Promised Land

by Robert Whitlow

  “As soon as we have a place for you to sit.”

  “We can bring camping chairs,” Jakob replied.

  “You might need to. We’re going to take our time furnishing it. The down payment blew the top off our budget.”

  “Have you talked to Avi recently?” Daud asked Jakob.

  “Yes, Vladimir came in yesterday, and we Skyped with Avi about the queen’s head, the lamp, and the Bar Kokhba coin.”

  “Where are they now?”

  “Vladimir has them. I told him to rent a safe-deposit box at a bank, but so far he hasn’t followed through.”

  “That’s not a good—” Daud started.

  “I know,” Jakob said. “But there is bigger news. Vladimir is willing to sell the queen’s head to the Israeli government. Avi predicts a museum in Jerusalem will send someone over there to evaluate it, and we’ll go from there. I’ve already organized the available paperwork on chain of title and provenance.”

  “What about the lamp and the Bar Kokhba coin?” Hana asked.

  “Vladimir is going to keep those. He’ll pay me from the sale of the queen’s head. If the Israelis don’t want to buy it, there will be plenty of other suitors.”

  “Suitors?” Daud asked.

  Jakob explained the pun. “Museums all over the world will be interested.”

  “You’re right,” Hana said. “But I hope she’s united with the king. That’s the best result.”

  “And when I get paid, you’ll get paid,” Jakob continued. “You did more than I did to make this happen.”

  “Will it be enough to make a house payment?” Daud asked.

  “Plus furnish a nursery,” Jakob answered with a smile.

  They got up to leave. Jakob escorted them to the door, where he stopped. “Oh, I’m not going to be able to hear you speak at the interfaith forum. I put it on my calendar, but that’s the same night as Emily’s biggest recital of the year. She’s going to have a solo in a string ensemble.”

  “If I had a choice, that’s what I’d do too,” Hana said. “I’d much rather hear Emily play the viola than listen to me talk.”

  “Do you know what you’re going to say?”

  “It’s coming together. I’ll begin with the story of my family, then transition to the substantive issues. I’ve also been studying the other participants on the panel so I can anticipate what they might emphasize. There are going to be lot of different ideas tossed out to the audience. I’m not sure how many friendly faces will be there, but Ben Neumann is going to bring Sadie. She’s excited about picking out a new dress and staying up way past her bedtime.”

  Jakob opened the door for them. “Don’t forget about the invitation to your house,” he said. “Emily will want to come even if all we do is eat crackers and peanut butter while sitting on the floor.”

  Chapter 38

  Khalil waited outside the hotel in a rental van. He’d meticulously coached the Yemenites on how to increase their chance of obtaining employment as either dishwashers or, better yet, servers. Their legal documents indicated they’d been in the US for over three years, not three weeks. The oldest of the men spoke English and could promise that he would make sure the others knew what to do. Khalil checked his watch. The longer the men stayed in the personnel office of the hotel, the better the chance they’d been hired and were filling out employment-related paperwork.

  Entry into the US had been seamless. Using his Lebanese passport, Khalil arrived two days before the cousins and made arrangements for their housing at a week-to-week hotel. He camped out in a luxury suite at the Ritz-Carlton. The items needed for the attack were in a storage unit about five miles from the hotel. Khalil had located the law firm where Hasan’s wife worked, and he had followed her one day to a nearby deli. Although unnecessary, Khalil ate lunch at a table within ten feet of her. He’d overheard snippets of her conversation in Arabic with a man in his fifties who either owned or managed the restaurant. The thoroughly Westernized and decadent woman was pregnant, and the Arab man gave her a free slice of baklava. Seeing her happiness hardened Khalil’s resolve. Mustafa was dead at her husband’s hand. Justice demanded retribution.

  Khalil looked up as the Yemenites left the hotel. In handcuffs. They were accompanied by two uniformed immigration and customs agents. The agents led the cousins to an unmarked van parked not far from Khalil. One of the Yemenites glanced in Khalil’s direction with a look of desperation in his eyes. Khalil slunk down in the driver’s seat. In less than a minute they were gone, along with any hope that they would be able to carry out their mission.

  * * *

  Daud had become as familiar with the layout of the hotel as one of its maintenance men. Part of his plan required special scrutiny of men in their twenties or thirties who showed up at the event without a wife or family or as part of a mixed group of men and women. The assistant manager assigned to work with Daud had begun his career path in the hotel industry as a pastry cook but then jumped to the administrative side of the business. The interfaith convocation didn’t include a sit-down meal but rather would feature heavy hors d’oeuvres and desserts.

  “All our desserts will be made in-house,” the manager said. “We have very strict quality control.”

  “Does that include running the cakes and pies through an x-ray machine before placing them on the serving tables?” Daud asked.

  “No,” the man replied, giving him a strange look. “We don’t have an x-ray machine.”

  “We can either wand them with a metal detector before taking them out of the kitchen or precut the pieces.”

  “Oh, my preference would be to precut the pieces.”

  “And make them small. People can come back for seconds if they’re hungry. I’ll also want you to confirm the identity of all kitchen help and waitstaff and use only established workers,” Daud continued. “No new hires.”

