Promised Land

by Robert Whitlow

Overview

Bestselling author Robert Whitlow explores the meaning of family and home—and how faith forms the identity of both—in this breathtaking sequel to Chosen People.

Despite their Israeli citizenship, Hana and Daud cannot safely return to their homeland because a dangerous terrorist ring is threatening Daud. Hana is perfectly fine remaining in the United States, working for a law firm in Atlanta, especially when she learns she’s pregnant. But Daud can’t shake the draw to return home to Israel, even if it makes him a walking target.

Hana is helping her boss plan a huge summit in Atlanta when Jakob Brodsky, her old friend and former co-litigator, asks for her help with a case. His client is attempting to recover ancient artifacts stolen from his Jewish great-grandfather at the end of World War II. Because the case crosses several national borders, he needs Hana’s knowledge and skill to get to the bottom of what happened to these precious artifacts.

Meanwhile, Daud is called in to help a US intelligence agency extract a Ukrainian doctor from a dangerous situation in Egypt. While overseas, he can’t resist the call of Jerusalem and thus sets off a series of events that puts thousands of people in danger, including his wife and unborn child.

With historical mysteries, religious intrigue, and political danger, Promised Land asks one momentous question: What if your calling puts you—and your family—in the crosshairs?

Praise for Promised Land:

“Promised Land is a book about coming home. Of becoming settled in your spirit and your relationships. With layers of intensity, thanks to international intrigue, moments of legal wrangling, and pages of sweet relationships, this book is rich and complex. A wonderful read.” —Cara Putman, author of Flight Risk

• Second and final book in the Chosen People series
• Full-length, Christian fiction novel

Product Details

ISBN-13:	9780718084233
Publisher:	Nelson, Thomas, Inc.
Publication date:	01/14/2020
Series:	A Chosen People Novel , #2
Sold by:	HarperCollins Publishing
Format:	eBook
Pages:	400
Sales rank:	244,029
File size:	3 MB

About the Author

Robert Whitlow is the bestselling author of legal novels set in the South and winner of the Christy Award for Contemporary Fiction. He received his JD with honors from the University of Georgia School of Law where he served on the staff of the Georgia Law Review. Website: robertwhitlow.com; X: @whitlowwriter; Facebook: @robertwhitlowbooks.

Read an Excerpt

CHAPTER 1

Hana sang a few soft words as she organized the contract documents into separate file folders. Sensing someone's presence, she turned around. In the doorway stood Janet Dean, the assistant she shared with two other associates at the law firm.

"How many times have I told you that you sing like an angel?" Janet asked.

"A lot." Hana smiled. "And every time I feel embarrassed and encouraged."

"Was that Arabic or Hebrew? I want to guess. Let me hear a few more words."

In a slightly louder voice, Hana sang the next line of the song and stopped.

"It's Hebrew," Janet said emphatically. "I could tell because you were making that noise in your throat. Even that sounds beautiful when you do it."

"Arabic," Hana answered. "But don't feel bad. There is some similarity between the two languages."

"I'll keep guessing if you keep singing," Janet replied. "In the meantime, take that voice and brain of yours to conference room A for a meeting with Mr. Lowenstein."

"I'm supposed to be meeting in ten minutes with Mr. Collins and his group."

"Where you'll be listening, not participating. Gladys Applewhite says it's imperative you join Mr. Lowenstein. I'll take care of Mr. Collins."

"Okay. Who is going to be in conference room A?"

"You, Mr. Lowenstein, and a lawyer named Jakob Brodsky. I don't know why Lowenstein demanded you come at the drop of a hat."

Hana had adjusted to the assistant's Maine accent but still occasionally stumbled when the cheery woman threw in idiomatic American terms. It took her a moment to figure out what "drop of a hat" meant.

Janet continued, "Gladys says Brodsky wants to associate the firm in some kind of international personal injury case."

"Personal injury?" Hana asked. "Did a ship sink and injure someone?"

Leon Lowenstein's admiralty law practice often involved insurance claims for millions of dollars if cargo was lost or a ship damaged. "Gloria didn't say," Janet answered. She lowered her voice. "But it sounds like pirates to me, which would be supercool so long as no one was killed or anything. They're going to show a video, and Mr. Lowenstein wants you there to see it. You'd better scoot if you don't want to be late. Don't worry about Mr. Collins."

