The
13th Enumeration
By
William Struse
Published by
PalmoniQuest LLC.
Copyright © 2012 by William Struse
All rights reserved, No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned,
or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission.
ISBN 978-0-9858715-0-5
www.the13thenumeration.com
www.twitter.com/13thEnumeration
www.facebook.com/The13thEnumeration
This book is dedicated to my mother
Dawn Struse Long
A believer of unshakable Faith,
A woman of undeniable Hope,
A mother of unfailing
Love
Acknowledgments:
Winnie, I couldn’t have done this without you, my love. Your help, faith, encouragement, and support made this all possible. You are the heroine of my heart.
Maranatha, Hope, Hannah, Zane, and Noah, I will always treasure the winter of 2011–2012 as we all sat around the fire and read the manuscript for the first time together. Your suggestions, criticisms, and encouragements made the story better than it would have been. As a father you’ve made me proud. This story is for you.
Mom, thank you for buying a teenager a plane ticket that would be part of the catalyst for the words that follow. For reading to a ten-year-old who couldn’t and having the faith that someday he would. For not giving up on me when others might have. I finally learned to read.
Arno Froese, thank you for inviting a teenager to lunch when you didn’t have to. Little did you know that act of kindness and your words that weekend would be, in part, the impetus for a lifelong quest.
Rachel Starr Thomson, thank you for making my book better. I can only imagine that a new author with no experience writing his first work of fiction must be an editor’s worst nightmare. I appreciate all you have done.
Daniel and Dawn, your encouragement and suggestions are appreciated.
David, for inspiring a young man to learn what he didn’t know and showing just what someone is capable of if he wants it badly enough.
Mark Biltz, thank you for your help with the Hebrew words. I would have made several mistakes without your critical eye.
A special thanks to all my family and friends whose enthusiasm and encouragement meant more than I will ever be able to tell.
Prologue
Capernaum—43 AD
Looking down the long, dusty road, Levi stood searching through the glare of the late afternoon sun for any remaining travelers. He turned back to the station, calling a young man standing in the doorway. “David, it is time to close the station for today. Most travelers have already found lodgings for the evening. Our day is done, my friend.”
The customs office of Capernaum was an important station on the road between Damascus and Tyre. It collected taxes from the commerce on this road as well as that associated with the harbor of the Sea of Galilee. As far as his people were concerned, Levi was a traitor. They despised the taxes imposed by the Roman government and enforced by the Roman soldiers. They doubly despised one of their own people who worked for this imperial Roman system. Well, that could not be helped. He had a job to do, and he would at least do it honestly and fairly.
Levi called out to David again, “Make sure the customs chest is secured. I will tell the guards we will be leaving for the night.”
“I have already secured it.” David replied.
“Very well,” Levi said as he turned and went through a doorway to an adjacent building. The building next door was a low-ceilinged brick structure with only one rough opening for a window. It served as the guard station for the customs office as well as the quarters for a detachment of Roman soldiers under the command of the centurion Platimus. Levi addressed the officer in charge, who was sitting against the wall with his feet up. “We have closed the station for the night; please post a guard for the customs chest.”
The officer looked up, a condescending look on his face. “No need to worry. We will do our job, just see to it that you do yours.”
Levi looked in the officer’s eyes and without expression replied, “I also will need a detachment of guards tomorrow for my journey to deliver the taxes and my monthly report to headquarters in Jerusalem.”
With a look of disgust the guard replied, “You’ll have your guard, Jew.” Then with a dismissive gesture, he turned away and ignored him. Silently Levi left the building and headed next door. Some of those Roman soldiers could be very disagreeable. There were others, though, like the centurion, who respected the Jews and their religion. Capernaum had one of the most beautiful synagogues in Israel thanks in great part to the help and gifts of Platimus.
Before leaving for the day, Levi once more addressed David, “You are in charge until I get back. Watch for the Syrian; he should be coming through tomorrow or the next day. See to it that he does not try to sneak past again.”
“I will take care of it. Until the morning then, good night.”
In the late afternoon sun, Levi turned down a side street, passed two buildings, and took the path to his house. A short walk from the business district of town, his house stood on a slightly higher elevation than the town proper. He strode up the hard-packed dirt path and entered the courtyard, climbing the outside stairway to the roof. There was a small enclosed area for sitting or reclining, but today he just stood, watching the fading sun as it sent sparkling waves of light across the blue waters of the Sea of Galilee. The waters sparkled and shone like a myriad of diamonds. The desert sky was painted with crimson, purple, and rose. Just as the sun sank below the desert’s edge, bathing his face in a final intense burst of light, he felt the change in temperature and the air began to move, bringing relief. He waited a few minutes more, letting the cooling air absorb the heat from his body and the surrounding air. As he rested, he thought about the remaining preparations he had to make before he left tomorrow.
