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‘Draw!’

But it was only in Jake’s head.  As he
stood there with Ben Tiferet confronting the two Linford women he could not
help feeling that he was a player in a spaghetti western.  It was quite obvious
that he was the prime suspect for the theft of the goblet.

It was the Professor who decided to end
the deadlock.

He coughed.

‘I fear that you do not find us welcome in
your home.’

(Very Victorian, or it would have been if
not for his Israeli accent.)

The two women looked at each other. 
Cherry, always the more forthright, was the one to reply.

‘Professor Tiferet, I know nothing
whatever about you.  Who you are, where do you come from?  Mr Tranton, here, I
met for the first time yesterday.  It was quite obvious that his only interest
in me was in my cup and then that very night it’s stolen.  To me that does not
sound like coincidence.’

Jake shook his head imperceptibly.  He had
to persuade her of his innocence.  It was as if his life depended upon it.

The Professor had tried to dissuade him
from coming here.  What was the point?  He had said.  Now that Cherry no longer
had the cup she had no relevance to the quest?  Jake’s retort was that, as he
was an obvious suspect, if he did not convince her of his honesty he would have
the police after him.  He had managed to satisfy Tiferet with this argument
but, as he had realised during their drive here, that was not the real reason. 
There was something about Cherry that made him want to see her again and, now
that Fiona had left him, there was no reason to prevent him.  True, she had
been duped by Mitch but the truth was it would never have happened if their
marriage had been working.  Anyway, they were here.  He hoped Cherry could be
persuaded of his innocence.  That, for now, depended on the Professor.

‘Miss Linford.  When I first met Jake
Tranton he was suspicious of me but I managed to convince him that I am
genuine.  I am holder of a chair at the Hebrew University in Jerusalem.  I have
written books on mysticism and one of my articles is to appear in the national
press in the next week.’

‘All right,’ she challenged scathingly and
Jake could not help admiring her pluck, ‘Is your passport here?’

Tiferet produced the light blue booklet
and Cherry looked at the picture.

‘All right, but I’m no expert.  This
could’ve been forged.

‘You say that you’ve written some books. 
Name them.’

‘Most are in Hebrew.’

‘Have none been translated?’

‘Well, one or two.’

‘Then, name then.’

‘
Messiah and Mysticism;
Kabbalah
in the Twenty First Century.
’

‘All right.  I’m going to check on the
internet.  Let’s see if they’re listed.’

It took almost fifteen minutes before
Cherry was able to return with the confirmation.

‘All right.  If you are a fake you’ve
researched your part, I’ll grant you, but it still proves nothing.’

‘Miss Linford, if I am a fake what could I
possibly gain in coming here.  By your admission I already have your cup.  It
would not make sense, would it?’

‘That, Professor, was why I agreed to meet
with you but you may still have a hidden agenda.  You will forgive me if I
remain sceptical.’

It was clear that they would get no
further in persuading the girl to lower her guard.

‘All right.  Say you are telling the
truth.  If you don’t have the cup, who does?’

‘He’s a former student of mine.’

‘His name?’

‘Lapski.’

‘And you know where to find him?’

‘I think so.’

‘Then, let’s go.’

‘No!  It is far too dangerous.  With your
stone he now has four of them.  Already his powers are growing.  All he needs
are two more and he will be able to locate the rest.’

‘Powers, what powers?’

‘I have said too much as it is.

‘Come, Jake.  There is nothing further we
can do here.  We must go.’

‘You must be joking.  If you expect me to
just sit back and allow you to go, you’d better think again.  You know
something and I want to know what.  If you’re going after this Lapski, then I
want to come with you.  Tell me what this is all about.’

‘I cannot.  I was telling the truth when I
said that this is dangerous.  It is.  I have no choice than to involve Jake in
my search.  You are just an outsider who happened to be involved.’

‘Then why did you come here?’

‘That was Jake’s idea.’  And he looked at
Jake as if to say, ‘I told you so.’

For a second Cherry also stared at him and
Jake wondered what was going through her mind at that moment.  Could she
possibly suspect his real motive?  She made no comment.

‘Well, it’s too late now.  Like it or not,
you’re here and you’ve involved me.  If this Lapski has my cup and you’re going
after him then I’m coming too.’

‘Cherry!’

‘No, Mum.  It’s about time I had some
excitement in my life.’

‘But...’

‘This is my choice, all right?  So,
gentlemen.  Tell me everything.’

Jake smiled.  He was faced with
conflicting emotions as he realised that this was what he had wanted all
along.  Now he would be seeing much more of the girl.  But what if he was
dragging her into danger?  That was simple.  He would protect her, or rather,
Tiferet would.

