“Daud?” she called out as she took a couple of steps forward.
“Don’t come any closer!” he shouted. “He’s wearing a suicide vest! Get out of here! Now!”
Hana stood still. Daud was holding the man’s hands behind his back. She stepped backward. Daud turned his head so that he could see her.
“Call for a bomb squad!”
Daud’s command catapulted Hana into action. She dashed from the hallway and across the ballroom. Once in the concourse, she desperately began looking for a police officer. One approached her waving his arms.
“Leave the area!” he ordered, pushing her toward the hotel exits.
Hana pointed toward the ballroom. “My husband is in there! He’s holding down a man wearing a suicide vest!”
“The bomb squad is on their way,” the officer said. “Move on!”
“They’re in the hallway next to the ballroom!”
As Hana continued down the concourse, a large group of police officers wearing heavy protective gear approached and continued into the ballroom. Exiting the hotel, she stood barefoot on the sidewalk, surrounded by screaming sirens and flashing lights.
Chapter 41
Remembering the fighting skills of Khalil’s brother in Sharm el-Sheikh, Daud made sure his grip on the suicide bomber was more secure. Khalil muttered something under his breath that Daud couldn’t make out at first. He continued, and Daud picked up snippets from the Qur’an.
“I didn’t kill your bother,” Daud said in Arabic.
“Lying infidel.”
“He was alive when I left him.”
Daud heard the sound of men calling to one another in the adjacent ballroom.
“In here!” he yelled.
Moments later two officers in SWAT gear entered the hallway with their weapons drawn. “Move away and raise your hands!” one of the men ordered.
“This man is wearing a suicide vest!” Daud responded. “I can’t release him.”
Both of the SWAT officers immediately backed away. Khalil moaned as Daud maintained the pressure on his wrists. The right one felt broken. Three officers returned to the hallway and cautiously approached Daud and the bomber. One of the officers placed the muzzle of his weapon close to Daud’s neck.
“Get off with your hands in the air!” the officer said.
“The man is still a threat. He must be neutralized first. My name is Daud Hasan, and I was in charge of private security for the event.”
“I don’t care what your name is!” the officer barked. “Do as you’re told.”
“Check my identity badge!” Daud yelled in frustration.
The officer grabbed the lanyard around Daud’s neck and lifted it over his head. The bomber muttered something in Arabic that Daud couldn’t make out. A fourth officer joined the group. Daud glanced over his shoulder as the new arrival inspected the identity badge.
“Handcuff both of them, but the one on the bottom first,” the fourth officer said.
“Secure his feet too,” Daud added, motioning with his head toward the bomber. “I don’t know the location of the triggering mechanism.”
An officer knelt down to secure the bomber’s hands. Daud maintained his grip until the cuffs clicked shut. Another officer put Daud in handcuffs, frisked him, removed the small knife from his front pocket, and confiscated his cell phone. An officer started to frisk the bomber.
“Stop!” Daud yelled at the officer. “You could accidentally detonate it!”
The officer lifted his hands and looked up at the others. “Yeah, up close I can tell that he’s wearing some kind of vest beneath his uniform.”
“Back off,” said the officer who seemed to be in charge of the group.
Leaving Khalil in the hallway, one of the officers escorted Daud out of the hallway and across the ballroom. Daud started to protest but knew the man wouldn’t release him until someone in charge authorized him to do so. They reached the concourse outside the ballroom. A man in civilian clothes with a badge affixed to his belt was talking to the private security officer who’d been in charge of the checkpoints. When Daud appeared, the private security officer looked at him in shock.
“You?” the man blurted out.
“No,” Daud said and shook his head in exasperation. “I caught the bomber. He’s secured in a hallway to the side of the ballroom adjacent to the kitchen. He was wearing an explosive vest.”
“Is that correct?” the detective asked the officer holding Daud’s right arm.
“We found this man on top of a guy in the hallway. Officer Mitchell started to frisk the man on the floor but stopped because he may be wired.”
“The bomb that exploded was on a serving cart,” Daud said. “I discovered it and pushed it into a large cooler in the kitchen before it detonated.”
“I don’t know anything about a bomb in a cooler,” the uniformed officer said.
The detective spoke into a communication device, listened to a response, and then turned to Daud. “One of our men in the kitchen area confirms that it appears to be the center of the explosion.”
“Was anyone injured?” Daud asked.
“Unknown. We’re just beginning to assess the situation. My name is Detective Swinney. We’ll have to keep you in handcuffs until we can confirm what took place.”
* * *
Outside the hotel, Hana didn’t know what to do or where to go. She looked for a familiar face but couldn’t find one. Then she heard someone call her name.
“Hana!”
Janet came running up to her with tears in her eyes. They hugged. Janet looked around when they parted.
“Where’s Daud?”
Tears welled up in Hana’s eyes. She managed to get out what she’d seen in the hallway near the ballroom. Janet covered her mouth with her hand and shook her head.