The idea of a lawsuit involving pirates wasn't far-fetched. Shortly after Hana joined the firm, Mr. Lowenstein settled a claim for damages incurred in a piracy incident off the coast of Somalia. Hana brushed her hands across her dark gray skirt and adjusted her white blouse. Slender and fit, she was five feet six inches tall with long black hair, light brown skin, and dark brown eyes.

The exterior wall of conference room A was a continuous bank of windows that gave a panoramic view of the affluent Buckhead area of north Atlanta. A long glass table sat in the middle of the room.

Stocky and gray-haired, Leon Lowenstein stood in front of a large video screen attached to the wall. Beside him was a tall young man with short, curly black hair who wore a blue suit with snug European styling and a bright yellow tie. Mr. Lowenstein smiled when Hana appeared.

"Thanks for coming on short notice," he said. "This is Jakob Brodsky, a lawyer with a personal injury practice in Sandy Springs."

"Call me Jakob," the younger lawyer said, extending his hand to her.

"Hana Abboud."

"And you're Israeli?" Jakob asked with a puzzled glance at Mr. Lowenstein.

"But not Jewish," Mr. Lowenstein supplied. "Hana can explain."

"I'm an Arab Israeli who grew up near Nazareth in a town called Reineh and graduated from law school at Hebrew University in Jerusalem."

"And for the past year and a half she's worked in the international transaction section of the firm," Mr. Lowenstein added. "I thought about her after we spoke about your case."

"Are you sure this is a good idea for her to be here?" Jakob asked. "Yes," the older lawyer said with a dismissive wave of his hand.

"Hana isn't a Muslim. She has a Christian background."

This was familiar territory for Hana, but she had no clue why it was relevant to the meeting with Brodsky. She'd spent much of her life unraveling her history for people who immediately jumped to a long list of erroneous assumptions when first meeting her. She faced Jakob Brodsky.

"I'm a Christian who served two years in the national service program in lieu of military duty in the Israel Defense Forces," she said in a matter-of-fact tone of voice. "I'm an Israeli citizen who can vote, pay taxes, and receive benefits available to any other citizen of the country."

"Okay." Jakob shrugged and turned to Mr. Lowenstein. "Do I have your agreement that what I'm about to show you is subject to attorney-client privilege?"

"Certainly, but you've not been secretive about your involvement in this case," Mr. Lowenstein responded. "My assistant showed me the request you posted on the trial lawyers forum."

"I've had to cast a wide net looking for help."

Gladys Applewhite entered the room carrying a tray that held water, a pot of coffee, glasses, and cups. She placed the beverages in the middle of the table.

Jakob held up a flash drive. "The video footage is on here."

Mr. Lowenstein inserted the drive into a USB port. Hana poured a glass of water. The video contained a date and the names "Gloria and Sadie Neumann" alongside a frozen image that looked vaguely familiar to Hana. The senior lawyer handed the controller to Jakob.

"I'll run it through once without stopping," Jakob said. "We can back it up and do sections later. There's no audio." He pressed the play button.

"I know that place," Hana said after less than thirty seconds had passed. "It's Hurva Square in the Jewish Quarter of the Old City of Jerusalem."

"Correct," Jakob replied. "The video is from a surveillance camera outside a shop that sells snacks and ice cream. It was recorded in late May four years ago. The shop is located at the southwest corner of the square."

Jakob had memorized every second of the eleven-minute video, yet it still had the irresistible power to draw him in. The black-and-white images were captured late on a Friday afternoon. People filled the square. Ultra-Orthodox Jewish men with beards and side curls, wearing long black coats and old-fashioned hats, walked quickly through the camera's line of sight. The religious men wore similar but not identical black garments, and varied black hats identified their rabbinic allegiance. Jakob had seen Haredim in Brooklyn, but his connection with any form of faith was tenuous, and he'd never attended synagogue. During the five years since he'd moved to Georgia from New York, he'd built his practice handling difficult cases other lawyers wouldn't touch. What got him out of bed in the morning was the chance to tackle a tough legal challenge.

The camera tracked scores of other people who looked no different from those getting off a subway in a major city. Six young Israel Defense Forces soldiers appeared: three men and three women, all with machine guns slung over their shoulders. Jakob looked at the Arab lawyer, whose face didn't change expression at the sight of the troops. A few seconds later a group of fifteen to twenty teenagers stopped in front of the shop.

"Is that a Nefesh B'Nefesh group?" Hana asked.

"What?" Jakob replied.

"A birthright tour for young Jews to visit Israel."

