The Columbus Affair: A Novel

They entered through a Gothic portal adorned with intertwining grapevine reliefs. Twelve roots, one for each of the lost tribes. Lights came on in the vestibule and he spotted two strongboxes embedded in stone—used, he knew, centuries ago for the collection of special taxes on Jews.

He loved this building. Vienna’s synagogue was impressive for its beauty. This one was spectacular in simplicity. Heavy octagonal pillars and vaults with five-section ribbing divided the rectangle into two naves. He knew there were five ribs overhead to prevent a cross from being formed by only four. The seat of the high rabbi was positioned at the east end along with the ark, iron bars and a drape protecting the Torah. An elevated platform surrounded by a wrought-iron grille consumed the center, the almemor, which accommodated a prayer easel. The walls and the center platform were lined with bench seats passed down, he’d been told, through generations. Not many, maybe seventy or so. Hanging from above was a red banner with a Star of David, a gift originally from Charles IV in 1358 as a sign of Jewish privilege. He’d always scoffed at such gestures, since history had proven none were sincere.

Little light leaked in from the twelve narrow windows high in the walls, the sun just beginning its rise.

“You were correct,” the mayor said. “The night patrol did find two people trying to enter the loft. It happens from time to time. People really believe there’s a golem up there.”

“Which you do nothing to discourage, since it brings visitors who spend money.”

“Who am I to quell legends? That’s not my job. Protecting all of this, that’s my task. Unfortunately, it takes money to maintain things.”

“Where are the two people now?”

The mayor raised one of his small fingers “That’s the problem. They were not taken to the usual holding room in the community building. We normally question them first, then turn them over to the police, who promptly let them go. It’s a big problem. But these two were diverted somewhere else.”

He did not like what he was hearing.

“I am trying to learn that location. For some reason, no one in security knows.”

“Do you come here every morning?”

The mayor nodded. “Most. Before it becomes a tourist attraction and not a house of prayer.”

He envied that ability. “What is in the loft above us?”

“Nothing but rafters, insulation, and a roof. No golem, returned to clay, is waiting there.”

“But the loft did, for centuries, serve as this building’s genizah.”

Every synagogue possessed a storeroom for old books and papers. The Talmud forbid the discarding of any writing that contained the name of God. Instead, those were held and buried every seventh year in a cemetery.

The mayor nodded. “Quite right. We kept everything up there since it was old anyway. The elements could not hurt them. But that stopped about forty years ago and the loft was emptied.”

He wondered. Had something been stashed away before that? Forty years? That time frame would be consistent with Sagan’s grandfather.

He heard the main door open then close, and watched as the mayor excused himself and returned to the vestibule. He was now convinced that Sagan had deceived him. He hoped Alle could learn something. He was still bothered by the meeting with the Israeli ambassador and the fact that both she and the Americans were interested in him. He’d sent Rocha back to the alley beyond St. Stephen’s, and Brian Jamison’s body was indeed gone. Not a word in the press about its discovery, either. The ambassador had said she would clean up the mess, and that she had.

The mayor returned as the outer door again opened, then closed.

“I’ve just been told that the two people caught earlier were taken to a house not far from here.”

He noticed the look of concern on the man’s face.

“What is it?” he asked.

“The Rabbi Berlinger was summoned. He is with them now.”

———

TOM IMMEDIATELY CONNECTED THE DOTS. ABIRAM HAD MENTIONED this man specifically in his last message.

“He also gave me a name. Rabbi Berlinger.”

“How old are you?” he asked, which he knew must sound rude, but he had to know.

“One hundred and two.”

He would never have guessed. Maybe in his eighties, but nowhere near the century mark. “Life’s been kind to you.”

“Sometimes I think so. Other times not. I asked you a question. Please tell me where you obtained these items.”

He saw that Alle was interested in that answer, too. But he wasn’t ready to cooperate. “They were given to me. I was meant to have them.”

This man would have seen the original writing, unedited, as that was all he’d had left in his pockets.

“I don’t know any such thing,” Berlinger said. “I only know that you have these items.”

“M. E. Cross was my grandfather.”

The old man studied him carefully. “I see him in your face. Your name is Sagan. I recall that your mother