The Jerusalem Assassin (24 page)

“I’d be surprised if they did,” the answer came without hesitation. “We have over four hundred branches and seven thousand employees. But they’ll know my name when I’m chairman of the board.”

Even Bashir smiled at this response, and Abu Yusef breathed in relief. He had high expectations for tonight and didn’t want the mood spoiled before the pleasure began. He tilted his head at the car, signaling Bashir to watch the briefcase, which rested on the passenger’s seat.

*

Bathsheba parked the car around the corner from the Pinnacle. Elie got out and peeked. He could see Bashir’s head through the rear window.

“It’s getting cold,” she said.

“It was colder in the attic,” Elie said, “when I watched a bunch of German soldiers kill my siblings. They used the knives my father sharpened daily for the ritual slaughter of kosher animals. I heard my brother explain to my baby sister that it wouldn’t hurt—a quick nick and she’d fall asleep, just like the lambs. But one of the Germans heard him so they cut her belly open and laughed as she screamed.”

For the first time since she’d join SOD, Bathsheba was speechless.

“They’re beasts.” Elie pulled the wool cap down over his ears. “The Germans. The French. The Arabs. All of them. Beasts. Don’t forget it. They’re the beasts and we’re the lambs.”

“Get back in the car,” she said. “Gideon can manage by himself.”

“Redundancy is the key to success.” Elie touched the handle of the blade that was sheathed against his thigh. The pain was gone from his chest. The net was suspended above his prey, ready to drop. He felt like the fearless youth he had once been, kneeling in deep snow by an Alpine road with Abraham Gerster, ready to take revenge on another Nazi.

*

The room on the third floor smelled of hashish and unwashed bodies. The plastic shade over the lamp on the night table was painted with red leaves and green flowers, which threw bleak shadows on the walls. A stained quilt covered the bed. A fan turned slowly above.

Gideon put his knapsack on the bed. Before he could turn, Abu Yusef’s hands encircled his waist, and the soft belly pressed against his back. He shuddered in disgust as moist lips slurped his nape.

“Ah, Grant!”

An overwhelming tide of nausea swept Gideon as Abu Yusef’s hands grabbed his crotch. The room rolled around him, and he took a deep breath, exhaling loudly. This brought about a series of lustful sighs from behind, and Gideon raised his hands to absorb the impact as he was thrown facedown onto the bed, the Arab atop him, thrusting, breathing faster. A tongue stuck deep into his ear.

In panic, Gideon rolled aside, pushing him off.

Abu Yusef was panting hard. He slipped his fingers into Gideon’s curls, clutching hard. “You’re just so sexy!”

He forced a smile. “
Merci.
”

Abu Yusef seemed bothered by something. He reached into the pocket of his jacket and took out a round object. As he placed it on the bed, Gideon realized it was a hand grenade.

*

Any feelings of inadequacy evaporated when Abu Yusef saw Grant’s apprehension. He had planned to impress the young banker with the grenade, and the effect was magical. Overweight and out of breath after a few minutes of lustful physical exertion, he was still a warrior, a brave man, who inspired awe in young men. It had been the same with Latif, may he rest in peace.

“Is this a real bomb?”

Abu Yusef sat up on the bed. “Don’t be afraid. It’s not going to explode—unless I make it go off.”

Grant nodded, but his face remained tense, and he glanced at his knapsack on the bed. He must be thinking of leaving, Abu Yusef realized. “I’m experienced with weapons. It’s very safe if you know what you’re doing.”

“Really?”

Abu Yusef held up the grenade. “If you pull this ring and the pin comes out, it’s four seconds.” He made a sudden motion with his hands and yelled, “Boom!”

The laughter brought them closer, but clearly the bank clerk was not yet ready to take off his clothes. Abu Yusef got down from the bed, placed the grenade on the floor, and pushed apart Grant’s knees. They parted reluctantly, so he pushed harder, which excited him even more. “Let me pleasure you. Don’t be afraid.”

“Okay…but go slow.”

“Sit back, and I’ll take care of you.” Abu Yusef leaned forward and kissed the rough cloth of Grant’s trousers, his hand reaching down to unzip his own fly.

*

The hardest part was not to vomit. Gideon’s hands rested on Abu Yusef’s shoulders. He wished he could just strangle the Arab. He could try. He was younger. But Abu Yusef was bigger and heavier.

Stick to the plan!

