The Spear of Tyranny

by Grant R. Jeffrey

  For a moment Isaac forgot where and what he was. Thoughts of Sarah, Romulus, and his task vanished as his mind filled with thoughts of the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, the Holy One whose glory had once filled a Temple very much like this one.

  And then he saw it. The ark of the covenant, carried on staves by eight of the Kohanim, appeared on the video screens. The priests, all dressed in spotless white linen, were outside the Temple Mount, walking in the center of a security escort. The cameras picked up the tracks of tears on the faces of men and women and children as the ark passed, leaving a trail of reverence and awe in its wake.

  The silent air around Isaac vibrated, the quiet filled with wonder. Isaac glanced at Romulus and Reis, who sat farther down the row, and saw that neither man watched the video screen. Both men had their gazes fixed on the open doorway of the sanctuary, through which the ark would eventually pass. Isaac studied the sanctuary for a moment, wondering if they had spied something amiss, but nothing about the structure seemed unusual.

  Then the Kohanim procession moved inside the Temple Mount, eliciting spontaneous sounds of prayer and blessing from the people they passed. Riding high upon the shoulders of the priests, the two cherubim atop the golden artifact seemed to float through the crowd before it disappeared into the Court of the Priests. Isaac knew the Kohanim would pass through the Court of the Priests, enter the sanctuary, and then place the ark on the foundation stone in the Holy of Holies.

  Like all the others, he waited breathlessly for a long moment, then felt his skin tingle when a cloud of white smoke billowed out of the sanctuary doorway. “Look! The glory has returned!” a man behind him cried. The cry was caught and repeated, and soon the entire crowd was shouting praise to the God whose glory had filled the Temple.

  At that moment Romulus looked at Reis, and the peripheral movement caught Isaac’s attention. The president gave his chief assistant a cynical look filled with derision, and Isaac suddenly wondered if what appeared to be a miracle was only a cheap theatrical trick. Could the Kohanim have arranged such a thing? He doubted it. But one of the more liberal rabbis might have been willing to rig something, believing that a man-made miracle might be excusable if it stimulated faith among those who were stubbornly secular.

  He leaned forward and caught General Archer’s gaze. His brow lifted the question as he silently mouthed the word: Smoke?

  Archer’s round face creased in an indulgent, patronizing smile.

  Rabbi Joseph stepped onto the podium again, and Isaac noted that he gripped the lectern with trembling hands. “Know this, O Israel!” he said, his voice ringing over the sound system. “The Holy One, blessed be his name, is not limited to dwelling in the Temple; he still lives in heaven! Not even all of heaven can contain him!”

  The crowd roared again, and the rabbi held up a hand for silence. “I pray,” he said, his voice quieter, “that our nation will remain true to HaShem, may his name be forever praised, and that the Holy One will forgive us when we sin. I pray he will not let us be totally destroyed by the wars brought on by our own sinfulness.”

  The murmurs of approval ceased, and Isaac felt jarred by the abrupt change in mood of the audience. Though this crowd was eager to celebrate, they didn’t want to hear about sin and war and judgment. They had been primed for peace and victory and success.

  “I pray, too,” Rabbi Joseph pushed onward, “for the foreigners who so graciously aided us in the rebuilding of our Temple. I pray that the Master of the Universe will extend grace to any foreigner who expresses faith in him.”

  As the crowd around the Temple Mount watched live and by closed-circuit television, Rabbi Avidan Joseph fell to his knees, then lifted both hands and gripped the edges of the prayer shawl over his head. “Barukh atah HaShem, Eloheynu, melekh ha-olam,” he prayed. “May your eyes be open to the supplication of your servant and to the supplication of your people Israel, to listen to them whenever they cry to you. For you did separate them from among all the peoples of the earth, to be your inheritance, as you spoke by Moses your servant, when you brought our fathers out of Egypt, Lord Yahweh.”

