The Spear of Tyranny

by Grant R. Jeffrey

  She’d gone home and looked in her Bible, but the only reference she could find to Jacob’s trouble was a verse in Jeremiah that read, “Alas! For that day is great, so that none is like it: it is even the time of Jacob’s trouble, but he shall be saved out of it.”

  “I don’t think I’ve ever seen such a pensive look on your face.”

  The director’s voice again snapped Sarah out of her reverie. She gave him a quick smile, then folded her hands on the desk. “It’s nothing. I was just thinking about something my father said.”

  “Shall we discuss it over dinner?” As Melman extended an arm toward the doorway, Sarah glanced back and frowned. She must have been more lost in thought than she realized, for she and Melman were the only two remaining in the room. He probably thought she had been waiting for him—a message she didn’t intend to send. Over the months of Isaac’s absence, the director had kept himself at a thoughtful distance, patiently waiting for some sign . . . which she might have inadvertently just given him.

  “Thank you, but I don’t know if dinner is such a good idea.” She looked down at her notes. “I think I’ll go home and study the plan for tomorrow again. I want to be as familiar with the layout as possible.”

  “You already know the area inside and out. Maybe it’s time to give your brain a rest and think about something else.”

  Touched by his concern, Sarah gave him a smile. In the past few months, she had spent increasing amounts of time alone, and the idea of dinner with an intelligent and considerate man did appeal to her. Isaac seemed to be in constant motion these days, traveling to and from Paris, Jerusalem, Tel Aviv, and Brussels. She could count on one hand how many times in the past year they had slept in the same bed . . .

  Melman looked down at her, an easy smile playing at the corners of his mouth. An odd, faintly eager look flashed in his eyes as he straddled the chair in front of her desk and sat down to face her. “How are you, Sarah? How are you really?”

  She gave him a smile that felt false. “I’m fine. Really. I like being busy, and the job’s kept me very busy these last few months.”

  “Do you hear from Isaac often?”

  “The job keeps Isaac busy, too.” She tossed her head. “Sometimes I think he lives on a jet. Romulus has been sending him all over Europe to settle one issue or another.” She frowned. “Tomorrow’s ceremony, you know, is a high priority for Romulus and his people.”

  “That’s why we’re paying special attention. You know what the intel said—and we will keep things under control. If you’re worried, well, you shouldn’t be.”

  She closed her eyes, well aware of the warnings they had received. According to their informants in the religious community, a growing number of Jews had become convinced that Adrian Romulus was the Messiah. They had heard and confirmed that he had been born in Bethlehem, they knew he had no peer as a political and military leader, and they themselves had witnessed his role as peacemaker. He had initiated the building of the Temple, they said, and he had encouraged the rebuilding of war-torn Jerusalem. Lately certain rabbis had even hinted that Romulus was the guiding force behind Gogol’s defeat.

  Sarah pressed both hands over her eyes as they burned with weariness. “I think I ought to go home and get some rest. After all, it will soon be Shabbat, and I am a rabbi’s daughter.” She removed her hands and smiled. “Some habits die hard.”

  “But you’ve got to eat.” A spark of some indefinable emotion lit Melman’s eyes, and Sarah wavered at the sight of it. It would be so easy to go with him. The dinner would be perfectly innocent, two coworkers who had decided to share a meal. If she were a man, or he a woman, she’d accept his invitation without hesitation.

  But he was a man, and she a married woman. And even though she had managed to shrug off many of the guilt-spawning constrictions of her father’s religion, something in her warned that dinner with Melman would not be wise.

  “I’ll think I’ll pass, but thank you.” She looked up, trying to soften her refusal with a smile. “I appreciate the invitation, I really do, but . . . not tonight.”

  He paused, his eyes searching hers, then he nodded slowly. “I understand, Sarah. But when you feel the time is right, I trust you’ll let me know?”

  Sarah looked down and cleared her throat, pretending not to be affected by the flicker of interest in his intense eyes. How long had it been since Isaac looked at her that way?

  She gathered her notes and stood. “I need to go.”

  By some miracle, she found the door before the temptation to accept overtook her.

