The Six Messiahs - Mark Frost [91]
After attending Rupert Selig's funeral in Brooklyn, Stern had found waiting for him a detailed wire from Rabbi Isaac Brachman in Chicago: Jacob Stern had been with him there as recently as four days ago. When he left, Brachman assumed Jacob had traveled back to New York and was shocked to hear he hadn't arrived; no other destination had been discussed, and regrettably he had no idea where Lionel's father might have gone.
Rabbi Brachman's telegram brought another serious matter to light: The Tikkunei Zohar, the book Lionel had obtained last year for Brachman to study, had disappeared five weeks before from the archives of his temple. Brachman did not elaborate beyond a tantalizing hint that he suspected the theft held some connection to the Parliament of Religions, part of the 1893 World Columbian Exposition in Chicago, an event Jacob Stern had attended as a representative of American Orthodox Judaism.
Presto gave his report: He spent the day returning to rare book shops he had visited upon arriving in New York, and one Lower East Side shop owner reported an intriguing encounter.
"A well-spoken German gentleman—good-looking, tall, athletic build—came into this man's store just yesterday, representing himself as the agent for a wealthy private collector interested in purchasing rare religious manuscripts. He understood that such documents were exceedingly difficult to come by and usually resided in the hands of established scholars or institutions. He expressed particular interest in the Gerona Zohar and wondered if the man had heard about the book recently coming into this country. This bookstore"—Presto paused for effect; melodrama an inescapable part of his nature—"is less than two blocks away from the offices of Mr. Stern."
"The German bloke again," said Innes.
"He told the shopkeeper that he had recently returned from Europe," said Presto.
"And he's undoubtedly by now in possession of the false Zohar we left on the railroad tracks," said Doyle. "Any idea who he claimed to be?"
With his flashing smile and a flourish worthy of a magician, Presto produced a business card out of thin air: "Mr. Frederick Schwarzkirk: Collector. No other title. Offices in Chicago."
"Schwarzkirk? Odd name."
"That means 'Black Church,' " said Jack.
Doyle and Jack looked at each other: the dream about the tower. This was no coincidence. Silence in the room.
"Is your tour scheduled to take you to Chicago?" asked Jack.
"As a matter of fact, it is," said Doyle.
"We travel tomorrow," said Innes.
"We're going with you," said Jack.
"Capital," said Doyle. Jack continued to stare at him. "What is it?"
"Someone I want you to meet tonight."
"Late in the day for a social call."
"My friend doesn't keep regular hours," said Jack. "Up to it?"
Doyle looked to Innes, who was nearly bursting with eagerness.
"Lead the way," said Doyle.
The wind blew colder as they rode uptown, the streets empty, leaves beginning to turn. Even this deserted, you could feel the immense restless dynamism of the city, thought Doyle, coursing up through the ground like the hum of a massive turbine engine.
As they trotted past the terraced palazzos and mansions on Fifth Avenue, he felt a twinge of self-reproach, realizing that a part of him still yearned after a style of living scaled to these grandiose dimensions. The homes of the ruling class sat silent as medieval fortresses, eye-popping shrines to vanity and greed, and yes, he still wanted one. In England, the rich handled fortunes