An Accidental Messiah: A Novel (The Dry Bones Society Book 2)

by Dan Sofer

  “Incredible,” he said. Sivan had orchestrated a powerful campaign.

  He headed for the corner office and closed the door behind him. The speaking tour had taken Moshe south today and freed up his office.

  Yosef settled behind the desk, opened his laptop, and found the spreadsheet of telephone numbers.

  So far, he had called over two hundred Menachems, Efraims, and Davids. Their responses had ranged from mild amusement to irritation. Some had shouted abuse in his ear.

  But he had to continue. How could he sit in Knesset when the Son of David was out there? Yosef would gladly vacate his number two slot in the Restart list for the Lord’s Anointed. Each day brought new questions that Yosef could not answer. In Knesset, that list of questions would only grow in number and importance.

  Yosef scrolled down the list to where he had left off, and selected the first Nehorai. As he dialed the number, the door of the office cracked open.

  Irina stood on the doorway. “Rabbi Yosef, you’re on TV.”

  “I know. I’ve seen it a dozen times.”

  “Not this one,” she said. “We didn’t put this out, I’m sure of it.” From the drawn look on her face, he knew that the broadcast was not good news.

  He put down the phone and followed her out of the office.

  His face appeared on the screen, all right, but in a photograph on the Channel Two news. The shot showed him grimacing as he got out of a car. Not the most flattering likeness.

  The female news presenter gave her viewers a scandalized smile. “More bad news for Restart, the controversial new party formerly known as the Dry Bones Society.”

  Yosef had to laugh at the blatant attack on their new brand. These media people had no shame. As she continued to speak, however, he stopped laughing and the hairs on the back of his neck stood erect like the fur of a startled cat.

  Restart was in deep trouble, and it was all his fault.

  CHAPTER 53

  Adrenaline pulsed through Moshe’s bloodstream as he waited in the wings of Turner Stadium. In the corridor that soccer teams used on their way to the field, Sivan’s amplified voice echoed from the stage outside. By now, he knew her introductory speech by heart.

  Galit squeezed his hand. “Ready to conquer the world?”

  “Beer Sheba will do for now,” he said.

  Sivan had booked the Beer Sheba Theater for his election rally a week ago. Two days ago she moved the event to the city’s main stadium. The crowds had grown with each city they visited, and the unofficial capital of southern Israel had beaten all their early attendance forecasts.

  Sivan’s voice rose as she mentioned his name, and the cheers of countless people carried into the tunnel.

  “Here we go.”

  Holding hands with Galit and little Talya, he marched outside, into the morning light, across the field, up a few steps, and onto the stage.

  Sivan stood beside the microphone, smiling and clapping. The mass of supporters roared, filling the field and grandstands. Moshe waved at them. Restart banners hung from railings. Restart placards and flags dotted the human sea like white horses. Their goodwill surged through his body and sharpened his senses. The rush was addictive. So this is how pop stars feel.

  He reached for the microphone and the cheers settled. Moshe no longer needed his cue cards. “Friends,” he said. “Thank you for joining us today. I know why you’re here. You’re here because, like us, you know we need change.” On cue, the crowd murmured agreement.

  “For too long,” he continued, “we have endured corruption and cronyism. For too long, we have let cynical politicians divide us. Religious and secular. Rich and poor. Established and immigrant. Ashkenazi and Sephardic. And, more recently, first-timers and the resurrected. The time has come to put those divisions aside and come together as one nation. The time has come to restart our society!”

  Voices cheered. Hands reached for the heavens. Flags waved. A chant rose: Re-start! Re-start! Re-start!

  Moshe lifted his hands in the air like the conductor of the largest orchestra in history. He was born for this moment. A full minute later, the chant subsided and Moshe got on with his speech. He urged them to go out and vote tomorrow and make that change a reality. The crowd broke into song again and at the climax, Moshe collected his family and walked off the stage. On the way out, he leaned over the barrier fence and shook hands with supporters.

  Reverend Adams waited in the wings. “Great job, Moshe,” he said. He gave his hand a mighty shake and clapped him on the back. “I didn’t understand a word, of course, but the crowd said it all. How are we doing?”

