The following morning Jakob requested an Uber driver to take him from his apartment to the office. Four responses popped up, and he selected one. On the way to the front of the apartment complex, he stopped by his car to retrieve a spare office key from the glove box. The dome light didn’t come on when he opened the car door, and he realized that he hadn’t turned off the headlamps the previous evening. The car’s battery was dead. Jakob had been too busy to take the vehicle in for needed maintenance, and he quickly decided this would be an ideal time to take care of it. He called Tony, his mechanic, who agreed to send a tow truck to pick up the disabled car.
“No rush,” Jakob said. “I’m not going to be driving for a while. I’ll leave the keys under the front mat.”
“I’ll check it over from bumper to bumper and let you know what I find.”
Jakob stood on the sidewalk near the entrance of the apartments. A MARTA bus lumbered by. Riding the bus to his office would require a couple of transfers. The Uber driver arrived in a bright yellow subcompact.
Behind the wheel was a young woman in her late twenties or early thirties with short blond hair and multiple piercings in both ears. Her car was immaculately clean. Without asking Jakob why his head was swathed in bandages, she handed him her card as he got in the rear seat. The driver’s name was Emily Johnson. The car was a five-speed manual transmission with startling power. Classical music blared through the car’s speakers.
“Is that Tchaikovsky’s Violin Concerto, opus 35?” Jakob asked.
The car came to a halt as a traffic light turned red.
“Yes,” the driver answered.
“Julia Fischer or Itzhak Perlman?”
“Perlman, but I like Fischer, too,” the young woman said, glancing in the rearview mirror at Jakob. “Are you a musician?”
“No, but my mother plays viola for the Long Island Symphony. Our family immigrated to the US from Russia when I was eight years old. My mom made my sisters and me listen to classical music all the time when I was a kid.”
The light turned green. The driver skillfully navigated her way through traffic to Jakob’s office.
“Would you be available later today?” Jakob asked when they reached his building.
“When and where?” the driver responded. “I go to music school in the evenings, but I try to stay in the loop for the north side of town until four o’clock.”
Jakob didn’t anticipate the deposition that would start at two o’clock taking more than an hour and a half. “Let’s say three thirty,” he said.
“Okay,” the young woman replied. “I’ll text a reminder ten minutes before the time to pick you up.”
“Don’t be late.”
“No worries. I know how to come in on cue.”
Hana stepped out to Janet’s desk. Her assistant was putting labels on subfiles for one of Mr. Collins’s clients. Hana glanced around to make sure the two of them were alone.
“Do you think you can get me a copy of Mr. Lowenstein’s investigation of Jakob Brodsky?” she asked. “I know he checked him out, but I’m not sure what that includes.”
“It could mean a lot of things. Did Mr. Lowenstein refuse to let you see it?”
“No, otherwise I wouldn’t ask you to help me.”
“You’re so honest,” Janet sighed. “What does that feel like?”
Hana rolled her eyes.
“Don’t answer,” Janet continued. “Let me see what I can find out without getting either one of us in trouble.”
Hana returned to her office and closed the door. Twenty minutes later there was a knock and Janet entered. She placed a thin stack of papers on Hana’s desk.
“Here’s the dossier on Mr. Brodsky, courtesy of Gladys Applewhite.”
“Did she ask Mr. Lowenstein if it was okay to give it to me?”
“He’s busy. Mr. Lowenstein values people who can think for themselves and make independent decisions. Gladys and I decided you can read the papers and then shred them, leaving no trail on your computer.”
Hana didn’t touch the stack. “This makes me nervous,” she said.
“I’m ramping up the drama,” Janet answered. “Gladys didn’t see a problem with it since you’re going to be working with the guy, and she has your back if Mr. Lowenstein raises a question about it.”
It took Hana a few seconds to catch up to Janet’s meaning. “I think I understand,” she said.
