the hotel along with the name of the assistant manager who has been assigned to us.”

  Daud turned left behind a FedEx truck. “Hotels can be difficult to secure because they are set up for convenience of service with multiple entry and exit points,” he said. “Also, people would be coming and going for reasons unrelated to the event. Does the hotel manager know we will require extra security measures? A controversial topic like this will attract negative at
tention.”

  “Our goal is to make it welcoming and safe for everyone,” the event planner replied cheerily.

  Daud doubted that was entirely possible.

  “You can work out the details directly with the hotel staff,” she continued. “They’ll provide the schematics of the layout. I’ve already sent Mr. Lowenstein an email with all the pertinent information. He’ll forward it to you later today.”

  “And identify their head of security?”

  “Yes, his name and contact information are also included in the email. I’ve worked with him before. He’s a retired Atlanta police officer.”

  “That’s it for now,” Mr. Lowenstein said. “Communicate directly with the hotel, but copy me on anything you send Amanda.”

  “Okay,” Daud said.

  “And pat Leon on the head for me,” the senior lawyer added. “Don’t forget to send me a photo.”

  Arriving home, Daud dropped the real estate contract beside a stack of papers next to his computer. His stomach growled, and he warmed up a bowl of yellow rice and grilled chicken they’d eaten earlier in the week. There was no danger of a small snack ruining his appetite. Logging on to his laptop, he saw an email from Jakob with the subject line “Artem Kolisnyk.” Daud cringed when he saw that Jakob had showcased the scientist’s name.

  Jakob had successfully gained access to the website for Khartron Corporation, the defunct Ukrainian consulting firm, and downloaded a long list of email contacts originating from all over the world. Seeing the unusual IP addresses, Daud wished he still had the ability to forward this type of information to Aaron Levy and the IT experts with the Shin Bet security service. They would be able to analyze it quickly. But Daud and Jakob were on their own.

  Jakob had parsed out emails sent directly to Kolisnyk’s account with the company. Surprisingly, there were fewer than a hundred of these. Daud focused on the ones written in Arabic, which accounted for about thirty percent. Most of them were simple inquiries. Future discussions likely would be in person, on the phone, or via other more secure internet links that wouldn’t create an easy trail for someone else to follow. It wasn’t possible for Daud to determine the country of origin. As he kept reading, he found three emails from different sources registering specific complaints about Kolisnyk’s nonresponsiveness. It wasn’t much, but Daud created a separate file for the three sources. The front door opened. Hana entered with Leon close behind her.