  Moshe turned to Sivan.

  “Over thirty thousand,” she said in English. “Our best turnout yet. At this rate we’re projecting twelve mandates.”

  “Mandates?” Rev. Adams was still new to the intricacies of Israeli politics.

  “The one hundred twenty seats in Knesset are divided up proportionally to each party according to the number of votes received. We passed the electoral threshold easily.”

  The reverend’s smile dropped. “Twelve is far from a majority.”

  “There are too many parties for that. The largest party gets to form a coalition government and divide up the ministries. At twelve seats, we’re sure to be included in the coalition.”

  “I see.” The broad, toothy smile returned.

  Moshe said, “You’re welcome to join us on our next stops, Reverend.”

  “I’m afraid I can’t. I have to check up on some of our other investments. Which reminds me—Moshe, may I have a word?”

  “Of course.”

  They stepped aside. “About our new arrivals. How far back in time are we now?”

  Moshe cleared his throat. “Eighth century, last I heard. But I’ll check with Rabbi Yosef.”

  “I see.” The reverend seemed disappointed but then brightened. “I’m glad that we’ll be well positioned by the time we do reach that critical time.” He gave Moshe a meaningful glance. “You keep that seat in Knesset warm until it’s needed.”

  “Of course.”

  Rev. Adams nodded and strode off, his briefcase-carrying assistant trying to keep up.

  Moshe exhaled a deep breath. Rabbi Yosef would not be happy with that arrangement. They’d cross that bridge when they reached it. If Jesus did show up, he might not want to sit in Knesset, and if he did, well, he was a Jewish social activist, wasn’t he? Moshe could do with all the help he could get.

  “What did he want?” Galit asked.

  “Just looking out for an old friend. What’s our next stop? Sivan?”

  Sivan held her phone to her ear and shook her head. She did not look happy.

  “We have to head back right away,” she said when she put down the phone.

  “I thought we had a few more stops in the south.”

  “Not anymore,” she said. “We have a problem, Moshe. A very big problem.”

  CHAPTER 54

  Alex parked outside the Technology Park opposite the Malcha Mall and wondered what Mandrake was up to. They had never met at this address before.

  He walked around the security boom at the entrance where a guard checked the trunks of cars before waving them in. As a pedestrian, Alex got a free pass.

  He headed for the main set of office buildings in the center of the complex. Straight paths of paving stones crisscrossed the tidy squares of trimmed grass like electronic circuits on a silicon chip. Man-sized Hebrew letters and metallic orbs littered the grounds. He weaved between the oversized sculptures, a small, vulnerable creature inside a cold, heartless machine.

  “Stay close to Karlin,” his boss had instructed when Alex had informed him of Karlin’s intention to run in the elections. “I want to know his every move.”

  And so Alex had found his excuse to stay close to Irina. She had Moshe’s ear, and what she learned she shared with Alex. He had fooled himself into believing that the arrangement would last forever.

  Maybe Mandrake would change tactics after the
elections; maybe not. But the summons to the Technology Park the day before the elections had shattered his sense of security. Once again, he had failed to predict his old friend’s next move, and his future was up in the air.

  He passed the offices of the Open University, entered Tower Four, and took the mirrored lift to the eighth floor. A sign on the wall pointed the way down the clean, carpeted corridor toward the offices of Magitek.

  Mandrake had probably chosen the name.

  He pressed the intercom button at the glass door.

  The blonde at the enamel white front desk looked up from her phone, and the door clicked open. Anna had traded her tank top for a white blouse but had kept the gum. She motioned to the side with her head. “All the way to the end. He’s waiting.”

  Alex cut through a long, wide hall of cubicles. Young men peered at computer monitors and jabbered into their headsets excitedly in English, French, and Russian, frantic worker bees in a hive of human activity ten times the size of the call center of the Dry Bones Society.

  Was this a new scam or a front for the Organization’s other criminal operations? Alex had glimpsed only the tip of the iceberg of Mandrake’s activities and, once again, he sensed the immense bulk that lurked beneath the surface.

