Book of Nathan (40 page)

If anyone knew what kind of impact a large amount of money
had on human behavior, it was Silverstein. I managed another surreptitious time
check. Eight ten. Rows of book stacks blocked a view of the Research Library’s
entryway. I had no idea if Yigal and Twyla were on their way. My last hope was
riding on the two of them. The thought made me shudder.
 

“What if I do what you want? What then?”

Silverstein shrugged. “Then our business dealings are over.”

“And that’s when Dong kills me.”

Silverstein studied his Scotch. A slight palsy in his right
hand sent ripples across the surface of the light brown liquid. “That shouldn’t
be necessary,” the old man said, his words thick. “It’s not that we couldn’t
explain away another accident; it’s just that we needn’t bother.”

Silverstein’s eyes began to drift. “You see, we have
evidence that you masterminded the theft of the
Book of Nathan
disk—evidence
that stays in my vault unless you force me to use it.”

I felt my stomach knot. “What evidence?”

“For starters, the CD case that has your fingerprints all
over it. The case and a fake
Book
of Nathan
CD will be hidden in some location—possibly even here on
Ellis Island. We’ll tell anyone who’s interested that you tried to sell us the
disk but after giving you a front-end payment, we decided it would be unethical
and possibly illegal to do business with you. But before we turned your offer
down, you gave us a few hints about where you hid the disk.”

“You never paid me—”

“I gave you a ten thousand dollar check—a check you cashed.”

Silverstein had set me up from the start. He had tossed a
few dollars my way and I had taken the bait without considering the
consequences. Now I was on the old man’s money hook, and I didn’t like how it
felt.

“Even if you were able to sell your story,” I said, “it
doesn’t explain how I got the disk in the first place.”

Silverstein tilted the bottle of Glen Garioch and splashed
out another glass. His right hand was quivering badly and a puddle of single
malt landed on the tabletop, coming dangerously close to the disk. Dong made a
half step toward the table but pulled up when he realized the disk would stay
dry. Which was more important to Dong—Le Campion’s translation or Arthur
Silverstein? I wasn’t sure.

“Quite right,” Silverstein said. “Of course, if pressed, we
could put a theory on the table. That you learned from Dr. Douglas Kool or one
of your other connections that Henri Le Campion sent Benjamin Kurios a valuable
item. Miklos Zeusenoerdorf and perhaps a few others like him were dispatched to
Orlando to get the disk and in the process Benjamin was killed.”

“If you knew Zeusenoerdorf, you’d understand how ludicrous
that story sounds,” I said.

Both of Silverstein’s hands were now trembling badly. “My
legal team tells me Mr. Zeusenoerdorf is easily manipulated. Perhaps his story
will end up like this: you paid Kurios’s driver to make an unscheduled stop on
a deserted roadway in Orlando. Zeusenoerdorf shows up and steals the
Book of Nathan
CD
from Kurios. In the process your man beats Benjamin to death.”

“Totally insane.”

Silverstein reached for his cigar. His tremors scattered ash
on the table and his tux before it reached his mouth. “Unexpectedly, the police
make an appearance and arrest Zeusenoerdorf but not before he hides the disk
and lets you know where to find it. You recruit someone to pick it up and soon
after you’re shopping the CD around looking for the highest bidder.”

Eight fifteen. I wasn’t sure what was going on inside
Silverstein’s head and even less certain about what was happening outside the
Research Library door.

“There’s not a prosecutor, judge, or jury who would buy that
piece of fiction.”

“My lawyers are very competent,” Silverstein pushed on. “If
this matter becomes an issue for a judge, jury, or the public to decide, a man
who runs a homeless shelter isn’t likely to prevail.”

Just like Dong, jurisprudence wasn’t immune to money,
especially when it could be delivered by the truckload.

“If I do what you want, you let me live?”

“Precisely.”
 

“And Miklos Zeusenoerdorf stays in jail.”

“I’m afraid so. But we’ll do what we can to keep him off
death row. Instead of vegetating in your shelter, he’ll do his time behind
bars.”

“I’m supposed to throw Zeusenoerdorf to the wolves for the
sake of your cause?”

Silverstein shrugged. “Remember your visit to my home? I
showed you a painting by Marc Chagall.
The
Sacrifice of Isaac
.”

I remembered.

“Abraham was willing to take his son’s life. He understood
there are forces and causes more important than any one person, no matter who
that person might be.”

“Abraham may have said
he
would have killed his kid, but he didn’t do it.”

“He would have,” Silverstein said, his voice soft. “Like
Abraham, I consider anyone’s
life
expendable if death serves the long-term interests of humanity.”

“How does keeping Zeusenoerdorf locked up serve humanity?” I
asked. “The man’s innocent
,
for
God sakes.”

Silverstein reached again for his Scotch, his hand trembling
badly. He managed to bring the tumbler to his chest, a shaky journey that sent
a rivulet of liquor down the front of his jacket. “Your man is innocent?”

“He’s not my man. And yes, he’s innocent.”

“What makes you think so?”

I was at one of those life-altering intersections. Turn one
way and duck around Silverstein’s question. That would have been the less
hazardous route. But hell, I figured I didn’t have a lot to lose. So I headed in
a direction marked danger
.
“I know who’s responsible for Kurios’s murder and it isn’t Zeusenoerdorf.”

