Berlinger walked toward one of the display cases, this one containing a pair of silver candlesticks, a Kiddush cup, an elaborate silver spice box, and another rectangular container, about a foot square. No decoration adorned its silver exterior. An internal lock sealed the lid. Just as Berlinger had described.
He found the key in his pocket.
“That,” the rabbi said, “opens the lock. I shall have the box removed and taken to one of the side rooms, where you can examine it in private.”
The old man extended his hand and they shook.
“My duty is done,” Berlinger said. “The rest I leave to you. I wish you success and will pray for your soul.”
And the rabbi walked away.
CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE
ZACHARIAH KEPT ALLE CLOSE, THE TWO OF THEM JUST OUTSIDE the quarter at a busy restaurant called Kolkovna. He’d decided a strategic retreat was in order until he could ascertain exactly what was happening. Rocha was following Sagan and had reported that he and Berlinger had entered the Maisel Synagogue. With no choice, Rocha had entered, too, careful to stay back as Sagan knew his face. Berlinger had directed Sagan to a silver box, which had been removed from its display case and taken to another room. Berlinger was gone, but Sagan was there with the box. Rocha was still in the synagogue—Sagan behind a closed door.
“What’s happening?” Alle asked him.
“I wish I knew. Your father is doing something. For a man who wanted to die, he is most active.”
“For a long time, he was good at his job.”
“I’m surprised to hear you say that. He was caught fabricating a story.”
“I know that. I just attacked him a little while ago with that fact. But that doesn’t mean that everything he did was a lie. I remember reading his stuff when I was in high school. He was on television all the time. I hated him for what he did to me and my mother, but he seemed to be a good reporter. His job actually meant everything to him. More so than his family.”
“When I checked his background I learned that he was respected in the Middle East. People feared him. He left a lasting impression on many in power there. I would imagine they were glad to see him fall.”
“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. Rocha 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.”