  “Not possible,” the manager said and shook his head. “In a hotel of this size, we always have employees leaving and new ones coming in. And for an event of this size, there is a staffing agency I use to supply extra help for the night.”

  “Try to minimize the number of outside employees and provide me with background information on every person who will be working, including those from the staffing agency. Tell them you need the information two weeks in advance.”

  “I’m not sure that’s—”

  “Would you prefer I contact your human resources department and the staffing agency directly?”

  “No, no. My boss has told me to work with you. That will make it look like I’m not doing my job.”

  “Then please get me what I need.”

  A week before the convocation, Daud collected the final background information from the assistant manager.

  “There are a few more permanent employees working in the food and beverage areas. That will cut down on the number of outside workers coming in from the staffing agency,” the man said. “I’ll have a final list to you by the day after tomorrow, but there won’t be any additions, only deletions.”

  Daud slipped the information into a leather case he carried with him. “The contractor setting up the screening stations will call you in the morning. And you’ll have three cubicles ready nearby for us to use for private questioning, correct?”

  “Yes,” the manager said reluctantly. “People are going to get upset if they’re dragged out of line.”

  “They’re not going to be dragged. I think the correct term the people at the security firm taught me is ‘escorted,’ right?”

  “Yes, but it’s not going to matter what you call it.”

  * * *

  Hana stayed late at the office working on the final touches to her presentation. Earlier that day she’d called Janet into her office to listen.

  “What do you think?” Hana asked when she finished. “The opening is so important because it sets the tone for everything else that follows.”

  Janet pressed her lips together for a moment before responding. “You already know I
believe you should begin with your family history. People like me want to know who someone is before hearing what they think. Your family has lived in the same area for four hundred years. That gives you the right to an opinion. All the historical facts and data you’ve researched are impressive, but you might want to slow down your delivery.”

  “I talk too fast when I’m nervous.”

  “Yeah, but it convinced me that you’ve done your homework. The Christian part makes sense to me, but I’m not sure how a room full of people from other faiths or with no faith at all are going to respond.”

  “Did I come across as too . . . aggressive?”

  “I think the word you’re looking for is ‘preachy,’ which is used to describe a person who tries to ram religion down someone’s throat. But there’s no point in beating around the bush. Come out and say what you believe and why.”

  “Was it a message of hope? That’s what I want more than anything else.”

  “I’m not up-to-date on politics and the Middle East, but I’ve heard and read enough to know that there isn’t much room for optimism. If hope is what you want to communicate, I think you still have some work to do.”

  “Any suggestions?”

  “Let me think about that and get back to you,” Janet answered.

  “The event is this weekend.”

  “I know, I know. And I couldn’t convince Donnie to come. But I’ll be there sitting in the cheap seats with Gladys Applewhite.”

  “I can move you up closer—”

  “No,” Janet responded as she held up her hand. “The rear of the room suits me fine. You do have a couple of intangible things going for you.”

  “What?”

  “You’re attractive. That will help with every man in the room and probably hurt with some of the women. But many of the women will be sympathetic because you’re pregnant, which will also give you an excuse to be grumpy if needed.”

  Hana chuckled. “I’m not sure what to think about that.”

  “That it’s a worthless comment. Here’s what I think. Let the people in the room catch a glimpse of the person I’ve gotten to know and respect over the past three years. Speak as much from your heart as your mind. You’re smart and beautiful, but it’s your heart that makes you special. Do that and leave the results to the Lord.”

  “That’s good,” Hana said. “I need to relax and be natural, not try to impose my opinion.”

  “Exactly.”

  Hana was shutting down the computer on her desk when Mr. Lowenstein appeared in her doorway and asked for an update. Hana told him what Janet had said.

  “That may be true,” he replied slowly. “But this is going to be an intellectual crowd, so make sure you have plenty of facts, especially the kind of information that doesn’t commonly show up in news reports. Misinformation is best discredited by showing that it’s based on false assumptions. Expose the root and know the fruit.”

  “That’s catchy. Did you come up with that?”

  “No, I probably read it somewhere.”

  Hana summarized some of the data about higher levels of education among Christian Israeli Arabs than among those in the surrounding regions, and their participation in fields such as medicine, law, and business.

  “The business run by my father and uncles shows that opportunities are there,” she said.

  Mr. Lowenstein nodded. “That sounds like an effective strategy.”

  “How is attendance lining up?”

  “We’ve sold eighteen hundred tickets. There will be a flood of last-minute attendees, so I think we can expect around twenty-five hundred people to show up. Is Daud ready for that many?”

  “He’s been working a lot of hours. I know he’s feeling responsible for everyone’s safety.”

  * * *

  Leon greeted Hana with a friendly woof from his spot in the corner of the new kitchen. Since much of the dog’s life revolved around eating, he’d quickly settled into a place within sight and sniffing distance of his metal food bowl. The kitchen was sparsely furnished with a foldable table and two chairs. For upstairs, they’d purchased a king-size bed and a large dresser. Daud had thrown together a bare-bones office in one of the guest bedrooms. Except for the Jerusalem painting that Avi gave them, the living room was as empty as the day they’d moved in. The only area in the house that looked complete was the sunroom; the previous owner sold them the existing furniture at a greatly reduced price.