  At the end of the hall he found a white enamel door. A security camera eyed him from above like a sphinx. He must have answered the silent riddle correctly, for the door clicked open as he neared and he walked right through.

  Mandrake stood in a plain white antechamber, a tall, bald man, the bulge of his muscles visible beneath his button-down shirt.

  “Welcome to the future, Sasha,” he said in his sonorous voice and smiled. “What do you think?”

  Alex pointed a thumb behind him at the call center. “A new trick?”

  “Binary options,” Mandrake said.

  “Never heard of it. Is it real?”

  Mandrake’s eyes glittered. “More than real—it’s magic. Money disappears in one country and reappears in another. Poof! Today, we can reach the entire world from one computer. It takes a little imagination but then again, true power has always lived here”—he tapped his forehead—“in the mind.”

  “And I thought revenues were down.”

  “Oh, no, my friend. Business has never been better. So long as people have hope for the future, they are easily parted from their money. I want to show you something.”

  His boss made for the far wall of the antechamber. Alex followed, and breathed at ease. Perhaps the visit had nothing to do with Karlin and the elections.

  Mandrake paused at a framed mirror and combed his imaginary hair. “Mirror, mirror on the wall,” he crooned.

  Whoosh!

  Alex took a hurried step back as the wall slid sideways to reveal a rectangular black portal.

  Mandrake turned to him. “Cool, hey? Facial recognition. Only the prettiest get to go inside.”

  They walked through the portal. The room beyond the hole in the wall was the negative image of the call center. Black walls, dull blue light, and silence. An array of huge screens covered the walls, similar to the video feeds on the walls of the secret office at the back of the Talpiot Bowling Center, but the number of feeds had grown substantially. Computer terminals lined the walls. The swivel chairs stood empty.

  “Our new headquarters,” Mandrake said with a flourish of his large hands. He plopped onto a circular couch in the middle of the command room, put his hands behind his head, and admired his handiwork.

  Alex joined him. “Congratulations. It’s beautiful.” Mandrake was sharing a milestone with a close friend. Alex was not like the other hands in Mandrake’s employ. They had a special relationship. Or did Mandrake make all his captains feel that way?

  Mandrake chuckled. “The bowling alley couldn’t contain us much longer. Not enough cable, for one thing. Information is the key, my friend. It flows from this building to the world and back. And the world looks to us. To Jerusalem, the Eye of the Universe.”

  The poetry was lost on Alex, but his boss didn’t explain.

  “I’m proud of you, Sasha,” he said. “You followed your instincts and the girl led us to Karlin’s inner circle. Now I think it’s time I met this Karlin.”

  Alex tried not to swallow. Meetings with his boss were not the kind one scheduled in an appointment book. The attendees could not refuse. Often, they did not survive. “When?”

  “Tomorrow.”

  He couldn’t be serious. “Tomorrow is election day.”

  “The perfect time to reap what we have sown.”

  Alex did not like the sound of that. “OK,” he said. “I’ll make the arrangements.”

  Let him have Karlin. Anyone who messed with the Organization had it coming. So long as the girl remained safe, Mandrake could do with Karlin as he wished.

  CHAPTER 55

  Irina opened the door of Moshe’s office but nobody seemed to notice. The top brass of Restart—Shmuel, Sivan, Rafi, Rabbi Yosef—huddled behind Moshe and stared at the computer screen on his desk. Judging by the pensive looks on their faces, the situation was bad. Very bad.

  She had walked over to the call center at lunch time looking for Alex, who hadn’t returned yet from his work commitments that morning, when she had noticed the anxious team through the window of the corner office. Had the campaign rally at Beer Sheba gone awry?

  “What’s happened?” she asked the room at large.

  No one answered, so she joined them behind the desk. The recording of a Channel Two newscast played on YouTube. A terrible photo of Rabbi Yosef was displayed beside a female presenter.

