The Jerusalem Assassin (16 page)

Her face paled.

“Don’t worry. I’m not here to cause trouble. I’ve dedicated my life to keeping shalom among Jews. That’s why the subject of
Rodef
interests me.”

“I’m no longer interested in this subject.”

“Was there a boy?”

Her cheeks flushed. “We went out a few times. He’s very smart, but after a while, I got a little—”

“Scared?”

She thought for a moment. “Uncomfortable.”

“Yes?”

“He’s a good person, really. And very smart.” Ayala looked toward the kitchen door, as if nervous that her mother would hear. “He’s Sephardic. His parents came from Iraq. We’re from very different backgrounds, you understand?”

Sephardic, as the inexact term was used inclusively, referred to the almost two million Jews who had been forced to escape from Lebanon, Syria, Iraq, Iran, Yemen, Egypt, Tunisia, and Morocco after the 1948 war. The Arab regimes, bitter over their failure to annihilate the new Jewish state, fanned the flames of anti-Semitism against the ancient Jewish communities that had lived among the Muslim populations for many centuries. They arrested Jews, confiscated businesses, and burned Jewish homes. The Ashkenazi Jews, who originated in Europe and were first to embrace Zionism and settle in Palestine, had taken in the huge numbers of Sephardic refugees and absorbed them into the young state of Israel. But the perception of inferiority had been slow to fade away. Ayala’s parents, like many other Ashkenazi Jews, would not delight in their daughter marrying a Sephardic man.

“They would respect my choice.” Ayala shrugged. “For a while, I really liked him. His ideas were intriguing. But in the end I decided to break up. It’s over.”

“And the idea that intrigued you most? Was it the duty to kill a person who endangers the life of another Jew?”

“The duty is not in doubt. Only the scope of it.” Ayala hesitated. “Of course you should stop a person who’s intentionally endangering a Jew. Torah’s
Rodef
is a murderer in hot pursuit of his victim. The same goes for
Moser
, a Jew who hands over other Jews to be killed by the Gentiles. But some people argue that the rule applies more widely.” She drew a large circle in the air with her hands.

“To include someone who’s not actually pursuing or handing over other Jews, but who persists in actions that endanger Jews?”

“Maybe.”

“Like a politician who pursues policies that imperil Jewish lives?”

“Or hands over Jewish land,” Ayala said. “I mean, you could argue that the Land of Israel is as sacred as a Jewish life, so the same concept applies to land concessions, correct?”

“Are you saying that the
Rodef
and
Moser
rules require killing a Jewish leader like Prime Minister Rabin, for example, who’s handing over parts of biblical Israel to the Palestinians?”

“In theory, it’s a valid line of reasoning, a logical conclusion, don’t you agree?”

“Was that your boyfriend’s conclusion?” Rabbi Gerster leaned forward, narrowing the distance between them. “Is that why you became uncomfortable?”

“With Yoni?” She laughed. “Oh, no. Ideas don’t scare me. I love to argue about ideas. I mean, no one’s going to kill anyone. He was just theorizing, you know?”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course! We’re law students, and Jewish law is a big thing at Bar Ilan University. We always compare modern Israeli law to the law of Talmud, okay?”

“Then what scared you about him?”

“I didn’t like his friends.”

“The one nicknamed Freckles?”

She nodded, surprised. “You know Freckles?”

“A lucky guess.” He smiled. “I’ve heard of him.”

“Oh.” Ayala looked at the window, her face contemplative. “Yoni was secretive. I can’t waste my time on someone who doesn’t share, right? How can we get married if we don’t know everything about each other?”

“Such as?”

“Money and stuff. Yoni has nice clothes, a new handgun—”

“He carries a gun?”

“We all do. I got a Beretta twenty-two. It’s cheap, but you can’t travel in the territories without a gun.” She patted the pocket of her long skirt.

“What kind of a gun does he carry?”

“Also a Beretta, but bigger caliber. He let me shoot it when we went hiking in the desert. It’s nice. I mean, we had fun together. Like, we drove to the Galilee and to Haifa, ate at nice restaurants. But I know his parents don’t have money, so
how?
”

“He must have told you something.”

