CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

THE OFFICE OF THE PRIME MINISTER, JERUSALEM, ISRAEL

It was the day after Passover and Chaim Simmons, Israel’s larger-than-life prime minister, still reveled in the joy of the celebration.

Prime Minister Simmons was a man for whom controversy, scourge, negative press, and straight up reality show-esque drama did not deter nor detract. The finger-pointing political pundits had a hard time figuring him out, but he certainly knew how to play the game. And deep down beneath the ever-outrageous show he loved to star in, there were some real, core beliefs.

The ever-increasing threats from Iran kept him up at night. The increasingly neatly packaged alliance formed between Iran, Turkey, Lebanon, and the nations of North Africa kept him up even later. The fact that Russia had been blended into this geopolitical cocktail from hell damn near made his heart stop.

But at the moment, Chaim was basking in the freedom, albeit fragile and elusive, that the nation of Israel had been feeling in recent months. He felt as if he was among the Jews of old having just been freed from Egypt. The ramifications of Israel’s newfound wealth and prosperity were vast. Massive oil findings had catapulted the nation into an era of self-sufficiency that would have been an outright laughable notion just years prior. The narrative of the nation of Israel continued to surprise the world. One hundred years ago, the notion of a re-established Jewish state was mocked as a fantasy.

Now, Israeli citizens were discovering prosperity and opportunity like never before. Entrepreneurship now dominated the nation’s new psyche. Israel had developed the ultimate and supreme ownership-based economy. As Chaim took a sip of some very fine home-pressed red wine, plucked carefully from the vast collection he kept in his cellar, he pondered the juxtaposition of Israel’s prosperity with the lingering threat of her organized and motivated enemies. He resolved that barring verification of Iran’s rumored nuclear capabilities, Israel was indeed safer now, and strategically more secure, than at any other point since her re-birth. That said, the premise that Iran did not either already possess these weapons, or were inches away from possession, was one that many challenged. Including Chaim.

As Chaim concluded his reflections, the silhouette from the kitchen disappeared and its source figure appeared before him in the study. As he reclined in his favorite brown leather chair, she placed an ashtray on the adjacent end table.

“Thank you Abigayil.” Chaim smiled with gratitude.

Abigayil smiled seductively as she walked slowly out of the study. Chaim gazed at the short skirt that hid her rather attractive backside for longer than any modest man would venture to stare. Chaim reached up to flick the switch on the overhead exhaust fan. Then he lit his madura Crown David cigar. It was one of his favorites. He had picked up a box of them from a small cigar boutique shop outside of Philadelphia once after he had given a speech at a conference in a hotel near St. Joseph’s University. The cigar shop was called SJ Cigars and was owned by a nice Israeli entrepreneur who was more than pleased to have Prime Minister Simmons visit his shop.

As he exhaled the first puff of his cigar and enjoyed the lingering taste on his palate, he chuckled to himself as he thought of his colorful relationship with Abigayil. She was not his first mistress. And if in his heart of hearts he were to be honest, she would likely not be his last. Chaim Simmons had a problem with women. The discipline he practiced in his work life did not transfer over into his personal life into the complicated realm of his relationships.

Chaim’s problem had always been well known and had earned him the nickname of ‘the Jewish Clinton’, though sexual permissiveness was the only thing he had in common with the former US president. After the huge amount of controversy and press that resulted from his last wife, of a mere four years, leaving him upon discovering Abigayil, Chaim had been trying to tell himself that he would finally settle down. Three divorces was enough, he reckoned. If he ever did marry Abigayil, which he knew she would be soon pushing for, he would try to hold this one down.

As he pondered this internal promise, cigar smoke bellowed upward and the thick aroma saturated the study. He knew he was weak in this area. But for now, the tabloids had finally been leaving him alone and he would enjoy this time with Abigayil and, day by day, try to focus on fidelity.

And also for now, he would enjoy the peace and prosperity of his nation. Even while he prepared to counter or, more provocatively, pre-empt the evil and terror he knew was still bubbling up furiously within the nations that so tightly surrounded his beloved Israel.