He looked down at the Arab’s head digging in his groin, heard the sounds of slurping and groaning. From above, the sight of the thinning, oily hair made him convulse. Abu Yusef reached for the grenade on the floor, held it, rubbed it against himself, while his kissing lips searched through Gideon’s trousers for a trace of an erection. It would not be long before he realized this was a one-sided affair.

Gideon swallowed to push down a tide of sickness. He reached into the knapsack with one hand and found the orange. He tore off the skin with the underlying foil and held the small ball in his fist.

His face still buried in Gideon’s groin, Abu Yusef lifted the grenade and pressed it to Gideon’s chest. The sight of the live grenade in the Arab’s hand was unsettling. Would Abu Yusef manage to pull out the fuse in the last minute and take Gideon’s life with his own?

There was no time for contemplation. Gideon brought the tiny bomb to his mouth, and closed his teeth on the head of the tiny fuse. At the same time, he placed the palm of his right hand on Abu Yusef’s forehead. The Arab shook with lust, his motions intensifying, biting into Gideon’s crotch, his teeth plowing the pants. Gideon pushed on the sweaty forehead, tilting back the head, and Abu Yusef’s face turned upward, the mouth gaping, dripping with saliva, the eyes wide and partly blinded by the light. Gideon’s left hand pulled the small ball, the fuse pin remaining between his teeth, and dropped the ball into the Arab’s gaping mouth, shoving it deeper with his thumb until it slid far down the back of the mouth into the throat.

Abu Yusef gagged. He tried to breathe. His mustachioed face stricken by incomprehension, his hands—the right one still holding the grenade—reached for his throat.

“Swallow!” Gideon forced the Arab’s jaw to close and slapped him across the face. “It’s good for you.”

There was a sound resembling a hiccup, and the ball of explosives slid down into Abu Yusef’s stomach.

Gideon kicked him in the chest, sending him to the floor, and rolled over the bed to the opposite side, landing behind it.

*

Elie passed by the BMW, a little old man in a winter coat and a wool cap, hunched and slow, drawing no attention from Bashir Hamami, who sat inside with the engine running. Up the three steps, he was gone through the wood-and-glass doors into the motel.

The night manager asked, “
Que veux tu?
”

Elie handed him a few bills. “Two men came in a little while ago, one much younger.”

“Room thirty-two.” He pointed at the stairs. “Third floor on the right.”

Elie climbed up the stairs. Reaching the third floor, he paused on the landing to catch his breath. A door cracked open, and Gideon beckoned him in.

Abu Yusef was lying on the carpet, red foam dripping from his mouth. His eyes glared, frozen in horror. His pants were bundled around his ankles, and bloody feces piled by his naked buttocks.

“You used too much explosives.”

“Next time I’ll use a fake grape.”

Elie leaned over the dead face. “
Nekamah
,” he said quietly. “Revenge.” He handed Gideon a Polaroid camera he’d carried under his coat.

The camera ejected each photograph with a buzzing sound as it recorded Abu Yusef’s humiliating end.

“The money is in the car,” Gideon said as they stepped out of the room. “A black briefcase.”

Downstairs, Elie went out first. He ambled past the BMW, his collar pulled up against the cold. At the corner he told Bathsheba, “Be careful. He’s clever and vicious.”

“He’s a pig.” She strolled down the street, her heels knocking on the cobblestones.

Elie watched from behind the corner. He saw Bashir’s head turn, following Bathsheba as she walked by the car, her long, sculpted legs in black stockings, the leather miniskirt swaying.

She paused by the Pinnacle and pulled a cigarette from her cleavage. She stooped and looked at Bashir through the car windshield.

His window slid down. He flipped on a lighter and reached out with both hands, shielding the small flame.

“Nice car,” Bathsheba said. “Are you German?”

He grinned.

She put the cigarette between her lips and leaned on his hands. The tip of the cigarette entered the flame, and she drew in, blowing the smoke in his face. Her fingers closed around his right wrist, weighing down on it. Her grip must have been firmer than he had expected, yet her smile was disarmingly lurid. Elie was impressed by her coolness.

The burning cigarette fell from her mouth. “My father died in Munich.”

She was taking too long. Elie started toward the BMW while reaching under his coat for the blade.

