Land of Promise Read Free Page A

Scotland’s independence a decade earlier, The Elephant House had been a hotbed of secessionist sentiment.
    Arriving 25 minutes ahead of their scheduled 10 a.m. meeting, Rick assumed that he’d be the first one there. But he was surprised to see that Meital Landstuth was already seated and was tapping at the screen of her GingerXL tablet, with a cup of Brazilian Santos Arabica coffee close at hand. As was her habit, she added so much cream to her café au lait that it looked more like of a cup of cream than a cup of coffee.
    Kathe usually went by her middle name Meital. But her close friends often called her by her Israeli diminutive/possessive nickname, Meitali. Rick gave her a sidelong glance. She was a 33-year-old fine art and antiques appraiser and broker with an olive Middle Eastern complexion, a slender figure, shoulder-length dark brown hair, heavy eyebrows, and facial symmetry that made for exotic good looks, even without any makeup.
    Rick had known her less than a month. Meital entranced him, but he didn’t want to show it, since it was obvious that one of her main occupations was rebuffing would-be suitors. She was a no-nonsense career woman, and this was reflected in the way she dressed. Every time Rick had seen her, she wore a “Baghdad Bag” -- the popular high-necked and loose-fitting full-length dark dress with long sleeves that, along with “functional” black low-heel shoes, had become ubiquitous in the European business world in recent years. Simply removing a necklace and adding a dark headscarf would have made her blend in anywhere from Damascus, to Tehran, to London, to Paris.
    Rick Akins considered this young Israeli an enigma. She was obviously a very intelligent and capable businesswoman. But she also had stunning beauty that even a loose-fitting dress couldn’t hide. She was the quintessential sabra, the Hebrew slang term for Jews born in Israel. Literally, sabra means cactus, which is a reference to the bristly demeanor of many Israelis when meeting strangers. The saying was that sabras were “Prickly on the outside, but sweet on the inside.”
    After a few pleasantries, Rick said, “Meital, I have something I need to discuss with you. Can you please put your mobile phone and tablet in this Faraday pouch?”
    He handed her a Mylar-lined black nylon zippered pouch; she complied, with a quizzical look on her face. Once he was confident that they wouldn’t be overheard, Rick said, “I’d like to talk about something that has become a key part of my prayer life in the past few weeks.”
    Their waitress arrived and served Meital a croissant on a small plate. She also took Rick’s order for a latte. After the waitress left, Rick looked at the pastry and said, “That is propitious timing. It ties in with what I wanted to talk with you about.”
    “Well, I doubt you’d talk about the flavor of the pastry, or the chocolate drizzle on top. So I assume that it’s the crescent moon shape of the pastry.”
    “Precisely,” Rick said with a nod. “In Austria, the folklore is that the croissant was first created by a Viennese baker, to celebrate the defeat of the Islamic army, in 1683.”
    “I know. My great grandfather was born in Vienna, so I grew up hearing that story. But it is probably apocryphal. So what is it that you’ve been praying about?”

     
    By 10:20, Rick and Meital were deep in an intense half-whispered conversation. Rick was pleased that they had already been thinking along the same lines. Then his co-worker Alan Pilcher arrived -- late as usual. He gave a small wave, and asked, “Are you two plotting a revolt, or just comparing notes on last night’s Britain’s Got Talent ?’
    Rick replied with a sly grin, “Yes on one, and no on two.”
    His English co-worker plopped onto a chair next to Meital. Alan’s ample belly nearly touched the edge of the table. Rick was older, but with a trim physique and a full head of dark hair, while Alan was balding and overweight. Alan