felt the pain of your destruction, though I realize I kept that to myself. Son, I kept a great deal to myself. Things that would surprise you. Now I take those secrets with me to my grave. Please understand that I always tried to do the honorable thing. I hope maybe one day you will, too
.
No I’m sorry. No I love you. No Good luck. Not even a Go to hell.
Just matter-of-fact.
And those last two lines. The honorable thing.
Typical Abiram.
On his high horse right to the end.
Three years ago he hadn’t really understood “Now I take those secrets with me to my grave.” He’d thought it more parental dramatics. Now he wasn’t so sure. How would Zachariah Simon know anything about what may or may not be inside the grave? The only explanation was that Alle had told him.
What did she know?
He stepped to the window and glanced outside. The street was devoid of traffic, the neighborhood deep in its daily slumber. Not many children lived here. More retirees enjoying Florida’s sun and no state income tax.
Why was someone following him?
Simon had what he wanted. So who’d appeared at the cemetery?
Someone else who might know either Abiram’s or Simon’s business? He was thinking like a reporter again, his inquisitive mind racing with questions. After all, he’d been damn good at what he did. Apparently good enough that someone decided to destroy him.
Who?
He knew enough.
But there was nothing he could do about that.
Then, or now.
Nothing at all.
———
ALLE STARED DOWN AT THE MINERVA ARTICLE LYING ON THE café table. She’d worked on it for weeks, keeping its length within the magazine’s submission guidelines, gearing it topically so a wide audience could appreciate her points. They’d paid her £300 and she’d been elated to be published, especially at age twenty-five, fresh out of graduate school. A short bio after the piece had explained who she was, and offered an email contact.
That’s how Zachariah found her.
“There’s nothing sinister in that article,” she said, retaking her seat. “It simply describes the mysteries surrounding Columbus.”
“Yet a billionaire recluse goes to all the trouble to find you,” Brian said. “Then convinces you to deceive your own father so he can open your grandfather’s grave?”
She was curious. “How do you know all this?”
“You never answered me. What you did to your father was wrong.”
She didn’t like his attitude. He didn’t know how Tom Sagan hurt her and her mother. “My relationship with my father is none of your business.”
His gaze drifted around the room, then refocused on her. “You’re being used. Simon wants what your grandfather trusted you to keep safe. Doesn’t it concern you that his grave is about to be opened?”
More than anyone knew.
Still—
“Your grandfather kept a great secret,” Zachariah said to her. “One important to all of us.”
“But opening his coffin? Is that the only way?”
“What lies with him is vital, Alle. He was the Levite. Not of the house of Levi, but chosen for a duty and called a Levite. One of only a few men since the time of Columbus who knew the truth.”
“What truth?”
She’d listened to what he had to say, and finally agreed that opening the grave was the only way.
“Jews around the world will sing your praise,” Zachariah said. “What has lain hidden for nearly two thousand years will once again see the light of day. Our prophecies will be fulfilled. And all thanks to you.”
She’d never dreamed that she would be in such a unique position. Her new religion, her adopted heritage—those meant something to her, as they had to her grandfather. To help that, in any way, would be important.
“His grave must be opened,” she told Brian.
He shook his head. “You’re a foolish woman. And you speak of your father as a problem. He’s an unwilling participant. You’re not.”
“And who are you? Why does any of this matter?”
“Unlike you, I actually have a grip on reality. Zachariah Simon is an extremist. And those are a problem to us all.”
Her gaze drifted past Brian, toward the café’s front door.
Rócha and Midnight burst inside.
Brian caught sight of them, too, and stood from the table. “Time for me to go.”
Zachariah’s men marched over.
Brian brushed past them.
Rócha grabbed Brian’s jacket. Two men at one of the other tables immediately stood, obviously with Brian. Rócha seemed to assess the situation and released his grip.
“Smart move,” Brian said to him, and he and his two compatriots left.
“Who was that?” she asked Rócha.
“You tell me. You are the one eating with him.”
“He forced himself on me. Called himself Brian.”
“You must stay away from him.”
That drew her interest. “Why?”
Irritation swept across Rócha’s tanned face. “We must go.”
“I’m staying.”
He grasped her arm. Hard. Lifting her from the chair.
“Get your hand off me or I’ll scream.”
“We have to go,” he said, his voice softening. “It’s for your own safety.”
He was serious, she could see.
“Who was that guy?” she asked again.
“A problem. One Mr. Simon must know about immediately.”
———
TOM LAY ON HIS BED, FULLY CLOTHED. THIS MORNING HE’D DECIDED to die. Now, tomorrow, he would see a body.
Quite a reversal.
“He’ll come around,” Michele said to him. “He’s your father. He loves you. He’ll eventually understand that you have to make your own choices, even when it comes to religion.”
“You don’t know Abiram. He’s made his choice. It’s my call now. I have to make the next move.”
“Why do you call him by his first name? He’s your father.”
“It started in college, when we began to drift apart. It gives me … some distance.”
“He’s still your father.”
He shrugged. “He’s only Abiram to me.”
She hugged him. “I don’t agree with how this has evolved, but I love you for doing this. Giving up your faith is a big deal.”
“If this makes you happy, then I’m happy.”
She kissed him.
They’d been married for less than a year.
“I have some news,” she said.
He stared into her eyes.
“You’re going to be a father, too.”
Eight months later Alle was born. What a beautiful child. For the first few years of her life she’d meant the world to him, then the world began to mean more. His time away grew longer until he was gone far more than he was there. Temptations started presenting themselves and he’d succumbed. What had he been thinking? That’s just it. He hadn’t thought.
And Abiram. A Levite?
He remembered Deuteronomy, Moses’ blessing to the Israelites.
About Levi, he said of his father and mother, “I have no regard for them.” He did not recognize his brothers or acknowledge his own children, but he watched over your word and guarded your covenant. He teaches your precepts to Jacob and your law to Israel. He offers incense before you and whole burnt offerings on your altar.