  “Rabbi Yosef Lev,” she said with scandalized relish, “former primary school teacher and number two on the Restart list, is an alcoholic. According to a close friend and confidant of the rabbi, he was fired recently from his teaching job, and although the school did not press formal charges, a representative confirmed that they had deemed Rabbi Lev unsuitable to work with children.”

  Irina shuddered. Rabbi Yosef—an alcoholic? Unsuitable to work with children—the phrase implied that he was a pedophile too! Never! The kind rabbi stared at the screen, shaking his head and pulling at the ends of his beard.

  The screen cut to a familiar angry mug. The subtitle read, “Avi Segal, Upward Party.”

  “These zombies are eating up the living and overrunning our country.” His mouth contorted with disgust. “Now it seems that they’re molesting our children too. They belong behind bars. That Restart has the nerve to run in the elections is an insult to the entire nation.”

  The camera cut to the news desk. The presenter’s smile widened. “More scandal for the beleaguered fledgling party—as if that wasn’t enough!” The photo of the rabbi became a shot of Moshe, his mouth open in mid-speech, his eyes half-shuttered. “Our investigative reporters have discovered that, shortly before his death, the leader of Restart, Moshe Karlin, had been thrown out of his home by his wife, who suspected him of cheating on her.”

  Sivan leaned in, clicked the mouse, and the video froze. “I know the story about Moshe is a sham. We can deny that rumor without any problems. Rabbi Yosef? Sorry, but we have to know.”

  The rabbi spread his hands in supplication. “I’ve been sober ten years.”

  “And the kids?”

  “Heaven forbid! I taught them about the Resurrection—that’s what caused the trouble with the principal. Then they fired me for working with the Society.”

  “Good. Then we’ll fight back. We’ll do a press conference right away. Shmuel, speak with Eran. Moshe and Rabbi Yosef, be ready to rehearse your messages. I think we can put a positive spin on this.”

  A positive spin? That sounded like a miracle.

  Shmuel laughed his bitter laugh. “How will you do that?” he said, mirroring Irina’s thoughts.

  “Restart is all about correcting mistakes. A recovered alcoholic makes a great poster child. Moshe, we’ll need Galit at your side when you make your statement.”

  Moshe nodded. “What�
�s the damage so far?”

  “Our telephone poll started an hour ago. Results should be in soon. Even with our denials and spin, there will be damage. This could cut our votes in half.”

  Moshe gave her a grim nod.

  “But spin will only go so far,” Sivan said. “We need to hit back and hard.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “We need dirt on Gurion. Or Avi—he’ll make an easier target. He lies and cheats in his sleep. We won’t need to dig very deep. We can start with his ex-girlfriends.”

  Moshe wriggled on his seat. “I don’t think we should go there. We’re running a clean campaign. These are exactly the kind of sleazy tricks we’re promising to root out.”

  Sivan put her hands on her hips. “Which do you prefer: a clean campaign or a winning one?”

  Moshe’s mobile phone rang. He gave them a meaningful glance and got to his feet. “Reverend Adams. Yes, I saw the news.” He paced the room.

  Don’t let him cut us off, Irina prayed. Please.

  “No, of course not,” Moshe said into the phone. “A smear campaign from our rivals. We’re preparing a response right now. I understand. Of course.”

  He put down the phone and slumped into his chair.

  “Are we still afloat?” Sivan asked.

  Moshe nodded. “For now. But our benefactors are uneasy about associating with adulterers and drunks. I’m sure he won’t like us jumping into a mud fight either. OK, everyone, battle stations.”

  “How can I help?” Irina asked him, as the others filed out of the room. Poor Moshe. She knew how much he cared for Galit, how he had struggled to win her back and clear his name. The returning accusations must really hurt, and to have them aired on television? Unbearable!

  Moshe managed a brave smile. “You’re already helping. Thanks for holding the fort. Restart couldn’t go on without you.”

  “And Samira,” she added. “Arabic is in high demand these days. We’ll get through this.”

  “I know. We’ve been through worse, right?”

  Irina left his office on a wave of renewed energy. She’d spread the word. The false rumors must be circulating in the Absorption Center by now and the Society’s morale would need a boost.