Prayers proceeded routinely: hymns of praise; declarations of faith; pleas for health, prosperity, and peace. During the recitation of the Shema, Jacob texted Mallick.
hear o israel the lord is our god the lord is one
After the song of the angels, the gabbai came around, rattling a tin charity box. Jacob fished out the hundred-dollar bill Sam had given him, folded it several times to conceal the denomination, and stuffed it into the slot.
During the final psalm, Abe excused himself, saying something about a breakfast meeting. Within a few minutes, the rest of the men had departed, leaving father and son alone.
“You didn’t tell me you were coming,” Sam said.
“Didn’t realize I had to.”
“Of course not.” Sam smiled wearily. “You’re back safely. That’s what counts.”
“What I said over the phone,” Jacob said. “I didn’t mean it.”
“It’s all right.”
“No, it’s not. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t give it a thought. You needed to speak your mind.”
“That’s the problem. My mind is a bad place right now.”
A beat. Sam reached over and clasped Jacob’s hand. Squeezed once and let him go.
“Abe said you missed learning with him. You okay?”
Sam shrugged. “Everyone deserves a day off.”
Jacob had his doubts, but decided not to press. “I have something I want you to see,” he said, unfolding his transcription of the Prague letter and his makeshift translation, placing them side by side on the table.
Sam picked up the Hebrew text and held it close. His failing eyes shuttled busily behind his sunglasses. “It’s accurate?”
“I was going fast. But I think so.”
Sam felt for the translation and compared the documents.
“I found a website with the Loew family tree,” Jacob said. “There were several daughters and one son named Bezalel, but no Isaac. I’m guessing Isaac was Isaac Katz, who apparently was married to two of the Maharal’s daughters.”
Silence.
Jacob said, “‘Joy and gladness’ refers to a wedding, obviously.” He leaned over to read. “‘I say to you now, what man is there that has married a woman but not yet taken her? Let him go and return to his wife. But let your heart not grow weak; do not fear, do not tremble.’ That’s the priest’s speech before the Jewish army goes to war.”
Sam sat motionless.
“This business about clay and pottery, I found the source in Isaiah, but it doesn’t make much sense to me. The last line, about disgrace, I couldn’t find anywhere.” Jacob paused. “Bottom line, Abba, I’m lost.”
Sam adjusted his glasses, his chest cycling shallowly.
“On the contrary,” he said. “I think you did fine.”
He put the pages down. “The case is going well?”
“Pretty well. Can we talk about this for a minute, though?”
“I really have nothing to contribute,” Sam said.
He picked up his tefillin bag and started for the exit. “Focus on your work.”
“Wait a second.”
“Don’t get distracted,” Sam said, and disappeared around the corner.
“Abba.” Jacob grabbed the letters and his backpack and followed his father out to the pavement. Nigel had the Taurus curbside, the motor running. He got out to help Sam in.
“Abba. Hang on.”
“I’m tired, Jacob. I had a hard night.”
“Why? What’s wrong?”
“I need to go home. Let me think it over.” Sam climbed into the passenger seat. “I’ll let you know if I come up with anything.”
Nigel shut Sam’s door, ran around to the driver’s side.
“Where are you going?” Jacob said to him. “Hey. Man. Seriously. Come on. Hey.”
The Taurus pulled away from the curb, headed north on Robertson.
Half a block on, though, brake lights flared and Nigel jumped out and hustled back up the sidewalk, waving something.
“He wants you to have this,” he said, handing Jacob another hundred-dollar bill.
Chapter fifty-three
Fourteen ninety-one Ocean Avenue sat on prime commercial real estate. The bottom three floors belonged to a laser dental clinic, a talent agency, and a private equity fund. Pernath had the penthouse.
The office had an open plan, poured concrete floors and high windows that took advantage of unobstructed water views. Jacob approached the reception desk, counting three women and four men, all trim and chic, sketching in the icy glow of outsized computer monitors. He picked through their faces one by one, wondering who was Pernath’s current protégé.
The receptionist said that Richard was out with a client.
“I work for the city,” Jacob said. “We’re doing a zoning survey. I was hoping to talk to Mr. Pernath personally.”
The receptionist smiled, returned Jacob’s lie with one of his own. “I’ll be sure to tell him.”
Or you, pal. How bout it.
“Do you expect him in anytime soon?” Jacob asked.
“Gosh, it’s so hard to tell. I’ll make sure he gets the message, though, mister...”
“Loew,” Jacob said. “Judd Loew.”
The receptionist pretended to type. “Have an awesome day, Judd.”
Jacob had missed something while loading his backpack. He searched for the nearest camping supply store, found it close on Fourth Street, and bought a seven-hundred-dollar pair of Steiner binoculars, charging it to the white card.
He texted Mallick a photo of the receipt, adding thanks.
The Commander didn’t take the bait: no reply.
Returning to Ocean Avenue by 11:15, Jacob parked adjacent to a strip of cliffside park offering an oblique but clear view of Pernath’s building.
He switched on the radio, twiddled between sports talk and scratchy jazz, ate M&M’s and a protein bar that claimed to taste like cookies ’n’ cream.
It might have if he’d had some bourbon to chase it with. In a nod to responsibility, he hadn’t had a drink since last night.
The problem with staying sober was that it felt to him like being drunk.
He raised the binocs at whoever entered or exited the building, killing time by guessing destinations.
Surgically enhanced bimboid briskly sashaying: talent agency, or a patient in search of perfect teeth?
Nerd in khakis and out-of-pants white shirt: the IT guy for the private equity firm.
Conspicuously well-dressed couple in their fifties: clients, either private equity, or checking on a remodel in Beverly Hills, Brentwood, Bel Air.
At 11:49, he propped the phone on the steering wheel, checking his e-mail to see if Divya had replied. She hadn’t.
He sent Mallick a text.
outside pernaths office
The response shot back.
eyeball?
not yet he wrote. will let u know
do that Mallick replied.
How long was he supposed to keep up this bullshit? It was distracting, and pointless, and he put the phone away. He’d write when he had something to say.
At 1:16, he chanced a quick trip to a nearby public bathroom.
At 3:09, his phone beeped with a text from Mallick.
?
nothing Jacob typed.
then tell me that
At 3:40, a meter maid parked her motorized trike behind him and took out her ticket pad. He showed her his badge. Tacked on a smile for good measure. She made a face and putt-putted off in search of other victims.