Hana woke up suddenly from a deep sleep, grateful she’d escaped from a nightmare in which she was in Reineh but couldn’t find her way home. Walking faster and faster, she glanced over her shoulder to make sure she wasn’t being followed or chased. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw shadowy figures that didn’t materialize in human form. A deadly vapor came from their faces. Hana started running as fast as she could up a hill, even though she didn’t know what lay at the top. Just as she crested the hill she jerked awake. Her heart was pounding, and there was perspiration on her forehead.
Getting out of bed, she splashed water on her face before going into the living room to read and pray. Leon was lying in the kennel on his back with his legs in the air. Hana had no idea a dog could sleep in such an unusual position. He didn’t stir when she sat on the couch and turned on a lamp. She opened her Bible to Psalm 46. The chapter began with an earthquake and toward the end quoted the famous words “Be still, and know that I am God.”
One of Hana’s faith goals was to quickly bring herself to a place of internal rest regardless of her outward circumstances. Even with the psalmist’s help, it took a full hour to dispel the nagging wisps of the nightmare from her soul. There was no doubt that since she’d become involved in the Neumann case, the level of spiritual warfare swirling around her had increased.
In the morning, Hana brewed her coffee Middle Eastern–strong and poured an extra cup to take in the car. After dropping Leon off, she arrived at the office earlier than usual and began working. Morning was her most productive time of the day. When she finally took a break at ten o’clock, she’d accomplished a lot. She stepped out to Janet’s desk.
“I could feel the brain activity seeping out from beneath your door,” her assistant said. “When you’re in the zone like that, it makes my IQ go up a couple of points.”
Hana stretched and smiled. “I have to complete several projects before I leave for Israel. Did anyone important want to disturb me?”
“Does Jakob Brodsky make the cut?”
“Yes.”
“Also, Mr. Lowenstein wants to see you in five minutes.”
“Five minutes!”
“I was about to interrupt you when you came out.”
Hana entered the senior partner’s office, and he motioned for her to sit down. “What’s the status of the Neumann case?” Mr. Lowenstein asked.
Hana told him about her conversation with Daud Hasan. When she mentioned Hasan being contacted by an American governmental official from New York, Mr. Lowenstein’s eyes widened, and he held up his hand to stop her.
“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. The US Attorney’s Office for the Southern District of New York has an open file on Gloria Neumann’s murder, and I talked with an assistant US attorney a few minutes ago. She wanted to know what we were up to.”
“How did they know about us?”
“I assume your investigator spoke with them after talking to you yesterday. The woman who called me is named Sylvia Armstrong.” Mr. Lowenstein looked down at his desk. “She wanted to find out information, not give it, but she told me it’s a criminal investigation.”
“Have they identified a suspect besides Tawfik Zadan?” Hana asked.
“I don’t know. But the presence of a federal investigation could certainly work in our favor. They have capabilities far beyond ours to obtain information.”
“If they’re willing to share, but it doesn’t sound like that’s part of their plan.”
“Don’t give up so easily,” the senior partner replied. “They haven’t met you yet. Ms. Armstrong was very interested when I mentioned that we have an Israeli Arab lawyer working on our case and that you’ll be in Israel later this week. I think you may be able to broker an exchange of information at the right time, which is another reason for you to get on a plane as soon as possible.”
“And complicates the investigator issue,” Hana said. “Daud Hasan plainly told me the American tried to hire him, but he refused the offer. Then he talks to the US attorney after getting information from me. What you’re telling me makes me wonder who he’d be working for. Jakob Brodsky had a sense Hasan was hiding something. I think we should move on from him.”
Mr. Lowenstein shrugged. “When it comes down to it, how much difference is that going to make? In the big picture we’re all on the same team—we want to catch and hurt the bad guys—both financially and by locking them up. The way I view it, you should be able to ride Hasan’s coattails and use it to our advantage.”
“Ride his coattails?”
“Utilize information and guidance he receives from the feds and their other sources. I’m optimistic this can be a breakthrough opportunity.”
Once again, Hana had to adjust to Mr. Lowenstein’s ability to evaluate a situation differently from the way it first appeared.
“Looking at it that way helps,” she said slowly. “But should I confront Hasan?”
“Only as a door for discussion as to how much collaborative communication you can expect. I also want you to call Sylvia Armstrong. I’m sending you her contact information. Try to establish a level of quid pro quo with her. She gives you something; you give her something.”
“I’m not sure I’m up for this,” Hana sighed.
“View it as a sophisticated form of haggling in the marketplace.”
“I’ll try, but we’re not dealing with oranges or cucumbers.”
Hana returned to her office. Janet was on the phone and motioned for her to wait a moment.
“Let me check,” the assistant said as she put the caller on hold.
“It’s Jakob Brodsky. He wants to know if you’re free for lunch. He says it’s important.”
“Why lunch?”
“He’s hungry,” Janet offered.
Hana went into her office and picked up the phone. “What’s going on, Jakob?” she asked.