"Maybe, I'm not sure."

Two young Arab men, one in his late teens, the other several years younger, watched the young people. One of the group's chaperones turned sideways and revealed a handgun in a holster strapped to his waist. Four young people emerged from the shop with ice cream. The entire group moved away. The two young Arab men disappeared, too. Three other figures approached the ice cream shop.

"That's the Neumann family," Jakob said. "Ben, Gloria, and three-year-old Sadie. They're going into the store."

As the family moved out of sight, a second group of younger ultra-Orthodox men came by with their arms linked together.

"Was this on a Shabbat evening?" Hana asked. "The Haredim look like they're on their way to the Kotel, the Western Wall."

"Yes," Jakob replied, impressed with the lawyer's obvious familiarity with what they were watching. "The Western Wall is only about a quarter mile away."

The Neumann family reappeared. Gloria sat down and held an ice cream cone in front of Sadie, who licked it. Her husband walked away.

"Ben is going into a nearby shop to buy a necklace Gloria saw earlier but wouldn't let him purchase because she said it was too expensive," Jakob said.

"Stop!" Hana suddenly exclaimed, standing up. "If this is what I think it is, I don't want to watch it!"

Jakob pressed a button on the controller, and the scene froze with Sadie's mouth open as she leaned toward the ice cream. He looked at Hana, who continued to stare at the still images on the screen.

"Is this a terrorist attack?" she asked.

"Yes, and you should see it for yourself," Jakob said in a voice that sounded more callous than he intended. "It's compelling."

"I agree with Hana," Mr. Lowenstein interjected, shaking his head. "It's one thing to talk about events like this on the phone, but another to witness them so directly."

"Do you remember this attack?" Jakob asked the Arab lawyer.

"Only that it involved an American tourist. I was living in the UK at the time. There were multiple terrorist incidents in Israel during the few months I was away."

Hana's willingness to use the terrorist label caught Jakob's attention.

Mr. Lowenstein turned to Jakob. "If you'll excuse us for a few minutes," he said.

Suspecting that he'd wasted a trip, Jakob stepped forward to retrieve the flash drive.

"Would you leave the flash drive?" Mr. Lowenstein asked.

"I went through a lot to get this," Jakob replied. "I have copies, of course, but I'm not going to risk —"

"After I talk with Hana, I'll ask Gladys to bring you back in for a chat."

Jakob hesitated, then shrugged. "Okay," he said.

Jakob poured a cup of coffee to take with him. Mr. Lowenstein pressed a button on a conference station in the middle of the table.

"Gladys, please take Mr. Brodsky to conference room D for a few minutes."

CHAPTER 2

The conference room door closed.

"Mr. Lowenstein, I'm sorry, but —" Hana began.

"No," the senior partner interrupted, holding up his hand. "I apologize for not advising you about the purpose of the meeting. A close friend who knows the Neumann family called last week and asked me to meet with Brodsky. Bringing you in didn't cross my mind until Gladys told me he was in our reception area."

Mr. Lowenstein had always been courteous to Hana and made her feel welcome at the firm. The older lawyer and his wife had invited her to dinner at their beautiful home within a week of Hana's arrival in Atlanta. Later, Mrs. Lowenstein insisted that Hana sit next to her at a lavish catered dinner for one of the firm's biggest clients. Hana looked at the screen. The image of the child and the ice cream disappeared as the video went into sleep mode.

"Who died?" she asked.

"Gloria Neumann was killed by a terrorist."

Hana pressed her lips together for a moment so she could regain her professional composure. "What does Mr. Brodsky want?"

"To associate Collins, Lowenstein, and Capella as cocounsel in the case. This firm doesn't normally take on personal injury claims, and we have no experience in suits brought under the US antiterrorist laws. But we have a lot of expertise in piercing the corporate veil to uncover hidden assets. Do you remember the Harkins litigation? We unraveled three dummy companies, one that was offshore, and recovered over five million dollars for our client."

Hana recalled the firm-wide celebration and bonus checks issued when the case was resolved. She'd been in Atlanta only three weeks, yet she received an extra $1,000.

"Yes, sir."

"That's where this case will end up — uncovering a murky money trail. Brodsky wants to bring in a law firm that can finance the litigation in return for a percentage of recovery. Whether he's willing to admit it or not, he doesn't have the skill set to pursue complex litigation. Today is a preliminary step. I've not mentioned it to the partnership committee, which would have the final word."