“I want to go back inside and make sure he’s okay,” Hana said when she finished.
Janet placed her hand on Hana’s arm. “He’d want you to stay where it’s safe.”
“I know,” Hana said. “But I’m going to be as close to the exit as they’ll let me.”
“I’ll wait here with you.”
“No, go home to be with your family. And I thought Gladys was here with you?”
“We drove separately, and Gladys already left. I called Donnie to tell him that I’m fine. He turned on the local news. They haven’t even started reporting what happened.”
The two women stayed side by side for half an hour. During that time they were ordered to move twice and ended up a block away from the exit through which Hana hoped Daud would emerge. Hana’s purse was in the ballroom, and they used Janet’s phone to make multiple calls and send several texts to Daud’s cell phone. None elicited a response. Hana gave up.
“Why isn’t he answering?” she asked in frustration.
“There he is!” Janet exclaimed, pointing.
Daud emerged from the hotel flanked by two uniformed police officers who were holding him by both arms. He was in handcuffs. News reporters rushed forward and started taking pictures and calling out questions. There was no way Hana could get close enough to find out what was going on or let Daud know she was there. The officers placed him in the rear seat of a patrol car that took off with its sirens flashing.
Janet turned to Hana. “Why would they arrest Daud?”
The first thought that flashed through Hana’s mind was that her husband was an Arab man in the vicinity of a terrorist act.
“I guess I’ll find out later when they give him a chance to make a phone call,” she said, then sighed. “Let’s go.”
“Do you have your car keys?” Janet asked.
“No. My purse is in the ballroom.”
“I’ll take you home.”
Janet had parked in an open lot a couple of blocks from the hotel. They made their way through a dense crowd of onlookers who’d assembled as news of the explosion spread.
“Why would people come out to see this?” Hana asked.
�
�Because it’s exciting and they think the danger is gone,” Janet answered.
“That’s not always true. There can be second-level attacks.”
“Then let’s walk faster.”
They reached Janet’s car. Once she was in the passenger seat, Hana tried to call Mr. Lowenstein, but the call went to the senior partner’s voice mail. In a shaky voice, she left a message telling him about Daud and asking if he could help. Less than a minute later Janet’s phone vibrated. She answered it and handed the phone to Hana.
“It’s Mr. Lowenstein.”
“Where are you? Are you okay?” the senior partner asked.
Hana told him where she was and what had happened to Daud. Mr. Lowenstein didn’t respond, and she thought the call had dropped.
“Are you there?” she asked.
“Yes. I’m still in shock.”
“Can you try to help Daud?”
“I will try to find out what’s going on. I spoke briefly with the general manager of the hotel. The sound we heard was a bomb detonating in the kitchen area. From where I was sitting, I didn’t see Daud pushing a serving cart, but without a doubt, he saved our lives.”
Tears burst from Hana’s eyes. “Please help him,” she managed.
* * *
Daud had enough experience with Israeli security and police forces that he knew the American authorities weren’t going to quickly release him. He remained in handcuffs in the concourse outside the ballroom. Shortly after his conversation with Detective Swinney, an FBI agent interviewed him. Scores of people descended on the scene to completely secure it and began the investigation. Daud didn’t see any injured people transported through the concourse, but he didn’t know what had happened in the kitchen. It seemed everyone was fleeing toward an exit, but that didn’t mean someone hadn’t simply cowered down in paralyzing terror.
Daud’s request to contact Hana and let her know that he was safe was denied. He didn’t see her when he left the hotel. Instead of taking him to an Atlanta police precinct, the police car delivered him to the local FBI office. Daud was placed in a holding cell. Forty-five minutes later the door to the cell opened.
“Mr. Hasan, we’d like to ask you some questions,” an agent said. “Come with me.”
Daud entered a conference room. Five people, three men and two women, were sitting around a polished wood table.
“May I let my wife know that I’m safe?” Daud asked as soon as he sat down.
“We already did,” the woman sitting at the head of the table said. “She’s aware that we need to hear from you before you can be released to return home.”
The agents recorded Daud’s account of the evening, occasionally interrupting to ask questions. As fatigue set in, his comfort level of communicating in English diminished. He didn’t mention the connection between Khalil and the mission in Sharm el-Sheikh.
“It is hard for me to talk this long in English,” he said.
“I understand,” the woman in charge replied. “We’re almost finished. Is there anything else you can tell us?”
Daud hesitated. “There’s information I can’t reveal about the bomber without knowing that you have the sufficient security clearance. I can give you my contact with the CIA.”
The people around the table exchanged surprised looks. Daud jotted down Charlie’s direct number for the agent in charge. The room cleared except for a man who stayed with Daud. Half an hour later the woman who had headed the questioning returned.
“Someone from our Washington office will take over from here,” she said. “The hotel parking lot is still closed, so one of our agents will drop you off at your home.”
“What’s the status of the suicide bomber?” Daud asked.
“He’s in custody and receiving medical treatment. That’s all I can say at this time.”
