Promised Land Read online

  As he stepped onto the patio, a full moon was rising in the sky. A shadow to the right of the villa seemed to move and Daud froze. A moment later he felt a slight breeze on his cheek and realized the shadow came from a small palm tree. Returning inside the villa, neither Artem nor Esma was waiting where he’d left them. He heard a door open. It was Esma coming out of a half bath.

  “Artem went upstairs,” she said when she saw Daud. “We both needed to go to the bathroom.”

  “Upstairs?” Daud replied.

  “The master bedroom. He also forgot something that he wants to take with him.”

  “Stay here.”

  Daud dashed into the foyer and ascended the stairs two at a time. He paused at the door and peered through the opening. Artem was standing several feet from the intruder. In the scientist’s hand was a small book.

  “You will not escape the sword of judgment,” the man on the floor said in Arabic. “Wherever you go we will find you and your wife.”

  “Who sent you and why?” Artem asked.

  Daud stepped into the room and spoke to the Ukrainian in Russian. “Let’s go! There’s no point in talking to him.”

  “I want to know why he came here to kill us,” Artem answered in the same language.

  “And you, too, will suffer wrath,” the man on the floor said, trying to move his head so that it faced toward Daud.

  Daud picked up on a Lebanese accent.

  “I still say you should kill him if he’s not going to tell us anything useful,” Artem continued to Daud in Arabic.

  “That’s what he wants,” Daud answered in Russian. “He believes a martyr’s death guarantees his entrance into paradise. He’s not a threat now, and I’m not an executioner.”

  “I don’t know what you said, but you’re a coward!” the man shouted in the direction of Daud.

  Daud motioned to Artem, and they left the room. The man on the floor continued to yell at them as they descended the stairs. Esma was still sitting in the chair where Daud had left her.

  “Is there a chance that man will get free and come after us?” she asked Daud anxiously.

  “No,” he replied.

  “I still want to know who he is,” Artem repeated. “I saw you take a picture of his face with your phone. Will you tell me what you learn?”

  Daud didn’t answer. As soon as they reached the soft sand, Esma took off her shoes and stuffed them in the top of her bag. The moon was shining and its light reflected off the water. After a couple hundred meters, they turned away from the sea into an undeveloped area between hotels.

  “Ouch!” Esma cried out and stopped. “I’ve hurt my foot.”

  “Put your shoes on,” her husband replied.

  Esma tried to take another step and cried out louder. She remained rooted where she was and began to cry.

  “I can’t put any weight on it,” she said, sobbing.

  Daud stepped closer and knelt down. “Let me see,” he said.

  Esma held out her right foot. Daud ran his palm across the sole and felt a large sandbur. He pulled it out and tossed it to the side.

  “It’s not much farther,” he said.

  As they neared the road, he saw the taxi pulled onto the shoulder.

  “That’s our ride,” Daud said. “Let me do the talking.”

  * * *

  Hana left the office following the conference call with Mr. Collins and the new client. Several times during the conversation she was able to head off a misunderstanding because of the client’s limited knowledge of English. By the end of the conversation, the CEO had decided to move forward with the law firm’s representation of the Israeli company.

  Hana was able to leave the office early enough to pick up Leon at the usual time. The dog cheerfully woofed in greeting.

  “What was his report card for the day?” Hana asked the worker who brought him to her.

  “B-minus,” the young female worker answered.

  Hana had trouble believing her dog was capable of anything less than perfect behavior.

  “What was it this time?” she asked. “Failure to share toys with others or disrupting mealtime for the other dogs in his group?”

  “Neither. Leon tried to bite a new dog we introduced this afternoon. There were several seconds of serious aggression before we separated them.”

  “Whose fault was it?” Hana asked, her eyes wide. “Leon has never shown that kind of behavior around me.”

  “That’s because you’re not a male threatening his position. Leon is a teenager beginning to assert himself in the pack. The new dog, a German shepherd mix, is about the same age and pumping out similar hormones. We’ll back off and reintroduce them in a controlled environment as a first step.”

  Once in the car, Leon licked Hana’s hand as she shifted the car into reverse.

