No, if his father was taking the legend of the Lamed-Vavniks seriously, it was because he didn’t think it was all legend.
The letters made two things clear to Ephraim: 1) Avram Ben-Yosef suspected Shimon of being a Lamed-Vavnik, and 2) that he believed the Lamed-Vavniks were in danger. Among those Ephraim’s father believed might be plotting something nefarious was one Alexander Rosso.
Avram never mentioned his suspicions to his son, either before or after Ephraim was elected prime minister. Ephraim Ben-Yosef was disappointed by this revelation, as he believed that he and his father could always speak frankly with one another.
He figured, however, that his father had probably been leery of expressing such far-fetched speculation out loud, and that he likely believed that Ephraim had more than enough on his problem-filled plate already. One, after all, could never prove the existence of the Lamed-Vavniks; nor, moreover, that someone he had only known through correspondence could be one. It was absurd.
It was during the prime minister’s daily briefing when Natan Meyer—the head of Mossad, and Ephraim Ben-Yosef’s longtime friend since having served together in the elite Sayeret Matkal commando force—brought up the case of Malkah Stern and Gideon Baer.
Ben-Yosef was stunned to learn that Baer was Shimon’s grandson. Not believing in coincidences, he ordered a full work-up on the couple. His request was met with Natan Meyer’s arched and skeptical bushy eyebrow. Weren’t there much bigger things to worry about than old wives’ tales?
But Natan knew that Ephraim Ben-Yosef never acted rashly, never did anything without first having given the matter at hand serious deliberation. Natan also knew that once a matter had crossed from Ephraim’s thought to word, there was no arguing with him. The prime minister handed his friend all of his father’s notes and letters on the Lamed-Vavniks. These, along with the photos Malkah Stern had covertly snapped from Gideon’s own years of research, were run by the organization’s experts.
A week later, Natan Meyer dropped three fat folders on Ben-Yosef’s desk. On top of them, he tossed a manila envelope filled with photographs. The prime minister leafed through the folders, and then examined a number of the snapshots.
“Thank you, Natan,” he said. “Now, tell me. Did you just provide me with some entertaining bedtime reading, or our next crisis?”
Natan Meyer shrugged. “For us is there ever a difference?”
“Then my father was onto something? This Gideon fellow too?”
“Nobody can prove the existence of the Lamed-Vavniks,” Natan replied. “But, what is beyond doubt, is that there are innocent people who are being eradicated one by one by a person or persons with a very twisted sense of right and wrong.”
“Alexander Rosso?”
Natan nodded gravely. “As to why, we can only speculate. But, this does appear to be one of his many despicable obsessions, yes.”
“Any direct links?”
“Rosso is too smart for that,” Natan said.
“Your recommendation?”
“I don’t possess your degree of faith, Ephraim, and can’t buy into any of this Lamed-Vavnik stuff. But that said, we’ve known for a long time that this man is an enemy and a threat. For me, it’s just another reason to speed his delivery to the Judge of Judges. However, things being what they are, we don’t want to chance our fingerprints appearing anywhere near the bastard.”
“This Gideon fellow. How good is he?”
“His profile is in the report. But, yes, if we were to outsource such a mission, I doubt we’d find much better than Gideon Baer. Best of all, we don’t even have to outsource him. He’s planning on giving it a whack all on his own.”
“And this Malkah Stern? Is she not a pair of our fingerprints?”
“Yes, but she is planted very deep. Her cell of operatives is small and well-shrouded. Even her fiancé, this Gideon, doesn’t have a clue as to her true identity. Besides, as of now, her role would be very minor.”
“What are his chances of success?”
“Slim to nil.”
“Can we help to better those odds?”
“Not by much, no. But this guy might.” He pointed to a photograph of Cyrus taken while at work at a construction site.
“Who is he?”
“Cyrus.”
“Cyrus who?”
“Just Cyrus. He has no last name. No birth. No records. No history.” Natan chuckled. “He’s even more mysterious than your Lamed-Vavniks.”