…………………………………………….

Some short while later Jake had told the
whole story as he knew it though he found that he missed out the fact that he
was married and Cherry listened incredulously.

 ‘You don’t believe me.’

‘Well, it is all so improbable.  All
right.  Even if you’re wrong about the explanation I’ll assume that you are
telling the truth about your experiences.’

‘Oh, thanks.’

‘It’s obvious what you need to do, isn’t
it?’

‘Is it?’

‘Yes.  You think this Mitch Mitchell
fellow is involved.  Well then, you’ve got a perfect excuse to confront him,
haven’t you?’

Jake looked at her blankly.

‘He wants to meet with you to offer you a
job.  Go ahead and do it.’

‘She’s right, young man.  That is the
logical next step.  Then, this evening, the three of us can see Shmueli
Isaacson.  At least he knows Miss Linford.  That should allay his suspicions
somewhat.’

‘No.’ Cherry suddenly shouted.’

‘No, why?’

‘Because, I never want to see him again,’
she spat, and it was obvious that she meant what she had said.

‘But, Miss Linford, you may...’

‘No, I’m sorry, but I don’t want to talk
about it.  I... No I can’t face him.  I really can’t.’

‘All right,’ and Tiferet turned to the
mother, ‘Would you help?’

Hester looked at her daughter who just
shrugged her shoulders.

‘If I must.  I’m not happy about it.’

Jake could see that the Professor was
about to speak and he looked at him warningly.  It was quite obvious that
something had happened when Cherry and Shmueli had broken up.  Whatever it was
it had been traumatic, of that he was certain, and it was a memory that the two
women would rather forget.

‘All right,’ he said, changing the
subject, ‘Do you mind if I use your phone.  I’d like to call Mitchell.’

Hester acquiesced and an appointment was
made for that afternoon.  Jake viewed the prospect of the meeting with something
less than pleasure but he knew that the others were right.  It was the obvious
thing to do.

……………………………………….

So, that afternoon, he arrived at the
modern six-storey office building and was soon ushered through into Mitch’s
untidy office.  With papers strewn everywhere Jake wondered how Mitch could
find anything.

Mitch Mitchell however was well presented
and Jake could see why Fiona would find him attractive.  He was built like a
weight-lifter; just the sort of muscle-bound hunk that Fiona had always lusted
over and Jake was suddenly sure that they had met.  If only he could remember
where.  It had been a few years back, he thought.  For now, though, he was not
going to pursue the thought.  Mitch was the enemy after all.

‘So you’re Jake.  I’ve heard a lot of good
things about you.’

Jake smiled.  He just hoped that Mitch was
fooled.  He would try some simple banter.

‘So, you’re a client of Fiona’s boss, are
you?’

‘That’s right.  A real coincidence, ain’t
it?  Anyhow, she tells me that you’re a journalist and I’ve checked you out. 
How about it?’

‘Just like that?’

‘What?’

‘I thought this was supposed to be an
interview.’

‘Oh come on.  What’s the point?  You
either can write or you can’t.  There’s only one way to find out, isn’t there? 
So, it’s up to you.  I’ll give you a job.  You write up the story and if it’s
any good it’ll be in the paper.’

‘You mean as a freelance?’

‘Of course, buddy boy.  Can you think of a
better way?  How about it?’

‘Why not?  Okay, what’s the assignment?’

‘I’ve got just the job for you.  It’s
quite simple really.  There’s this girl that I want to learn more about.  The
Times did an article about her recently but I want to know what makes her
tick.  Her name’s Cherry Linford.  You may’ve heard of her.’

Jake could not help drawing in a breath. 
Shit.  Did that mean that Mitch was on to him?

‘Ah, I see you do,’ the bastard nodded and
then slyly added, ‘You don’t know her do you?’

He knew everything.  Jake could see that
he was being played for a sucker.  Or was he?  No he would continue his
pretence.  If Mitch’s remarks were innocent then any obvious reaction would
give him away and that was too big a risk to take.  He considered his answer.

‘No, but I remember reading the article. 
She’s an artist, isn’t she?’

‘That’s right.  She’s sold one or two
pieces for good money and her work’s critically acclaimed.  All the last story
did was to get her to talk about her work.  From what I’ve heard the reporter
found her, to put it bluntly, an uncooperative bitch and couldn’t find out
anything about her motivations.  That’s what I want from you.  Well?’

‘So you want me to do some digging, is
that it?’

‘Yeah, find out the background and put it
in context.  About a year ago something changed in her life.  Before then
no-one had heard of her.  So, tell me what happened.  Okay?’