  “I’m home!” Hana called up the stairs.

  She could hear Daud moving around. He was holding his cell phone to his ear as he descended the stairs.

  “I want to hold a meeting with everybody scheduled to work the event at least two hours before it starts,” he said. “Even if it means an hour extra on the payroll for some of them. Amanda Fletchall, the event planner, will modify the budget if that’s what it takes.”

  The call ended as Daud reached the main floor of the house and kissed Hana.

  “You sound more and more like an American,” she said in English.

  “The immersion process is making my brain hurt,” Daud answered in Arabic. “But I know it’s the most effective way to learn a language.”

  “Should we start talking in English at home?”

  “No,” Daud answered emphatically. “But it’s okay if we use Hebrew from time to time. You speak it at work, but for me it’s rarely needed.”

  “And you can practice Russian with Jakob.”

  “All he wants to talk about in Russian is football.”

  They went into the kitchen. It was Daud’s turn to provide the meal.

  “What’s for supper?” Hana asked.

  “It’s in the oven.”

  Hana opened the oven door. “Pizza?” she asked.

  “It’s part of being an American. Do you know how many kinds of frozen pizza they have at the grocery store?”

  “A lot.” Hana eyed the circular pie skeptically. “But we always order pizza at a restaurant where they make it fresh.”

  “Which is why there’s a bowl of salad in the refrigerator,” Daud replied.

  Hana opened the refrigerator and took out the salad. Daud had filled the bowl with fresh ingredients, including plenty of green and black olives, along with seedless cucumbers and tomatoes.

  “You found purslane,” Hana said.

  “Supposedly it’s organic. It wasn’t as good as what we could get at home, but it’s okay.”

  “Thanks,” Hana replied as she placed the bowl on the counter. “And remember, this is our home.”

  Chapter 39

  Khalil knew he should have checked in an hour earlier. Rahal would be getting anxious.

  “Where are you?” Rahal barked.

  “In New York about to get on a plane for Riyadh,” Khalil answered. “My flight from Atlanta was delayed.”

  “You’ll be out of the country before the attack takes place, right?”

  “Of course. Three glorious martyrs are about to enter paradise. They are well prepared and resolute. Even if one is stopped, the other two can complete the mission.”

  “You were right to go to America.” It was as close to an apology as Khalil would receive. “The Yemenites would not have been able to cope with the logistics on their own. But I’m relieved that you will be in the air over the ocean when the sword falls.”

  “And fall it will. Of that I am certain. I need to board the plane.”

  Rahal spoke a blessing over Khalil. “I love you like a son of my own flesh,” he concluded.

  “That means much more than you know,” Khalil replied, trying to hide the emotion in his voice.

  After the call ended, Khalil went into the bathroom of his suite at the Ritz-Carlton to comb his hair. The Yemenites were still in the custody of the US immigration authorities based on discrepancies in the paperwork furnished by Khalil’s contacts within Hezbollah. Fortunately, the jihadists were being treated as normal illegal aliens, not terrorist suspects. Their request for political asylum from their war-torn cou
ntry might even be approved. But the cousins were no help to Khalil, who was wearing the uniform furnished by his new employer, the hotel where the interfaith convocation would take place later that evening. Beneath the white jacket worn by food service employees was a bomb vest filled with enough explosives and metal nails to shred any human flesh standing within fifty feet when it detonated. But the vest wouldn’t be Khalil’s primary means of bringing death and destruction. He wouldn’t die until he’d seen the devastation caused by the bomb he’d assembled and concealed at the hotel over the past week. Once that exploded, Khalil wanted to look into the unbelieving eyes of those who remained alive and cry out, “Allahu Akbar!”

  * * *

  Hana had narrowed her outfit options to two choices, both expensive dresses that tried to straddle the line between maternity clothes and high fashion. Daud had raised his eyebrows when she’d come home with three dresses and told him how much she paid for them.

  “Don’t go there,” she warned. “It’s your fault my body is changing, and I need to feel confident when I’m standing in front of two thousand people.”

  Daud raised his hands in surrender. “Okay, okay. I’m sure you’ll look fabulous whatever you decide to wear.”

  In the end, Hana selected a blue dress rather than a green one, partly because the blue one picked up on the colors of the Israeli flag. If she was going to stand up in public as an Arab and defend the nation of Israel, she might as well go all the way with her color choice too. Daud had left hours ago for the hotel, and she was putting the finishing touches on her makeup when her phone vibrated. It was Ben Neumann.

  “Sorry to bother you since I know you’re getting ready,” Ben said. “But Sadie has an upset stomach and won’t be able to come tonight.”

  “I hope it’s not too bad.”

  “I suspect it’s a twenty-four-hour virus, but she really feels puny and doesn’t want to get out of bed. She’s very disappointed that she can’t come.”

  “You should stay home with her.”

  “No, Laura is going to take care of her.”