“I have news about the criminal investigation into the assault at the apartment complex, and I want to talk to you about our case before you leave. I know it’s an imposition, but could you pick me up? I’m not far from your office and can text you the address.”
“Okay. I’ll leave here in about fifteen minutes.”
“I’ll be waiting in front of the building so you won’t have to park.”
Jakob stood at the curb. It was a warm day. In a few weeks the humid summer heat would descend on Atlanta and cause the pavement and concrete to reach scorching temperatures. He’d taken off his suit jacket and slung it over his shoulder. A car pulled to the curb and stopped. It was Hana. The air-conditioning system was blasting cold air.
“Thanks for picking me up and having the AC on max,” Jakob said, leaning over so that the cool air blew directly into his face.
“Where I come from, we consider air-conditioning one of the greatest inventions of all time,” Hana replied. “Where would you like to eat?”
“You decide.”
“Do you have any dietary restrictions?”
“No, I eat barbecue, bacon, lobster, and shrimp.”
“My conscience doesn’t prohibit pork, but I rarely eat it. I thought we would go to an Indian place. It’s not far from here.”
“Fine with me. Do Arabs avoid pork?”
“Islam prohibits pork as strongly as Judaism. That means it’s not a common part of Arab diets, even for Christians like me. The Jewish Christians I know usually don’t eat pork either.”
“Jewish Christians? How is that possible?”
“It’s becoming more common all the time.”
The car slowed, and Hana pulled into a small public parking lot with several open spaces. “The restaurant is only a couple of blocks from here.”
Jakob left his suit jacket in the car and loosened his tie as they walked down the street. Hana was wearing a gray skirt and a light blue blouse. Her black shoes had low heels. They waited at a corner for a streetlight to change. The sun momentarily slipped behind a large cloud.
“It’s in the middle of the next block,” Hana said when the light changed.
As Hana stepped off the curb, Jakob saw a car running the red light and turning directly in front of them. He instinctively grabbed Hana by the arm and jerked her back. She stumbled, and he had to catch her to keep her from falling.
“Thanks,” she said when she’d regained her footing. “I only looked at the red light and didn’t see that car coming.”
“I’ve been in hypervigilance mode for several days,” Jakob replied. “That’s one of the things I wanted to talk to you about at lunch.”
The restaurant was tucked into a space between a shoe repair shop and a nail salon.
“How did you find this place?” Jakob asked as he held the door for Hana.
“If you research good Indian food restaurants in Atlanta, this one is at the top of the list. I don’t go a month without curry.”
There were twelve to fifteen tables arranged in a long, rectangular room. The pungent smells of Indian cuisine met them at the door. All the tables were set up for four people. It was a business crowd. A redheaded woman in her twenties brought them water and a list of the items on the lunch buffet. Jakob had very little experience with Indian food.
“What do you recommend?” he asked Hana.
“I usually go with the lamb curry, vegetable root curry, or rabbit curry,” Hana said as she pointed to a section of the buffet. “There are other dishes that don’t have a strong curry taste. I know the chilli paneer is popular.”
Curry wasn’t Jakob’s favorite spice, so he piled a generous portion of chilli paneer on his plate.
Before eating, Hana excused herself to the ladies’ room. While she was gone, Jakob switched chairs so that his back was to the wall and he could see everything and everyone in front of him. He checked his phone to see if he’d missed a call or text message.
Hana gave her hair a couple of quick brushes and reapplied a touch of lipstick before leaving the restroom. She’d inwardly kicked herself over the missed opportunity to respond in greater detail to Jakob’s question about Jews believing in Jesus. Jakob Brodsky seemed to have a spiritual blank slate. She returned to the table. Jakob had changed seats and now sat to her left instead of across from her.
“Why did you move?” Hana asked.
“Like I said, I’ve been a bit skittish since the attack.”
Hana listened as Jakob told her about his most recent conversation with the police detective, the flight of one of the attackers, and the arrest of Andre Sarkasian.
“Was he from Dagestan, Uzbekistan, Chechnya, or one of the other Islamic countries?” she asked. “The Islamic fundamentalists recruit heavily from there.”
“Detective Freeman wasn’t sure of his ethnic origin, but I wanted to inform you before you left for Israel. I called Ben about it last night.”
Hana thought for a moment. On rare occasions she carried a Jericho 9 mm pistol. Perhaps it was time to take the gun out of its case and put it in her purse.
Jakob ate another bite of his food. “This chilli paneer has a kick,” he said. “Maybe that’s why they put an extra ‘l’ in chilli.”
Hana was eating a baby turnip with the greens still attached. She took a sip of Indian chai.
“You need to know about the conversation I had with Mr. Lowenstein this morning,” she said. Hana then told Jakob about the interest by the US Attorney’s Office in Gloria Neumann’s murder and the connection with Daud Hasan.
“I doubt the US Attorney’s Office would be investigating the case unless they believed someone or something bigger than the Zadan brothers was involved,” she concluded. “And in my mind, that makes it more likely there are individuals with a connection to the terrorists aware of your efforts to help Ben Neumann.”