“Read away,” Janet said, turning to leave. “I thought it was very interesting. Brodsky isn’t your typical young sole practitioner scraping out a living. He has ideals. He’s handled a bunch of cases no other lawyer would touch for people who deserved representation. The more I read, the more I liked him.”
Thirty minutes later, Hana agreed with Janet’s conclusion. Jakob Brodsky was the kind of lawyer who chose to fight for justice, even when it might not be in his financial interest to do so.
Jakob washed his hands and looked in the mirror. The area around his right eye was now a vivid purple. When he touched the knots on his skull, they were rock-hard and didn’t yield to gentle pressure from his fingertips. When he returned to his office, his phone buzzed. Ben and Hana were there to see him. Jakob went downstairs and introduced Hana to Maddie. The receptionist eyed the female lawyer closely.
“How are you feeling?” Hana asked Jakob as soon as they were in his office.
“Better if you weren’t keeping me in the dark about what’s going on with Ben’s case.”
“I told Jakob about your plan to travel to Israel,” Ben interjected.
“I thought we could discuss it today,” Hana replied.
Prepared to vent his frustration, Jakob was stopped by Hana’s tone of voice when she responded.
“You did?” he asked.
“Yes. I’ve talked to one candidate, but Mr. Lowenstein recommended I conduct further evaluations in person while beginning our own investigation. I’ve not bought a plane ticket but want to leave soon.”
Jakob touched the bandages on his head. “When I asked my neurologist about traveling overseas, he said it was fine so long as I avoided contact sports or extreme recreational activities. I’ll be ready to go when we fly to Israel, but I need the date as soon as possible.”
“Let me tell you about my conversation with the first investigator,” Hana said.
“Did you record it?” Jakob asked.
“Yes, but we spoke in Arabic.”
“Then you’d better translate into English for Jakob and me,” Ben said with a smile.
As Hana summarized her conversation with Sahir Benali, Jakob thought about a local investigator he’d hired a couple of times. The man was a former police officer with extensive contacts and the ability to navigate shady situations.
“He sounds legitimate,” Jakob said when Hana finished.
“I agree,” Ben added. “We need someone who isn’t afraid to tackle the situation.”
“He sent me a follow-up email.” Hana reached into her purse and took out a sheet of paper.
Jakob extended his hand, but Hana didn’t give it to him.
“The email is in Arabic, too,” she said.
Hana went on to describe how, in the email, Benali had explained that he would conduct his investigation under pretense, similar to an undercover police operation. That meant he would adopt a fake identity as a man interested in helping to fund terrorist activity.
“That’s so he can gain access and protect his safety,” Hana said.
“Do you think that would work?” Ben asked.
“It could,” Hana replied. “Mr. Benali certainly doesn’t lack confidence.”
“The recommendation from your former colleague at the airport is important,” Jakob said.
“I agree. She also gave me the name of another man. I’ve tried unsuccessfully to talk to him a couple of times, but he sent an email saying he was interested in the job.”
“He doesn’t sound very interested to me,” Jakob said. “What’s his name?”
“Daud Hasan,” she replied. “His name is vaguely familiar to me, but I can’t place him. He has an office in Beit Hanina, a large Arab suburb of Jerusalem. He forwarded a half-page résumé that left out more than it told, but he did serve in an intelligence unit in the IDF. Not the famous 8200 group, but one that deals with terrorist activity directed at soldiers.”
“And he’s an Arab?” Jakob asked.
“With a name like Daud Hasan, the answer would be yes,” Hana replied.
The room started spinning, and Jakob shut his eyes. He heard Ben speak his name.
“Jakob, why don’t you pull up his website?” he said.
“For who?”
“Daud Hasan.”
Jakob shook his head to clear it, but the room didn’t stabilize. “Listen,” he said. “I haven’t eaten anything today except two cups of coffee, and I need a snack. Maddie keeps stuff at her desk. Would you like me to get you a pack of crackers or a piece of fruit? She usually has bananas and apples.”
“No thanks,” Ben replied.