  When he had concluded his prayer, the aged rabbi stood and spread his hands toward heaven. In a voice that set the microphones to squealing, he shouted, “Praise be to the Lord, who has given rest to his people Israel, just as he promised! And may these words of mine, which I have prayed before the Lord, be near to the Lord our God day and night, that he may uphold the cause of his servant and the cause of his people Israel according to each day’s need, so that all the peoples of the earth may know that the Lord is God and there is no other!”

  Restored to a supportive mood, the crowd cheered again, the roar rising and cresting in a tidal wave of sound. While Isaac applauded with the more subdued spectators in the VIP section, the priests of Israel led several cattle and sheep out from their holding pens and reinstituted the ancient practice of sacrifice unto the Lord.

  As Isaac watched, fascinated, Elijah Reis reached out to tug on his sleeve. “Quite gory, this,” he shouted, striving to be heard above the crowd. “Is it really necessary?”

  “I suppose so,” Isaac shouted back, wondering if any rock concert had ever equaled this level of sound.

  “We’re going to dinner.” Reis jerked his thumb toward Romulus, who was watching the sacrifice with an odd look of amusement. “Will you join us?”

  “If you don’t mind,” Isaac said, leaning closer to reach Reis’s ear, “I’d like to take some time to visit my wife.”

  Reis nodded in understanding, then nudged Romulus. On cue, the president and his entourage stood and began to file out of the row in which they’d been seated.

  “Look! It’s President Romulus!” a woman behind them shouted.

  Isaac automatically reached for the weapon he hadn’t been allowed to carry, but Romulus did not appear to be alarmed by the woman’s enthusiasm. He waved to the throng behind him, eliciting cheers and applause as he made his way through the bleachers. Soon the crowd inside the courtyard had picked up a chant: Rom-u-lus! Rom-u-lus!

  “Adrian Romulus!” A young man wearing black trousers, a white shirt, and a generous kippa—the uniform of the haredim—stumbled through the crowd and fell to his knees at Romulus’s feet. “We ought to be honoring you, sir! You made this possible! You are the leader who restored our Temple and vanquished our enemies!”

  “Thank you, son,” Romulus said, gently lifting the young man to his feet as flashbulbs lit the scene with flashes of white light. “Rejoice in this hour, but leave me to my other work. My time is not yet come.”

  And then, like a European prince bidding adieu to his subjects, Adrian Romulus waved and moved toward the exit while the mob chanted his praise.

  FIFTFTEEN

  ISAAC ARRIVED AT THE HOUSE LONG BEFORE SARAH DID. He wasn’t surprised, given the traffic and the security issues surrounding the Temple dedication, so he used his still-shiny key to let himself in, then sat in the front room, watching television. Scenes from the glorious Temple event formed a collage of images and sounds that flashed across his consciousness until he fell asleep.

  The sound of a key in the lock roused him from a shallow doze. Isaac sat up and scrubbed his hands through his hair, trying to throw off the lingering wisps of sleep. He hadn’t seen Sarah in over two months, and he didn’t want to appear bleary-eyed and drowsy when they met again . . .

  The sound of a woman’s soft laughter and a man’s baritone growl brought him instantly awake. He recognized the female voice as Sarah’s, but who was the man?

  A rectangle of light flooded the foyer as the door opened. A man stepped into the house, his hand upon the key in the knob, and Sarah followed. As she fumbled for the light switch and flipped it on, Isaac realized he could either make his presence known or remain silent and witness something he wasn’t prepared to face.

  “Sarah?” He was dismayed to hear an edge of desperation in his voice.

  Surprise blossomed on Sarah’s face as she peered into the
shadows. The gloom had suited his mood, so only the flickering gray light of the television lit the front room. “Husband? Is that you?”

  Standing, Isaac moved forward and recognized Danny Melman, Sarah’s supervisor. The man his father had warned him about. Had his father been right? Were Sarah and Melman more than coworkers?

  Isaac slipped his hands into his trouser pockets and stepped into the light. “I was hoping to catch you before I had to leave again,” he said, wishing he could think of something more profound. He had a thousand things he wanted to ask her, but he couldn’t say any of those things with Melman standing there.

  Sarah’s lips twitched with amusement. “So why were you sitting here in the dark?”

