The Columbus Affair: A Novel (10 page)

Zachariah stopped reading Alle Becket’s article. He’d fished it from his satchel to refresh his memory.

Thankfully, he maintained a worldwide watch for any mention of Christopher Columbus. Google Alerts and similar referral services kept him abreast of anything pertaining to that subject.

One day an article in
Minerva
had flagged.

Most of it was nothing new, but two words grabbed his attention.

Hooked X’s
.

Only a few people in the world knew to use that phrase in conjunction with Christopher Columbus.

So he’d located Alle Becket.

Now he’d found Tom Sagan.

Clearly, he was in the right place.

And tomorrow he’d be inside the Levite’s grave.

T
OM ENTERED HIS HOUSE, THE ONE PLACE LEFT ON THE PLANET
where he felt a margin of comfort. He stayed here the majority of his time, behind closed windows and a locked door. He’d tried an apartment and a condo, but had not liked the close proximity of neighbors. He didn’t want to know anybody and he sure as hell didn’t want anybody knowing him. He liked solitude, and his nondescript rental, located at the end of a long block on Orlando’s south side, offered exactly that.

The visit to Abiram’s grave still unnerved him.

As had the car that appeared, then disappeared.

On the drive back his thoughts had returned to the deed sent to him for the house. When it arrived in the mail the lawyer had also included one other item.

A short, handwritten note.

He needed to see it again, so he opened the drawer where he’d tossed both it and the deed three years ago.

He unfolded the pages and, for the second time, read.

No
I’m sorry
. No
I love you
. No
Good luck
. Not even a
Go to hell
.

Just matter-of-fact.

And those last two lines.
The honorable thing
.

Typical Abiram.

On his high horse right to the end.

Three years ago he hadn’t really understood
“Now I take those secrets with me to my grave.”
He’d thought it more parental dramatics. Now he wasn’t so sure. How would Zachariah Simon know anything about what may or may not be inside the grave? The only explanation was that Alle had told him.

What did she know?

He stepped to the window and glanced outside. The street was devoid of traffic, the neighborhood deep in its daily slumber. Not many children lived here. More retirees enjoying Florida’s sun and no state income tax.

Why was someone following him?

Simon had what he wanted. So who’d appeared at the cemetery?

Someone else who might know either Abiram’s or Simon’s business? He was thinking like a reporter again, his inquisitive mind racing with questions. After all, he’d been damn good at what he did. Apparently good enough that someone decided to destroy him.

Who?

He knew enough.

But there was nothing he could do about that.

Then, or now.

Nothing at all.

———

A
LLE STARED DOWN AT THE
M
INERVA
ARTICLE LYING ON THE
café table. She’d worked on it for weeks, keeping its length within the
magazine’s submission guidelines, gearing it topically so a wide audience could appreciate her points. They’d paid her £300 and she’d been elated to be published, especially at age twenty-five, fresh out of graduate school. A short bio after the piece had explained who she was, and offered an email contact.

That’s how Zachariah found her.

“There’s nothing sinister in that article,” she said, retaking her seat. “It simply describes the mysteries surrounding Columbus.”

“Yet a billionaire recluse goes to all the trouble to find you,” Brian said. “Then convinces you to deceive your own father so he can open your grandfather’s grave?”

She was curious. “How do you know all this?”

“You never answered me. What you did to your father was wrong.”

She didn’t like his attitude. He didn’t know how Tom Sagan hurt her and her mother. “My relationship with my father is none of your business.”

His gaze drifted around the room, then refocused on her. “You’re being used. Simon wants what your grandfather trusted you to keep safe. Doesn’t it concern you that his grave is about to be opened?”

More than anyone knew.

Still—

“Your grandfather kept a great secret,” Zachariah said to her. “One important to all of us.”

“But opening his coffin? Is that the only way?”

“What lies with him is vital, Alle. He was the Levite. Not of the house of Levi, but chosen for a duty and called a Levite. One of only a few men since the time of Columbus who knew the truth.”

“What truth?”

She’d listened to what he had to say, and finally agreed that opening the grave was the only way.

“Jews around the world will sing your praise,” Zachariah said. “What has lain hidden for nearly two thousand years will once again see the light of day. Our prophecies will be fulfilled. And all thanks to you.”

She’d never dreamed that she would be in such a unique position. Her new religion, her adopted heritage—those meant something to her, as they had to her grandfather. To help that, in any way, would be important.

“His grave must be opened,” she told Brian.

He shook his head. “You’re a foolish woman. And you speak of your
father
as a problem. He’s an unwilling participant. You’re not.”

“And who are you? Why does any of this matter?”

“Unlike you, I actually have a grip on reality. Zachariah Simon is an extremist. And those are a problem to us all.”

Her gaze drifted past Brian, toward the café’s front door.

Rócha and Midnight burst inside.

Brian caught sight of them, too, and stood from the table. “Time for me to go.”

Zachariah’s men marched over.

Brian brushed past them.

Rócha grabbed Brian’s jacket. Two men at one of the other tables immediately stood, obviously with Brian. Rócha seemed to assess the situation and released his grip.

“Smart move,” Brian said to him, and he and his two compatriots left.

“Who was that?” she asked Rócha.

“You tell me. You are the one eating with him.”

“He forced himself on me. Called himself Brian.”

“You must stay away from him.”

That drew her interest. “Why?”

Irritation swept across Rócha’s tanned face. “We must go.”

“I’m staying.”

He grasped her arm. Hard. Lifting her from the chair.

“Get your hand off me or I’ll scream.”

“We have to go,” he said, his voice softening. “It’s for your own safety.”