‘What’s the deadline?’

‘You’ve got until Tuesday so you’ve got
plenty of time.  But look, do me a favour, will you?  As soon as you’ve got
something give me a call.  There are things about her that don’t add up.  I
heard that she’s been out shopping in auctions, buying antiques or something. 
For someone who’s into modern art that doesn’t sound right does it.  See if you
can interview her tomorrow and email me with a rough draft.’

‘Okay, and rates?’

‘Ah yeah, well...’

………………………………………………

When Jake left the room, Mitch picked up
the phone.

‘Okay, Alex,’ he said, smiling, ‘You were
right.  The guy’s such a wanker but he’s going to play along.  It’s almost a
shame he won’t have time to write the piece.  The Cherry Linford story would’ve
made interesting reading in the paper.’

And Mitch laughed.  What more did he need
to say?  They already had four of the stones.  They would have Isaacson’s
tonight and then they would gain Jake’s.  Then his revenge would be complete. 
Jake would pay for what he had done to him.  Mitch wondered if at the last the
idiot would remember him.

With six of the stones in their possession
they could open up the doorway and find the remainder.  Everything was going as
Alex Lapski had predicted and there was nothing that the interfering Bent
Ferret, as Alex called his former professor, could do to stop them.

‘Do you feel up to coming out?’ Asher
called, ‘The
shiur
^[8]
begins in half an hour.’

Shmueli, lying on his bed that evening,
looked up.  He really did not feel up to it.  A whole day had passed since his
weird experience with the birthday cake and brief meeting with that Tiferet
person but he was still so confused and he really did not know what to do. 
Tiferet; who did he think he was?  The man had even had the gall to phone today
and ask if he could come over and to cap it all he was bringing Cherry’s
mother.  Of course he refused.  Shmueli was over the Linfords good and proper. 
He did not need reminding of those days of forbidden relationships. 

He had shown Tiferet the door yesterday
and he would do so again.  Tiferet was dangerous.  He was certain of it.  Who
did he think he was?  What did he want with his
becha
?

‘Well?’ came Asher again.

Shmueli nodded to himself.  That was the
whole purpose of coming to Golders Green after all.  To be close to Rabbi
Tashlich and attend his
shiurim
^[9]
. 
The man was such a charismatic teacher and his study sessions were always
stimulating.  No, however bad he actually felt, he could not let it be an
excuse and, as he thought about it, the more certain he became.  In any case it
was an opportunity to talk over the weird happenings with the Rabbi. 

………………………………………

So, half an hour later, the two of them were
sitting at a long table together with a further six young men in a small
classroom within the
shtiebel
^[10]
that the Rabbi used as his headquarters.  The
shtiebel
itself could best
be described as a small synagogue situated within the confines of a private house. 
It was a type of synagogue that was today becoming increasingly prevalent
amongst the ultra-orthodox communities and was most reminiscent of those in the
villages of Eastern Europe during the nineteenth century.

At the head of the table sat Rabbi Tashlich;
a balding but youngish man sporting a thick, straggly, beard and thick-framed
glasses.  Like his fellows, Shmueli listened enraptured as the Rabbi spoke in
his pure Brooklyn Jewish accent.  Then, when he had finished he turned to look
at Shmueli.

‘It was your English birthday yesterday,
wasn’t it?’

As enterprising as ever.  Shmueli could
not recall that he had ever passed on that piece of information.

‘And your Jewish birthday is when?’

For a second Shmueli had to think about
it.  Despite his entering the circles of the orthodox he still tended to think
in terms of secular dates.  Then he remembered; 10th Sivan.  He felt quite
proud of himself.  Now he knew what was coming.  He had been expecting it
anyway.  Rabbi Tashlich would ask him to expound on the
sidrah
^[11]
,
the portion of the Law for this week.  Well, at least he was prepared for it
when requested and he began his oration.

………………………………………………

The
shiur
continued for about
another hour and then, when everyone else had gone from the room, Shmueli turned
to the Rabbi.

‘May I speak with you a few minutes?’

‘Sure thing, Shmueli.  You seemed
distracted tonight.  The move unsettling?’

‘Yes and no.  This is a little bit
embarrassing.’

‘Hey, you don’t need feel shy with me. 
Tell all.’

‘You remember how I used to be when we
first met?’

‘Yeah.  You were trying to find yourself,
weren’t you?  A real spiritual quest, eh?’

Shmueli nodded.  ‘I had always been
convinced that there was something out there, a better place; I don’t know
what.  It had never been very definite and my ideas about it were always hazy
but I always knew that it was real and one day I would locate it.’