Hana knew little about firm politics, but she suspected Mr. Lowenstein would have his way no matter what the other partners desired.

"And I'm not sure it would be approved even if I want to do it," Mr. Lowenstein continued.

"Really?" Hana asked in surprise.

"My name at the top of the letterhead counts for something," Mr. Lowenstein said, "but there are eight equity partners who would share the loss if we agreed to underwrite the litigation and didn't recover any damages. Taking on risk is not in their nature."

Hana suspected Mr. Collins would fall in the risk-averse category. Frank Capella, who worked in the securities law area, was more of a gambler.

Mr. Lowenstein checked his watch. "I don't want to leave Brodsky in the conference room too long," he said.

"Are you going to watch the video?" Hana asked.

"I have to review it in order to make up my own mind about presenting the case to the rest of the firm. But there's no need for you to see it. The last thing I want to do is give you bad dreams."

"Thanks," Hana said.

"And again, please accept my apology for not notifying you in advance about the purpose of the meeting."

"That's not necessary, Mr. Lowenstein. Terrorists attacks can occur anyplace in the world, but Israel is such a small country that when it happens there it feels close to home for everyone."

The senior partner pointed to the screen with the controller. "And this one reached all the way from Jerusalem to Atlanta."

Hana stood to leave the conference room as the image of Sadie Neumann about to enjoy the ice cream bar reappeared. She glanced at Mr. Lowenstein and hesitated. She looked again at the mother and daughter.

"How old was Gloria Neumann?" she asked. "Thirty-one when this took place."

Hana's thirty-first birthday was only four months away. To celebrate, she was flying to Israel so she could spend ten days with her family and friends.

"And Sadie is their only child?"

"Yes," Mr. Lowenstein said. "Brodsky sent over a written summary if you'd like to read it."

Hana's jaw tightened. Either through watching the video or conducting a quick online search, she'd know the pertinent details in a few minutes.

"I don't want to watch it, but I can't get away from the thought that I should," she said, slowly sitting down.

Mr. Lowenstein raised his bushy eyebrows. "Are you sure?" he asked.

"Yes," Hana replied and nodded grimly.

She gripped the arms of the chair as Mr. Lowenstein pressed the play button. The video resumed. Hana held her breath as Sadie leaned in for a lick of ice cream. Several more bites followed. Hana forced herself to breathe. A man walked quickly past mother and daughter. Hana flinched. Nothing happened.

There was movement as several people ran past the place where Gloria and Sadie sat. Gloria suddenly stood up, and the ice cream fell from her hand to the ground. Two dark-clad figures, one taller than the other, flashed into the picture. The taller man raised his right hand in the air and brought it down toward Sadie. Gloria was able to turn her body enough to absorb the blow. From the angle of the camera, Hana couldn't see what the man had in his hand. But when he raised it again, it was clear that he was holding a large knife. He slashed it down from right to left. Gloria bowed down as it raked across her neck. The man quickly stabbed her again and she fell to the ground with Sadie beneath her. Grabbing the knife with both hands, the man raised it high, but before he could plunge it into the mother or the daughter, he crumpled to the ground on top of Gloria.

The shorter male figure standing beside the taller man during the attack spun around so that his face came into clear focus. He was an Arab boy, a teenager. Hana suddenly realized he was wearing a coat even though the temperature in Jerusalem in May could be sticky-hot. "He's wearing a suicide vest!" she cried out.

The boy reached inside the coat with his right hand and raised his left hand in the air. Nothing happened, and in a split second three soldiers wearing border patrol uniforms appeared with their weapons drawn. The boy dropped to the ground and lay flat with his arms extended above his head. One of the soldiers pulled Gloria Neumann from beneath the body of the man who'd stabbed her and another picked up Sadie, whose mouth was open in a silent scream. Mother and daughter were both covered in a dark substance that Hana knew was blood. She wanted to look away but couldn't. The images abruptly ended.

"That's all," Mr. Lowenstein said in a somber voice. "Gloria died three hours later at Hadassah Medical Center. There's no doubt she sacrificed herself to save her daughter."

"Was the girl hurt?" Hana asked.

"Sadie suffered a cut to the right side of her face. Brodsky included a photo of Sadie in the packet he sent for my review. You can still see the scar. It was a deep wound."

(Continues…)

---

Excerpted from "Chosen People"
by .
Copyright © 2018 Robert Whitlow.
Excerpted by permission of Thomas Nelson.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

---