by Dan Sofer
Irina’s phone rang.
“Any luck?” Rabbi Yosef asked on the speaker. The hubbub of voices in the background made his voice hard to hear.
“Nothing yet,” she answered. “How are we doing over there?”
“It’s a miracle!”
She glanced at Alex, an excited twinkle in her eye. “More mandates?”
“We’re twenty seats ahead of Upward.”
Twenty seats!
Irina’s mouth dropped open.
“Everyone’s asking for Moshe,” Yosef said. “I can’t hold them off much longer.”
Irina ended the call. “This is amazing,” she said, but then her enthusiasm turned to worry. “We have to find Moshe.”
“You’re right,” Alex said. Had Mandrake seen the results? Would that change his plan? With Irina sitting beside him, Alex had no way of contacting his boss.
Irina’s phone rang again. “Anything?”
“Yes,” Rafi’s voice said. “A driver saw a similar van heading west on Golomb, toward the city outskirts.”
“We’re on it.” She ended the call. “Do you think they left the city?”
“Anything’s possible.” Alex doubled back onto Pierre Koenig and headed west. “It’s worth a shot.”
Ready or not, he thought, here we come.
CHAPTER 84
Eli dashed out of the large steel elevator and onto the fourth floor of the Shaare Zedek Medical Center. Memories flooded his mind at every step. Racing down the linoleum corridor in his wheelchair, Noga calling after him to slow down. At the water cooler in the kitchenette, eavesdropping while Moti, the therapeutic clown, had dissected Eli’s psyche for the entertainment of a young nurse.
Nut case, the carrot-haired clown had said of Eli. Trapped. They had pitied him, and he had absorbed their worldview. Now Eli had come full circle.
He reached the neurology ward, half expecting to bump into Noga in her white cloak.
Eliana, the large Russian head nurse, stood at the information desk and looked over the shoulder of Nadir, the Arab nurse with the white hijab. They both looked up.
“Eli,” Eliana said, smiling. “Welcome home.” She glanced at the battered bouquet of roses in his hand—only three of the flowers remained intact—and gave him a bemused smile. “Is everything all right?” If Noga had spoken with her, she had not mentioned their recent split.
“Did Noga come by today?”
“No. Was she supposed to?”
The premonition reared its horrible head again. Noga was in danger. He had to find her right away.
“I think so. She left her phone at our place, and I haven’t been able to reach her. Can you call me if you see her?”
Bemusement turned into concern, and he knew what she must be thinking: surely Noga could call him if she wanted?
“We had a fight,” he confessed. “And I owe her an apology.”
Eliana handed him a notepad and he jotted down his number. “I’ll call if I see her.”
“Thanks.”
Eli walked over to room 419C, his old room. Oren’s bed lay bare and empty. Don’t delay, he had said, urging Eli to make amends with Noga. His words were all the more relevant today.
Eli walked past the plastic divider curtain. A young girl lay in his old bed by the window, eating her hospital dinner on a wheeled tray, a white sanitary bandage wrapping her forehead. She looked up at him and paused mid-chew.
“Hi there,” he said.
“Hello.”
“This used to be my bed.”
She blinked at him, probably wondering what the stranger with the black leather jacket and fistful of abused roses wanted. He pointed at the window with the steamed glass. “Have the crows come to visit yet?”
She shook her head. Of course not. The cruel birds had carried a message for him, a message that now, two months later, he finally understood. “If they do,” he said, and he winked, “say hi for me.”
Nadir sat alone behind the nurses’ desk when he returned. He leaned against the desk. Where to now? Noga had borrowed Sarit’s flash drive. She must have wanted to get a fresh copy of her research results in order to move forward with her mission without him. But the nurses hadn’t seen her.
He cleared his throat. “Nadir, Noga came here a few weeks ago, right?”
“Yes. She came to collect her data.”
“Did you help her with that?”
“Oh, no. She just stopped by on her way to the Medical Genetics Institute. All the data goes through there.”
Bingo! “And where is that?”
She pointed upward. “Fifth floor.”