Silverstein’s body stiffened. His eyes snapped back into
focus. “Who?”

“You.”

I got nothing. Not a word.

“Oh, you didn’t actually get blood on your hands,” I went
on. “You paid someone to take care of business. You’re good at delegating those
kinds of duties. Am I right, Dong?”

Dong didn’t respond and Silverstein remained silent. If it
weren’t for the old man’s piercing eyes, I might have thought his dementia
returned. But I knew better. My message was getting through. He was mute with
rage.
 

“Here’s how it happened. Arcontius paid a Venezuelan named
Juan Perez to keep an eye on Kurios. You remember Perez—he was on your security
payroll in Venezuela. Anyway, Perez was staking out Kurios’s hotel and saw a
thug beat Kurios with a tire iron and throw him into the back of a van. Kurios
was carted off to parts unknown with Perez in his wake until the van reached a
lonely stretch of road where it was forced into a bridge abutment. The crash
sent Kurios out the back door of the van and onto the pavement. Then Perez and
the driver of the van got into a winner-take-all wrestling match.”

“How do you know all this?” asked Silverstein. The old man
was attentive now. I disregarded his question.

“Zeusenoerdorf shows up and interrupts the fight. Perez
panics and heads back to his car but not before the van driver finds a pistol
and gets off a few shots. This has to be ancient history to you—but here’s
something you haven’t
heard.”

I had to be sure that Silverstein was still in the real
world before I continued. So I let a few seconds tick off until he finally
muttered, “Go on.” Then I hit him with a jackhammer of a lie.

“Zeusenoerdorf heard something before Perez and the van
driver realized they had an audience.”

“What?”

“Perez was beating the van driver bloody and the guy starts
begging for mercy. You know what he said? That he was just a hired hand. That
he worked for you. That it was you who paid him to get Henri Le Campion’s disk
even if it meant taking out Kurios in the process.”

Silverstein glared at me. I kept talking before he had time
to figure out I was bluffing. Almost eight twenty. “Here’s what I don’t
understand.”

If Yigal and Twyla were in position, there was a possibility
they were catching some of the conversation going on in the back of the
library. I turned up the volume. “How is it that you think cold-blooded murder
is some kind of justifiable homicide?”

I didn’t expect anything close to a confession. But the
combination of Scotch and partial dementia shook out a revelation.

“It took a great deal of money and skill to turn Kurios into
an icon,” Silverstein said, his voice barely audible. “A few of us fortunate
enough to have both the resources and the right beliefs were responsible for
his success.”

“You were also responsible for his death,” I said, not
lowering my voice. Silverstein didn’t seem upset by my yelling, but when Dong
pressed his pistol into my spine, I knew he wanted me to tone it down.
 

“It was never our intention that Benjamin be killed,”
Silverstein asserted. “The night he was taken from his hotel, we knew he had
the disk with him. We sent someone to convince him to give us the CD.
Unfortunately, he resisted and our man overreacted.”
 

“Overreacted? He beat the shit out of Kurios.”

“That wasn’t supposed to happen. When we found out about
Benjamin’s head injuries, we made arrangements to have him treated at a private
health clinic a few miles from where the van crashed.”

“But Perez forced a change of plans and then Zeusenoerdorf
showed up. I’m curious—what happened to the maniac driving the van?”

The way Silverstein’s jaw tightened, I knew the question
irked him. “He was an experienced professional. But his actions that night were—disappointing.”

“So, he was sacrificed too?”

Silverstein nodded at the
Book
of Nathan
disk. “We’ve paid a high price for this,” he said. “Far
beyond dollars, I mean. When something is so important to so many people,
sacrifice—no matter how difficult—is justifiable.”

“And just how difficult was it to sacrifice Benjamin
Kurios?”

“Very difficult.”

“Did you feel like Abraham?” I asked.

“What?” Clearly, he didn’t get the reference.

“Did you know that I met with Roger Meseck?”

Judging by Silverstein’s agitation, I guessed he knew
nothing about my meeting with the doctor and his wife.

“Dr. Meseck?” Silverstein’s tremors were coming in violent
waves.

“Yes. Strange that your people didn’t track me there. Or
maybe they didn’t bother to tell you.” I paused to look at Dong. “Before I met
with Meseck, I couldn’t figure out what Kurios meant when he mumbled two words
just before he died. ‘Father’ and ‘Nathan’
is
what he said to Zeusenoerdorf.
I
spent a lot of time wondering how a priest named Father Nathan could be mixed
up in all this. But once I talked to Meseck, I realized I’d been running in
circles.”

Silverstein’s eyes widened.

“The ‘father’
Kurios
was talking about was you
.
The
‘Nathan’
was
the disk you stole from your own son.”

“Quiet
!
”
Silverstein shrieked.

“Benjamin Kurios was your best kept secret,” I continued.
“But when your daughter died, the truth came out. That was a terrible night,
wasn’t it? Ruth had a rare blood type, and the hospital couldn’t find a match.
She was bleeding to death. That’s when you told the medical staff about your
illegitimate infant son.”

Anger contorted Silverstein’s face. Anger and sadness.

“You sacrificed your own flesh and blood.” I was back to
shouting now. “You sacrificed your only son because you let a promise to your
dead daughter turn into an obsession.”