Chapter 7
Hadley had the sensation of being caught in a time loop when Paul parked in the same space she and the chief has used weeks ago, when they had first visited the state AG’s office.
There weren’t as many vehicles scattered through the underground lot as there had been then, but it seemed like a large number for Sunday. A worryingly large number.
“What about the parking garages?” she asked Yíxīn, as they paused for everyone to get out of Reverend Clare’s car. “A couple bombs in here…”
Paul looked around. “God. Think of all the gas tanks going up.”
Yíxīn shook her head. “The lots are too far away. I mean, yeah, it would be hell on the cars, and maybe some structural damage, but they wouldn’t be hurting any of the government offices.”
The chief, Reverend Clare, and Flynn headed toward them. Yíxīn pointed at an exit sign at the end of the next row of cars. “Follow me, everybody.”
“You’re sure it’s the fastest way?” Paul was clearly scouting out other exits.
“I work here six days a week, Firefly, I know what I’m doing.”
“Six days? That sucks.”
Yíxīn clenched her fists like a weightlifter. “You gotta grind if you want to get anywhere.”
Paul shook his head. “The only grinding I like to do is my coffee beans.”
“You’re a failure as a millennial. Have you even caused the death of some well-loved industry?”
They emerged into cold air and a dimming sky. To their right, the museum squatted in all its cement glory, looking for all the world like a cross between a giant alien mothership and a harmonica. Ahead of them, the massive towers loomed, a row of tombstones for giant and unloved kings.
“I remember visiting here in eighth grade.” Flynn’s voice, directly behind her, felt like pricking on her skin. “It reminded me of the Gates of Mordor.”
“Let’s not drag our feet.” The chief strode past her. “We don’t have much time left.”
Reverend Clare caught his arm and stopped him, turning away from the plaza. Toward the west. She held out her arm, displaying the watch she always wore. “Four thirty. The sun’s gone down.”
They all fell silent for a moment. Hadley found herself holding her breath as if she could stop time; listening, listening. All she could hear was the whoosh and drone of traffic in the streets around them.
“Were we wrong?” Flynn’s voice was frustrated.
“Maybe. And maybe they don’t have as strict a timeline as religious ceremonies do.” The chief turned back toward the plaza. “We’ll find out one way or another.”
Across the four-laned street, the Madison Avenue entrance was marked CLOSED, its doors blocked with safety cones, so they headed for the plaza.
At the far end, Hadley could see skaters gliding and circling on the rink—a reflecting pool come summer.
The enormous state Christmas tree nearby added a touch of cheer to the concrete wasteland.
“Oh, that’s different!” Yíxīn pointed toward the massive staircase rising ponderously from the plaza to the museum entrance. At its foot, a large wooden menorah had been erected facing the tree across the plaza. “It wasn’t there yesterday.”
The presence of a crane, parked to the side and waiting for workers to return on Monday, seemed very slapdash to Hadley. “Is this official?” She turned to Clare. “You talked to the rabbi.”
“I don’t know. Nobody’s here, but you don’t have to light the menorah right at sunset. Lots of families wait until it’s gotten dark.”
Flynn jogged toward the structure. He knocked on the square wooden base, then pressed the sides between his hands. He looked up to the geometric branches.
“Well?” the chief asked.
Flynn rejoined them. “It’s not the best carpentry I’ve ever seen, but it’s solid. I can’t imagine getting any of the IEDs inside.”
The blast of moist heat as they went through a nearby bank of glass doors was a welcome break from the increasing cold.
Others had joined them—not a huge number, but Hadley could tell something was going on even if she hadn’t already learned about the Hanukkah celebration.
Even across two flights of stairs and through the second set of glass doors leading into the concourse, she could hear music and the buzz of voices.
“Here for the Hanukkah party?” A young bearded man greeted them as they entered the concourse. He looked at her and blinked, before bursting into a gleaming smile. “Can I help you?”
Another couple paused beside Hadley. “It’s down there, right?”
“Yep, yep.” He glanced at them for a second and waved his hand before swiveling back to her. “I haven’t seen you at any get-togethers. I’m Josh Leeser, by the way.”
Reverend Clare thrust herself forward. “Hi, Josh,” she said in her most Southern accent. “We’re looking for Rabbi Oppenheim?”
“Oh.” He deflated a bit. “Yes. All the way to the right. They’re getting ready to light the menorah.”