“That blows my mind,” Jakob said. “When I did my initial legal research, I ran across references to US Attorney Offices in both the Eastern and Southern Districts of New York that have prosecuted terrorists. They didn’t sit back and wait for a military drone attack to take out the bad guys. They acted within the scope of their authority and faced the same problems we have in identifying the right persons and then bringing them within the jurisdiction of US courts. They’ve had success. Several people have gone to prison, including some who were extradited from foreign countries after an indictment was issued by a grand jury in the United States. I’ve saved my findings and can forward them to you.”
“Yes. I saw references to that, but I don’t have a lot of details.”
Jakob ate another bite of food followed by a quick sip of water. “But I’m not sure I agree with Leon Lowenstein about Daud Hasan. Mr. Lowenstein makes it sound like Hasan would function like a double agent. That seems naive to me.”
Hana had harbored similar thoughts, but her job at the moment was to defend her boss. “His point is that our interests would parallel those of the US Attorney’s Office and give us access to levels of intelligence beyond our capabilities.”
“I’m not buying that argument. It implies a level of trust in a man who’s lied to you already.” Jakob paused and wiped his forehead with a napkin. “I must be getting better. Anyone who can eat this dish without having to call an ambulance or the fire department is healthy.”
“Your face is red,” Hana said.
“That happens to me when I eat spicy food.”
Jakob left to go to the restroom. Hana glanced around the room at the other people eating lunch. At least two-thirds were from the Indian subcontinent, which validated the authenticity of the food. When Jakob returned his cheeks were less rosy. He insisted on paying for lunch.
“Do you want me to drop you off?” she asked when they reached her car.
“No, thanks. The Uber driver I’m using should be here in a couple of minutes. I sent her a text as soon as we finished eating.”
A small yellow car zipped into the parking lot and stopped directly in front of them. Hana could see a young blond-haired woman wearing very dark sunglasses in the driver’s seat. Jakob got in the passenger seat, and the car took off. The driver squeezed into traffic and accelerated without waiting for a clear opening.
“Is it okay if I ride up front?” Jakob asked as he fastened his seat belt.
“It brings you closer to the action,” Emily replied as she spurted into traffic. “Who’s the woman in the parking lot? She has an interesting look.”
“She’s an Arab Israeli lawyer who is working for an international law firm with offices in Buckhead. Oh, and she’s a Christian.”
“That’s different.”
“Very.”
Emily was taking Jakob back to his office. The music, which featured a flute, wasn’t as loud as before.
“Haydn?” Jakob guessed after he listened for a minute.
“Yes. Symphony no. 104, his last major work.”
They turned off the main roadway.
“Is this another one of your detours?” Jakob asked.
“Only so we can avoid a broken water main. Normally, it’s not any quicker.”
They went through two residential neighborhoods before emerging onto a familiar road.
“Were you kidding or did you really work for the police department?” Jakob asked.
“Dead serious. I have the commendations in the bottom drawer of my dresser to prove it.”
“Did you ever come across a detective named Caleb Freeman? He’s the detective in charge of the investigation into the mugging that sent me to the hospital and into your car.”
“Not that I can remember. It’s a huge police force, and the last few years I worked in a small unit.”
“Drug enforcement?” Jakob asked, confident in his deduction but doubtful she’d confirm it. He could easily see Emily blending in as an undercover officer on a drug buy.
“No,” Emily said as she made it through a light that was turning yellow. “Human sex trafficking. We worked with the feds trying to cut down on the exploitation of women brought in to Atlanta from all over the world. The Hartsfield Airport is busy for a lot of negative reasons as well as the good ones. You wouldn’t believe the scope of the problem.”
Jakob remembered a criminal court case in which he represented a man charged with his third DUI, and also on the docket that day was a defendant who didn’t speak English and faced multiple counts of kidnapping related to sex trafficking. He mentioned it to Emily.
“Yeah, the biggest problem is convincing the girls to testify. Most of them are minors and scared to death. Now I volunteer for a nonprofit that works with the women who are trafficked.”
They rode in silence for a few minutes. Jakob spoke again. “Why did you stop?” he asked.
“That’s what a red light means,” Emily answered, pointing up at the traffic signal.
“No, I mean working for the police department.”
“Two years as a patrol officer and four years in the special unit taxed me beyond my limit. I saw a lot that I’d like to forget. Music takes me to a much happier place.”
Emily whipped the car into the parking lot for Jakob’s office building and stopped. Jakob opened the door.
“Thanks. I’m going to catch a ride home with one of the guys in my building today. I’m staying home in the morning, but I’ll text you my schedule for coming into the office in the afternoon.”
“Just remember that I turn into a pumpkin at four o’clock.”
As Jakob walked into the building, he thought about the terrorism that had snuffed out Gloria Neumann’s life and the sex trafficking of young girls. The world was an evil place that needed as much justice as he could give it.