US Ambassador’s Residence, Tel Aviv
July 19, 5:09 p.m.
“You’ll have to humor me on this one, Palmyra.” Cleveland paced back and forth across the gazebo, his suit jacket hung on the back of one of the chairs, the late-afternoon sun bathing the Mediterranean and forming a blazing blue backdrop to the visible expression of his inward anxiety. From the moment his daughter had driven out of the airport with that bag in her possession, Cleveland had been kicking himself for being foolish and shortsighted. What had he been thinking?
“I want you out of this mess.” He stopped in midstride and swung his shoulders in Palmyra’s direction. “I had no choice at the airport, but you are now relieved of all responsibility for the package. Mullaney and Hernandez will transport the satchel to the Hurva Synagogue first thing in the morning and then it’s out of our hair. Forgive me for pulling a dad thing, but I want it out of your hands. End of story.”
Parker was dressed in black slacks and a short-sleeved, pale green blouse that gave her eyes the color of Caribbean shoals. Sitting on the edge of the gazebo’s railing, she let out a long sigh of exasperation. “But Dad, won’t Brian and Tommy need to be with …”
Mullaney and Hernandez emerged from the path and entered the gazebo. “Be with whom?” Mullaney asked.
“Be with him!” Parker threw up her hands. “That’s where you belong, right?”
“Well … I …”
Cleveland glanced at the watch on his wrist. There was so little time.
“Here, sit,” said Cleveland, taking one of the chairs surrounding the table in the middle of the gazebo. “I’ve got a lot to cover in the short time we have, and I need you guys fully on board.”
Mullaney was seated across the table from Cleveland, Hernandez on his right, and his daughter to his left as he launched into the events of that Tuesday that seemed like a lifetime in the past, not simply four days. “Tommy, the day we left the Neve Shalom Synagogue in Istanbul,” said Cleveland, leaning to his right, “I was not the target of the attack. The satchel I carried was the target.”
A twinkle came to Hernandez’s eyes, a gift that Cleveland valued as precious. “Those guys were after the chocolate?”
“Not exactly.” Cleveland spent the next ten minutes recounting his conversation with Rabbi Kaplan and describing the wooden box, and the metal box it protected. He was relieved that neither Mullaney nor Hernandez expressed any skepticism when he explained the history of the box and its contents, and he was grateful that neither of them flinched when he revealed the warning of the symbols on the lid of the box, the rabbi’s grave caution about the lethal nature of the box, and the rabbi’s belief that the message inside the box could be crucial to America’s future role in the Middle East.
“So as long as the metal box remains within the wooden case holding it, there should be no danger of making contact with it,” Cleveland concluded. “As a precaution, there’s the Aaronic blessing that can be passed from one holder to another that serves as a protective anointing. I gave the blessing to Palmyra before asking her to bring the satchel here for safekeeping. Now we—you, I hope—need to get it to the Rabbinate Council at the Hurva Synagogue as soon as possible and get it out of our lives.”
“Where’s the box now?” Mullaney asked.
“It’s safe,” said Palmyra. “I hid it when I got back to the residence.”
Cleveland saw Mullaney shoot a questioning glance at his daughter.
“Really … it’s safe,” Palmyra insisted. “No one is going to get near that satchel.”
Clearly unsatisfied, Mullaney turned back to the ambassador.
“Who do you think was after the box in Istanbul?”
Good … Mullaney was going through a deliberate process. “I’m not sure,” said Cleveland.
“The guys in the white van had Middle Eastern features,” said Hernandez. “But so do the other eight million people in Istanbul. We ran a check on the van … stolen. None of the guys in our SUV remember any distinctive marking from the truck that T-boned them into the restaurant. We had no warning chatter. And whoever was responsible seemed to drop off the face of the earth afterward. We couldn’t track down anything.”
“And you think these bad guys might have followed you … followed the package … here.” It was a statement from Mullaney, not a question. Cleveland didn’t feel as if he was being interrogated. “You don’t think you’re safe, that the package is safe, in the US ambassador’s residence in Israel? You live in a fortress with some of the toughest guys on this planet dedicated to your safety. Mr. Ambassador, what has you worried?”
Good man, this Mullaney, thought Cleveland. No bull. On point and direct.
Cleveland turned to his right and put his hand on Hernandez’s arm. “Thank you, Tommy. You were correct in all respects.”
“You’re welcome … what? … Did I win a prize?”
Cleveland smiled, something he didn’t think possible in the current circumstances. “No, Tommy, I won the prize when you were assigned to my detail. And now I’ve been given another prize, Agent Mullaney here.”
“Okay … I’ll pick up my winnings at the door. And could you make some of it chocolate? Hard to find here. Melts awfully …”
“Sir,” Mullaney interrupted, “we don’t have much time. Why are you frightened for your safety?”