  FOURTEEN

  ISAAC WALKED STIFFLY BEHIND THE MORE SENIOR members of Romulus’s entourage, trying to keep his mind on his duty even as he searched the crowd for a glimpse of his wife. In his last communication with HQ at Tel Aviv, he had confirmed that undercover Shin Bet agents would be working the Temple dedication, so in every woman’s face he hoped for some sign of Sarah.

  But he would never find her among the estimated eighty thousand people who had jammed the Temple Mount. The third Temple’s dedication ceremony had blossomed into the event of the decade, far eclipsing the extravagant millennial parties that had marked the turn of the century. Israeli citizens and supporters of Israel from across the globe had flown to Jerusalem to celebrate this special day, and not even the Olympics could rival the event in terms of international appeal. Because the dedication had been set for Rosh Hashanah, the first day of the Jewish civil year, most of the attendees wore white, the traditional color for the holiday.

  As he waited in a VIP line to advance through the gates leading to the Temple Mount, Isaac looked around and silently congratulated the Israeli security agencies on a job well done. Aside from the occasional uniformed policeman mingling in the Jerusalem crowds, he saw no signs of overt security. Yet he knew no other event had been so closely monitored. Dignitaries and leaders of nations from across the globe had come to Jerusalem today; Egyptians, Africans, and Americans waited in the same lines and hoped for a glimpse of what would surely become a wonder of the modern world. Barbra Streisand and Larry King had taken rooms in Romulus’s hotel, and last night Isaac had stepped out to fill his ice bucket and found England’s Prince William accepting a Diet Coke from his bodyguard in the hallway.

  If he had worked on the preparations in Jerusalem, he might have been more aware of the logistics involved, but now, as he stood in line and prepared to pass his hand and ID chip beneath the security scanner, Isaac moved woodenly, feeling as though he was passing through a surreal landscape.

  After a half-hour wait in the VIP line, he reached the checkpoint and pulled his battered Universal Force ID card from his wallet. Because he often traveled in parts of the world where the Universal Chip technology had not yet been fully implemented, he had not yet had his own Universal Chip implanted. The microchip-encoded card had served him well in remote portions of Africa and China, so he’d been in no hurry to visit a Universal Force security station.

  His plastic card slipped beneath the scanner, and instantly, his official photograph, ID number, and address flashed upon the notebook-sized screen in the young UF guard’s hands. Isaac stared at the address and felt his mouth twist when he read the address—Jerusalem. It had been months since he slept in his Jerusalem residence.

  He removed the card and prepared to follow the others, but the guard stopped him. “I’m sorry, Major,” the young man said, reading Isaac’s rank from his uniform. “But no one is allowed to sit in the VIP section without the Universal Chip implanted in their hand. No exceptions allowed.”

  Isaac pulled out his wallet and began to shuffle through other identification cards. “I have a diplomatic pass that includes a holographic photograph. I have a security pass to enter the Universal Movement headquarters building in Brussels—”

  “Those won’t do, sir. I have strict orders: Absolutely no one enters the VIP area without an implanted chip.”

  To his annoyance, Isaac felt himself flush. “This is ridiculous—I am in
nearly constant contact with President Romulus and so am obviously no threat. Call your superior, please. Call Col. Meir Barak, my CO. Call the prime minister’s office, if you like—they will confirm who I am.”

  “What’s this about?”

  Isaac felt his flush deepen when he turned and saw Romulus standing beside him.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. President, sir.” Twin stains of scarlet appeared on the guard’s cheeks, but he did not back down. “My orders are not to allow anyone in without an implanted Universal Chip. The order is for your own protection.”

  A shadow of annoyance crossed Romulus’s face, then he gave Isaac a wintry smile. “My friend, the Major,” he drawled with distinct mockery, “has been very busy. And I’m afraid I am at fault for not giving him the time to receive his Universal Chip. Surely you understand.” His voice dropped to a low, melodic tone as he smiled, and something in the young man’s features began to melt.

  “So I’m sure you can see why you need to let Major Ben-David pass,” Romulus said, lifting a brow. “Don’t you agree?”