Eli raced down the corridor to the elevators and pressed the button. After five frustrating seconds, he pushed through the door to the stairwell. He took the stairs two at a time, losing another rose in the process, and burst onto the fifth-floor corridor, gulping air like a drowning fish.
Following the signs, he rounded a corner and marched down a passageway of glass walls. The desks and counters within sat motionless in the gloom. When, finally, he reached the entrance of the Medical Genetics Institute, the glass doors held fast. A handwritten note taped to the door explained that the Institute had closed early for Election Day.
If Noga had been there, he had missed her. But why hadn’t she returned to Sarit’s apartment, and why hadn’t she called?
Outside, a siren sounded—the all too familiar wail of an ambulance. The noise grew louder. A second wail joined the first, then a third.
The remaining flowers dropped to the linoleum floor.
Oh, God, no! Not Noga!
CHAPTER 85
“Four in a row!” Mandrake’s voice cried, as another knife twanged in the wooden board, inches from the tender skin of Moshe’s right armpit. He had flinched on impact, but less than before. The unrelenting tension had drained his adrenaline and numbed his reflexes.
The pain in his chest had become a constant pressure at his core. A warmth spread over his crotch, ran down his legs, and trickled onto the floor.
Let it be over. Kill me already.
“Vitaly,” Mandrake said. “Let him have a look.”
Feet shuffled, then fingers lifted the blindfold from Moshe’s head.
Moshe blinked against the spotlight. Mandrake smiled at him. His bald head glistened under the fluorescents. “Look, Moshe.” Moshe obliged. The black handles of large daggers protruded from the target on either side his head, under his right armpit, and between his legs. The last balloon hovered to his left, by his heart.
Galit sagged forward on her chair, her head hanging limp—had she passed out? Avi looked away, the twisted cloth digging into his mouth.
“We make a great team, Moshe, you and I, don’t you agree? Think of what we can accomplish together, if only you’d let me help you.”
Mandrake’s glance dropped to Moshe’s feet and he wrinkled his nose. Moshe glanced at the cement floor. A reeking puddle spread beneath him.
“Aw, Moshe. Did you pee your pants? It’s OK. I won’t tell anyone. This will be our little secret. Soon, it won’t matter.” He lifted another knife in the air. “One more to go, Moshe. What do you say—should we risk it? Is five in a row too much to hope for? Are we pushing our luck too far? What the hell.” All concern emptied from his voice. “You’re mine, Moshe, do you understand? Your life belongs to me.” He wiped his brow on his sleeve, and smiled again. “Feel the tension—huh?”
Moshe closed his eyes. Let it be over. Start the countdown.
But Mandrake wanted to chat. “I can’t lie to you, Moshe. I’m nervous. Look at my hand. Open your eyes.” Moshe did as he was told. Mandrake held up his hand. The fingers shook. “This is scary. Too scary. I can’t bear to watch it either.” He rested the knife on the leather case, pulled a red kerchief from his pocket, and tied it over his eyes. “There, that’s better.” He felt around for the knife, found it, and raised it in the air by the tip. He faced a point off to Moshe’s left.
A sudden gust of optimism lifted Mos
he’s spirits. He might survive this throw after all.
“Boss,” Vitaly said.
Mandrake lifted his blindfold. “Ha! Silly me. Thanks, Vitaly.” He corrected his position, lifted the knife, then rolled the blindfold back into position. “Help our friend with his blindfold again, won’t you?”
The thug pulled the blindfold over Moshe’s eyes, and the world went dark again.
This is it. He’s done toying with me. It’s all over now.
“Three!”
Moshe swirled wine in a glass at his fortieth birthday party. Among the buffet tables in the Italian restaurant at the Botanical Gardens, he searched for Galit. He wanted to raise a toast to her. He stepped outside onto the terrace overlooking the pond, and in the still night air, he heard her voice.
“Two!”
Walking down a dirt path through the trees and bushes, he saw them. The man leaned against a tree, his back to Moshe. A high-heeled foot ran up against the man’s leg, exposing a woman’s leg as it pressed against his thigh.
