This was not in the Haggadah. Something was wrong. And then without a sound, immediately there was another presence at the table. A man reached across the table in front of Scott and took the Afikomen, which had not yet been hidden, from beside Scott's father's plate. The man was sitting at the place set for Elijah. Scott recognized him at once as Rabbi Saul Cohen. But this made no sense at all. Scott didn't know anyone named Saul Cohen, except… except perhaps in that strange dream. How could he be here in Scott's home and sitting in the place of Elijah and drinking from Elijah's cup, the special cup that Scott's parents kept only for the seder and from which no one was allowed to drink?
"Let us fool ourselves no longer," Cohen said.
It was nearly midnight when Scott found himself once again an adult and in his home in a suburb outside of Jerusalem. His soup was now hours cold and the only light was from a digital clock and a street light outside. He was exhausted. For a few moments he just sat there. If he had any thoughts that the events of the past few hours in his childhood home had all been a dream, they were quickly dispelled. Near him at the table, in the position that had been Elijah's place in his dream or vision, where he had seen Cohen, was a three-quarters-empty glass of wine. It was Elijah's cup; the one which had irreparably shattered into a hundred pieces when he took it from the cupboard when he was fifteen. Even in the subdued light he recognized it. Scott sat back into his chair and noticed the plate beneath his bowl sitting askew on the table before him. There was something under it. He raised the plate and found underneath it the Afikomen, hidden for him to find and redeem.
Thursday, August 15,2019 – New York
French Ambassador Albert Moore's secretary showed Christopher Goodman into the office where Moore and his chief of staff awaited his arrival. "Good morning, Mr. Ambassador," Moore said, addressing Christopher. "Please come in."
"Thank you, Mr. Ambassador," Christopher responded. "I appreciate your seeing me on such short notice. I know how busy you must be."
"Well, you said it was urgent."
"It is."
"Oh, you know my chief of staff, Mr. Poupardin?"
"Yes, we've met," answered Christopher, as he extended his hand.
"Now, to business. Your message said that this has to do with the World Peace Organization."
"Yes, sir. As you know the situation in Pakistan has become critical. Voluntary relief supplies simply aren't sufficient. And much of what is sent is not reaching those who need it the most. Hundreds are dying of starvation every day and thousands of others become candidates for starvation. Cholera is claiming thousands more. Unless the United Nations responds quickly with sufficient quantities of food and medicine and the personnel to administer their distribution, this could result in the death of millions."
As Christopher spoke, Moore and Poupardin exchanged a puzzled look. The look remained on Moore's face as he began to speak. "Let me assure you, Mr. Ambassador, that I am as concerned as you with the problems in that region. In fact, I met with the new ambassador from Pakistan on that matter just two weeks ago, along with Ambassador Gandhi. It is my sincere hope that more will be done, and soon. But," Moore continued as he wrinkled his brow still further in puzzlement, "isn't this an issue for ECOSOC and the Food and Agriculture Organization? I thought you wanted to see me about the WPO."
"The matter of supplying food to the region is, indeed, a matter for the FAO," Christopher responded, "but the unrest that results from the food shortages is an issue that concerns the WPO." Moore let Christopher continue without responding. "As the previous Chairman of the WPO, you are no doubt aware of the problems that have plagued WPO's supply lines over the last two years: thirty-six million dollars' worth of weapons and equipment lost in warehouse thefts; fourteen million dollars lost and two people killed in hijacked shipments; and another 141 million dollars' worth of equipment simply listed as 'unaccounted for.'"
Moore and Poupardin looked at each other in surprise. Moore had no idea losses had been that high. He didn't want to let on just how little he had kept track of such matters when he was Chairman of WPO, but he had to ask. "Just a question of clarification," he began. "What percentages of those losses occurred during the time that I was Chairman; and how much has been reported in the last three and a half weeks, since you've been in charge?"
"Those figures reflect the losses as of six weeks before I took over as Chairman of WPO."
"Oh," Moore responded. "I had no idea they were so high." Better to openly admit ignorance than acknowledge negligence, he concluded. Christopher's expression showed neither surprise nor anger at Moore's admission.
"So, how does the situation in Pakistan fit into this?" Moore asked, wanting to move from the issue of his negligence as quickly as possible.
"In the last twenty-four hours I have been presented with what I believe to be incontrovertible evidence that the director of the WPO, General Brooks, is personally responsible for at least ninety-five percent of the weapons and equipment missing from WPO."
Moore and his chief of staff looked at each other again. It was beginning to appear as if they had some nonverbal means of communication and that neither would speak without first checking with his counterpart. "But why would General Brooks be stealing his own weapons?" Moore's chief of staff asked.
Christopher ignored the naivete of the question. "Apparently he has been selling the weapons to insurgent groups, sometimes for cash and other times in exchange for drugs which are in turn sold for cash."
"That's a very serious charge," said Poupardin, this time without stopping to check with Moore. "I assume you have evidence to back it up."
"I would not make such a charge unless I was sure I could prove it."
Moore and Poupardin mulled this over for a moment, still without words. "Well," said Moore finally, "I suppose you'll be initiating an investigation."
"Yes. Time is of the essence, but I don't believe it's possible to carry out a full and complete investigation so long as General Brooks remains in command. That's why I came to you. I intend to ask the Security Council for approval to immediately place General Brooks on suspension, putting Lieutenant General McCoid in temporary command and granting me full authority over the agency until the matter is resolved. Before I do so, I thought that, as I have so recently taken over from you as Chairman of WPO, professional courtesy required that I first inform you of my intentions and that I make you aware of the reasons for my actions."
Moore thought fast. The look on his face said that something about Christopher's plans did not go well at all with his own. "Well, I appreciate that," he said. "Actually, it's a very good thing that you talked to me first." Suddenly Moore had become very friendly. "I'm afraid this might be the worst possible time for you to broach this subject with the Security Council."
"I don't believe that putting it off is an option," answered Christopher. "The situation on the Indian-Pakistani border requires immediate action."
"I understand your concern, but… Well, let me bring you up to date on a few things." Moore got up and walked around his desk, still sounding as though he had nothing but everyone's best interest at heart. "As you know, the selection process for a new Secretary-General has been going on for several weeks now. And I'm sure it's no surprise to you that right now the choice seems to be between myself and Ambassador Clark of the United States. At the last vote six regions voted for me, three voted for Ambassador Clark, and India abstained. The next vote is scheduled for Monday, four days from now. Nobody else knows it yet but I've gotten a firm commitment from Ambassador Fahd to support me on the next vote and we're very close to reaching an agreement with India. That will leave Ambassador Clark with only two votes; North and South America. With that kind of majority Clark will be forced to concede.