The Columbus Affair: A Novel

“How would you know?”

“I have spoken to people who knew him. He was a follower of the Torah, a friend of his synagogue, a supporter of Israel, though he himself never visited the Holy Land. You, on the other hand, are quite familiar with the region.”

Yes, he was. The final three years of his career had been spent there. He’d filed hundreds of stories. One of the last exposed a rape committed by a former Israeli president that made headlines around the world and ultimately led to the man’s imprisonment. He recalled how, when all of the bad things happened later, the pundits wondered how much of that story had been fabricated.

Pundits. People who made a living finding fault. Didn’t matter what, they had an opinion, which was never good. Pundits had reveled in his downfall, condemning him as a journalist who decided that the news itself wasn’t good enough.

Better to make up your own.

He wished it had been that simple.

“Why does my family interest you so much?”

Simon pointed a finger his way. He noticed the perfect cuticles and manicured nails. “Probing like a journalist again? Hoping to learn something? Not today. All you need to know, Mr. Sagan, is that your daughter is in grave danger.”

“What if I don’t care?” He thought some bravado might be good for them both.

“Oh, you care. We both know that. Otherwise, you would have pulled the trigger while you still held the gun. You see, that is the thing about children. No matter how much we disappoint them or they us, they are still our children. We have to care for them. Like with your father. You and he had barely spoken in twenty years, yet he left you this house. That fascinates me.”

The man called Simon walked toward the pewter menorah on the far table and lightly stroked the dulled metal. “Your father was a Jew. As was your mother. Both proud of who they were. Unlike you, Mr. Sagan. You care nothing about from where you came.”

He resented the condescending attitude. “Comes with a lot of baggage.”

“No, it comes with pride. We, as a people, have endured the greatest of suffering. That means something. At least to me it does.”

Had he heard right?

His visitor turned toward him.

“Yes, Mr. Sagan. Me being a Jew is exactly why I am here.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

BENE STOOD IN WHAT HAD ONCE BEEN A JEWISH CEMETERY. HOW long ago? Hard to say. He’d counted fifteen markers cracked to rubble, others lying embedded. Sunlight fluttered through the thick canopy of trees casting dancing shadows. One of his men had stayed with him, and the other, who’d gone in search of the dogs, now returned through the foliage.

“Big Nanny and her clan did the job,” his man called out. “They cornered him near a bluff, but he stayed still.”

“You shoot him?” he asked his man.

A nod confirmed what a gunshot a few moments ago had already told him. This time the prey had not resisted.

“Good riddance,” he said. “This island is free of one more stinkin’ parasite.”

He’d read with disgust newspaper articles about drug dons who imagined themselves Robin Hoods, stealing from the rich, giving to the poor. They were nothing close to that. Instead, they extorted money from struggling business owners so they could grow marijuana and import cocaine. Their soldiers were the most willing and ignorant they could find, demanding little, doing as told. In the slums of West Kingston, and the bowels of Spanish Town, they ruled as gods but, here, in the Blue Mountains, they were nothing.

“Do we let dem know how he’s gone?” one of his men asked.

“Of course. We send a message.”

His chief lieutenant understood and gestured to the other man. “Fetch da head.”

“Yes, indeed,” Bene said, with a laugh. “Fetch da head. That will make our point. We would not want to waste this opportunity.”

A dead drug don no longer concerned him. Instead, his attention was on what he’d accidently discovered.

He knew some.

At first only Christians were allowed in the New World, but as Spanish Catholics proved inept at colonization the Crown turned to the one group who could produce results.

The Jews.

And they did, coming to Jamaica, becoming merchants and traders, exploiting the island’s prime location. By 1600 the native Tainos were nearly wiped out, and most of the Spanish colonists had fled for other islands. What remained were Jews. Bene had attended a private high school in Kingston, started by Jews centuries ago. He’d excelled at languages, math, and history. He became a student of the Caribbean and quickly learned that to understand his home he had to appreciate its past.

The year 1537 changed everything.