“And what of the Americans? Are they going to be a problem in a few weeks?”
She shrugged. “I’d say they are no longer a threat, and I will make sure that remains the case.”
He caught the threat in her tone.
She could allow that to drop either way.
“Zachariah, once you accomplish your goal I want to be the one to take matters from there. It fits perfectly with what I have in mind. In that way, we will all have what
“So I’m clear, what is it
“A strong, determined Israel that speaks with one, determined voice. An end to the Arab problem, with no concessions. And most of all, the world will not tell us how to exist.”
He was still deeply suspicious. But there was no way, other than checking that trash bin, to verify her credibility.
“You’re right,” she told him. “The spark needed to reawaken Israel cannot come from any official process. That would never work. It has to be spontaneous and external, without any hint of politics. It has to be heartfelt, deep- set, and evoke an unconditional emotional response. When I finally understood what you have planned, I knew instantly that it was the right course.”
“And if I succeed, will you carry through and do all that is required?”
Her understanding of what that entailed was a test, one she seemed to comprehend.
“Oh, yes, Zachariah. The Jews will remember the month of Av.”
She did know.
“It is more than a coincidence,” she said, “that our Second Temple was destroyed on the ninth day of the month of Av, 70 CE—the same day that Nebuchadnezzar’s Babylonian soldiers destroyed the First Temple six centuries before. I’ve always thought that a sign.”
He was curious, “And do you have allies who think as you do?”
That could be important.
“Just me, Zachariah. Do I have friends? In positions of power? Many. But they know nothing. I will simply use them. Only you and I are part of this.”
“Will you carry through on
He saw she understood.
“Rest easy, Zachariah. The Jews will have their Third Temple. That I promise you.”
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
BENE AND HALLIBURTON ENTERED THE MUSEUM, A DETACHED building that appeared to have once been a two-storied house, the inside full of wood, marble floors, and frescoed walls. Moorish influences showed in the ornaments and lattice, a leafy courtyard visible beyond the windows. Displays filled the ground-floor rooms, one opening into another, cases filled with stones, fossils, photographs, books, and relics. Explanations were printed only in Spanish, which Bene had no trouble reading. A man of about fifty with a knotted face stood near one of the displays. Tre introduced himself and Bene, explaining that he was an academician from the University of the West Indies, come to see the document collection from the time of Spanish colonization. The man, who identified himself as the curator, offered a hand then explained that the document collection was private and permission would have to be obtained before they could examine it.
“From who?” Bene asked.
Tre’s revelation that Zachariah Simon possessed a connection to this place had unnerved him. This wasn’t Jamaica. He wasn’t Bene Rowe here. He was just some foreigner, and he did not like that feeling of helplessness. True, he was armed, and would shoot his way back to the plane if need be, but he realized that could prove futile. Diplomacy was the smart play. Which in Cuba, meant bribery. Exactly why he’d brought cash.
“Tell me, friend,” he said to the curator. “Are American dollars taken around here?”
“Oh, yes,
For all their brash talk the Cuban government was partial to American money. He withdrew his money clip and peeled off five $100 bills. “Is it possible to obtain that permission? Fast?”
He laid the money on a nearby counter.
“
———
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.”