The ambassador sighed and looked across the table. “It’s not my safety, Agent Mullaney. It’s Palmyra’s safety that concerns me. The safety of all the people who work here at the residence.” Cleveland leaned back in his chair, recalling the conversation in Istanbul. “Rabbi Kaplan in Istanbul told me that three terrorist attacks against the synagogue were known to the public. What isn’t public is that the synagogue has survived attacks and break-in attempts that have been ongoing for decades, ever since the box arrived from Germany in 1938. There have been subtle incursions and full-blown attacks, one of which nearly destroyed the entire sanctuary. Six of the synagogue staff have been killed in these attacks, two of them rabbis. Whoever is after this box and the document it contains, they are ruthless and relentless.”
Mullaney was shaking his head. “And through all these years, whoever’s after the box never succeeded? Seems a bit lame for a ruthless and relentless gang of thugs.”
Cleveland raised his hands, palms up. “Oh, they’ve succeeded,” he said. “Twice the attackers breached all the synagogue’s extensive security and gained control of the wooden chest.”
“And they gave it back?”
“No,” interjected Hernandez. “They got zapped, right?”
“Zapped … yes,” Cleveland responded. “Both times, attackers were found, sprawled on the floor, the box not far away. Their tongues were black, they were bleeding from their eyes and their hair had fallen out.”
“Ouch, that’s a nasty hangover,” said Hernandez, shaking his head.
“But they keep trying?” asked Mullaney.
“They keep trying,” Cleveland answered. “And there’s no reason for us to believe they will stop trying now that the box is here in Israel. Here in this house. We may be a well-guarded fortress, Agent Mullaney, and I’m glad for it. But a lot of people could still be hurt if we keep that box here. Besides … we need to get it to the Rabbinate Council. The descendants and followers of the Vilna Gaon may be the only people who can figure out what this second prophesy is all about. If the first one predicted the Russians marching into the Crimea, I think it’s critical we know what the second one predicts.”
Mullaney got out of his chair. “Okay, it’s got to go.”
Cleveland’s mobile phone rattled to life. Pressed to his ear, he listened for a few moments, then clicked it off. “And we’ve got to go too. That was Goldberg. We meet with the prime minister in seventy-five minutes. Jerusalem is an hour’s drive. So let’s get crackin’.”
“Are we taking the box?” asked Hernandez. “I may need my asbestos gloves.”
Cleveland stopped at the threshold of the gazebo and turned first to Mullaney and then to his daughter. The adrenaline pump he got from the news of the meeting with the prime minister was overcome by an onrushing bleakness … helpless frustration tinged with fear and regret. What had he gotten his daughter involved in?
“I …”
Palmyra stepped over and grasped his hand. “It’s okay, Dad. The box is safe. It’s well hidden, behind tightly locked doors where no one would think to look for it or even be able to reach it if they knew where to look.”
Searching his daughter’s emerald eyes, Cleveland’s stomach felt like the inside of an unexplored cave—dark, cold, and empty. “I haven’t spoken to anyone at the synagogue.” His words were an admission, whispered as if he were in a confessional box in church. “They don’t know we’re coming. And we’ve got to leave now to get there on time. I don’t want to …”
Palmyra ran her right hand along Cleveland’s cheek. “Go, Dad. It’s okay. Double the guard on the front gate, if it makes you feel better. But we’ll be okay. Right now, your thoughts need to be about preparing to meet with Prime Minister Meir. You need to find out what’s going on. That’s your job, your responsibility. I’ll be fine. When you get back, we can make plans to transfer the satchel to the people at the Hurva. For the moment, though, you need to focus on the world outside the walls of this compound. Okay?”
If Cleveland could have reached inside his daughter’s heart and protected her inmost being, he would have done it. Instead, he wrapped his left arm around her shoulders. “Stay away from it. Wait for us to get back, okay?”
“Yes, Dad.”
Cleveland tore his gaze from his daughter’s. Mullaney and Hernandez were both on their mobiles.
“Car’s out front,” said Hernandez. “The backup team is loading in the SUV and will be behind us before we leave.”
“And the guard has been doubled,” Mullaney added. “Both front and back, and patrolling the perimeter. Right now, we’re Fort Knox.”
With a sigh, and one more look at his daughter, Joe Cleveland drew himself to his full height, threw his shoulders back, and transformed from nervous Dad to commanding presence … the ambassador of the United States of America to the nation of Israel. “All right, let’s move,” Cleveland said. “Tommy, we need to be fast, but we need to be safe.”
“Gotcha, Boss. I’ll keep it under a hundred and twenty.”
Cleveland held out his left hand to Palmyra. “Walk with me.”
With Mullaney and Hernandez following close behind, Cleveland spoke in a low voice. “Please make sure Jeffrey cancelled any commitments for the rest of the day. And ask him to clear my agenda for tomorrow as well. I think we’re going to need the time.” He squeezed his daughter’s hand. “Promise me you will stay away from the package. I won’t be able to keep my mind focused unless …”
“You’ve got my word, Dad. I won’t go near it. Just be careful out there.”
With a father’s prayer in his heart, he gave Palmyra’s hand one more squeeze and then was around the corner of the residence, into the maelstrom of diplomatic intrigue.