His wineglass cracked on the stony ground, and the couple broke apart like a flock of startled birds.
“Galit!” His voice was distant, incredulous. Galit stepped away from Avi and straightened her dress, a mixture of surprise and defiance in her large, pretty eyes.
“One!”
No! Pain exploded in his ribcage, and he clutched at his chest. As the cheating couple gaped, he collapsed to the ground, and the world faded to black.
CHAPTER 86
Eli rushed out the doors of the Emergency Department and onto the street. Hospital staff in luminous yellow vests pulled stretchers from the ambulances and wheeled them inside. Eli glanced at the bloodied civilians as they passed: an old man; a little girl; a young woman with brown hair. Noga was not among them.
“Out of the way!” a paramedic shouted and Eli stepped back, trying to identify the wounded at a distance.
“What happened?” he asked, but received no answers from the busy medical staff. His premonitions had given him little to work with. Thin Voice, I need you now! But the psychic silence continued.
The third ambulance emptied. Had they already wheeled Noga inside? Or did her absence mean the worst—that she was beyond help, her remains collected for interment by the bearded volunteers of Zaka?
He passed the security check to reenter the building and pushed through the double doors of the Emergency Room.
“You’re not allowed in here,” a nurse said.
“I’m looking for my girlfriend, Noga Shemer. Mid-twenties, dark hair.”
The nurse shook her head. “You’ll have to wait outside.”
Eli retreated. He paced the corridor while medical staff bustled around him.
He pulled at his hair. You fool. After all the warnings and hints the Boss sent you, you let her slip through your fingers, and now it’s too late!
A familiar face exited ER, severe-looking and graying at the temples.
Eli ran to him. “Dr. Stern!”
The head of neurology turned at the mention of his name, and his eyebrows rose. “Mr. Eli Katz. You got here fast.”
The doctor had treated Eli after his accident, and he knew Noga well. He would have recognized her among the injured. Eli tried to divine her fate from his pale blue eyes.
“Did you see Noga?”
Dr. Stern’s eyes narrowed with confusion. “I told her today that I wanted to speak with you, although I didn’t think you’d visit so soon. To be honest, I wasn’t sure you’d respond at all.”
The doctor had taken a very close interest in Eli’s case, especially his speedy recovery and delusions, and now was probably not the time to mention his recent relapse. But the doctor had spoken with Noga.
“Is she OK?”
“Yes, of course.” Dr. Stern followed Eli’s glance to the double doors of the Emergency Room. “Chain accident on Road One,” he said. “Horrible mess. A bus and seven cars, I believe, but there’s no work for me there.”
Noga didn’t drive. Had she tried to leave the city by bus? The scenario didn’t fit.
“She’s not in there?”
“No. She stopped working here a month ago, as you know.”
“When did you see her?”
“An hour ago, at the Genetics Institute.”
Noga had arrived at the hospital in one piece. Thank God for that. She had bypassed the neurology ward and headed straight to the Medical Genetics Institute. But where was she now?
“She was upset,” Dr. Stern continued. “The Institute had deleted her data, and she had to resubmit her request.” He brightened. “Shall we talk in my office?”
“Another time, Doctor,” Eli said.
He ran down the linoleum corridor, weaving between nurses and anxious civilians. Noga had been at the hospital very recently—and she might still be there. There was one place he hadn’t checked.
CHAPTER 87
Noga slumped on the bench in the gloomy twilight of the secret garden, and shook her head at the ironies of life. Two months ago, she had met with Eli in the grassy courtyard of the hospital, expecting a declaration of love. Instead, she had received a deranged proclamation from Elijah the Prophet.
While he ranted and raved about the End of Days—and the special role he and Noga were to play in the imminent apocalypse—a part of her had died inside. She had fallen for a madman. Feeling stupid and naïve, she had stormed out, determined to prove him wrong.
And she had succeeded. The mountain of evidence she had gathered for the Eli Katz of flesh and blood had buried the immortal prophet in the depths of Eli’s subconscious. In return, she got her dream boyfriend, a life of luxury, and a carefree future. There was only one small problem: she had been wrong.