“And the number of people injured in the explosion?”
“None with life-threatening injuries. A lot of people suffering from shock.”
Relieved, Daud stood up.
“Thank you for what you did tonight,” the woman continued.
“Are you going to issue a press release?” he asked.
“I’ll report that a member of the security team at the event saved hundreds of lives.”
“I need to keep a low profile for several reasons.”
The agent paused.
“It’s going to come out eventually, isn’t it?” Daud continued.
“Yes.”
“Okay, I’d rather it come from you. Please don’t publicize my name or my connection to my wife as one of the speakers.”
“The press will eventually dig it out, but I’m fine with making them work for it.”
Chapter 42
Rahal was in the middle of his midday prayer ritual when there was a loud knock on the door. Before he could answer, five men burst into the room. Two of them grabbed Rahal by the arms and pulled him to his feet.
“Rahal Abaza, you are under arrest by order of His Royal Highness.”
“Why?” Rahal asked in shock.
“Terroristic acts and theft of US government property.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Rahal said, glancing around as if looking for a way of escape.
One of the men picked up the clay turbah from the floor. “Should I take this, sir?” he asked the man in charge.
“You’re Shia?” the officer asked in surprise.
Rahal didn’t answer. The man’s face darkened.
One of the other men spoke. “The man the Americans arrested is Shia too.”
“Khalil?” Rahal blurted out.
“Yes,” the officer replied. “We have video evidence of Khalil Morsi stealing explosives from the Americans at Al Udeid. Several hours ago, he was arrested and charged with terrorism in the United States.”
Khalil had disobeyed a direct order not to steal C-4 explosive from the Americans and lied about being on a plane from New York to Riyadh. Rahal struggled to remain as confident as a man with his wealth and position should be. Wanting to maintain an appearance of ignorance, he asked a question.
“What sort of terroristic attack?”
“At a gathering of Jews in the US. A bomb exploded. There weren’t any reports of casualties.”
Rahal felt the life drain from his body. The attack had obviously failed. And now Khalil was in the hands of the Americans.
“I want to talk to my lawyer,” Rahal managed.
“No,” the officer replied.
The men dragged a slumped Rahal from the prayer room.
* * *
Hana fidgeted in the dark as she waited for Daud to return home. She’d tried to watch news coverage about the bombing on her computer, but it made her anxiety skyrocket. It was after 3:00 a.m. when the front door finally opened. Seeing her husband’s tired face unmarked by blood or injury burst the floodgates of Hana’s emotions. They embraced just inside the door. Every cell in Hana’s body needed reassurance that Daud was alive and well. Her tears quickly soaked a spot on his shirt near his shoulder. She pulled back her head.
“I’m so thankful,” Hana said, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand.
Tears glistened in Daud’s eyes as well. He took both of her hands in his, raised them to his lips, and kissed them.
“I know you want to take a shower and change,” Hana continued. “Go upstairs and—”
“In a minute,” Daud said. “What I need more than anything in the world right now is to be with you.”
They sat at the table in their kitchen. Daud didn’t let go of Hana’s right hand. After a few moments he bowed his head and uttered a deep sigh. Hana reached over and stroked the back of his neck. Truly, there was no man on earth like him. When he lifted his head, Hana saw a new depth of strength and courage in Daud’s eyes. Like one of King David’s mighty men, Daud had emerged alive. Hana shared her thoughts. Daud smiled and shook his head. Hana reached out and touched his lips with her index finger.
“Don’t disagree,” she said. “I know
what I saw, and it’s true.”
Daud took another deep breath. “I need to tell you what happened.”
For Hana the interfaith convocation was already an event in the past. Much had happened since she stood on the platform in the middle of her presentation.
“There was a connection tonight with my mission for the CIA,” Daud said. “And perhaps the attack on the car near Al-Bireh.”
Daud told her about Sharm el-Sheikh. The cut on his arm had long since healed, but a faint scar remained. Now she knew why and how it occurred. Hana shuddered at the danger he’d been in and the risks he’d taken.
“All of the information about the mission in Sharm el-Sheikh is classified,” Daud continued. “But riding home with the FBI agent, I knew I had to tell you everything. You’re my wife.”
“But you didn’t kill Khalil’s brother?”
“No. I suspect the Egyptians interrogated him and eliminated him. Khalil and whoever else he’s connected with learned of the brother’s death and blamed me.”
“You don’t think Khalil was acting alone? That means—” Hana stopped.
“I’m not sure,” Daud answered. “But he’s a jihadist looking for what he believes is a glorious way to die.”
“You kept that from happening.”
Daud told Hana about the press release coming from the FBI. “My role in what took place is going to come out eventually.”
Images of TV cameras and reporters on their lawn flashed through Hana’s mind. She ran her hand through her hair. “Our lives are going to be so chaotic,” she said. “It makes me want to leave and go someplace else.”
“I know where I’d like to go,” Daud replied, looking directly into her eyes.
Promised Land Page 34