“Thank you,” Clare drawled. She hooked her arm in Hadley’s and headed toward the crowd at the far end of the concourse.
“Wow, Hadley.” Yíxīn sounded impressed. “You’ve got game.”
“You should have seen me when I first met her.” Flynn smiled sideways. “It took me, like, three months before I could talk to her without stuttering.”
Hadley looked down at her boots, praying no one could see the blush rising in her face.
The concourse looked like a sad, bare version of the mall; the large modern paintings on display had been swagged with tinsel and here and there artfully arranged piles of brightly wrapped packages rested against the base of the walls.
The crowd near the entrance to the cultural center was a welcome oasis of light and life.
People strolled between large glass-framed exhibit cases and checked out food carts and tables, where vendors and volunteers were getting ready to serve up.
Something smelled wonderful and Hadley’s stomach growled, reminding her she hadn’t eaten anything today.
“Oh, I see her!” Reverend Clare pointed to a short woman talking with a trio of musicians, their instruments tucked beneath their arms. “Rabbi Oppenheim!” She waved.
“Clare!” The rabbi hugged her, then turned to the rest of them. She was in her early sixties, with a clear, penetrating gaze and a face that had spent a lot of time laughing. “You’ve brought the party with you.”
Clare introduced them all. Hadley could see the chief barely restraining himself until the reverend finished up with, “… and this is Yíxīn Zhào, an attorney with the state AG’s office.”
“Have you notified any security?” Van Alstyne burst out. “Do the state police here know?”
The rabbi looked amused. “There’s exactly one officer on duty, and yes, we told him.
And as I said on the phone, we’re keeping our eyes open.
Temple Beth El and Temple Chai had already arranged for their security guards to be here.
” She gestured, first to a tall, stocky blonde who had cop written all over her, then to a slighter, darker man with a faint smile and observant eyes.
“What about the menorah?”
Rabbi Oppenheim frowned, then looked to a small stage, where an elaborate brass menorah sat on a draped table. “What about it?”
“The large wooden one outside,” Flynn clarified.
“Oh! Yeah, I saw that when I came in. I don’t know, maybe Chabad? They do that sort of thing.”
“There was nobody there when we went by a few minutes ago. Wouldn’t people be gathering to light it soon?” The chief clearly had a bug about the structure.
“It’s not a set time. You can light the menorah as early as sunset, or as late as an hour and a half after, if you’re saying the ma’ariv first.”
“Okay.” The chief nodded at Yíxīn. “You work here. Can you find out if that structure has an official permit or not?”
“Maybe? The plaza operations office is right near where we came down; if there’s a custodian on duty, they might have a key.” She pulled her agency lanyard from her back pocket and dropped it over her head.
“I’ll go with her,” Paul offered. He tapped his sidearm. “Just in case.”
“Good. See if whoever’s working can open up some of these offices for us. I want a visual check as soon as possible.” The crowd was quieting, parents shushing their children and the rattle of plates and platters ceasing. The chief looked around. “What’s up?”
Rabbi Oppenheim gave Clare the side-eye. “Is he always this suspicious?”
“Yes. But he’s got good reason this time.”
The rabbi gestured to where an aged, papery-skinned man was making his way up three steps to the raised platform.
A pair of younger men hovered beside and behind him, not assisting, but more than ready to.
“Leonard Schlesinger,” the rabbi explained.
“He’s going to say the prayers and light the first candle. ”
“Uh…” Russ touched the top of his head. “I don’t have…”
A burly dad standing near them leaned over and handed him a kippah. “One for you, too.” He passed it to Flynn. Both men put them on.
“Mr. Schlesinger is the oldest member of Temple Beth-El. He was at Omaha Beach on D-Day.” Rabbi Oppenheim nodded toward one of the display cases. “There’s a photo of him shipping out at eighteen in the exhibit.”
The old man touched a taper to a flame, then lifted it, quivering slightly, to the first candle on the left.
“Blessed are You, Adonai our God, Sovereign of all, who hallows us with mitzvot, commanding us to kindle the Hanukkah lights.” The wick blossomed, flickered, then straightened.
“Blessed are You, Adonai our God, Sovereign of all, who performed wondrous deeds for our ancestors in days of old at this season.” The single candle, Hadley thought, seemed to warm the whole room.
“Blessed are You, Adonai our God, Sovereign of all, who has kept us alive, sustained us, and brought us to this season.”