“Very good, my dear. You do not disappoint. Tell me, what was it that gave me away?” He licked his lips again.
“I remembered the car,” she said.
“Of course you did, of course you did. Everyone remembers my great tragedy. Few remember the great triumphs of my life, but I do not blame them. Sometimes I can barely remember them myself, but Dassah, Dassah I never forget. Even after all these years I still expect her to come home from shopping. That is my great tragedy. But you didn’t come here to talk about my dead wife, did you?”
She shook her head.
He shifted his weight in his seat. The leather and wood groaned.
The story, if she remembered it right, was that Gavrel had gone after his wife’s killers personally. She found it hard to believe, looking at him spread their in the chair, but he had apparently hunted down the bomber and the chemist that had built it, as we as taking out the man who had given the order. Gavrel Schnur did it the Aman way. He watched, gathering intelligence, making plans, until over the course of one long night in Tel Aviv everyone in any way remotely connected with his wife’s death fell victim to what on the surface appeared to be unconnected accidents and random acts of violence. The coincidences racked up and, come dawn, everyone knew Gavrel Schnur had had his retribution. That, more than anything, cemented his place within the political spectrum of the city.
“I am sure Uzzi explained our interest in your inquiries. Most odd, someone asking after my old friend Akim after all this time. I had thought the world had forgotten him like it has forgotten so much else. But suddenly there his name was. You understand, I am sure, why it raised a red flag with our office. We, of course, did our homework. You’re a very well connected young woman, Miss Nyren. Friends in those much vaunted ‘high places.’”
Orla nodded. She didn’t say much. She waited to hear what the toad had to say. In this world, she knew, knowledge was hard currency. The adage that knowledge was power had been invented for the hallowed halls of spydom. Sharing knowledge was a matter of quid pro quo: giving on both sides. She had to decide how much she was willing to give up, and how much she thought she might get in return. She began with the bare minimum, repeating what she had already told Sokol back at the graveside. She outlined the insurance payouts from Humanity Capital, the numbered accounts at Hottinger amp; Cie, with their irregular deposits and withdrawals made by the dead man, and as a coup de grace showed the toad the two different Akim Caspis in the photographs she carried. When she was done she said, “Sokol said I needed to know about the Shrieks? I think now would be a fine time to find out what it is, exactly, that I need to know.”
The toad nodded, the folds of flesh around his neck rippling. He didn’t seem the least bit surprised to see this second Caspi, or likewise, the least bit curious as to why the impostor had drawn the attention of foreign intelligence. There was something unnerving about the fat man. He seemed far too sure of himself. Orla didn’t like it.
“They call themselves the Disciples of Judas,” the toad said. “They’ve become known to Aman as the Thirteen Shrieks.”
“As in screams?”
“Yes. It is some sort of unholy chorus, I believe. When all of their voices come together, the world will listen. You get the idea. It is all very portentous and not a little insane. What the world is meant to listen to, well, that is not even particularly interesting. They claim that Judas Iscariot was the true Messiah, not Jesus Christ. Shock, horror, I know. It seems the new millennium, even a decade old, is still obsessed with pseudo-historical-religious nonsense. You have to remember, in those days every man and his dog was walking around laiming to be the son of God. Tinker, Tailor, Candlestick Maker, Messiah, Beggar Man, Thief. What’s the difference? That was just the way it was.” The toad shrugged. “I always imagine it was like something out of that Monty Python movie, The Life of Brian, every street corner boasting its own Savior.” He smiled wryly.
“But, I must admit I have a certain amount of sympathy for their argument. If you think about it rationally, there would be no Christianity today without Judas, would there? No resurrection. No redemption for the sins of the world. No clean slate for humanity. Of course being the Great Facilitator doesn’t automatically make you divine, does it? But, think about it for a moment, if Judas was the true Messiah, I would ask them, what did his death do for mankind? How did his sacrifice redeem us? It didn’t, did it? Or am I missing something?” Schnur said, reasonably. “I look around me today at all of the wars, all of the senseless killing and all that random violence, and wonder if we weren’t actually damned.”
Orla looked at the fat man as he spread his arms wide.
“I know, not a terribly fashionable sentiment. I am sorry. Some days I miss Dassah more than others. I find myself given over to melancholic rambling. I have thought about this a lot, though. It is the curse of living in this place and time. What do you think messiah means, Orla?”
“The son of God,” she said. She knew she was wrong, but she wanted to hear what he said to that.
“In Hebrew it means Anointed One. There have been any number of messiahs. Did you know that? In the Jewish tradition it was said that a son of the line of King David, a ben yishai, would return to lead the Jews from Exile, rebuild the Temple in Jerusalem and bring about a period of prosperity and peace. In that sense, belief in a messiah was nothing more than a belief in the restoration of Israel and an end to the troubles. Now would be a good time for a new messiah, I think. The messianic ideal changed through time, especially when Judaea was conquered by the Babylonians and under the rule of Emperor Hadrian. New gifts were associated with the word and suddenly they were talking about raising the dead, which is supposed to mark the end of days.
“In Christian terms the Messiah was the divine one who would initiate the Kingdom of God on earth. Then you have the Ephraitic Messiah, a concept which existed in ancient Judaism and the book of Zerubavel, which tells of a woman named Hephzibah who accompanies the messiah ben Joseph into war with the enemies, where he is killed, and after his death she will save Jerusalem. In our own time the Rabbi of the Lubavitch Hassidim was worshipped as messiah. He never claimed to be the son of God. It’s such a strange thing that it has become so corrupt in meaning because of the rise of Christiany aThe concept of messiah is not part of biblical Judaism, did you know that? No, why should you? It was developed from folk tradition with countless variants, countless understandings of what it truly meant.
“It’s the subject of Hassidic songs and even occurs in the Babylonian Talmud, but there it is about the time when Jews will regain their independence and all return to the land of Israel. It even says that all prophecies regarding the Messiah are allegorical, and the only thing important is that all religions return to the true religion, that Jews are free and we know the wisdom of the Torah. It’s all a bit different, isn’t it? So even the word messiah is just another thing Christianity has corrupted.”
Orla didn’t know what to say. She hadn’t come here for a religious studies lesson, but she couldn’t help but think she’d just learned something, even if she wasn’t sure what. “Fascinating,” she said, more out of politeness than true interest.
“Of course, on a personal level, I always found it fascinating that Judas isn’t mentioned once in the Gospel of Peter. Think about it. What does that tell you? The so-called great betrayer doesn’t even warrant a mention in the first saint’s gospel? That ‘betrayal’ bought this whole mythology we’ve swallowed whole, and it doesn’t even appear in one of the main gospels? But,”-the toad chuckled at the thought before he shared it-“if one is to believe that Judas was in fact the divine object, the-for want of a better word-Messiah, then surely that would turn the thirty pieces of silver that bought our religion into the most holy artifacts known to man, wouldn’t it? Instead of the cross people would be worshipping money.” He placed a single coin on the table between them. It was a new Israeli shekel with the word Yehud written in ancient Hebrew. Silver. “It almost seems like it is that way already, doesn’t it? Money, money, money. Still, they’re all just stories, aren’t they? But it is an interesting turnabout, don’t you think?”