She rolled her eyes. “Some story about an old Jew who likes Freckles, kind of a sponsor, wants to help religious-nationalistic young men who are dedicated to the Land of Israel.”

“Did you meet this sponsor?”

“No.” She laughed. “He supposedly lives in Paris.”

“Did Yoni mention a name?”

“No, but I didn’t believe it anyway. Why would a rich old Jew from Paris give money to some Israeli students to buy stuff and take their girlfriends to restaurants? It made no sense.”

“But the money must have come from somewhere.” Rabbi Gerster tugged at his beard, pondering what she’d said and whether to push any further. “It must be very frustrating for you.”

“Not anymore.” Ayala smiled, looking very young. “I met someone else. Really nice.”

“May God bless your new relationship.”

“Amen.”

“Would you mind telling me Yoni’s last name?”

“Yoni Adiel.” She jotted down a number. “Please don’t mention my name.”

*

After sunset, when Gideon and Bathsheba returned to the apartment, Elie took Gideon to bug the phones in the prince’s suite at the Hilton. On the street, Elie noticed police signs along the barricades by the synagogue: No Parking!

“Must be a big function here this coming Sabbath,” Gideon said.

“This is useless.” Elie stopped and leaned against one of the metal barricades. “To effectively prevent a car bomb, they must block off the street completely, ban all vehicles, and frisk pedestrians. Do they really think a terrorist cares about getting a parking ticket?”

At the Hilton, it took Gideon less than thirty seconds to bypass the cardkey system and enter the suite. He drew his gun and checked the rooms. No one was there, but it clearly served as someone’s permanent living quarters.

One corner of the living area was taken by a desk and a filing cabinet. Gideon started working on the phone. Elie browsed through the files, which contained copies of contracts between Transport International El-Saud and its vendors.

“Look at this!” Gideon called Elie to the bathroom. It was vast, including a makeup station that accommodated a full-size barber chair. Inside the cabinet, arranged on shelves, were chains, hooks, nooses, studded leather straps, handcuffs, and a horse whip.

Elie shut the cabinet doors. “How stimulating.”

The bathroom phones—one on the counter, another by the toilet—kept Gideon busy for a few more minutes. All bugs were voice-activated and set for the same frequency. The signals could be picked up within a quarter of a mile.

Eleven minutes later they were back in the car. Elie swallowed another pill.

*

Part Three

The Diversion

Saturday, October 21, 1995

They dressed in suits and ties, their black shoes shining. Outside the villa, it was quiet and chilly. Bashir opened the door, and Abu Yusef got into the back seat of the BMW. As they drove out the gate, he looked back over his shoulder and wondered if he would survive the day to sleep here another night. This morning’s attack would be a needle prick compared to what he was planning for the Jews, a sample intended to whet Prince Abusalim’s appetite and reassure him that their group had the competence to shake up the world and shoot down the Oslo Accords. But if Abu Yusef died today, his plans would die with him. Bashir had tried to convince him to assign the job to the younger men, but he had insisted that age was an advantage. The police would stop young Mideast-looking men, whereas two gray-haired gentlemen would likely be allowed to pass through uninspected. Besides, he felt an irresistible urge to take this revenge with his own hands and watch the Jews die with his own eyes.

On the radio, a French woman sang about love. He thought of Al-Mazir and Latif, both of whom he had loved and lost. Now it was the Jews’ turn to lose those whom they loved.

*

Tanya rang the doorbell at Andre Silverman’s art gallery on Avenue Junot, and the lock clicked open. She nodded at her escorts, and they drove off while she took the stairs up to the duplex above the gallery, where Andre lived with Juliette and their son, Laurent.

Andre hugged and kissed her. They had known each other since she had acquired the small bookstore on the ground floor, next to the gallery. The location in the heart of Paris, only a few hundred yards from Moulin De La Galette, made it an ideal front for a Mossad station.

Today was Laurent’s Bar Mitzvah, and Andre had insisted that Tanya come over for breakfast before the synagogue service. The stately house was full of guests, who did their best to avoid collision with the myriad antique treasures, which Andre had found in estate sales and rural markets. Tanya introduced herself to Juliette’s parents and widowed sister, who had flown in from Lyons the previous night, and to Andre’s brother, who had driven from Antwerp with his wife and three daughters.