He needed to finish the manuscript tonight so he could take it with him to Jerusalem, trusting it to safe hands before it was confiscated and destroyed. He also wanted to have a copy made of the document he had found while cleaning out some of the old records from the customs station. The small tablet—written in cuneiform Aryan script, from the looks of it—appeared to be quite old. This tablet would make a nice addition to his collection from the Persian era.
His thoughts returning to the present, he retraced his steps and entered the main room of his house. It was modestly furnished with a few chairs and a table. With the light fading, he found his lamp and lit it, then entered a small room on his right and descended the stairs to his cellar. He picked up a knife and cut off a generous piece of bread from a loaf on the shelf, found some olives and a couple of dried fish, and placed all these on a plain clay plate. Taking the plate and the lamp back up the stairs, he placed the food on the table and returned once more to the cellar.
The house had been run-down when he purchased it. After cleaning out the dirt, rocks, and debris from the basement, he had stumbled upon a secret door that led underground. It looked as if someone had found a natural underground cave and enlarged parts of it to make a secret hideaway. The entrance was covered with limestone, as was the entire basement. Over this, a house had been built, concealing the hideout completely. Whoever constructed it had put tremendous effort into the underground room and passages.
On the back wall of the cellar, he pushed against a large upright stone. It groaned, and he stood to one side as the bottom of the stone swung outward and up. Ducking, he stepped into the dark tunnel with his lamp and walked a few paces to an alcove cut into one wall of the passage. T
he alcove was four paces long and divided into two long shelves. On the top shelf were clay pots, on the bottom clay tablets.
Removing the lid from one of large clay pots, he took out a new manuscript. Levi then removed one of the clay tablets from the bottom shelf. He placed this in a leather pouch and turned to leave the underground cave. Holding the lamp above his head, he studied the engraving on the opposite wall. Smiling with satisfaction, he turned away. Levi passed through the secret door to the cellar and carefully shut it behind him. Climbing the cellar stairs, he placed both the manuscript and the artifact on the table next to his food.
After supper, he opened the scrolled manuscript and began to write. He only had a little more to finish. With confident strokes, he covered the page with his precise Hebrew script. When the final words were completed, he sighed with satisfaction. He knew some who read this manuscript would not understand or believe the words he had written. He also knew that the way in which he had written it would cause some to question his words. But a record must be preserved, and when the time was right, the truth would be there for all to see. What better way to hide a great secret than to disguise it as a mistake and place it in plain sight?
He laughed quietly. His own people would proclaim his ignorance and miss the point completely. Making a few notes in the margin, he rolled the manuscript back up and prepared for bed.
The next morning, he left for Jerusalem with the collected taxes and an escort of Roman soldiers. Since they were on official business, they were able to acquire fresh horses at garrisons along the way. They made the customs headquarters in Jerusalem by midafternoon the following day. After giving a report to his superiors and depositing the collected taxes into the treasury, Levi left to find the scribe.
Reuben, the scribe, was a well-respected copyist of the Torah. His copies of the sacred writings were read in many homes and synagogues. Levi found him at his booth in the outer courtyard of the temple. His booth was squeezed between a noisy rug merchant and a stoney-eyed purveyor of spices. The aroma of frankincense and cinnamon was strong in the air.
Reuben welcomed him. “How are you, my friend? It has been a long time. How can I help you today?”
Levi removed the manuscript from his effects and placed it on the counter. The new leather scroll was bound tightly by a thin flax cord.
“I would like you to get this into safe hands,” he replied with a knowing look. “I would also like to hire you to make a copy of this.” He pulled a small leather pouch from another pocket of his garment, carefully removed its contents, and placed them on the counter as well. “I found this among some of the records at my customs office. As you can see by the Persian script, it predates the Roman occupation. I’m not sure how it came to be in the customs house, but as you know, all Persian era artifacts are of great interest to me.”
Reuben carefully picked up the small clay tablet and examined it with intense curiosity. His eyes sparkling, he looked up at Levi and said, “You well know how I love a good challenge, Levi. I will gladly make you a copy and translation.”
Levi tried to hand over a few coins. Reuben hesitated before accepting them. With a look of slight disapproval he said, “You know I don’t want your money, my friend.”
Levi smiled. “I know, but this tablet is a personal interest of mine, and it’s not for the cause—so it is only right that I pay you for your time and expertise.”
Reuben acquiesced with good grace. “I will take your money, Levi, but only what I would charge anyone else. You have paid me too much.” Taking the appropriate change out of his purse, he handed it to Levi.
Still holding the small coin in his hand as he walked away, Levi paused for a moment on his way to his lodgings, thinking. After a moment, he turned his steps toward the temple proper.
Crossing the Court of the Gentiles, he climbed the fourteen steps to the wall that divided the court from the temple proper. Entering one of the thirteen gates, he passed into the Court of the Women and the temple treasury. Along the far wall were thirteen trumpet-shaped chests, narrow at the top and becoming wider and flared at the bottom. They were arranged from one to thirteen, each with its own numerical designation in the ancient Hebrew script, each designation specific to the collection of the various offerings, tithes, and temple taxes. Levi opened his hand, looking once more at the small coin he held. Walking over to the last trumpet-shaped chest, he paused, staring at the trumpet and its enumeration.
