He searched the grid for 19 and found what he thought was correct.
The opposite number was 56.
He immediately surveyed the map, looking for 56. He found it east of the center of the island, south of a town called Richmond, adjacent to the Flint River. Small print on the map, just beside the inked number, noted that the area was called Falcon Ridge. He searched the remainder of the map. The number 56 appeared nowhere else.
He smiled.
Ingenious.
Absolutely no way existed for anyone to know which of the hundred or so numbers was relevant without the sequence and the astrolabe.
He gathered up the map, note, key, astrolabe, and the black leather bag large enough to hold them all.
He left the building and walked back toward the Old-New Synagogue.
He debated trying to find Alle. But how was that possible? And what was the point? She’d made her choice. He’d done all he could for her, but she was Simon’s now, and he only hoped that she’d be okay. He could go to the police, but what would he say? He’d sound like a crazed nut, and he doubted Berlinger would back him up.
“My duty is done. The rest I leave to you.”
The only thing for him to do was leave.
He glanced around one last time. The clusters of buildings that at first seemed protective in their familiarity were now cold and unappealing. His stay had been short, but memorable. Like his parents’ home, there were a lot of ghosts here, too. But he wondered. What waited ahead, in Jamaica, at Falcon Ridge?
There seemed only one way to find out.
But his heart sank in disappointment.
“Take care, Alle,” he whispered.
And he walked away.
CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN
ZACHARIAH WALKED BACK TO THE RESTAURANT WHERE ALLE was waiting. He’d locked both doors that had led out of Berlinger’s house before leaving and would be long gone before the body was discovered. He’d had no choice but to kill the old man: He knew far too much and could definitely link him to the ambassador. Prayer?
That had never been enough and never would be. Force, or at least its threat, was what offered real security. Jews had never possessed enough force. Only once, at the time of the Second Temple, had they risen in revolt and ousted the Romans, but that victory had been short-lived. The empire returned and crushed them. In modern times the state of Israel had enjoyed more success. Twice invasions were tried, and twice the invaders were defeated. But Israel’s will to fight had waned. The thoughts of rabbis were heeded over the advice of generals. There was no room in this world for any more Rabbi Berlingers.
He found the restaurant and saw Alle. Noontime was approaching, and the tables were beginning to fill. An aroma of dumplings and roast duck enticed him, but there was no time for lunch.
“Did you learn anything?” she asked.
He wondered if she truly believed that he would share with her whatever he may have discovered, but he showed no irritation and simply shook his head.
“He is a stubborn old man. He told me about your father, but nothing we did not already know.”
His phone vibrated.
He found the unit and saw that it was Rócha.
“Sagan is on the move. Back to his car, I think.”
He stood from the table and motioned for Alle to follow.
“We’re coming your way.”
“Avoid the old square. He’ll be there shortly.”
He ended the call.
“Your father is leaving. That means we are, too.”
He’d not lied to Berlinger. This young woman meant nothing to him any longer, but he would not be as quick as before to kill her. He’d keep her close until he was certain she was of no further use. With Tom Sagan on the move to who-knew-where, that time had not yet arrived.
So he smiled and led her away.
———
ALLE WAS UNSURE ABOUT WHAT WAS HAPPENING, ONLY THAT her father seemed to be leaving Prague. He’d apparently decided to press on without her, but what choice did he have? He had no way of finding her. And she was glad. She preferred being with Zachariah. She had a purpose here. Felt a part. Like she had with her grandparents.
They were making their way back toward where she and her father had left their car, worming through traffic and thick streams of pedestrians.
“We followed you from Vienna,” Zachariah said as they walked, “and parked nearby. Illegally, so I hope the car is still there.”
He motioned left.
“We have to avoid the town square. This route will take us where we want to go, away from there.”
They kept moving.
Interesting how her father leaving actually bothered her. Like another slap in the face. A rejection. For all he knew, she was looking for him.
Yet he’d decided to leave.
“Does my father know that I’m with you?” she asked.
Zachariah nodded. “The rabbi told me that he saw us earlier, together on the street.”
Which explained some.
“Where’s he going?”
“That’s what we have to find out. I am assuming he will head to an airport. I am hoping it will be the one in Prague.”
———
TOM DROVE WEST SIX MILES OUT OF TOWN TO PRAGUE’S RUZYNE airport. He left the car with the rental agency and found the British Airways ticket counter, thinking that might be his best bet to get to Jamaica. There was a flight leaving for London in two hours with seats still available. After a two-and-a-half-hour layover, another flight would take him to Kingston. The ticket price was outrageous but he could not have cared less. He paid with his credit card and obtained a day pass for the airline’s lounge.
Before settling down inside to wait, he bought a few toiletries. He should call Inna and see what she may have discovered, but what did it matter anymore? Everything he needed to know was here, inside the black leather bag. He looked like crap. He needed a shower and a shave, just like in the old days while on the hunt. Thankfully, appearances mattered little to a print reporter. The byline. That’s what counted. And where the story was positioned. Front page, above the fold, the Boardwalk and Park Place of the newspaper business, and he’d owned that real estate.
But those days were gone.
Never to return?
He thought of the woman in the car. Find the treasure. Then we will talk.
Was it possible?
He was actually tired, but he’d sleep on the plane. Once in Jamaica he’d rent a car and head to Falcon Ridge. A lot was at stake here. For himself and for others.
A war?
Was that Simon’s intent?
Something came to mind he read once while in the Middle East.
From the sacred Midrash Tanchuma.
As the navel is set in the centre of the human body
,
so is the land of Israel the navel of the world …
People believed that to the point of fanaticism.
Plenty enough to start a war.
———
ZACHARIAH WAITED WITH ALLE IN THE BAGGAGE CLAIM AREA. They’d made it to the car, where Rócha had been behind the wheel with the engine running, watching from across the street as Sagan found his car and climbed inside. They’d followed him out of town, his destination immediately obvious.
The airport.
So he called Vienna and told the charter service to fly the jet to Prague. The flight time was less than an hour. All he needed to know was Sagan’s destination.
Which Rócha had left to find out.
He spotted his man on the down escalator and watched as he walked over. He caught Alle’s apprehension.
“Not to worry,” he told her. “I spoke to him. He will not bother you again.”
Rócha approached.
“It cost me £500 but the ticket agent told me Sagan booked the three o’clock flight to London, then on to Kingston, Jamaica. I have the flight times.”
Jamaica.
Why was he not surprised?