I was here. I had taken the decision to follow my destiny - made plans and left my home and family. Sitting back in the taxi, I journeyed on: alien sights passing me through misted windows.

Orange-tinted night-light from street lamps gave an eerie glow to the scenic views of the 4000 year-old dock and harbor. The Mediterranean lapped gently against the steps of the stone esplanade like probing wet fingers. A mammoth lake of black ink, illuminated by streaks of moonlight and the frothing of silvery-white waves, splish- splashed against the eroded harbor wall. The well-trodden grey stone steps, snaking to the ocean, looked as old as the hills as we drove by, circumnavigating the old parts of Jaffa.

In the back of the airport taxi I reached for the photo in my jacket’s pocket. Holding it between thumb and finger, I asked myself a question I’d asked on the plane: “Would he be as amiable as his picture portrayed? Did he possess what the brothers claimed?” I would know the answer in a few hours…apprehension rose within my stomach like a petulant toddler demanding attention.

My mind went back to two days before I left home - I had faced the family interrogation.

My wife, - the flowers I’d bought her gripped tightly in her hand, - fastening her eyes on me said: “Are you sure it’s wise to set off on your own, John? … Couldn’t this meeting wait?” - Wagging the flowers at me, - petals dropping on the carpet, “It could be a wild goose chase …”

Placing the bunch of roses on the kitchen counter, she swirled around – her dark eye-brows inquiring.

In my mind, there are occasions where you have to gamble; to take a risk - This was a risk worth taking.

“I know it’s a shot-in-the-dark”, I said, taking a deep breath, my nostrils were filling with the scent of roses, “… but it seems to me, we’ve no choice. Once I’ve phoned Tel Aviv, l can make a decision … to go or not.” I exhaled, hoping the cross-examination was over, - suspecting that it wasn’t. “Good job James isn’t here,” I thought, “…he would tear me apart.” I took a bite of my ham sandwich, wiping my mouth, ready for the next round.

“OK, Daddy, we trust you,” Becky said, crossing the lounge to touch my shoulder gently” … We know you want the best for Wesley, we’re just afraid you’ll get drawn into something … You know what you’re like,” she winked.

A tennis match of words occupied the afternoon. The story of The Box sounded farcical - I knew that - Since I heard the tale, a supernatural cord wrapped around my heart: pulling me towards Jaffa.

So here I was - wiping the condensation from the taxi’s windows, peering at the sights. Settling into the cloth seat, my thoughts scanned the years, like scenes from a movie. The marathon-like journey, the milestones passed, to get where we were: comfortably well-off. Hurdles we’d overcome. I believe most successful people, in any walk of life, have overcome some hardship and just “got on with it”. The journey of life: Three parts perspiration; and one part inspiration. If I’m anywhere near the top of the tree it’s by effort. Our home comforts were acquired by hard relentless endeavour.

At a Farmers’ Market after chance meeting those efforts had brought me to Jaffa – Fate; the stars; karma; or a predestined plan; drew me to the city like a moth to a flame … my destiny.

On a different occasion I would have found the city worth more than the hurried glances I gave. From the corner of my eye I noticed a Clock Tower. I breathed a prayer, as the taxi ferried me on: “God, I hope you can help… time is running out.”

Our family’s tranquillity was broken by circumstances beyond our control. Were we being given an opportunity to put things right? Looking again at the photo, made my hands clammy. I put it away. Soon I would meet a man who could change our lives forever.