“Can’t be,” Ephraim said.
Natan shrugged. “The man is a walking cipher.”
“Who does he work for?”
“Best we can tell, nobody.”
“Come on, he had to come from somewhere.”
“He did,” Natan acknowledged. “From thin air. Literally.”
“What?”
Natan nodded regretfully. He was embarrassed to have to retell the ridiculous story. “It’s in the report, and the digital report is in your drop box. You can watch the video for yourself. Our experts went over it pixel by pixel. It’s real. He abandoned obscurity by dropping into a basketball hoop during a college game. He did so at the most inopportune time, earning him the contempt of the entire town.”
“I’d say you’re joking, Natan, but I know that you have no sense of humor.” Ephraim grinned. “So, what makes you think this Cyrus can be of help to Mr. Baer? If he’s a nobody with nothing to commend him, why would he go on such a mission? And, two, why would a man of Gideon Baer’s expertise want him?”
“According to Agent Stern, this Cyrus is a rather extraordinary fellow. He is a genius—a polymath, a man with a photographic memory, and a superb athlete and martial artist, to recite just some of her claims.”
“And yet he has no history? None? Wouldn’t such a conspicuous lack of background point to the Russian FSB or SVR, or the CIA, or some other intelligence outfit?”
“It would, but if he does, we have been unable to detect a whiff of even circumstantial evidence. Malkah Stern insists that he is squeaky clean.”
Ephraim Ben-Yosef had low expectations for the mission, but he had an even lower opinion of Alexander Rosso; a man he felt had caused him, his country, and his people more harm than most heads of state. Rosso had waged war on his country’s currency, infiltrated its media and universities with his apparatchiks and hirelings, and had spent hundreds of millions of globals fueling malicious NGOs and other groups to stir up trouble, both inside and outside the country.
Ben-Yosef believed that the man’s arrogance and lust for power knew no bounds, and he was convinced that Alexander Rosso played a role in the Pesach War that had caused the death of so many citizens.
Rosso didn’t pull the trigger, but Ben-Yosef believed that it was decades of Rosso’s devious influence peddling that had laid the groundwork for the isolating and delegitimizing of his country prior to the war.
For such reasons, upon taking office Prime Minister Ben-Yosef began a campaign to expose the many and various Rosso operatives that had been willingly participating in Rosso’s disinformation game.
Ben-Yosef concluded that even should the mission fail, he was for anyone that would dare to bring down “the depraved megalomaniac.”
He gave the green light for Natan’s team to do what they could to be of assistance to Gideon Baer, as long as they kept Baer in the dark, and themselves clear of entanglement. Agent Stern was to maintain as low a profile as possible, and act primarily as their eyes and ears on the ground. Only if the mission’s success depended upon her acting was she to step out of character, which, in the end, is what happened.
“It was kind of you to come,” Gideon said, shaking the prime minister’s hand.
“The honor is mine,” Ephraim replied in his signature baritone voice. “I’m very happy for you, though I must say that Natan was not pleased by Malkah’s resignation.”
“Did you come to change her mind?”
Ephraim smiled. “You’ve crossed the paths of too many politicians, my friend. T
hey’ve made you cynical.” He winked. “Wisely so. But, no, I didn’t come for that, to Natan’s chagrin. I came to honor my father’s memory. If he were alive, I know he’d have been here. Your grandfather mentioned you many times in his correspondence. He was very proud of you.”
“Then I’m doubly honored, Sir.”
“Furthermore,” Ben-Yosef said. “I understand she wants to raise a big family, and to my mind your progeny will be of even more benefit to Am Yisrael than any work she might do in the field. Besides,” the prime minister added, “I understand that you are considering taking her place.”
Gideon smiled. “Perhaps in Natan’s mind. I’m still a ways from any decision.”
“Well, this is not the time to discuss business. Just know that my door is always open to you, and should you wish to discuss the pros and cons with me, feel free to do so. Natan will provide you with the means to contact me. If you call, I’ll get the message.”