  “I agree,” the young man echoed. His eyes had gone curiously flat. “I see why I need to let Major Ben-David pass.”

  Romulus stepped aside and waved Isaac through the checkpoint with a curling gesture. “Thank you, young man.” His hand fell on the guard’s shoulder. “You shall go far in the Universal Movement.”

  As Romulus walked away with long strides, Isaac hurried to catch up. “I am truly sorry,” he said, helpless to halt his embarrassment. “I haven’t had time to get my chip, and the ID card has been sufficient in every other situation—”

  Romulus stopped him with an uplifted hand. “You do not need to explain anything to me, Major. I understand far more than you think I do.” His gaze lifted toward the VIP section. “Ah—there’s General Archer and the prime minister. Shall we join them? I believe we’re to be part of a procession or something.”

  Intensely humiliated, Isaac followed Romulus into the noisy stands.

  An hour later, well into the program surrounding the official Temple dedication, Isaac couldn’t help wondering what Solomon would have thought if he were alive to see how modern Jews celebrated their religious heritage. A kittel-clad children’s choir sang before roving video cameras as their images appeared on screens scattered around the Temple Mount and positioned at strategic locations within the Old City. A marching band paraded around the Court of the Gentiles playing traditional Hebrew music while fireworks lit the night sky with pyrotechnic delights.

  Political speeches followed the more secular entertainments. The prime minister spoke at length and ended his speech in tears. Representatives from Jordan, Egypt, and Saudi Arabia brought golden gifts to be used in Temple service. The American president read an enigmatic poem by Maya Angelou. One-hundred-year-old Frieda Gertz, one of the oldest Holocaust survivors, spoke of unity and survival and the urgent need for peace. Then Elijah Reis stood and read a congratulatory message from Adrian Romulus.

  Isaac blinked in surprise when Romulus himself did not stand to speak, but apparently he was content to allow his assistant to claim the spotlight. Isaac found the gesture oddly touching. Romulus had been the driving force behind the rebuilding of the Temple, but at this shining hour he was willing to remain out of the spotlight. Such humility was rare, especially in politics.

  When the secular speeches had concluded, the newly installed Kohanim priests, dressed in white linen robes constructed by a unique six-ply linen thread, walked slowly around the Temple proper, each of them lifting their hands in the split-fingered salute used to symbolize the open windows of heaven through which God poured his blessings. Isaac rubbed his hand over his face as they lifted their hands toward the crowd. The gesture was symbolic, but every time he saw it he couldn’t help but think of the old Star Trek episodes where Mr. Spock had raised his hand in the Vulcan gesture for “live long and prosper.” Someone from that show—per haps even Leonard Nimoy himself—must have lifted the symbol from the Rosh Hashanah ceremony.

  After the priests’ procession came the musicians, several of whom carried shofarim, the curved rams’ horns traditionally blown upon the Feast of Trumpets. As the drums pounded a pulse-quickening rhythm, the musicians blew the horns traditionally said to awaken sinners and confuse Satan.

  The youthful high priest walked at the end of the procession. Like the other priests, he wore a white linen robe, but there the similarities ended. In addition to the linen robe, the high priest wore a square breastplate made of gold, set with four rows of precious stones, three per row, each inscribed with the name of one of the twelve tribes. Beneath the breastplate, he wore the ephod, an embroidered vestment worn like a sandwich board over the front and back and clasped at the shoulder by onyx stones. Beneath the ephod, he wore a sleeveless cloak of deep, majestic blue and fringed with alternating pomegranates and golden bells. Around his waist he wore the high priest’s avnet belt, dyed with the blue dye known as tchelet. The unique dye, which came from a sea snail once thought extinct, had recently been obtained from divers who discovered that the snail had not been obliterated after all.

  Isaac narrowed his eyes to trap a sudden rush of tears as the young man came closer. Upon the high priest’s head rested a crown of pure gold, the tsitz zahav tahor. Blue tchelet thread attached the crown to a linen turban, and a gold plate hung from the front by a blue ribbon. Though he could not see the engraving upon the plate, Isaac knew what it said: Holiness to the Lord.