Bashir dropped the lighter and pulled his hands back in. But Bathsheba was ready. Her right hand rose, and the black barrel of the handgun, lengthened by a silencer, pointed at Bashir’s chest. It coughed twice, and his body jerked with each shot. She brought the end of the silencer to her lips and blew on it.

Gideon emerged from the motel and approached the BMW while Bathsheba was walking back toward Elie, slow in high heels over the cobblestones. Elie sheathed the blade, relieved. He beckoned them to hurry up as a group of Frenchmen emerged from the bar up the street, blabbering loudly.

The BMW’s white reverse lights came on.

Gideon reached under his coat for a gun he didn’t have. Elie opened his mouth to warn Bathsheba, but the engine roared and the tires screeched.

She turned abruptly and lost her balance, falling down. Gideon was on the pavement within reach of the BMW, but there was nothing he could do as the large car leaped backward. Bathsheba tried to get up, but she was too slow. Her hands rose in futile defense as the rear bumper hit her. The car continued, the right wheels running over Bathsheba’s extended legs, crushing her bones in a series of sickening crunches. The car jumped the curb and hit the wall of a building.

His perforated chest dark with blood, Bashir turned slowly and looked at Elie through the passenger-side window, his face a mixture of pain and satisfaction. Up the street, the bar patrons yelled, and a few of them approached what seemed like a drunk driver running over a prostitute. Elie crossed the street, leaned on the car, and inserted the blade just above Bashir’s collarbone, sliding it downward into his chest cavity. For a second he felt the Arab’s heart muscles flutter against the blade. He twisted and pulled it out, while Bashir uttered a last groan.

Gideon sprinted to Bathsheba. He grabbed her arms, pulled her up over his shoulders, and hurried to the Citroën. They laid her on the back seat, legs folded up.

Pulling Abu Yusef’s hand grenade from the knapsack, Gideon ran back to the BMW. He snatched the heavy briefcase from the passenger seat, tore out the fuse from the grenade, and tossed it in.

As they raced away, a ball of fire exploded behind them.

Gideon made a sharp turn, and in the back seat Bathsheba cried, “
Daddy!
”

A moment later she became quiet. Glancing back, he saw her open eyes, not moving.

*

Dr. Geloux took a while to get downstairs from his living quarters. He unlocked the front door and let them into the clinic. Gideon lowered Bathsheba on an examination table. Her face was gray and blank. He closed her eyelids.

There was a telephone in the outer office. “Make the calls,” Elie said.

Gideon called the police station in Ermenonville. He told the attending officer that he lived on Boulevard Royale and was hearing explosions and the staccato of automatic weapons from the direction of a villa surrounded by a brick wall. He made similar calls to the police stations in neighboring Senlis and Chantilly.

Dr. Geloux joined them a few minutes later. “Terrible shame,” he said. “Such a beautiful young woman.”

Gideon dropped into a chair. He felt cold and empty.

Elie handed Dr. Geloux an envelope with the photographs they had taken of Abu Yusef’s dead body. “We have to leave Paris immediately. Please take this to the nearest TV station. Tell them it’s Abu Yusef. His body is at the Pinnacle Motel near Gare du Nord, room thirty-two.”

Dr. Geloux put the envelope in his pocket.

Elie opened the black briefcase and took out a bundle of bills. “Hide this briefcase. We’ll come back for it.”

The doctor pushed it into a closet.

“Let’s go,” Elie said.

Gideon stood. “What about Bathsheba?”

“She made a mistake and paid for it. Nothing we could do.” Elie turned to Dr. Geloux. “Call the Israeli embassy, leave word for Tanya Galinski. She’ll make the arrangements to ship the body to Israel for a proper burial.”

“Tanya Galinski?” The doctor scratched his chin. “Is she a petite woman, with dark hair, a porcelain face, and the bearing of a princess?”

“Yes,” Elie said, “that would be Tanya. Why?”

“She was here yesterday, looking for you.”

“
Here?
” Elie gripped Gideon’s arm. “We must leave! Now!”

When they opened the door to exit the clinic, several quiet men pointed guns at them.

Tanya appeared from the shadows. “Shalom, Elie.”

*

Thursday, October 26, 1995

The El Al jumbo jet stood on the tarmac far from the main terminal at Charles De Gaulle Airport. Several armored police vehicles guarded the plane. The first group of passengers crossed the short distance from the bus to the stairs. Gideon watched them through the window on the upper deck. A Mossad agent guarded the door, occasionally whispering to his wristwatch.