The Jerusalem Assassin (35 page)

“But what about the
Moser
concept?” It was the same young scholar in the back. “Just like
Rodef
, we have a duty to kill a Jew who is about to telltale or hand over another Jew to the Gentiles. There’s no hot pursuit here, but still the same rule applies, right?”

“That’s an excellent point,” Rabbi Gerster said. “Can anyone offer a counter-argument?”

Jerusalem Mashash, Benjamin’s eldest son, raised his hand. “
Soff ma’asse be’makhshava tekhilah.
Judge a deed by its motivation.”

“Indeed!” Rabbi Gerster clapped. “Jerusalem, my boy, please explain what you meant.”

“A person cannot be found guilty of a crime, or a sin, without having the intent to do wrong.” The youth turned red, having found himself speaking in front of the whole sect in the middle of Rabbi Gerster’s surprise sermon. But his eloquence wasn’t hindered by his embarrassment. “In order for a Jew to be considered a
Rodef
or a
Moser
, we must prove his intent to cause deadly harm. Only with evidence of malicious intent can we judge him to be a criminal who deserved to be killed.”

“Thank you, Jerusalem.” Rabbi Gerster tugged at his beard. “You just reminded me of what the sage Hanina said:
I’ve learned a lot from my friends, even more from my teachers, but most of all I’ve learned from my students.
” He glanced at Benjamin, whose eyes glistened with fatherly pride. “Our learned youngster is correct. How could Rabin, or any political leader, be guilty of a crime when his intentions are to prevent more terror, to bring peace, and to save lives? From a Talmudic standpoint, a Jew is innocent if his intentions are pure, albeit tragically misguided.”

Rabbi Gerster looked around the hall, filled with the bearded faces and the affectionate eyes of the men with whom he had spent half a century. “What is in a man’s heart? What is on his mind? What is the primary motivation that guides him? Those are the questions we must ask in order to fairly judge another Jew.” He paused, his eyes connecting with a few of the older men. “And I hope,” he concluded, “that when the day comes for you to judge me, you shall apply this fair measure.”

The men gasped, for the idea of judging the
tzadik
, the most righteous man in Neturay Karta, seemed implausible in the extreme.

“My life here, my achievements and my failures, should be taken as a whole. I implore you to find me innocent, for I have lived among you most of my days on this earth, working for this God-fearing community with love as my impetus and kindness as my inspiration.”

The tone of finality, almost of a eulogy, did not escape the Talmudic scholars of Neturay Karta. They stared at him, up on the dais, and waited for an explanation.

But Rabbi Gerster only smiled. “And with that,” he said, “I wish you Good Sabbath!”

The men stood up as he descended from the dais and returned to his seat. Cantor Toiterlich approached the lectern and commenced the last portion of the Sabbath prayer. Gradually the men joined in chanting the Hebrew words. Moments later, when Rabbi Gerster glanced up from his prayer book, he found Jerusalem Mashash staring at him from among the swaying men. The rabbi winked at Benjamin’s son, whose face broke into a bright smile.

*

According to a brass plaque at the entrance, the Metz & Co. department store had operated on the same corner since 1740. Lemmy took the stairs up to the restaurant on the top floor. He sat by the window, which had a panoramic view of the southeast section of Amsterdam. Looking down, he saw the wide Kaizersgracht, its banks lined with houseboats of different sizes and ages, all meticulously painted, with garden chairs and potted flowers on the decks. A glass-covered motorboat, loaded with off-season tourists, cut through the oily water, passing under the arched bridge. On the street along the canal, a tram rattled on its steel rails, ringing its bell, while pedestrians and bicycle riders scattered out of the way. This was an ideal spot for tomorrow’s meeting with Tanya.

The store was already decorated for the holiday season. Shoppers chatted in their throaty Dutch, eyeing the goods. Lemmy’s mind went back to Paula and Klaus Junior. He had placed them in danger by the very nature of his work. The Shin Bet’s aggressiveness in hunting down Tanya boded poorly for anyone associated with Elie Weiss. Was Shin Bet making a play for SOD’s agents and resources? Was it about the Koenig account? And how long would it take for the capable Israeli agents to figure out that Wilhelm Horch was Elie’s prime asset? How could he protect his identity—or his family? And then there was Tanya’s story about his father. Had Rabbi Gerster been a mole within the ultra-Orthodox, working for Elie Weiss? Had his own decision to join SOD and serve Elie been based on lies? Had he wrongly hated his father all these years? It was hard to believe, but Tanya wasn’t a liar. Or was she?