  Immediately after the high priest passed and took his seat in the special section reserved for the Kohanim, the prime minister of Israel stood and walked to the podium in the Court of the Gentiles.

  “Citizens of Israel and the world,” he said, scanning the crowd before focusing on the television camera before him, “it is with great joy that we welcome you to the dedication of the third Temple of Israel.”

  A great roar arose, vibrating the aluminum footrest beneath the soles of Isaac’s shoes. The crowd around him rose in unison and merged into a sea of swaying bodies in white. Glancing down the row of seats, Isaac was surprised to see that even Romulus, Reis, and Archer had stood and lifted their hands in exultation. When the spontaneous moment of celebration had passed, the prime minister took his seat, and Rabbi Avidan Joseph, one of the most outspoken leaders of the Temple movement, walked to the podium and placed his hands upon the lectern.

  “Clap your hands, all you nations!” Joseph’s voice rumbled through the speakers as his eyes peered out from beneath his prayer shawl. “Shout to God with the voice of triumph! For Yahweh Most High is awesome. He is a great King over all the earth. He subdues nations under us, and peoples under our feet. He chooses our inheritance for us, the glory of Jacob whom he loved.”

  For a moment, Isaac wondered why Baram Cohen wasn’t leading the ceremony, then common sense supplied the answer. Though Rabbi Cohen had been the first to hear of Romulus’s plans to instigate the rebuilding of the Temple, he was probably among those who had refused to accept the Universal Chip. Avidan Joseph, on the other hand, was an eminent leader and more liberal in his opinions.

  As the shofarim blared, Isaac recognized the Scripture passage as one he’d heard a hundred times in his youth. Joseph was reading Psalm 47, traditionally recited seven times during the Rosh Hashanah service.

  Rabbi Joseph continued when the shofarim fell silent,

  “God has gone up with a shout,

  Yaweh with the sound of a trumpet.

  Sing praises to God, sing praises;

  sing praises to our King, sing praises.

  For God is the King of all the earth.

  Sing praises with understanding.

  God reigns over the nations.

  God sits on his holy throne.

  The princes of the peoples are gathered together,

  the people of the God of Abraham.

  For the shields of the earth belong to God.

  He is greatly exalted!”

  The crowd erupted in an ecstatic, rip
ping mayhem of noise that made the very air vibrate. Isaac marveled at it and felt his breath catch in his throat as he heard his own heart pounding. Was this religious or nationalistic fervor? Perhaps it was enthusiasm resulting from pure and simple relief. As a people, they had come far and surmounted terrible obstacles, but today they had rebuilt what the ages had seemed intent upon destroying.

  Rabbi Joseph waited until the sound faded before he continued. “When Ezra the priest brought the Law before an assembly like this one,” he said, his dark gaze sparkling on the screens where the video cameras captured his image, “the people wept because during their exile they had not kept the Law of God. Many of them had completely forgotten the Lord their God. Many of you may feel like weeping today because you have forgotten that Rosh Hashanah is the beginning of Yomin Noroim, the Days of Awe. These coming days are concerned with the life of the individual, with religious feelings and inner probings. Unlike other nations, we do not greet the New Year with noisemakers and party hats, though our hearts are overflowing with gratitude for the Temple. Instead we turn our thoughts toward God; we bend our hearts in serious contemplation and contrition. But we feel awe, not terror. We realize that God is understanding, merciful, and loving.”

  As Rabbi Joseph stepped back to take his seat, a single shofar blower stood and lifted the ram’s horn. A thousand flashbulbs sparked the night as he sounded the ancient notes of the tekiah, a long, clear note, then the teruah, nine very short notes, and finally the shevarim, three short notes. And as Isaac stood there, momentarily lost in wonder, he was overcome with the feeling that he was a link in an unbroken chain of Jews who had stood beneath a night sky and the sound of the shofar. The melodious sound seemed to stretch from antiquity into the depths of his soul. From far away, a voice from the distant past whispered, The shields of the earth belong to God; he is greatly exalted.