“Thank you, Sir,” Gideon said, honored by the prime minister’s confidence in him.
Ephraim turned and nodded towards Cyrus and the youths dancing the hora on the other side of the lawn. “Your friend is a very spirited fellow.”
“Yep,” Gideon said, as if to say, ‘and you don’t know the half of it.’
“Any chance of him changing his mind?”
“You are welcome to try,” Gideon chuckled. “But I have the impression that he has his own agenda.”
“Agenda?”
“Nothing nefarious,” Gideon clarified. “Cyrus is…different. He seems to answer to a higher authority.”
“That’s what we are all trying to do here,” Ephraim said, gesturing to the surrounding hills.
“Indeed,” Gideon replied, “and Cyrus is all on board that camel train, but he marches to the blow of a different shofar, you might say—though don’t ask me what that is because I haven’t a clue.”
“You seem to be his best friend. Hasn’t he confided in you as to how he has managed to remain so anonymous?”
“I ask, he parries. He’s a good fencer.”
“And that doesn’t bother you?”
“Infuriates me is more like it,” Gideon said. “But if you mean concern or worry me, no. He’s the most extraordinary man I’ve ever met, and I’ve met a few in my life, but he is good. Good, humble, and I’d even say righteous.”
“What does he want to do with his talents?”
“I don’t know. He can do anything. And, Prime Minister, I mean anything. Need a brain surgeon?”
“He must have a hell of a résumé…somewhere,” Ephraim said, a sportive glint in his eye. “I’m sure he can find good work. And I don’t necessarily mean in the spy business. Did he ever mention what interests him?”
“Matchmaking.”
“Excuse me?”
“Matchmaking.”
“As in opening a matchbook factory or something?”
“As in shiduchs,” Gideon smiled. “As in marriage.” He shrugged and added, “I’ll give him a reference if he wants.”
The prime minister tossed another glance towards the dancers. The song had come to an end and Cyrus used the break to take his leave. He headed over to Gideon.
Gideon told the prime minister, “Go ahead. Ask him yourself.”
Cyrus strolled up and greeted Gideon with a hearty, “Mazel tov!”
“Cyrus,” Gideon said. “This is Prime Minister ben Yosef.”
Cyrus offered his hand and said, “An honor, Sir.”
“The honor is all mine. I think I owe you a debt of gratitude.”
“No, Sir,” Cyrus said. “It is I who owe you thanks. I spoke to my friends, Sam and Sara Jeffreys, and they told me that they are now safely ensconced in the SLA, thanks to you, I believe.”
“Well, I’m not at liberty to say much, but when I learned of their righteous doings, and that they could be accused of being accessories in yours, I insisted they be persuaded to leave while the leaving was good. Gratefully, the president of the Southern Liberty Alliance is a true friend of ours, and she was happy to assist in their rather abrupt move.” He grinned mischievously. “The couple had a few questions for you, no doubt.”
“More than a few, but all in all, they took the news pretty well. They had been worried about me, as I seemed to have vanished into thin air. It was a move that they had been contemplating for years anyway, but red tape, strict emigration laws, and inertia had kept them put. They figured that they would never get another chance to leave. Moreover, they didn’t like the prospect of being on the NPF’s radar for the rest of their lives, so it wasn’t such a difficult decision.”
“So, you’re still friends?” Ephraim asked.
“They said their new home has a bigger guesthouse in back than their previous one did, and that I was welcome to rent it from them, so I guess that means no hard feelings.”
“Are you going to take them up on their offer?”
“I’m thinking about it.”
“Uh-huh. Well, you’ve been here about six months now. How are things?”
“Every day is an adventure.”
Ben Yosef chuckled. “Yes, for better or worse, here dull moments have a short life expectancy. And how have you been keeping yourself busy?”
“I’ve always wanted to study at a yeshiva in Jerusalem, though I’ll admit that I never imagined I’d come to do so under the circumstances that brought me here. HaShem works in mysterious ways.”
“Indeed, He does. Any thoughts of sticking around permanently?” Ephraim probed.