All the answers rested with Elie Weiss in Jerusalem.

Lemmy finished his coffee and left a generous tip. Downstairs, he used a pay phone by the glass doors to call the American Hotel and leave a message for Frau Koenig to expect his call tonight at nine p.m. He hung up and punched in another number.

A familiar voice answered, “Doctor Mullenhuis Data Recovery.”

“Oh, yes. I’d like to recover a crashed ego.”

“Ego was too big?” Carl laughed. “You must be Swiss!”

“Why? You think we’re self-important?”

“It’s a fact. You Swiss are a bunch of pompous asses.” The crunching of computer keys indicated Carl was securing the line from eavesdropping. He had obtained a doctorate in computer engineering five years after graduating with Lemmy from Lyceum Alpin St. Nicholas. But his career with IBM Europe ended abruptly after a competitor mysteriously obtained the code to revolutionary data storage software that Carl was working on at about the same time that Lemmy helped him buy a restored 1938 Horch 853 Phaeton, the only motorcar of its kind to survive WWII, for a huge sum in cash. Going independent, Carl had specialized in facilitating the acquisition of data in sophisticated yet unsavory methods, such as the surveillance system he had installed for Lemmy at the Hoffgeitz Bank.

“Okay,” Carl said. “Safe to talk now. How’s the system working? You have a problem?”

“The system is great. It helped me save my father-in-law the other day.”

“The rule of unintended consequences. You want to install one at home too? Watch the little wife with the gardener?”

“You’re sick. Listen, I’m in Amsterdam and need a favor.”

“Shoot.”

“In person. Meet me at the Begijnhof, inside the yard.”

“What happened to the lobby at Hotel de L’Europe?”

“The Begijnhof, five thirty, okay?”

“I might be late. Have to finish up a project.”

“A cheating husband?”

“Venture capital outfit. They’re having a cocktail party tonight for all their competitors, with lots of booze and babes. They want every word recorded with full video, pick up all the secrets.”

“You should be ashamed of yourself.”

“Look who’s talking!”

*

Tanya left the hotel briefly for a visit to a pharmacy. Back in her room, she spent an hour in the bathroom, cleaning the scratch left by Lemmy’s bullet yesterday as well as the bruises from the attack at the synagogue. She thought of Andre Silverman and his son, the funerals she was unable to attend. And she wondered how Juliette could go on living without her precious Laurent.

The rest of the morning she spent scouting the newspapers for news of Israel—any political or other event that would explain why the domestic security agency had gone overseas in violation of its very charter. It was obvious that Israel was approaching a political crisis over Rabin’s push to implement the Oslo Accords. Two major rallies were gearing up. The right-wing Likud planned a rally in Jerusalem tonight, and the Labor-led left wing was to hold a peace rally in Tel Aviv’s central square next Saturday night. But political crisis wasn’t unusual in Israel, even with such extreme accusations and counter-accusations. She still remembered the weeks leading to the 1967 Six Day War, the erosion of public confidence in the face of huge Arab armies supported by the Soviets, the digging of mass graves all over Israel in preparation for countless civilian casualties, and the bitter political acrimony around Levi Eshkol’s government. Israel’s fearful citizens had expected a crushing defeat at the hands of the Egyptians, Syrians, and Jordanians armies, reinforced by armored brigades from Lebanon, Iraq, Saudi Arabia, and Kuwait. Everyone feared a complete and fatal devastation of the young Jewish state.

But instead, Israel ended up celebrating an incredible victory, tripling its size, and cementing its right to exist in the Middle East. Still, that victory had planted the seeds of today’s conflict over Israel’s continued presence in the territories it had captured, a division that split Israelis along ideological lines. But a political crisis, severe as it was, could not explain the Shin Bet’s criminal violation of clandestine boundaries.

She again tried calling the bookstore next to Andre Silverman’s art gallery on Avenue Junot, where a member of her team always attended the phones, but got no response. A call to the gallery itself was answered by a woman whom Juliette had hired after the disaster. She informed Tanya that the bookstore had been closed since yesterday afternoon, when the staff left in the company of officious-looking people in two vans.