‘And did you?’ Tashlich smiled.

‘I thought so.  When you introduced me to
Torah
I began to feel fulfilled.  I really thought that I had solved the riddle of my
life...until...’

‘Until now.  Okay, Shmueli.  Tell me what
happened?  Something did happen, I guess?’

‘Oh yes.  It began yesterday, when I got
home from work.  And Shmueli told him everything about the cake and about the
maggots.

‘Wow.  That must be really frightening. 
You really saw that?’

‘Yes.’

‘You really sure?’

‘How can I be?  I know it couldn’t be real
but it did seem so vivid.  What does it mean?’

For once it was Rabbi Tashlich who shook
his head.  It was most unusual to see him stuck for words.  Then, when he did
speak it was obvious that he was choosing his words with caution.

‘It had to be symbolic for you.  It had to
be a very real experience, valid for you and I think that’s all you can say
about it.’

‘But there’s more.’

‘Go on.’

‘I had a visitor yesterday.  Someone you
may know.’

The Rabbi’s eyes lit up, ‘Yeah?  Who?’

‘He said he was Professor Benjamin Tiferet
of the Hebrew University.’

‘That
apicorus
^[12]
.  I
knew he was in England but why did he want to see you?’

‘It was about my Kiddush becha.  My
Grandpa gave it to me.  According to Tiferet it’s got Kabbalistic meaning.’

‘Well, I hope you told him where to get
off.  I don’t want you playing with Kabbalah.  You’re far too young and
innocent.  Kabbalah is something to study when you are far more conversant with
Talmud than you are now.  Tiferet is a dangerous man, teaching mysticism to
impressionable students without any real belief in Hashem
^[13]
.  I’ll tell you a story.

‘Have you ever heard of Ben Zoma?’

‘He was a Rabbi in the Talmud wasn’t he?’

‘That’s right, one of the greatest but why
do you think that we don’t call him by his own name?  Ben Zoma; all that means
is Son of Zoma; if he was so great, you’d think he would be honoured by being
called, Rabbi, wouldn’t you?’

‘I suppose he must’ve done something.’

‘Yeah, right on.  What he did was to
dabble in mysticism.  He believed that you could get closer to God by
understanding His mystic nature and he carried out secret rituals that enabled
him to enter forbidden worlds of the spirit where man should not go.  What he
saw there we will never know but when he returned he was a changed man. 
Whatever he experienced, it drove him mad and Rabbi Akiva castigated him for
it.  Let that be a lesson.

‘Tiferet is going the same way.  I’ve read
his books and I know that he believes that he can repeat Ben Zoma’s journey. 
You really don’t want to get mixed up with him.  He’s nothing but trouble.

‘Shmueli, if I was you, I’d forget about
the whole thing.  You go home now.  Asher’s waiting.  Put these illusions
behind you.  Study
Torah
and put your trust in
Hashem
.  That way
you’ll learn how to defeat your darker thoughts.’

‘Wait...I...’

‘No. 
Hashem
sends us tests from
time to time.  Remember Job.  That’s what you are having, a test.  You must try
to forget about it.  I’ll tell you what to do.  When you pray.  You ask God to
take away the evil. 
Daven
^[14]
hard and think about your prayers.  Soon these experiences will be nothing
more than a distant memory.’

‘But..!’

‘Listen to me.  I’m your Rabbi.  I know
what I’m talking about.  Okay?’

Reluctantly, Shmueli nodded.

‘Great.  I’ll see you at
Shacharit
^[15]
tomorrow, then.’

And Shmueli realised that he had been
dismissed.  What he had been told provided no comfort whatever and he realised
that his experience was something about which even the charismatic Tashlich had
no good advice.  He felt quite unsatisfied, as if he had been betrayed in some
way.

Soon Asher and he were home where they
went to sit in the cluttered lounge where Daniel and Avi were already ensconced
before the television.

‘You feeling better, Shmueli?’ asked
Daniel.

‘Yes, thanks.’

‘Good.  There’s some people coming to see
you later.’

‘What?  Not Tiferet again?’

‘We...ell?’

‘No, Danny.  You know what the Rabbi says
about him.’

‘But what could I do?  But he’s not the
only one.’

‘What?’

‘There’s someone else coming; a
journalist.  Said his name’s Mitch Mitchell.’

Where had he heard that name before?  But
it was gone, as if the thought had never existed.

‘Did he say when he was coming?’

‘Not exactly.  Just that he’d be here
after ten.’

‘That’s all I need.  And Tiferet?’

‘The same.’

‘Oh great.  So both of them could turn up
together.  So what did this Mitch fellow want?’