“Yes, but I’m still undecided.”
“Gideon tells me you’re interested in the matchmaking business. Is that so?”
“It’s more of a hobby at this point, I’m afraid.”
“But, surely a man of your impressive talents has unlimited possibilities.”
“We all have,” Cyrus rejoined. “Unlimited possibilities, I mean. With God, all things are possible.”
“Amen,” Ephraim said. “But I was speaking of more temporal matters.”
“Love is where the temporal and spiritual meet,” Cyrus said. “I can’t think of better work than bringing two people to that sacred intersection.”
“You’re serious about this, aren’t you?” Ephraim said, both amused and baffled.
“Love, like war, is serious business,” Cyrus answered. “And they have far more in common than most people think.”
Malkah Stern, now Malkah Baer, lovely in her white wedding gown, a diadem of flowers on her shiny black hair, which was growing out and showing the curl innate within its strands, strolled up smiling. She arrived just in time to catch Cyrus’s reply. She didn’t hear the question, but she didn’t have to.
“Thank you for coming, Sir,” she said to the prime minister. “I know you said you’d try to make it, but I confess that I didn’t think that you would. And before I forget, thank you as well for helping to spirit my girlfriend Beverly out of the NPF. She is already an assistant manager at a Mexican restaurant in the SFF, and is very happy.”
“Keeping promises is the most important promise of all,” Ephraim said. “As I told Gideon, the honor is all mine. Mazel tov. I left a small present for you on the table over there with the others. I hope you’ll find a place for it in your new home.”
“How kind. I’m sure we will, thank you. Your attendance has already made the day more memorable.”
“Don’t mention it. As you were strolling up, Cyrus here was waxing philosophical about love.”
“I caught that,” Malkah said. An impish, snickering twinkle lit her eyes. “But Cyrus doesn’t wax. He speaks from experience, and means every word of it. Don’t you, Cyrus? Go ahead, Prime Minister, ask Mr. Cyrus here about his unified field theory of love, and make sure he doesn’t skip the part about the yetzers. I’m sure you’ll find it most interesting.”
Malkah gestured towards her bubby in her wheelchair. The old woman was smiling at the dancing people and clapping daintily along with the music.
“Excuse me,” she said. “I promised my bubby that I would dance with her at my wedding.” Malkah turned and sashayed off, but not before unfurling her tongue at Cyrus.
“Captain,” I chuckled in thought mode. “I think she’s still mad at you for sticking her with your secret.”
“Apparently,” Cyrus said. “But I can’t blame her. It’s a burden that is only going to get heavier.”
“What do you mean?”
“I have an uneasy feeling that this match is only the beginning of the extraordinary adventure that is awaiting Gideon, Malkah, and their new friends. Love is a battlefield, Kohai, and like it or not, they are on the front line of a war that is far from over.”
41
Epilogue
As Cyrus indicated, none of us believed for a moment that humankind was saved. All we managed to do was to help buy you a little more time. Evil never rests; darkness oozes from a bottomless well, and chaos recognizes no master.
The Swerver swerved, and unbeknownst to you, the reverberations of Gideon and Malkah’s match have begun to ripple across the ether. The positive consequences will touch dozens of you, and then those dozens, hundreds; the hundreds, thousands; the thousands, millions. I pray that you, the reader of this chronicle, will be one such recipient.
But their success is merely a stopgap: a patch, not a solution. For every Malkah or Gideon, or Sam and Sara Jeffreys, there are numerous Alexander Rossos: corrupt, amoral, extremely powerful men and women who seek constantly to expand their authority and influence. And for every Alexander Rosso, legions of Chauncey Mattersons: weak, obeisant men and women who will blithely surrender their freedoms and their faculties for a little money, power, celebrity, or just the misbegotten sense of their own unearned moral superiority. The latter may well be the more dangerous, for the former cannot rise and achieve what they do without their servile championing.
Shooting Eros - The Emuna Chronicles: Complete Boxset: Books 1 - 3 Page 88