Finally, taking the coin between two of his fingers, he dropped it into the narrow mouth of the chest, listening for the musical sound it made as it fell onto the multitude of coins below.
Chapter 1
Tel Aviv, Israel. Present day.
Miriam Rosenfeld was frustrated, frustrated, and angry! She hated mice, the filthy little creatures, crawling all over the place. She had been finding nibbles in her bialy rolls and holes in her packages of rice and lentils. They were leaving droppings everywhere. Who knew what kind of diseases they carried? Her son, Jesse, was one year old and crawling on those dirty floors. She was at her wit’s end. She had trapped thirty-nine of the vile little creatures, becoming an expert in setting traps and removing bloody carcasses, yet they still kept coming. Her drab one-room apartment in the low-rent district of Tel Aviv was full of them. Every time she blocked a hole, they either chewed through whatever she had filled it with or made another hole.
She mentioned her plight one evening at her best friend’s house, and Danya told her of a trick her mother had used: steel wool. She said the mice wouldn’t chew through it. So Miriam decided it wouldn’t hurt to try. Now she was standing in the aisle at the hardware store staring at the steel wool. Danya had said she only needed one package, but she had not seen Miriam’s apartment with those thousands of filthy little rodents scampering across the floor. She sure hoped this worked. If it didn’t, she didn’t know what she was going to do.
So Miriam, an otherwise stable and reasonable person, did something unreasonable that would ultimately save the lives of millions of people. She bought, not one package of steel wool, but ten.
* * *
The flickering computer screen cast an eerie glow over the tiny, dark apartment. Efran Finkelstein, with his muscular hairy hands, sat laboriously typing his one-page report into the computer one finger at a time. He finished the last line and double-clicked on the peacock icon at the bottom of his desktop. A small window opened which read, “Enter your encryption key.” Efran opened his web browser and looked up the weekly Israeli New Lotto numbers, then typed in the seven winning numbers for this week’s draw plus his own personal eighteen-digit identification number.
After a brief pause, the text began to disintegrate into little bits and pieces until nothing was left on the screen except a message which read, “Please stand by; Anaj is encrypting your text.” After thirty seconds, a new window appeared. “Please select your destination folder.” Efran chose drive F and saved the information to a removable flash drive. A final window opened which read, “Please stand by.”
Two minutes later, the program shut itself down. With all traces of the original message cleaned and overwritten by Anaj itself, the only evidence of his activities was the little peacock icon in the bottom-right corner of the computer screen.
Efran removed the thumb drive and walked over to the kitchen table. From the lower cabinet, he pulled out his toolbox and removed a pair of pliers, a small ball-peen hammer, a pair of metal shears, and some electrical tape. From the top shelf of a closet he removed an old roof flashing and cut a small rectangle about 6cm x 4cm. It was lead—when he’d picked the flashing up at the plumbing store, he had been surprised that they still sold lead flashings.
Taking a small folding knife from his pocket, Efran carefully pried the plastic case off the flash drive, exposing a small computer board. With the pliers, he gently bent the USB adapter back and forth until it broke away from the board. He wrapped three layers of electrical tape lengthwise around the bare board, which he then plac
ed on the leaden rectangle. Folding the lead sheet in half, he covered the computer board like a sandwich. With the small hammer he gently tapped the open edges until they began to flatten. He gently folded 3mm of the edge all the way around the sandwich, then hammered the edges until they melded together. He repeated this once more until the edges were completely sealed and the board was enclosed in a waterproof container.
Rising from the table, Efran removed flour, sugar, and gelatin from the upper kitchen cabinet. Measuring them according to a recipe he had memorized a year before, he poured them into a pot on the stove. To the mixture on the stove he added just enough water to make a paste out of the ingredients. Into this he added a 60ml of water-soluble craft glue. Efran swore as he spilled some of the metallic sand he was measuring from an unmarked container. After he had 160ml, he mixed it into the other ingredients. Efran heated and stirred the ingredients until they were thoroughly mixed into a honey-like consistency. He let it boil for ninety seconds and then turned it off.
From a bag in the drawer of his desk, Efran removed a small balloon and inserted his lead-encapsulated computer board into it. He blew up the balloon until it was about an 3cm in diameter and 7cm long. Taking the balloon by its tied-off stem, he held it over the pot on the stove and ladled the warm, granulated liquid carefully over the balloon until it was completely covered. He hung up the balloon until, about half an hour later, it had dried into a hard shell.
Taking a pin, Efran popped the balloon at the end where the stem stuck out, then dipped the open end of the hard shell into the ingredients. He covered the entire capsule once more and let it dry for one more hour while he removed every trace of his little project. He was glad he did not have to do this every week. From start to finish it took him about three hours, but well worth the effort. Traitors were not well liked anywhere, but in Israel, they were especially hated.
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