Out of options, Tanya decided to call Mossad headquarters in Tel Aviv. She had not checked in since yesterday, and for someone of her seniority, this should have caused alarm. By now they must be gearing up for a massive search, possibly worried about abduction.

“Research Department,” a man answered. “How may I help you?”

“This is Tanya Galinski. Patch me through to the chief.”

“Hold on.”

The line was silent for a moment, then switched to music. Tanya listened to Israeli singer Boaz Sharabi serenade an old flame, promising to bring moonstones and sea treasures if she still loved him.

“Come on,” she said, “what’s taking so long—”

The music stopped, replaced by a dial tone.

She stared at the receiver in bewilderment. She punched the numbers again. The line was busy. But that was impossible! Mossad maintained multiple lines for incoming calls!

Tanya tried again.

Busy.

Was Shin Ben listening in on Mossad lines? Cutting off unwanted calls? Could they block this particular call? Or trace it back to Amsterdam?

The very idea seemed preposterous. Shin Bet wouldn’t dare interfere with Mossad communications. This would cause open war between the agencies. On the other hand, perhaps its fear of Mossad was the reason Shin Bet was determined to isolate her, prevent her from telling her colleagues in Tel Aviv what was going on in Europe.

Tanya put down the receiver, more shocked than angry.

The message light was blinking. She called the front desk and learned that Herr Horch would be calling again at nine tonight.

*

Lemmy walked the streets of Amsterdam for hours. Unlike other European capitals, its charm was unassuming, with arched bridges over murky water and absurdly-narrow houses along the canals. He repeatedly stepped aside to avoid bundled-up riders pedaling their way on bicycles. He thought about Tanya. Last night’s events seemed unreal. Their encounter could have ended terribly. Instead it had turned into a reunion he had never expected. But the things she had told him also seemed unreal. His father—a mole? Elie Weiss—his father’s handler? His own transformation from a young Neturay Karta Talmudic scholar to an IDF soldier—a deal between Elie and Tanya? And now he was risking everything in reliance on what she had said. But Tanya Galinski was no longer the woman he had made love to as a teenager. She was now a top Mossad official. Would she risk her position, maybe her life, for Lemmy Gerster, a boy she had long assumed to be dead?

A disturbing idea came to him. What if the man he had shot at the park was actually Tanya’s agent. What if they staged the call to Paris to set him up? What if “Number One” was merely a playact for the purpose of deceiving him? What if Tanya wasn’t in danger at all, wasn’t anyone’s target? What if
he
was the target? What if this whole thing had been staged to make him betray Elie’s clandestine infrastructure and secret money sources so that Mossad could take over SOD?

It all came down to one question: Could Tanya be trusted?

He followed the Amstel River as it merged into the Singer Canal. Farther down, the row of houses seemed impenetrable until he came to an arched passageway. It led into a courtyard tiled in a colorful mosaic of the Holy Virgin. Each of the connected dwellings had a small garden, and Lemmy paused and took in the scent of freshly cut grass. A modest Catholic chapel on the left faced a stone-built English church on the right. He glanced at his watch. Carl was late.

Toward the corner he found a wall of icons. In the center, baby Jesus was cradled by Virgin Mary, while a burning candle cast golden light upon them. Below Jesus, a hand had written:
In de salvaeder
. Other icons had been carved into the stone wall by the loving hands of Beguine women over the centuries, biblical scenes whose colors had dulled from rain and wind. At the bottom was a drawing of an altar atop an arid hill, a young boy tied up, a bearded Abraham holding a long blade, ready to slay his son while a guardian angel stayed his hand.

“You believe in angels?” Carl threw his big arms around Lemmy.

“I need all the help I can get.” He returned Carl’s embrace, pounding his friend’s back. “I’m up against very capable people.”

“Government or private?”

“Government.”

“Ah, bureaucrats!” Carl spat on the ground. “Incompetent fools, all of them.”

“These are Israelis.”

“Oops. They are the exception.”

Lemmy laughed.

“How in the world have you antagonized the Israelis? I thought you Swiss vanillas are supposed to remain neutral.”

“It’s a long story. Can you get me a valid Dutch passport and a couple of credit cards with the same name?”

“Are you running away from them?”