Wages of Empire

THE TEMPLE MOUNT was shrouded in darkness. It was the dead of night yet sounds of digging echoed within the Dome of the Rock.

As a prank, Evan had formally requested that his diploma be issued under the name "Pancho Villa."

Finding refuge in a pickup game of baseball after the last day of senior year, he stood in center field amid patches of parched grass and tufts of saltbush, shirtless in the summer heat of the high desert. He squinted at the distant contest between pitcher and batter, framed by the rickety wooden backstop and the Pine Valley Mountains. He imagined he was in the vast green outfield of the Polo Grounds in upper Manhattan, where he had fallen in love with baseball and with the New York Giants on a hot summer day in 1912...

Ten years Evan's senior, Lawrence had taught him how to make the sling when they'd met during his father's first sabbatical year at the Carchemish digs in Northern Syria.

Clive put his hand on Evan's shoulder. "You want some dinner?"
"Sure..."
"How about soup? We have vegetable and tomato."
"Tomato."

Walker raised his arms high over his head and shouted into the wind, "I am Siegmund, son of Wotan, flying through the tempest to join my illicit bride in Valhalla!" Feeling the boat slow, he saw that Watson had tacked into the wind, coming into the fairway by a stone jetty.
"Siegmund!" Watson called out, laughing, "When you get back from Valhalla, set the fenders—that stone jetty will ruin the hull!"

Walker saw Wilhelm striding toward him, arrayed in the uniform of a British admiral, his chest studded with shining medals. Walker dropped to one knee and bowed his head. Above him boomed the kaiser's voice, speaking with a perfect British accent.
"Montagu Walker, is it?"

The kaiser continued speaking as they followed a path winding through the smooth expanse of a green lawn studded by classical statuary and tall palm trees toward a towering bronze statue set on an equally massive marble pedestal—the lithe but muscular figure of a helmeted man with spear and shield overlooking the Ionian Sea. That must be Achilles, thought Walker.

The kaiser's eyes narrowed. "What do you know of the Spear?"
"I know it was used by the Roman guard Longinus to pierce the side of Our Lord. I know that whosoever possesses the Spear holds in his hand the destiny of the world—"

"Understand this—the love I have for my young cousin, King George, is such that I don't begrudge him his holdings in Africa, Egypt, India, and Asia—likewise my cousin, Czar Nicholas with his vast Russian empire. But I too deserve a place in the sun! And that includes Jerusalem!"

"You see, my dear Walker, I determined that the Dormition Abbey should resemble Charlemagne's Aachen Cathedral, because just as Aachen was the center of the First Reich under Charlemagne, Jerusalem will be the center of my Kaiserreich!"

Gunter leaned over his desk, pulled open the two double-pane windows, pushed aside the peeling green shutters, and opened the room to morning light and cool air from the garden. That's better, he thought, but something's still not right.

Joining the foot-traffic converging on Damascus Gate, Gunter passed a half dozen fruit sellers tending makeshift stalls and beggars in threadbare robes on either side. He entered the Old City through the open left half of the gate, the other closed and painted with the Turkish crescent and star.

Chaim Weizmann eased his son's bedroom door closed and turned to see his wife, Vera, coming down the hall in her robe and slippers.
"Is Benjy asleep?" she asked.

Asher Ginsberg's brand of Cultural Zionism supported settlement of the land of Israel but stressed the importance of core Jewish values—compassion, truth, and justice—especially when dealing with the Arabs of Palestine.

Faisal Bin Hussein completed morning prayer and kissed his wife and four sleepy children before leaving his apartments within the walls of the Holy Precinct.

Sheriff Hussein sighed. "It's not the Turks that concern me...it is Germany that concerns me."
"Why?" Faisal asked.
"Kaiser Wilhelm...he is an affront to everything we cherish!"

As he had promised his father, Evan set out to find work the day after graduation and landed a job at Cedar City's only filling station, owned and operated by Bob Pitney. The pay was good at twenty-five cents an hour, as were the hours of six to noon. Plus, he could have up to three free bottles of Hires Root Beer per shift.

On an already warm summer morning, Evan headed into work as the sun rose over the Pine Valley Mountains. He coasted on his Sunbeam bicycle through the sleeping streets of Cedar City, the silence perfect but for the sound of the rubber tires gliding over the smooth dirt road, a steady and reassuring whisper.

BUILDING OF KAISER'S AUGUSTA VICTORIA HOSTEL ON JERUSALEM'S MOUNT OF OLIVES COMPLETE.
Evan glanced at the newspaper text which described other prominent buildings the Kaiser had built in Jerusalem... transforming and dominating the city.
Pitney tapped the photo with an index finger blackened by grease. "Nice place... I reckon the kaiser's fixin' to move in."
As Evan pedaled home, he thought, Jerusalem must be important in what the Kaiser's planning to do. And if there's going to be a war over there, that's where I should go!

I see the silly white helmet of the Archduke dressed in his white uniform. He is looking right at me. Beside him is his wife, Sophie, also in white with a pretty, wide-brimmed hat.
I take the pistol from my pocket. I see the fear in their eyes.
It is well they should be frightened.
The motorcar begins to move.
I raise my hand and shoot. And again I shoot.