  Isaac gave Melman a brief, distracted glance and tried to smile. “The dark was . . . peaceful.”

  “Well, Sarah, I’ll be on my way,” Melman said, avoiding Isaac’s gaze. “I’ll see you tomorrow at the debriefing. Rest well.”

  “Thank you, Danny.”

  Since when had their friendship risen to the level of first-name familiarity? Isaac said nothing as Sarah closed the door and slipped out of her coat. She wore a long skirt and a long-sleeved blouse covered by a vest, and he knew she probably wore Kevlar beneath it. He shouldn’t confront her with his suspicions in the aftermath of what had to be one of the most stress-filled days of her life, but when else could he speak to her?

  “So,” he heard himself saying, “does Danny Melman now have a key to our house? You didn’t even give me a key to the new lock until I asked for it.”

  Sarah threw him a reproachful look as she unbuttoned her vest. “He doesn’t have a key. He was being a gentleman and unlocked the door for me. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m exhausted.”

  Isaac accepted this news in silence, then stepped back to let her pass. “So,” he continued, following her toward the bedroom, “does he often give you a ride home? I thought you preferred to take the bus.”

  “I haven’t taken the bus in months, Isaac.” Moving to her bureau, she unfastened the remainder of the buttons, then tossed her vest onto the bed. In one swift movement she unbuttoned the blue cotton blouse, pulled it off, and tossed it onto the bed, too. Isaac watched, but Sarah halted as if she had just realized that she was undressing in front of a stranger.

  Clad in a formfitting bulletproof bodysuit that extended from her neck past the waistband of her full skirt, she crossed her arms over her middle and turned to face him. “Any other questions I can answer for you?”

  Isaac pressed his lips together. A thousand questions bubbled beneath the surface of his consciousness. Did she still love him? Did they still have a marriage? Was any part of their relationship worth saving, or had he lost her completely?

  He lowered his gaze. He might be swatting at monsters that didn’t exist. Trouble was, he hadn’t been around long enough to know how things stood between him and Sarah. They needed time together, time to share their thoughts and fears, time to heal the wounds that had been festering for long months.

  As he opened his mouth to whisper her name, the cell phone at his belt chirped softly. Sarah’s gaze immediately dropped to it.

  “Your master calls,” she said. As Isaac unsnapped the phone, she turned and moved into the bathroom, closing the door behind her.

  Isaac unsnapped the phone and pressed the receive key, then listened to the brief message from one of Romulus’s aides. The president and his party had finished dinner, the aide explained, and the jet would depart Jerusalem in an hour. Romulus wanted to discuss a proposal for the Israeli prime minister en route to Paris, so he had arranged for a car to fetch Isaac. The vehicle was on its way and would arrive momentarily.

  Isaac pressed the off key, then moved toward the bathroom door and tested the doorknob. Locked. Closing his eyes, he gently rapped on the door with one knuckle.

  “Sarah,” he called, hoping she could hear over the soft sound of running water, “I have to go. But I’ll be back. And I love you.”

  If she heard, she gave no response.

  Sarah hesitated, one hand beneath the running faucet, as Isaac murmured his farewell. She waited until she heard the slam of the door, then she cut off the water and pulled her robe from the hook behind the door. Wrapping the robe around her, she hurried to the front window and watched as Isaac stepped into a black sedan. The door closed; the sedan moved away.

  Just like that, he had come and gone. Without warning, he had appeared in her house; without hesitation, he had left her alone when Romulus rang. And he suspected her of unfaithfulness! His suspicions about her and Director Melman had been evident in his eyes and in his words. How dare he suggest that she had been disloyal! She had struggled to maintain a marriage that had gone as cold as a corpse when she could have walked away at any time.

  She stepped into the living room and sank into a chair, her mind thick with fatigue and clouded with memories. Why had he come back? To keep tabs on his worldly possessions or to ruminate about old times? And why had he behaved like a jealous husband? He knew Melman was only a coworker.

  Running her hand through her hair, she mentally replayed the bedroom scene. Before leaving, he had said he loved her—at least that’s what she thought he said. Did he really love her? How could he? Sometimes she felt as though they scarcely knew each other anymore.

