At least until he solved this mystery.
And he’d decided to do just that.
All this talk of Levites, Temple treasures, and great secrets held for centuries. If there was something to find, then he was damn well going to find it. True, he would not be honoring what Abiram had wanted, but so what? He was in charge now. A man died earlier. He wondered how many more had died before him. He once reported problems, exposed wrongdoing. Informed people what they needed to know. Keeping secrets was contrary to that mission. Surely Abiram knew that when he chose to pass down the duty.
He walked over and sat before Inna’s computer. The apartment was wired with high-speed Internet—essential, he knew, for anyone in the newspaper business. When he’d first started in the business cyberspace had barely existed. Now it was indispensible. Certainly, writing novels had been made much easier with billions of websites available to surf. He’d never had to leave his house. He typed OLD-NEW SYNAGOGUE into Google and selected from the 2,610,000 offerings, skimming the high points of a few.
The oldest building in Prague’s Jewish quarter. The oldest extant synagogue in Europe. 700 years it had stood, virtually undisturbed. War had passed it by, and even Hitler had not razed it. When it was first built, there was already an Old Synagogue. So this one was labeled New. Then, in the 16th century, another was built and called the New Synagogue. Since the Old one still existed, someone came up with Old-New, and the name stuck. Both of the other buildings were razed in the early 20th century. But the Old-New Synagogue survived.
He found an exterior picture.
A simple oblong with a saddle roof and Gothic gables, facing east. Buttresses supported exterior walls punctuated by narrow, pointed windows. Low annexes surrounded its lower parts on three sides. It had been completed in 1270, but renovations had occurred as recently as 2004.
He clicked around and found photos from other angles, one showing the building’s east side. The loft seemed spacious, the roofline set at a high pitch. Nineteen U-shaped iron bars extended from the east side of the building, forming a path up to a loft door. A caption informed him that the fire ladder had been installed in 1880 to allow access to the roof in an emergency, but the first rung was a good fifteen feet off ground level. Another shot, a close-up of the loft door at the top of the iron rungs, showed a Star of David adorning its exterior. He noticed the lock and the keyhole. Arched at the top, flat at the bottom. The key from the grave sat on the tabletop beside the computer.
He lifted it.
Could it fit? Possible.
Though jet-lagged, he was no longer tired. Sleep was not coming tonight. He noted the time. 9:40 P.M. He stood and walked to the door of the bedroom where Alle had retreated and knocked. His daughter apparently wasn’t tired, either, as the door opened quickly.
The lights were still on, and she was fully dressed.
“We’re leaving,” he said. “For Prague.”
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
BÉNE HEAVED A SIGH OF RELIEF AS THE PLANE ROSE FROM SANTIAGO de Cuba’s international airport. He’d been worried that when the curator awoke he’d alert the police, especially since he’d not left the other $500. He’d never mentioned that they’d flown in, but the airport still could have been staked out. No officers, though, had been anywhere in sight when they made it back, and they’d left unimpeded.
Tre had crammed two plastic bins with documents, some from both rooms, which they’d brought with them. The only repercussions from the theft would involve the Simon, and he wanted that to happen.
He owed him.
“Béne,” Tre said. “Are you going to tell me what happened back there? You looked like you were going to kill that guy.”
He needed his friend’s help so he decided to say, “Simon and I have been working together on finding the mine.”
“Which you’ve never mentioned.”
“Why would I?” And he saw that his friend realized there was a line that need not be crossed. But he added, “Let’s just say that I’ve come to learn he’s not somebody you want to work with.”
“Those police were there for us?”
He nodded. “Simon sent them. The curator called him. He didn’t want us to leave Cuba alive.”
The reality of the situation—the proximity of death—seemed to hit Halliburton. There’d been no time to explain while on the ground. They’d grabbed what they could and sped back to the airport, all the while keeping an eye on the rearview mirrors.
“Why would Simon kill us?”
“He wants the mine. He doesn’t want me to know what he knows.”
Tre had been thumbing through one volume ever since they were aboard. He’d seemed anxious to examine it.
“What is that?” he asked.
“Some sort of diary. A narrative.”
Tre showed him the pages. The script was block style in thick black ink, justified on the right and left. Maybe twelve to fifteen lines per page.
“It’s in great shape, considering how it’s been stored,” Tre said. “And it’s written in Castilian.”
“Is that important?”
“It could be.”
All he wanted to know was, “Did we get what we came for?” But Tre was reading.
He decided to leave him alone. The plane was still climbing, heading south toward Montego Bay, away from Cuba. The Simon’s reach was far greater than he’d imagined, and his interest in the lost mine more intense than represented.
“Béne,” Tre said. “Listen to this.”
We find meaning of our mission in the sacred word. Numbers makes clear that “and with you bring your brother also, the tribe of Levi, the tribe of your father, that they may join you and minister to you while you and your sons with you are before the tent of the testimony. They shall keep guard over you and over the whole tent. They shall join you and keep guard over the tent of meeting for all the service of the tent, and no outsider shall come near you. And you shall keep guard over the sanctuary and over the altar, that there may never again be wrath on the people of Israel. And behold, I have taken your brothers the Levites from among the people of Israel. They are a gift to you, given to the Lord, to do the service of the tent of meeting.” The Book of Jeremiah says even more. “As the host of heaven cannot be numbered, neither the sand of the sea measured. So will I multiply the seed of David My servant, and the Levites that minister unto Me.”
Tre looked up from the page. “This came out of the locked room. It was written by a man named Yosef Ben Ha Levy Haivri—Joseph, the son of Levi the Hebrew. He says that in the beginning. He also says that his Christian name was Luis de Torres, one he was forced to take, but one he now rejects.”
“Why is it significant?”
“There’s more.”
Though we are not born of the house of Levi, God has heard our pleas and chosen us. God is gracious and beneficent. God is compassionate. God protects the simple. I was born low and He saved me. My soul is at rest for God has been good to me. He delivered me from death, my eyes from tears, my feet from stumbling. I trust in God. Out of great suffering I spoke and said rashly, “All men are false.” How can I repay God for all of His bounties to me? I will pay my vows in the presence of His people, in the midst of Jerusalem. I shall do my duty, as entrusted in me. Malachi said of the Levite, “The law of truth was in his mouth, and unrighteousness was not found in his lips. He walked with Me in peace and uprightness, and did turn many away from iniquity. O, Israel, trust in God. He is the help and shield. To those who shall assume this great duty, you shall be the Levite, as true as one born, for your task comes from God. To the Levite, trust in God. He is your help and shield.