“ ‘No big deal’?” Norowitz shouted. He took a deep breath, calming himself down. “I want to know what happened, Rabbi. You shaved. Why?”
Aharon rubbed his cheek. “A bad rash. It happens. Look, about Anatoli, the old man had a terrible memory. It was a wasted trip.”
Norowitz’s lips were pinched so tight they made a white, bloodless line. “You went to see Talcott because she’s in the Kobinski arrays. She’s working on something close to Kobinski’s research.”
“Jill Talcott? In the arrays?” Aharon pretended astonishment. “You know,” he shook his head sadly, “I’m beginning to think you can find anything in the code.”
Norowitz got up and went to the window, looking out. His hands were fists on the window ledge. Aharon could almost feel sorry for him.
“I can’t believe you’re going to do this to me,” he said, without turning around. “You’re going to leave me high and dry. You, Rabbi, who came to me.”
“Look, I can’t speak for you, but for me, I think it’s time I let Kobinski go. There’s only so long a grown man can look for meaning where there is none.”
“Ha!” Norowitz turned, eyes blazing. “You won’t let go. Oh, no. And I—I won’t, either.”
“Are you sure that’s wise?” Aharon gazed into Norowitz’s eyes, for a moment letting his own determination shine through. “The sages say, ‘Don’t ask a lion to talk. You might not like what he has to say.’ ”
“Don’t patronize me, Rabbi. You know I could have you arrested.”
“Nu? Well, I can’t stop you from wasting your time.”
Aharon got up to leave. “I should probably tell you, I may not be staying in Jerusalem. My wife has wanted to move back to New York for some time. To be honest, I think that might not be such a bad idea.”
“You won’t get away from me like that.”
“I wouldn’t dream of trying.” Aharon paused. “…Have you ever considered the possibility that Kobinski was simply a great kabbalist sage, and nothing the state of Israel needs to worry about?”
Norowitz shook his head slowly. “Not on your life.”
“Let’s hope that it never comes to that, Shimon Norowitz. For you or any of us. Shalom.”
Rabbi Schwartz was standing when Denton was ushered into his office in upstate New York. His fingertips were on his desk, his face deeply disapproving.
“Mr. Wyle. Your message this morning took me by surprise. I must say, you have a lot of nerve showing your face here again.”
“True, but I thank you for seeing me anyway.”
Denton sat in a chair and waited for Schwartz to do likewise. For a moment he hesitated, as though his disdain were much better shown on his feet, but gravity won over and he sat.
“So?”
“I wanted to apologize for that break-in. I guess I had built up some fantasy in my head that we were enemies and that I had a right to use any means at my disposal. I didn’t. I’m sorry.”
Schwartz made a gesture of disinterest. “You can’t get out of this with an apology, Mr. Wyle. I intend to prosecute.”
“That’s up to you. I just came to drop something off.”
Denton pulled a document from his bag. It was a reproduction, 200 pages thick, bound neatly in a blue report cover. He put it on Schwartz’s desk.
Schwartz picked it up. He leafed through it once, then again more carefully. The tension in the room changed; Schwartz’s entire body language changed. He finally put it down, neatly lining it up with the edge of his desk, his fingers bronze, with long, scholarly nails.
“Where did you get it?”
“It’s not important. But it’s The Book of Torment, in its entirety.”
Schwartz picked the manuscript back up and turned a few pages. “It’s been doctored.”
“All of the math has been removed. And a few other things, here and there. But the majority of it, Kobinski’s philosophy, is there.”
“Why?”
“Why what? Why was it doctored or why have I given it to you?”
Schwartz pressed his lips together for a long moment, then shook his head. “Never mind. The one question I don’t think I should ask, and to the second I already know the answer. You want me not to prosecute and you probably want money, too. Very well. How much?”
“I don’t want money,” Denton said, rising. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t prosecute, but that’s your choice.”
Schwartz frowned at him distrustfully, but his eyes kept going back to the manuscript, as if he could hardly keep himself from reading it at once. Denton smiled and went to the door.
“Oh—one thing you should know,” Denton added, turning. “You’re not the only one who has the manuscript. I’ve sent about thirty copies of it out so far, to the press mostly. Someone will publish it. It you intend to do it yourself, you’d better get moving.”
“Merciful heavens! Why?” Schwartz exclaimed, dumbfounded.
“So that it won’t get lost again. So that men can’t come and take it from us and hide it forever.”
Schwartz paled. Denton knew then that the Mossad had already been there. But the man shook his head. “I’m not sure that’s wise, Mr. Wyle. I’m not sure that is at all wise.”
“Rabbi, someday we will be put to the test and we will need the wisdom in that book. You’re going to have to trust me on that one. But even if you disapprove of what I’m doing, I hope we can be…” Denton’s smile turned ironic. “Well, not enemies at least. I’ve had enough of those for a while.”
Schwartz touched the manuscript thoughtfully, then rose from his seat. He walked over to the door, his hand extended. Denton placed his own hand out and it was enveloped in what he was surprised to discover was a very warm palm.
“I still think it unlikely anyone but a kabbalist will understand Kobinski. But on the other hand, keeping secrets is like telling a lie—it can be a lot of work and it makes people very upset. I’m tired of keeping this one. You have my thanks for the book and my sincere…” he cocked an eyebrow, “nonenmity.”
Denton laughed. “There may come a day when I will need more than that. But for now, it’ll do.”
Jill Talcott was not going to miss her house in Wallingford. The new home she had purchased in Tennessee had been built in 1906 and she loved the southern charm of it. It had a carriage house out back that had been converted into a large home office by the previous owner. It was perfect.
She was not going to miss the University of Washington, either, which was good since she’d been fired. Thank god for Tom Cheever, Dr. Ansel’s old dean.
Nate was strapping a moving box with packing tape. He had filled out in the past month, and his hair had gone back to its corkscrew curls. As she gazed at him she did have one regret.
“Nate?”
“Hmmm.”
She finished wrapping a plate in newspaper and put it in a box. “I still think you should consider staying at Udub until you finish your doctorate. You’re chucking away almost two years of work.”
“Jeez, woman, how many times do we have to go over this?”
“It’s just that I’ve always believed that a relationship… that people shouldn’t hold one another back. It’s bad enough aligning yourself with an infamously wacky lady scientist. You should at least finish your degree. At the University of Tennessee you’ll practically be starting over.”
“Jill…” Nate sighed and tossed the tape on the counter. He came over and hugged her close. “Will you quit worrying about me? I’m not in a hurry to get my degree. I’m just sorry for your sake, that you won’t get the recognition that you deserve.”
“I don’t care about that. But you—”
He silenced her with a kiss. When he broke away he said, with fake sincerity, “Honey, I’d much rather have a boring, humble, mediocre life with you than live without you.”