  “That’s not the same as asking for forgiveness,” she said.

  Her phone vibrated, and Sadie Neumann’s face appeared with her father’s phone number beneath it. Hana put the car in park and answered.

  “It’s Sadie,” the eight-year-old girl said.

  “How was school today?” Hana asked in Hebrew.

  Sadie attended a Jewish day school where she was learning conversational Hebrew. She was a precise mimic with an excellent accent.

  “Fine,” she answered, also in Hebrew. “We studied math, English, Hebrew, science, and learned how to make red pepper hummus.”

  “I love red pepper hummus,” Hana responded, noting the introduction of the new word “pepper.”

  “That’s why I’m calling you,” Sadie said, switching to English. “Daddy said I could invite you over for dinner if it’s not too late.”

  Hana didn’t have any plans. “How do you say ‘dinner’ in Hebrew?” she asked.

  Sadie repeated the words for the evening meal in Hebrew and added the terms for breakfast and lunch.

  “I have Leon in the car,” Hana said.

  “Oh, he’s invited. I’m going to make way more hummus than Daddy and I can eat. We need help.”

  “Let me speak with him, please.”

  “This invitation is Daddy-approved,” Ben said when he came on the phone. “Jakob Brodsky told me Daud is out of town, but if it’s not convenient on such short notice—”

  “No, it’s a great idea. I’d love to come. What are we going to eat besides red pepper hummus? I’ll be glad to pick up something.”

  “I’m going to throw together a salad,” Ben answered. “Sadie is learning to eat salads if I fix them exactly the way she wants.”

  “With chicken and cucumbers on it,” Hana heard Sadie call out. “And that red dressing.”

  “Russian dressing,” Ben said. “And garlic croutons.”

  “Garlic?” Hana asked.

  “The stronger the better.”

  Hana enjoyed hearing this kind of detail about Sadie’s life. “So what can I bring?” she asked again.

  “A rotisserie chicken from the grocery store would save me a trip,” Ben said.

  “Done. And I’ll buy an extra bag of garlic croutons.”

  “See you in a bit,” Ben said.

  “Yes! She’s coming,” Hana heard Sadie squeal in the background.

  Hana pulled out of the parking lot. Looking at Leon, who was resting his face on the seat, she knew one other item she needed to buy at the store: a small bag of dog food. Sadie might be venturing into new culinary fields, but salads weren’t on Leon’s menu.

  Chapter 6

  The young taxi driver opened the trunk. He glanced curiously at Artem and Esma as he placed their small bags inside.

  “Is there more luggage?” he asked.

  “No,” Daud answered. “Take us to the marina.”

  Daud sat up front with the driver after Artem and Esma climbed into the backseat. The driver kept glancing at them in the rearview mirror.

  “Where are you from?” the driver asked, directing his question to the occupants in the rear seat.

  “Privacy, please,” Da
ud replied, placing a fifty-dollar bill on the seat so the driver could see it.

  The young man glanced down and shrugged. Everyone in the taxi remained silent during the ten-minute drive to the marina. Daud sent a text message to Charlie.

  En route to marina with both A and B. Sending photo of intruder apprehended at their villa. Identity unknown.

  “Park there,” Daud said, pointing to a space near the west-side entrance to the marina.

  “I can take you closer,” the driver answered. “Taxis are allowed inside. I can drive you to the end of the pier where your boat is tied up.”

  “This is far enough,” Daud replied.

  Daud’s phone vibrated. It was a response from Charlie.

  Proceed to rendezvous.

  The driver unloaded the bags and placed them on a wooden boardwalk. Daud gave him two fifty-dollar bills. The young man’s eyes widened.

  “Will you need any more rides?” he asked.

  “Stay here,” Daud replied. “I’ll return shortly.”

  Once they were about twenty meters from the taxi, Daud spoke to Artem. “Time to call the police and report the burglary at the villa.”

  “I don’t know the phone number.”

  Daud had the contact information for the local police saved on his phone as part of his preparation for the mission. He pulled up the number so Artem could see it.

  “Why don’t you call them?” the Ukrainian asked.