‘He wanted to discuss someone called
Cherry with you.’

‘Cherry?  I don’t believe it.  After all
this time.’

‘Why; who’s she?’

‘No-one,’ he snapped, much to Danny’s
surprise.

‘Oh well.  It’s not your fault.  I’ll wait
up for them.’

But, by ten o’ clock neither of the
unwelcome guests had arrived and both Avi and Daniel could wait no longer. 
They were all early risers and it was most unusual for any of them not to be in
bed by ten-fifteen. 

Now there were just the two of them, Asher
and Shmueli, and they looked at each other.

‘So, why’s this journalist coming to see
you?  Who’s Cherry?’

Shmueli paused.  He had never told his
friend about his old life before he became religious.  The memories were still
painful.  He decided that now was the time.

‘I used to be engaged to this girl.  She
wasn’t Jewish, you see...

………………………………………………

‘...anyway she’s become something of a
celebrity recently.  I suppose it was obvious the local press would want to
investigate her story.  I guess they want to see where I fit in.’         

‘But, you can tell them what happened;
that you ended it all when you became
dati
^[16]
. 
What’s wrong in that?’

‘You don’t understand.  When I chucked her
it was all rather nasty.  Something happened...’

Asher looked on expectantly but Shmueli
just shook his head.  ‘Sorry, I really don’t want to discuss it.’

‘Oh.’

‘Exactly; and you know what these
reporters are.  I’ll just have to get rid of him.’

Like a warning of danger the night’s
silence was shattered by the piercing ringing of the doorbell.  Somehow,
Shmueli knew that it had to be the journalist. 

‘Typical.  You’d think he’d use the
knocker, wouldn’t you?  I bet he’s a real arrogant son of a bitch.’

Asher laughed.  ‘Go on.  You’d better let
him in.  I’ll wait here for you, shall I?’

‘Thanks.  But, I’ll be all right.  What
can possibly happen?’

‘No idea, but it’s late and I don’t think
you should take a chance.  Be careful.’

And, with that said, Asher climbed the
stairs and Shmueli opened the door a fraction to look at the visitor standing
before him.  As he had suspected, it was a complete stranger.  Fair-haired,
muscular, with a thick stubble covering his lower face; the man, whoever he
was, looked as if he was used to having his way and Shmueli was instantly
intimidated.  When the stranger finally spoke, his voice had just that edge to
it that quite reinforced the visual impression.

‘Samuel Isaacson?’

Shmueli thought that he’d never felt such
dislike for someone.

‘I’m Mitch Mitchell from the Post.  I’m
sorry to keep you up.  Do you mind if I come in?’

But Shmueli was not at all interested in
acceding to the request.

‘I’m sorry Mr Mitchell, but it’s really
late.  Can’t you make an appointment for tomorrow?’

‘Oh, Sam.  Don’t be like that.  I’ll only
be a few minutes, I promise.  I just want to ask you a few questions.’

‘Okay, then.  Ask me here.’

‘No, no.  You don’t understand.  There’s
no sense in us standing out here drawing attention to ourselves.  Come on, Sam,
be fair.’

But Shmueli was quite unhappy at the
prospect.  He turned around, almost hoping that Asher had not gone up to bed
after all, but he was alone as he knew that he would be.  With a final
realisation of defeat he allowed the other to cross the threshold and Shmueli
knew that he was trapped.

Oh, well.  There was nothing for it. 
Nervously, he headed for the lounge and sat on the sofa opposite the journalist
who was holding a pocket dictation machine.

‘Mr Isaacson, Sam...’

‘Shmueli, please?’

‘All right, Shmueli.  Call me, Mitch,
okay?’

Shmueli nodded.

‘You know why I’m here don’t you?’

‘Cherry?’ he queried reluctantly and was
hit by the incongruous thought that the best thing that could possibly happen
was for Professor Tiferet to arrive at that moment.  The prospect of talking to
the Israeli was easily preferable to facing the interrogation ahead.

‘Yeah, that’s right.  We’re doing a story
on her.  How she rose from obscurity to being a minor local celebrity in the
space of under a year and all that.  I need you to fill in some background,
that’s all.

‘You used to be engaged to her, didn’t
you?’

‘Yes.’

‘How long were you together?’

‘About two years.  A little longer.  But
we dated on and off before then.’

‘How did you meet?’

‘At a party.  We had mutual friends.’

‘I know it’s a long time ago but can you
remember what attracted you about her?  Her looks, I assume?’

And Shmueli smiled.  This was easier than
he thought it would be.  Mitch was putting him at his ease.