“I’m fine,” Hana added.
Using his right hand to steady himself, Jakob stood. Thankfully, he was able to walk normally to the door and leave. Once in the hallway, he leaned against the wall until he trusted himself to descend the stairs.
Hana turned to Ben as soon as Jakob left the room and closed the door. “That’s what happened at the hospital, only it lasted longer,” she said. “I’ve researched the effects of a severe concussion, which can include fainting spells called syncope.”
“He was wobbly when he stood up,” Ben noted. “His doctor told him not to drive a car, and I don’t see any way he can go with you to Israel.”
The door opened and Jakob entered. He returned to his desk and took a bite from an apple.
“I feel rude eating in front of you,” he began. “Are you sure you aren’t hungry?”
“No, it’s okay,” Ben answered. “You have to take care of yourself.”
“Would you like a water?” Jakob asked.
“Sure,” Hana replied.
Jakob opened a drawer of his large desk and took out a bottle of water. He started to get up.
“No, I’ll come to you,” Hana said as she quickly stepped over and retrieved the water from his hand. “Thanks.”
Hana unscrewed the top of the water bottle and took a drink. When she set it down on the small table beside her chair, she noticed a brown necklace in front of the brass lamp. Picking it up, she examined it and held it up. “Do you know what this is?” she asked.
“It’s a necklace,” Jakob answered. “I found it the other day.”
“It’s a misbaha—prayer beads,” Hana said. “They’re also called subha beads.”
“Prayer beads,” Jakob said.
“Yes. A misbaha is used by religious men in Islam when they glorify Allah. The beads help them keep track of where they are in the ritual. Most misbaha have ninety-nine beads, but some, like this one, have thirty-three. They’re also used as stress relievers or ‘worry beads.’ Some of the most expensive are made of amber and give off a fragrance when touched.”
Ben nodded. “I’ve seen them hanging in shops in the Arab market in Jerusalem. At first I thought they were rosary beads for sale to Catholics, but one of the guys in our group explained the difference.”
“Where did you buy this?” Hana asked Jakob. “I hope you didn’t pay much for it.”
Jakob’s face looked pale. “I didn’t buy it,” he said. “It was in the bushes by the apartment where I was attacked.”
Hana glanced at Ben, who was now staring wide-eyed at the misbaha. “Do you think there might be a link between the attack on Jakob and my case?” he asked Hana.
“Don’t jump to conclusions,” Jakob quickly said. “I was knocked out at the top of the stairs by a mugger who stole my wallet. I found the—whatever you called it—in the bushes.”
“Is that all you remember about the attack?” Hana asked.
Jakob rubbed his left temple. “The police report claims the assailant dragged me down the stairs, but I didn’t learn that part until the other day.”
“It could have been an attempted kidnapping,” Hana said. “And something caused the man who attacked you to flee.”
“No, no,” Jakob said and held up his hands. “We’re not going all conspiracy theory here.”
Hana glanced down at the misbaha. The beads were wooden and irregular in shape. The necklace was crudely fashioned, perhaps even homemade. That thought made a chill run down her spine. Anyone who went to the trouble to construct his own misbaha was serious about its use.
“Carrying around prayer beads doesn’t prove anything,” Hana said, reining in her imagination. “A lot of peaceful old men and women sit in the sun and chat while fingering the beads. But where you found these might be important.”
“Maybe you should show that to the police,” Ben suggested.
“Probably won’t do much good after Hana and I have handled it like we owned it,” Jakob said.
Hana quickly returned the misbaha to the lamp table.
“If someone was targeting me, do you really think it would be someone who lived near my friend’s apartment?” Jakob asked. “That’s too random.”
“That argument doesn’t make me feel any better,” Ben replied. “Especially in regard to Sadie.”
The mention of the little girl caused Hana’s thoughts to take a U-turn. “Ben’s right,” she said slowly. “It’s one thing to consider the risk to us, but Sadie is another matter.”