  “Quit being stubborn,” Esma interjected. “Do you want the police to arrest the man who tried to kill us or not? If you don’t want to make the call, I’ll do it!”

  “Okay, okay,” Artem replied grumpily.

  “Keep it short,” Daud said. “Speak in Arabic. Identify yourself and report a break-in at villa 4. Don’t let them know you’re no longer there. It’s good if they consider it an emergency.”

  Artem stared at Daud for a moment. As was the case at the restaurant, something in the Ukrainian’s countenance made Daud doubt the level of the scientist’s cooperation.

  “Put the phone on speaker,” Daud added.

  Artem punched in the numbers. Daud tensed. A male voice answered.

  “Police Department.”

  “This is Artem Kolisnyk. My wife and I are staying at the Four Seasons Resort and want to report a burglary.”

  “Spell your last name.”

  Artem froze. “Uh, the villa is registered under the name Artem Bakaj.”

  Daud grabbed the phone from the scientist’s hand. “Villa 4!” he said. “Come as soon as possible. It’s an emergency!”

  He ended the call and returned the phone to Artem.

  “I was going to say it,” Artem said.

  “Follow me,” Daud said, turning away.

  “Will you carry my bag?” Esma complained. “My arm hurts.”

  Daud grabbed the small suitcase, which was surprisingly heavy. They walked about fifty meters along a sandy access road. To the right was a long, low building that contained offices for charter services based at the marina. The moonlight made it easy to see. They reached a boardwalk. Wooden piers extended from the boardwalk out into the sea. Boats owned by the charter companies filled the first two piers. Their destination was the final pier where the largest private yachts docked.

  “We’re going to one of those?” Esma asked when they stopped at the pier entrance that was blocked by a locked metal gate. “We saw some of those yachts when we took our excursion to Tiran Island.”

  “Be quiet,” her husband barked. “Let me do the talking.”

  Daud entered the code that unlocked the gate. Artem lagged behind. As they approached the third yacht, a man dressed in dark clothes came down the gangway to the pier. Esma, who was walking beside Daud, stepped back.

  “He’s dressed like the man at the villa,” she said anxiously.

  “He works with me,” Daud answered. “His name is Joe, and he speaks Arabic.”

  They reached the gangway. Joe, a clean-shaven man in his late thirties, greeted them in Arabic with an American accent.

  “This way,” he said.

  “I’m not going on board without talking to Uri,” Artem said to Daud in Russian.

  “Bring Uri Bondar,” Daud said to Joe in Arabic.

  Joe hesitated. “I’ll check,” he said and went on board the vessel.

  They waited on the pier. A minute passed. Then two minutes. It would take only a short time to drop off the Kolisnyks. After that, Daud’s job was complete. He could swing by his hotel and head straight to the airport where he would book a seat on the next flight to Amman, Jordan. From there, he would return to the US.

  “Why is it taking so long?” Artem asked in Russian. “If Uri is here of his own free will, he should be able to come and talk to me.”

  “I don’t know,” Daud replied. “My job was to bring you here safely and translate anything into Russian if needed. But that may not be necessary because your Arabic is decent, and I assume you also speak English.”

  “Not so well,” Artem answered in Hebrew.

  Daud glanced sideways.

  “You speak Hebrew, don’t you?” Artem continued in the same language. “And surely you know I’m Jewish.”

  Daud didn’t answer. Kolisnyk was not a name normally associated with Jews from the former Soviet Union.

  “Are you working for the Mossad?” Artem persisted.

  “Don’t do that,” Esma cut in in Arabic. “Can’t you tell that he doesn’t understand you? I hate it when you talk in Hebrew.”

  “We can talk in Arabic, Russian, or English,” Daud said in Arabic.

  Daud was getting uneasy about the delay. At that moment three figures appeared at the top of the gangway: Joe, a woman named Lynn—a CIA bureaucrat who had been present at the final planning meeting held in Washington, DC—and a third man who was bald, short, and overweight. Daud assumed it was Uri Bondar, whom he’d not met. Joe held a flashlight that he pointed at the gangway.

  “Uri? Is it you?” Artem called out in Russian.