He was serious, she could see.

“Who was that guy?” she asked again.

“A problem. One Mr. Simon must know about immediately.”

———

T
OM LAY ON HIS BED, FULLY CLOTHED
. T
HIS MORNING HE’D DECIDED
to die. Now, tomorrow, he would see a body.

Quite a reversal.

“He’ll come around,” Michele said to him. “He’s your father. He loves you. He’ll eventually understand that you have to make your own choices, even when it comes to religion.”

“You don’t know Abiram. He’s made his choice. It’s my call now. I have to make the next move.”

“Why do you call him by his first name? He’s your father.”

“It started in college, when we began to drift apart. It gives me … some distance.”

“He’s still your father.”

He shrugged. “He’s only Abiram to me.”

She hugged him. “I don’t agree with how this has evolved, but I love you for doing this. Giving up your faith is a big deal.”

“If this makes you happy, then I’m happy.”

She kissed him
.

They’d been married for less than a year
.

“I have some news,” she said
.

He stared into her eyes
.

“You’re going to be a father, too.”

Eight months later Alle was born. What a beautiful child. For the first few years of her life she’d meant the world to him, then the world began to mean more. His time away grew longer until he was gone far more than he was there. Temptations started presenting themselves and he’d succumbed. What had he been thinking? That’s just it. He hadn’t thought.

And Abiram. A Levite?

He remembered Deuteronomy, Moses’ blessing to the Israelites.

About Levi, he said of his father and mother, “I have no regard for them.” He did not recognize his brothers or acknowledge his own children, but he watched over your word and guarded your covenant. He teaches your precepts to Jacob and your law to Israel. He offers incense before you and whole burnt offerings on your altar
.

Amazing he still remembered the words, but Abiram had been relentless in his teachings. He also recalled that, after the sin of the Golden Calf, when the Israelites wrongly worshiped a false idol, Levites, who’d abstained from that act, were chosen to serve the Temple.

But how did any of that relate to Abiram?

Never had anyone in his family ever mentioned that their Jewish roots came from the Levites.

Until Tom reached high school he and Abiram had been close. Being an only child came with the advantage—and disadvantage—of constant parental attention. During his teenage years they began to drift apart. The gap widened in college. Meeting Michele and falling in love finally confirmed what he already knew.

He was not a Jew.

No matter his birth, heritage, custom, or duty.

None of it meant anything to him.

His mother had tried to persuade him otherwise. Perhaps she knew what her husband would do. But Tom had not been convinced. So he renounced his birthright and, to please his new wife, became a Christian. For a few years he, Michele, and Alle attended Episcopal services. That happened less and less as he traveled more and more. Eventually, he realized Christianity meant nothing to him, either. He just wasn’t spiritual.

Chalk that up as another failure.

“Patch things up with your father,” Michele said to him
.

“It’s too late for that.”

“I’m out of the picture. We’re divorced. He should be happy with that.”

“It’s not that simple with Abiram.”

“He never cared for me, Tom. We both know that. He resented that you were baptized and blamed me. He only cares for Alle. That’s all.”

Maybe not, he thought.

He may have cared for something no one ever realized.

Son, I kept a great deal to myself
.

Things that would surprise you
.

Now I take those secrets with me to my grave
.

Z
ACHARIAH WAS READY FOR REST
. T
OMORROW COULD BE THE
day he’d been waiting for all of his life. Had he found the Levite? The keeper of the secret? Finally, after five hundred years?

Columbus had been a clever one, that he’d give him.

In 1504 the admiral returned to Spain from his fourth and final voyage, spending the next two years trying to force Ferdinand and Isabella to honor their promises. In 1506 he died and his sons assumed the cause. When they died, it remained for one of their widows to finally make a deal with the Crown, one that gave the Columbus family total control over Jamaica for the next 150 years.

Luis de Torres, Columbus’ Hebrew interpreter on the first voyage, never returned to Europe.

He stayed.

And for good reason.

De Torres’ birth name had been Yosef Ben Ha Levy Haivri—Joseph, the son of Levi the Hebrew—making him the first person of Jewish origin to settle in the New World. He’d been forced to convert to Christianity in order to be eligible for the voyage but, like so many other
conversos
, he remained a Jew all of his life. History liked to downplay the fact that de Torres was, most likely, the first person ashore that day on Hispaniola in October 1492. Since he was the expedition’s interpreter, he would have been the one who initially confronted the natives. What a thought. The first words spoken in the New World were probably Hebrew.

Some historians claimed de Torres died in 1493 on Hispaniola,
one of 39 left there by Columbus at the end of the maiden voyage, part of the settlement called La Navidad. All of those men were slaughtered by natives before Columbus could return months later on the second voyage.

But de Torres had not died.

Instead he’d guarded three crates that had crossed the Atlantic with Columbus on the first voyage and had been deposited on land for safekeeping.

The first person, called the Levite, charged with that duty.

And there’d been a succession of others ever since. Each guarding their secret, remaining in obscurity.

Until Abiram Sagan.

Finally, a mistake.

Sagan had told his granddaughter things. Meaningless to her and 99 percent of the rest of the world.

But not to a Simon.

Where the Levites went to great lengths to keep their secret, the Simons had gone to even greater lengths to expose them. His father and grandfather had both searched, learning bits and pieces from old documents, especially ones found in a forgotten archive. They’d wanted to provide the new state of Israel a magnificent gift—restoring the Temple treasure. But they’d both failed. History mattered, his father would many times say. Thank heaven for the Internet. That resource had not been available before his generation. From there he’d been able to discover Abiram Sagan’s mistake.