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He laid the money on a nearby counter.
“Sí, señor. I will make a call to Havana.”
———
TOM GLARED AT ALLE. SHE 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?”
———
ALLE WASN’T SURE IF HER FATHER WAS LYING. HER 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.
———
TOM APPRECIATED INNA’S DEFENSE. HE 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.”
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
ZACHARIAH 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.
