“Are you going to tell me what you found in Grandfather’s grave?” she asked.
He decided to let her read it for herself. He found another copy of what he’d given Simon and handed it to her. She glanced up after reading, her youthful eyes full of questions. “He told you all about me.”
He nodded. “Even old Abiram, at the end, had regrets.”
“Is this what you gave Zachariah?”
The use of a first name was more a sign that this young woman was not to be trusted. “The same.”
He’d retyped the original in Jacksonville, using the library’s computer and printer to produce two copies. It had been easy to edit out the portions pertaining to where the golem slept, the rabbi’s name, the coded directions, and all references to the key. He hadn’t been sure what might happen in Austria, but he’d been ready.
“This says little to nothing,” she said.
“So tell me. Was it all worth it?”
———
ALLE WASN’T SURE IF HER FATHER WAS LYING. HER GRANDFATHER had clearly left a message. There were references to the Temple treasure and a great secret a Levite had kept. But would he not have revealed that secret? Written all he knew? Explained everything? Was Zachariah right? Had the wording been changed?
“Aren’t you concerned,” her father asked, “that a man died back there?”
“He kidnapped me. Threatened to kill me more than once.”
“He said he was an American agent.”
“I was told he worked for a man named Béne Rowe.”
“Who told you that?”
She decided not to answer.
“Zachariah again?” He shook his head. “Why do you think this man Brian let you go to Simon in the church? If he wanted to hurt you, he would have just done it himself.”
“You heard him. Zachariah made a deal for my release.”
“Do you pay attention to anything?”
She resented his condescending attitude, but could think of no good defense.
“I didn’t get that sense from him at all,” her father said. “That man, Brian, didn’t want to hurt either of us. He was there to help.”
Inna stepped from the kitchen and told them that she’d prepared some food. Her father seemed appreciative, but Alle could not care less. She still held the note.
“What are you going to do now?” she asked.
“Go back where I came from.”
“Aren’t you the least bit curious about any of this?”
“I came because I thought you were in trouble. I’ll leave the saving of a religion to you.”
“You really are worthless.”
“And you are an insolent little bitch,” Inna said to her.
Her spine stiffened.
“Your father came here thinking you in trouble. He did what he did to save you. Risked his life. And that’s all you can say?”
“This is none of your business.”
“It became my business when I helped get you out of that church.”
“I don’t know why you did that, nor do I care. I didn’t ask for your help. He did.”
The older woman shook her head. “I only hope my children never grow to resent me like this.”
Brian had tried to sway her, that much she now realized. He’d also defended her father, made her feel bad about what she’d done. And all with questionable motives. Now, listening to another stranger defend him, was too much.
Zachariah would have to find another way.
“I’m leaving,” she said.
———
TOM APPRECIATED INNA’S DEFENSE. HE SHOULD HAVE SAID IT himself, but could not bring himself to do it. He’d taken Alle’s abuse for a long time, believing it his penance for all of the mistakes he’d made with her. Interesting how the world hated him for something he hadn’t done—falsify a news story—yet almost no one knew a thing about his real error.
A mistake that was all his.
And so was the punishment.
He’d come to Alle’s rescue because he had to. Now he knew the whole thing had been a ruse. A con. One his daughter had participated in, and she harbored no regrets.
He stared at the closed door where Alle had left.
“I’m so sorry,” Inna said.
He shook his head. “It’s my fault.”
“There is a lot between you two.”
“More than either of us realizes.”
“She’s going back to Zachariah Simon,” Inna said.
“He owns her mind.”
“She took what you gave her.”
He nodded. “It was meant for her.”
Inna threw him a puzzled look.
“I retyped my father’s note before I flew over here and removed the important parts. I didn’t know what I was going to do here, but I wanted options. Every good reporter has to have options.”
She smiled. “I remember that rule. I’m glad you do, too.”
“I’m not dead yet.”
And he meant it.
“So what are you really going to do?”
“Not what I told her.”
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
ZACHARIAH WATCHED AS THE AMBASSADOR LEFT THE GARDENS at Schönbrunn. Dusk had arrived with 8:00 P.M., the sun waning, air cooling.
A most unexpected twist.
He would have Rócha check that trash bin.
But he already knew that she’d spoken the truth.
He cared little for politics. Nothing good, he’d ever seen, had come from that convoluted process. It was nothing but endless talk that led to debilitating compromise, all designed to gather popular support for another election. He wanted results, not votes. Action, not talk. Change, not status quo.
And secrecy had been his ally.
But not anymore.
At least one other thought the same way he did.
The phone vibrated in his pocket.
He found the unit and saw no number displayed. This was Rócha’s, so he thought it best to answer.
“Señor, it is Mateo in Cuba.”
He knew the name.
“It is Zachariah, Mateo. Buenos tardes.” He realized it was midafternoon in Cuba. He hadn’t heard from his caretaker there in a long while.
“Señor Simon, we have problem.”
He listened to the report of a black man named Béne Rowe and a white man named Halliburton, there to view the archives. He was glad that the curator had followed directions. He was to be immediately informed of anyone who inquired about the archives. His grandfather had first found them, and his father had shielded them with a contribution that created a local museum. A way for the Jews of Cuba to establish themselves with something important, and it had worked.
“What do I do?” Mateo asked.
“Let them see what they want. I will call you back shortly.”
———
ALLE LEFT THE APARTMENT BUILDING AND WALKED FAR ENOUGH away that she could be assured of being alone. Why couldn’t her father have simply turned over whatever her grandfather had left? She hadn’t asked for heroics. She hadn’t asked for his involvement. This was about righting a wrong that had occurred thousands of years ago. Not repairing an irreparable relationship. Or him trying, for once in his sorry life, to do the right thing.
She was new to her religion, but not to the Jewish way of life. She’d watched her grandparents live that way and wanted to emulate their devotion. If she could also help restore what so many had held sacred for so long, then so much the better.
But she wondered.
Why had her grandfather not wanted the same? Why keep the Temple treasure secret? Why not tell her? Was it because of those people Zachariah had warned her about?
All she knew was that she could not deal with her father.
So she found the cell phone in her pocket and dialed the first number stored in its memory.
———
BÉNE DID NOT LIKE ANYTHING ABOUT THE SITUATION. OF course, he could not say a word to Halliburton since his apprehensions would generate questions he did not want to answer. The curator had returned from his phone call all smiles and led them to a windowless room lined with wooden shelves and plastic bins, each packed with journals, ledgers, and parchments. There was a loose order to the system, the containers identified by time and place. Tre had not been impressed with the preservation efforts, but seemed excited about the content.