“Which only shows that he did his job. At least until he was caught with that last story.”
“For the first time, you sound like a daughter.”
“I don’t mean to be that. Our relationship is gone. I hate that we even involved him. It was better when we never spoke, never saw each other.”
“There’s a part of you that doesn’t mean that.”
“Luckily, it’s way down deep. The main part of me says to stay away from him.”
He could see she needed reassurance, so he laid a hand on hers. “I appreciate everything you have done. Your assistance has been invaluable.”
His mind had been working, deciding on the next move. Sadly, the value of this young woman had depreciated to the point of nothing. Shortly, he would deal with her. Rócha had Sagan under surveillance. So there seemed only one avenue left for him. He knew nothing about Rabbi Berlinger but, from everything he’d heard for the past few hours, that man was part of whatever was happening.
They needed to speak.
But how to approach him?
Then it came to him.
One more performance should do it.
———
HE KNOCKED ON THE DOOR, SOFT AND RESPECTFUL.
No sense of urgency.
He’d found the house a few blocks over from the Jewish quarter, on a lovely side street with multistoried flats. This one was brick-fronted with flower boxes adorning the upper windows. Little traffic could be heard from the boulevards beyond, the residential block near the river. It had taken only one call to his estate and a few minutes of Internet research to learn the address for Rabbi Berlinger.
An old man answered the door. Dry-cracked lips, silvery stubble on his chin, patches of wiry white hair. Zachariah introduced himself and asked if they might speak. He was invited inside. The rooms were neat, clean, and simply furnished. The air smelled of coffee and peppermint. Dingy windows allowed little light and no noise to enter. His host offered him an opportunity to sit. He declined.
“I’d rather come to the point,” Zachariah said. “You’ve been manipulating Tom Sagan since he arrived this morning. I want to know what it is you told him.”
“Perhaps, in your world, you are accustomed to having your way. But here, in mine, you are nothing.”
The words came in a calm, clear voice.
“I understand you are a man to be respected, perhaps even a sage, but I have not the time or patience to extend any courtesies today. Please, tell me what I want to know.”
“Where is Sagan’s daughter?” Berlinger asked.
“That’s none of your business.”
“You made it my business when you came here.”
“She’s waiting for me to return. I told her this was between you and me. I must learn what it is Sagan has been told. I know you provided him a silver box. What is inside?”
“You seem to have a problem. You know so much, yet it is so little.”
Zachariah withdrew a gun from beneath his jacket and pointed it at the rabbi.
“You think that will persuade me?” Berlinger asked. “I have had guns pointed at me before. None made me do what I did not want to do.”
“Do you really want me as your enemy?”
The rabbi shrugged. “I have had worse.”
“I can cause you and your family harm.”
“I have no family. I outlived them all. This community is my family. I derive all of my strength and sustenance from it.”
“Like another rabbi from the past?”
“I would never presume to compare myself to Rabbi Loew. He was a great man who left a lasting impression on all of us.”
“I can harm this community. Or I can help it.”
“Ah, now we come to the point. The gun is for show, it is your money that you think will buy answers.” Berlinger shook his head.
“For a man of your experience and age, you have much to learn. Your money means nothing to me. But perhaps if you were to answer a few questions, I might be persuaded to trade information. What will you do with our Temple treasures?”
Now he knew for sure. Sagan and this old man had seen and heard him in the cemetery.
The rabbi seemed to read his mind.
“The cameras,” Berlinger said, “which we bought with your donations. They have many uses. So what is it you will do with our sacred objects?”
“More than you can ever imagine.”
“Start a war?”
More of what had been spoken of with the ambassador.
“If need be,” he said.
“It is amazing how the world changes. Once it was the Germans who threatened us. Then the communists. Now the single greatest threat comes from one of our own.”
“That is right, old man. We are our own worst enemy. We have allowed the world to corral us into a corner, and if people start to slaughter us again few will rise to our defense. They never have, in all our history. Sure, there is talk of the past horrors and pledges of support, but what did the world do last time? Nothing at all. They let us die. Israel is our only defender. That state must exist and remain strong.”
A polite wave of the hand dismissed his point. “You have little idea what will make Israel strong. But it is clear that you have your own vile intentions relative to how to do that.”
“And what would you do?” he asked Berlinger. “How would you protect us?”
“The way we always have, by working together, watching over one another, praying to God.”
“That got us slaughtered once.”
“You are a fool.”
Silence passed between them for a few moments.
“The daughter is in great danger, isn’t she?”
“As you have already determined, she means nothing to me.”
“Yet she thinks otherwise.” Berlinger shook his head. “Naïveté. The greatest sin of youth. Which most times is accompanied by arrogance.”
“She is not your concern.”
“I lost a son long ago to the same two maladies. Unfortunately, I learned later that he was right, which only compounded my regrets.”
“So you, of all people, should want to see us strong.”
“That I do. We simply disagree on the method.”
“Where is Sagan going from here?”
Berlinger shrugged and aimed a blunt finger. “That I will never tell you.”
He decided to try another tack. “Think about what it would mean for our treasures to be restored. The Third Temple built. Would that not make you proud? Would you not marvel that you had a hand in that?”
“What Jew would not?”
“Imagine the Temple standing again, built as the Book of Chronicles commands. Can you not see the great embroidered curtain hanging on the western wall, concealing the entrance to the Holy of Holies. Finally, after so many centuries we would have our sacred spot returned. The divine table, the menorah, the silver trumpets, all back where they belong. If only we had our ark, too.”
“How many will have to die for that to happen?” Berlinger asked. “The Muslims control the Temple Mount. They will not relinquish it without a bloody fight. They will never allow any Third Temple, and the mount is the only place it can be built.”
“Then they will die.”
“In a war we cannot win.”
More weak talk. He was sick to death with weakness. No one seemed to possess the courage to do what had to be done. Not the politicians, the generals, or the people.
Only him.
“Tom Sagan is the Levite,” Berlinger said. “He has been selected by the method prescribed. Only he can find our treasures.”
“By Columbus? You can’t be serious. How did that man come to possess such power?”
“When the treasures were entrusted to him and he took them to the New World.”
“You know a great deal.”
“He was given a duty, which he performed. He was one of us.”
“And how would you know that?”
“In his day o
nly Jews were experts in cartography, a skill Columbus excelled in. Jews were the ones who perfected nautical instruments and astronomical tables. Jewish pilots were in high demand. The notes Columbus wrote in his books, that have survived, show a deep appreciation for the Old Testament. I saw some of those myself in Spain. He dated a marginal note 1481, then gave the Jewish equivalent of 5241. That, in and of itself, is conclusive enough for me.”
And Zachariah knew why.
No one, other than a Jew, would have bothered adding the required 3,760 years to the Christian calendar.
“I’ve seen the portrait of him in the Uffizi Gallery in Florence,” Berlinger said. “It is the only one crafted by someone who might have actually seen him alive. To me his features are clearly Semitic.”