The Columbus Affair: A Novel (27 page)

He was curious, “And do you have allies who think as you do?”

That could be important.

“Just me, Zachariah. Do I have friends? In positions of power? Many. But they know nothing. I will simply use them. Only you and I are part of this.”

“Will you carry through on
all
that we require?”

He saw she understood.

“Rest easy, Zachariah. The Jews will have their Third Temple. That I promise you.”

B
ÉNE AND
H
ALLIBURTON ENTERED THE MUSEUM, A DETACHED
building that appeared to have once been a two-storied house, the inside full of wood, marble floors, and frescoed walls. Moorish influences showed in the ornaments and lattice, a leafy courtyard visible beyond the windows. Displays filled the ground-floor rooms, one opening into another, cases filled with stones, fossils, photographs, books, and relics. Explanations were printed only in Spanish, which Béne had no trouble reading. A man of about fifty with a knotted face stood near one of the displays. Tre introduced himself and Béne, explaining that he was an academician from the University of the West Indies, come to see the document collection from the time of Spanish colonization. The man, who identified himself as the curator, offered a hand then explained that the document collection was private and permission would have to be obtained before they could examine it.

“From who?” Béne asked.

Tre’s revelation that Zachariah Simon possessed a connection to this place had unnerved him. This wasn’t Jamaica. He wasn’t Béne Rowe here. He was just some foreigner, and he did not like that feeling of helplessness. True, he was armed, and would shoot his way back to the plane if need be, but he realized that could prove futile. Diplomacy was the smart play. Which in Cuba, meant bribery. Exactly why he’d brought cash.

“Tell me, friend,” he said to the curator. “Are American dollars taken around here?”

“Oh, yes,
señor
. They are much appreciated.”

For all their brash talk the Cuban government was partial to American money. He withdrew his money clip and peeled off five $100 bills. “Is it possible to obtain that permission? Fast?”

He laid the money on a nearby counter.

“
Sí, señor
. I will make a call to Havana.”

———

T
OM GLARED AT
A
LLE
. S
HE DESPISED HIM, THAT WAS CLEAR, BUT
he wanted answers. “You converted?”

“How did you know?”

“Abiram told me.”

“In the note he wrote?”

He nodded.

She still seemed surprised. “What I did to you, I did for my religion.”

“Being Jewish means living a lie?” He shook his head. “Your mother would have never approved of your conversion.”

“My mother loved me. Always.”

“Yet you had no problem lying to her. You converted before she died, but kept it to yourself.”

That revelation surprised her, too. “How do you know that?”

He ignored her question. “You’re a hypocrite. You tell me what a worthless father and husband I was, yet you’re nothing but a liar yourself.”

They stood in the living room alone, Inna’s two children in their rooms. They should have gone outside to talk, but he felt safer out of sight, tucked inside one of the countless apartments that lined the street.

“Who is that woman in the kitchen?” Alle asked.

“A friend.”

“You had lots of
friends
.”

“Is that supposed to be an insult?”

“It’s what it is. I saw the pain on Mother’s face. I watched her cry. I saw her heart break. I wasn’t a child.”

She spoke of a reality he’d learned not to deny. “I was a bad person.
I did bad things. But I never stopped loving your mother. I still love her.”

“That’s a joke.”

He heard Michele’s bitter tone in her rebuke, saw her anguish in Alle’s eyes. He knew he bore a lot of responsibility for that anger. He hadn’t taken Michele’s advice and mended his strained relationship. Instead he’d wallowed in self-pity while his only child learned to hate him.

“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?”

———

A
LLE WASN’T SURE IF HER FATHER WAS LYING
. H
ER 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.

———

T
OM APPRECIATED
I
NNA’S DEFENSE
. H
E 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.”

Z
ACHARIAH 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.”

———

A
LLE 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.

———

B
ÉNE DID NOT LIKE ANYTHING ABOUT THE SITUATION
. O
F
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.

“There are four bins loaded with 17th-century writings. That’s the most I’ve ever seen in one place.”

“Be quick and go through them.”

“This could take hours.”

“We don’t have hours. Scan what you can.”

“Something wrong, Béne?”

“Yeah, Tre. This is Cuba. So be quick.”

———

T
OM SAT IN THE KITCHEN AND CHEWED ON A PIECE OF DARK
bread. Inna had prepared some stewed tomatoes and white rice that smelled great, but he had no appetite.

“I’ve written books the past few years,” he told her. “Ghostwriting. Some fiction, some nonfiction. They’ve all been bestsellers. A few were number ones.”

He was answering her question about what he’d done since the turmoil.

“I’m good at it, and the writers I worked for want me to be completely invisible.”

She was nursing a cup of coffee and a plate of her food. “You were always good at what you did.”

He liked this practical woman. So he decided to tell her the truth.

“I was set up, Inna. That story about Israeli extremists was planted. I was led to it, fed it, then ratted out. They faked the main sources and most of the information. They were good. I never suspected a thing. Everything was right on. Solid. I never saw it coming.”

“Who did it?”

“Some group who does that sort of thing. Seems I pissed off both sides in the Middle East with my reporting. So, unbeknownst to each other, they each took me out.”

“No way to prove what happened?”

He shook his head. “Like I said, they were good.”

“I always knew there was an explanation. Thomas Sagan was no liar.”

He appreciated her loyalty.

“No one stuck by you, Thomas?”

He thought of Robin Stubbs. She had. For a while.