If the Jewish Arabs outed by her research data had failed to convince her, the zombies on the streets left no doubt. The world she knew was ending, and now that she actually needed Elijah, he was nowhere to be found; she had killed him.
If she had accepted his story that day in the secret garden, she might have saved everyone a lot of trouble, and maybe Eli wouldn’t have turned into the selfish jerk who cared about nothing, not even her.
Noga sucked in air and her body trembled. She couldn’t do this alone. Rabbi Lev had laughed her down, and soon, if she submitted the paper Hannah wanted her to write, the academic world would do the same. But she wouldn’t crawl back to Eli either. To him she was a pretty face, a shiny trophy on his mantelpiece. He cared about her in a self-interested way—seeing her as an extension of himself—and not enough to make him change course. Not again.
The handle of the door squeaked. Noga sat up and wiped the tears from her cheeks. She didn’t want the pity of strangers. But the intruder was no stranger.
Eli stood there, rectangles of amber light from the hospital rooms above projecting over his leather jacket. Her body tensed. Had he come to drag her back to his mantelpiece? In his hand he held a single, bent rose.
He drew near, sat down beside her on the bench, and looked up at the stars.
“You were right,” he said. “I should have told you about the Resurrection. At first, I thought I was hallucinating. Then, I was afraid. If I was Elijah without my powers, I was useless.”
Was this the truth, or was he telling her what he thought she wanted to hear? She said, “I’m not going to change my mind.”
“I know.”
“I’m not going to back down.”
“That’s OK,” he said. “I’ll help you.”
She studied his eyes. “I thought you didn’t care about humanity.”
He stared ahead at the flowerbed. “I did, at first. But the centuries passed, and the world didn’t move any closer to redemption. There were hopeful eras, sure, but they always ended badly. Little by little, I dried up inside. Humanity would never be worthy, so why bother? To hell with them all. It wasn’t my fault. But you taught me something.”
“Oh, did I?”
He gave her his charming, boyish smile. “As a matter
of fact, you did.” He read his thoughts off the still night air. “I wasn’t just afraid of failure. I was afraid of losing you.” He gave her a quick, self-conscious grin, then looked away again. “Humanity is just a word. Humanity doesn’t exist; people do. I don’t have to care about humanity. But if I care about one real person, maybe that’s enough, maybe that makes the world worth saving. And by loving that one real person, maybe I’ll learn to love the rest.” He held out the dilapidated rose.
The emotion that had swirled within her bubbled over and she couldn’t hold back. She leaned in and he wrapped his arms around her. He was back. Eli, or Elijah—it didn’t matter. The rest was details.
He cleared his throat. “I was talking about myself, obviously. ‘Learning to love yourself is the greatest love of all.’ Hey! No tickling.”
They sat there for a while together, then Eli pulled away. “We should get home. We’ve got preparations to make.”
“We do?”
“Oh, yeah. And a messiah to anoint.”
CHAPTER 88
Moshe came to, the sound of a woman’s sobbing in his ears. His shoulders burned, as did his wrists, and the stench of pee assaulted his nostrils. The pain in his chest had subsided to a dull throb.
He opened his eyes—he could see! The red bandana hung at his neck, damp and limp. He was still tied to the round wooden target.
A fifth knife stuck in the wood, inches from his heart. Five in a row—Mandrake had broken his record, but there was no sign of the mad magician or his thugs. They must have turned off the spotlight on their way out. The show was over.
Bound and gagged, Galit and Avi sat on their chairs under the ghostly fluorescent light of the derelict warehouse, their heads hanging low.
When Galit looked up, her sobs became muffled cries of teary relief, and her shoulders shuddered. Avi glanced up at him with wide, wild eyes. Had they thought that he had died?
“Are they gone?” he whispered. His throat felt rough and parched.
The two seated prisoners looked about them and nodded. Had Mandrake left them to rot, or would he return any moment for his fancy throwing knives?