The large table in the dining room on the second floor was loaded with fresh baguettes, scrambled eggs, and an assortment of French cheeses. The guests gathered noisily, piling food on their plates.

A few minutes later, Laurent appeared in the dining room. His round face flushed as everybody circled him and patted his shoulders. “Mazal tov! Mazal tov!”

Andre clapped his hands. “Time to go!”

They walked to the synagogue along the quiet avenues. The men carried zippered bags made of soft blue velvet that contained their folded prayer shawls and prayer books. The women held shopping bags filled with candy. Tanya walked with Juliette, who shared in detail the difficulties she had endured to conceive and carry Laurent through a horrendous pregnancy.

The synagogue on Rue Buffault had been restored to its original, pre-war glory through the efforts of several patrons. Andre Silverman had been a pivotal force in the restoration project, especially in the details of craft and decoration. Now the names of his parents, who had died in Auschwitz, were displayed on the Wall of Memory by the entrance, along with thousands of other victims.

A police car and a black Citroën limousine were parked in front of the synagogue. Two uniformed gendarmes stood in the forecourt, chatting with a chauffeur in a visor hat. They glanced at the group entering the foyer of the synagogue, where Rabbi Dasso greeted Andre and his guests. Coats and scarves were discarded, the men entered the crowded prayer hall, and the women climbed the stairs to the second-floor mezzanine. Tanya sat next to Juliette near the railing and looked below, where the congregants shook Andre’s hand and patted Laurent’s shoulder. All the big names in the French art scene were here, many of them Gentiles, including Charles Devaroux, a fellow art dealer who was now minister of art and culture under President Jacques Chirac.

The rows of seats faced east, filled with men and boys in suits, ties, and colorful skullcaps. Laurent sat next to the rabbi on the dais by the Torah ark, facing the congregation.

Tanya tried to follow the prayers in the book. She had not been inside a synagogue in many years.

After an hour of silent prayers and joyous singing, the rabbi took the Torah scroll out of the ark and passed it to Laurent, who carried it to the dais. Andre Silverman joined his son, who rolled open the parchment and read the Hebrew words in a thin voice with a heavy French accent.

The Torah chapter was divided into seven, and for each part a male relative was called up to recite a blessing. For the last portion, Laurent recited, “
Blessed be God, king of the universe, for choosing us from all the nations to receive the Torah.
”

He proceeded to read aloud, “Remember, O Israel, what Amalek did when you escaped from Egypt, weary and famished, how Amalek cut you down and killed your weakest. Therefore, you shall erase the nation of Amalek and leave no trace of it under the sky. You shall never forget!”

*

Abu Yusef watched the Jews put their holy scroll back in the ark. Their rabbi went up to the pulpit, bringing with him the chubby boy, who held a sheet of paper. Abu Yusef glanced at Bashir.

“Dear family and friends,” the boy said in a trembling voice, his eyes on the paper. “Thank you for sharing this important day with us. This morning we read how God orders us to remember what Amalek did to us and take revenge,
Nekamah
, of our enemies.”

Abu Yusef leaned over and whispered to Bashir, “That’s us!”

Bashir placed a calming hand on Abu Yusef’s knee. They were seated in the last row, all the way to the side, dressed formally like the men and boys around them. They wore skullcaps on their heads, and the prayer shawls around their necks were white with blue stripes, like the Israeli flag. But unlike everyone else, the soft blue velvet cases in their laps were not empty.

The boy looked up and smiled at a woman in the mezzanine. “We ask a question,” he continued. “Why did God order King Saul to kill every Amalekite man and woman, baby and child, ox, lamb, camel, and ass without mercy?”

Abu Yusef realized he was sweating. He glanced back over his shoulder and was relieved that the doors remained shut. The gendarmes stayed outside during the service. He heard noises from above, looked up at the mezzanine, and saw the women passing around bags of candy. He took a deep breath.
Everything according to plan.

“Amalek attacked the Israelites after God split the Red Sea for them and drowned the pursuing Egyptians. By attacking us, Amalek challenged God. That’s why it was singled out for total and eternal revenge.”

Bashir unzipped his blue velvet case. Abu Yusef did the same.