  She pressed her hand to her forehead as another thought rose in her brain. Any other modern woman would divorce him. But could she walk away from Isaac? Perhaps, if they’d been fighting or if he had been abusive, but she could never end their marriage on the basis of indifference. She’d have to get to know him again at some point and see if his association with Romulus and the Universal Movement had changed him. If his ambitions had grown too grand or this little house too cramped, perhaps he would want to end the marriage . . . if he could divorce her without damaging his pride.

  Achy and exhausted, she brought her hand to her temple. What had happened to them? Her world used to revolve around Isaac. Her days began with his kisses and ended with his arms around her in the sanctuary of their bedroom. But he no longer needed her; he no longer wanted to come home. Moving in lofty circles of influence and position, he spent his days with prime ministers and presidents and kings and counselors . . .

  He no longer needed her. He no longer wanted her. He had placed his future and his passion on the altar of world peace, and, perhaps unwittingly, he had placed her there, too. She was a sacrificial lamb, and she knew it.

  Her heart had been dead these past months. Why, then, did it still ache?

  SIXTEEN

  29 months later

  PEERING OUT THE WINDOW OF THE JET, ISAAC DECIDED that from 35,000 feet aloft, Europe looked more like a computer simulation than an actual landmass. He pulled the shade on the window and closed his eyes, feeling his attention drift away on a tide of weariness. In the nearly two and a half years since the Temple dedication, he had spent more time in the air than on the ground. He had traveled throughout Europe, Africa, and the United States, all the while seeking to portray Adrian Romulus as the great peacemaker who wanted only the best for the world and its people. As the world suffered under the blistering sun and relentless drought, Isaac urged starving people to be patient and wait for the rains that would surely come. Sometimes they believed him. Sometimes they did not.

  He closed his eyes. He needed time to relax, to clear his mind, and to redirect his energies. Trouble was, every time he consciously turned his thoughts from Romulus, he tended to think of Sarah, whom he hadn’t seen in over two years. They had not parted on good terms when he last saw her in Jerusalem, and in a series of curt phone calls they had decided upon a trial separation. He would live at the B&B in Paris; she would keep the house in Jerusalem. He waited now for word that she wanted to divorce him.

  At the end of each day, he was a little surprised to discover that she hadn’t.

  “Major Ben-David.” Opening his eyes with an effort, Isaac looked up to see Elijah Reis standing in the aisle. “Ad
rian would like to see you.”

  “Now?”

  Reis’s eyes flashed a warning as the stupid question slipped from Isaac’s lips. “Now,” Reis said.

  Isaac gathered his remaining strength and stood, then pulled his coat from the overhead bin and slipped it on. Reis was already moving toward Romulus’s private office at the back of the jet.

  Reis paused outside the door and gestured toward it. “Go on in. Adrian is meditating, but he specifically asked to see you.”

  Isaac came to an abrupt halt in the aisle, his heart jumping in his chest. Romulus rarely met with him alone. He lifted a brow, telegraphing a silent question to Reis, who only smiled and jerked his thumb toward the door. “Go on in.”

  Isaac reached out and felt the cool metal handle under his palm. Clearing his throat to announce his arrival, he opened the door and stepped into the private cabin.

  The office was surprisingly luxurious—compact, but with every comfort a traveling executive could wish. A desk occupied the flat back wall, while a long couch sprinkled with pillows filled the curving wall along the side of the plane. Another small door stood at the very back of the cabin, undoubtedly leading to a private rest room, and a pair of tufted leather chairs and an oak table occupied the center space.

  Romulus sat in one of the chairs, his posture relaxed, his eyes closed. His arms rested upon leather armrests while his palms faced the ceiling and his fingers curled naturally upward. One leg was crossed over the other at the knee in the simple, confident posture of an American businessman.

  At the metallic sound of the door latch, Romulus’s heavily lashed eyes fluttered without opening, then a smile lifted his lips. “Welcome, Isaac Ben-David,” he said, his words running together in a velvet sound. “Sit down. Make yourself . . . comfortable.”