  “Yes, yes, it’s me,” the shorter man answered in the same language.

  The three people from the yacht reached the pier. Uri was older than Artem. He and the Ukrainian briefly embraced.

  “Why didn’t you come onto the boat?” Uri asked.

  “I needed to see you,” Artem replied. “What’s going on? I thought I was going to see you next week in Cairo.”

  “I’m not going to Egypt. The Americans are going to relocate me to California with a new name and a job that pays three times what we were going to earn working for the Egyptians. The first year’s salary has been paid in advance and is already in my offshore bank account.”

  “California?” Esma asked. “I’ve always wanted to go to California.”

  “How do you know they’re going to follow through with their promises?” Artem asked, ignoring his wife.

  “I have it in writing,” Uri answered, tilting his head toward Lynn. “And do you really believe the situation in Egypt is going to be stable? A regime change or promotion of a general who didn’t like us could end our freedom or our lives.”

  “Mr. Kolisnyk. We’re prepared to extend the same relocation offer to you we made to Mr. Bondar,” Lynn said in Russian. “And include your wife. You would be working for an American company with a guaranteed salary for five years.”

  “It will be enough to set us up for the rest of our lives,” Uri added.

  “Let’s do it,” Esma jumped in. “My family in Alexandria won’t have anything to do with me because I married outside Islam. I’m ready to start over in America.”

  Artem hesitated. “I’d like to talk to Uri in private,” he said.

  “Step over there,” Lynn said, pointing to a slip where a yacht lay at anchor.

  Esma started to follow, but Artem stopped her. “This needs to be man-to-man,” he said.

  “Why can’t I listen to what—” she protested, but her husband turned his back on her and put his hand on Uri’s shoulder. Esma re
mained beside Daud, Lynn, and Joe.

  “This is not a good idea,” Daud whispered to Lynn in English. “They should be in a secure location. We ran into serious problems at their villa.”

  “This is a secure area,” Lynn replied.

  In the circle of yellow cast by a light on the pier, Daud could see Uri and Artem gesturing animatedly as they talked. Esma gave Daud a pouty look. Suddenly, there was a loud pop, and Uri Bondar’s arms flew up in the air. He fell off the pier into the water. Artem spun around, stared at Esma and Daud for a split second, and then dived into the water in the opposite direction.

  * * *

  Leon lifted his nose with interest when Hana placed the rotisserie chicken and a bag of garlic croutons on the rear seat of the car. She gently shook a bag of dog food in front of the dog’s face before putting it on the floorboard in front of him.

  “They only had the expensive kind, which should make you happy,” she said as she started the car’s engine.

  Leon opened his jaws in a big yawn and rested his head on the seat. It was a fifteen-minute drive to the gated neighborhood where Ben and Sadie lived in a modern townhome.

  Ben worked as a manager at a men’s clothing store, but instead of spending the money he received from the lawsuit filed after his wife’s death to purchase a bigger house or a nicer car, he had invested it for Sadie’s future.

  “It’s what Gloria would have wanted,” he said to Hana when she asked about his plans.

  The metal security gate at the entrance to the neighborhood slowly swung open. After making a couple of turns, Hana parked half a block from the townhome. Leon looked out the window and woofed.

  “You know where you are,” Hana said as she attached a leash to the dog’s collar.

  Grabbing the groceries from the rear seat and the dog food from the front floorboard, Hana let Leon lead her down the sidewalk to the correct townhome. The door flung open before Hana rang the doorbell.

  “Hey!” Sadie flung her arms around Hana’s waist.

  In the almost two years since they’d first met, Sadie had undergone a significant growth spurt and transitioned from a compact child to a gangly girl with legs that seemed to lengthen by the month. Her wavy black hair flowed down her back. She had dark, bright eyes, and a smile that started out exuberantly on the left side of her face and fizzled when it reached the right side. Damage from a knife wound inflicted by the terrorist who killed her mother kept Sadie’s lips from naturally curving upward. Additional plastic surgery would have to wait until she was older. Sadie released her grip on Hana and grabbed Leon’s head with both hands so she could vigorously rub the fur behind the dog’s ears.