“WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?” ALLE ASKED ZACHARIAH. “I thought you wanted me to handle this.”
Her anger toward Berlinger and her father was now spilling over. Did anyone think her capable of anything?
“I am here because it is necessary. I’ve learned more about the Americans. They are definitely trying to stop us.”
“Why would they care about finding Jewish religious objects?”
They stopped walking, not far from the house where she and her father had been taken. The street here was not as crowded with visitors.
“Alle, American foreign policy has long included active intervention in everything associated with Israel. They provide billions in aid and military support, and think that entitles them to tell us what to do. Our current situation is directly their fault. I am assuming that obtaining our Temple treasures works into their plans in some way.”
She would ordinarily think him paranoid, but Brian Jamison had been real.
“Who was the woman you were talking to?”
“Someone providing me information on the Americans. What have you learned?”
“That my grandfather told my father a lot more than we thought.”
She told him what the message from the grave actually said, as best she could remember. “Berlinger and my father are in the ceremonial hall.”
She pointed to the building fifty yards away, around a slight bend in the street.
“How long have they been in there?”
“An hour.”
“I was in the cemetery, behind the hall. Was there any mention of seeing me?”
She shook her head. “They told me little. I was dismissed to the synagogue for prayers.”
She heard a hum and watched as Zachariah found a cell phone in his pocket.
“It is Rócha.”
He answered, listened for a moment, then said, “Keep me posted.”
He ended the call.
“Your father is on the move.”
———
TOM TROTTED DOWN THE STREET TOWARD THE OLD-NEW SYNAGOGUE. From the map on the placard he knew he had to round the block, circling the cemetery’s outer wall and an array of buildings. The woman he sought was exiting from the entrance to the cemetery and, if he hurried, he could catch her.
He’d slipped away from the ceremonial hall without Simon or Alle seeing him. They’d disappeared around a bend in the street that led away from him. He was moving as fast as he could without drawing attention. At the end of the street, he turned right and passed more souvenir shops. Sidewalks here were less congested, so he ran.
Who was this woman? How could she possibly know what had happened to him? At first, he’d tried to tell people that he’d been manipulated. But the effort had been futile. He was saying exactly what they expected to hear and, without proof, he sounded even more guilty.
Which had surely been the idea.
That was when he disappeared, went silent, stopped defending himself. Newspapers and television shows across the country filleted him. His silence only added to their furor, but he came to discover it had been the right response.
Especially after that visit in Barnes & Noble.
He kept moving, turning another corner, now headed back parallel to the cemetery wall up an inclined street toward the Pinkas Synagogue, which sat at the cemetery entrance. Buses lined the curb, people streaming toward a concrete ramp that led down to the original street level. Signs indicated the cemetery’s entrance was there.
He spotted the woman.
Coming up the incline, against the wave of visitors, making her way to the sidewalk.
He slowed his pace.
Stay calm.
Don’t blow this.
She turned away from him and walked up the sidewalk, paralleling a wrought-iron fence that guarded the synagogue. The street to his left was one-way, but a busy boulevard could be seen at its end, past the synagogue, maybe a hundred feet away.
Then he saw the car.
A black Mercedes coupe, parked at the curb, engine running, wisps of exhaust evaporating from its tailpipe.
He quickened his steps.
The woman approached the car.
A man emerged from the passenger’s side—young, short-haired, dark suit—who opened the rear door.
The woman was ten feet away from entering.
“Stop,” he called out.
And he ran the last thirty feet toward her. Dark Suit spotted him, and he saw the man reach beneath his jacket.
The woman whirled.
Tom came close, then stopped.
Dark Suit advanced toward him, but the woman grabbed her protector’s arm.
“No need,” she said. “I’ve been expecting him.”
———
ZACHARIAH DECIDED TO PLACE SOME DISTANCE BETWEEN HIM and Alle and the ceremonial hall. He was unsure where Tom Sagan had gone, and the last thing he needed was to be spotted. He wondered if Sagan had seen him in the cemetery. Alle had finally provided him with some useful information, telling him more of what Sagan had learned from his father. Rabbi Berlinger now seemed a player in this game.
His mind reeled, processing all the new information.
At least he now knew.
This place, long held sacred by Jews around the world, was a part of the quest. But how? And Jamaica seemed an important locale, too. The curator from the museum in Cuba had called to say that Rowe and his companion had fled before the police arrived, no way to stop them.
“He said you and he will talk soon.”
That would not be a friendly conversation. He’d thought himself through with Rowe. But that might not be the case. Abiram Sagan had included a road map of Jamaica for a reason.
His phone vibrated.
He found the unit and saw it was Rócha.
“Where are you?” he asked, answering.
“Sagan left the hall and ran around the block. He’s confronting some woman at the moment who has a bodyguard.”
“Describe her.”
He already knew who, but he had to be sure.
Which answered another question. Sagan had seen him. And maybe even heard, considering the bombshell she revealed about the ex-journalist.
“I had to be careful so he wouldn’t spot me,” Rócha said. “But I’m where I can see them now.”
“Let me know what happens.”
He ended the call.
“What is it?” Alle asked.
He’d not masked his concern.
“A problem.”
———
TOM STARED AT THE WOMAN AND ASKED, “WHO ARE YOU?”
“That’s unimportant.”
“Like hell. You know what happened to me.”
She turned to Dark Suit. “Wait in the car.”
The man climbed back into the passenger’s side. She shut the rear door.
“You said you were expecting me. How,” he asked, a plea in his voice.
“You heard me in the cemetery?”
He nodded.
“The rabbi said he would make sure you did.”
“Berlinger is in on this?”
“Just offering some assistance.”
“Who are you,” he asked again.
“I am a Jew who believes strongly in who we are. I want you to believe, too.”
He could not care less about that. “They stole my life. I deserve to know who did that and why.”
“It was done because you did your job. You know that. They sent an emissary to tell you.”
This woman knew everything.
He stepped closer.
“I wouldn’t do that,” she said, motioning to the car. “He’s watching you through the mirror.”
His gaze darted past her and he saw the man’s watchful face in the exterior mirror. He stared back at her. “You’re working with Simon?”
“Mr. Sagan, at present, you are in no position to barter. But you could be. As I said, I am someone who has great respect for our beliefs. You are the Levite. The c
hosen successor. The only one who can find our Temple treasure.”
All of which Simon would have known.
“I don’t care about any of that. I want my life back.”
She opened the car’s rear door and climbed inside. Before closing it, she looked out and said, “Find the treasure. Then we will talk about your life.”
She closed the door.
And the car sped away.