The Jerusalem Assassin (37 page)

“Oh, shit!” Itah dropped the flashlight into the hole.

“Calm down. It’s only bones.” Rabbi Gerster pushed aside the shattered wood planks of the cover and reached in for the flashlight among the pieces of white cotton shroud. He shone the flashlight up and down the coffin interior, located the skull, and pulled it out.

The cranium emerged from the coffin with a length of the spine and a single shoulder, attached to an arm and a skeletal hand.

“Here,” he said, “hold it.”

“No, thanks. I’ll hold the flashlight.”

“At the time, they didn’t let me see the body.” Rabbi Gerster was breathing hard as he peeled strips of shroud from the skull. “They told me Lemmy had been hit point-blank by a grenade, that he was unrecognizable. I should have insisted.”

The last piece of shroud came off the skull. He shook off the dust, and the bones rattled.

“Ouch!” Itah stepped back. “How can you mess with your son’s remains?”

“I don’t believe in life after death. I need to know if these bones belonged to Lemmy.”

“But how?”

He turned the skull around. The grinning jaws, hollowed nose, and empty eye sockets faced them in eerie whiteness. “Point the light at the jaws.”

Itah complied.

“Ah!” Rabbi Gerster probed the gaping mouth, toward the rear. “This guy has all his teeth!”

“So?”

“My Lemmy was missing this one.” He tapped a tooth with a fingernail, producing knocking sounds.

“How can you be so sure? It’s been decades!”

“I held his hand while the dentist pulled it—upper jaw, second molar from the back. Lemmy cracked it on an olive pit just before his Bar Mitzvah. You should have seen that boy. He didn’t make a sound while that two-left-handed dentist labored with his pliers.” Rabbi Gerster tossed the bones back into the grave. “This poor bastard is not my son.”

“What now?”

“Now?” He began to shovel the dirt back into the grave. “Now we’ll go back to Meah Shearim for a good night’s sleep.”

“And then?”

He leaned on the shovel. “In the morning, we’re going to see an old friend and squeeze him until all the lies drain out of him.”

*

Sunday, October 29, 1995

Lemmy had not expected Metz & Co. to be so busy on a Sunday morning, but shoppers kept coming in. Two female models dressed as tulips stood just inside the automatic glass doors, bowing their heads, adorned with red and yellow petals, and waving their green arms.

A security camera was mounted at the corner under the ceiling. It was aimed at the glass doors, but Lemmy estimated that the lens wasn’t wide enough to capture him. At any event, with his fedora and winter coat, there was little risk of identification, even if someone bothered to examine the video footage.

Attached to the wall was a pay phone, which Lemmy could use while enjoying a clear view of the opposite street corner, where a green phone booth stood close to the arched bridge. Tanya had not arrived yet. He picked up the receiver and asked the operator to place a collect call to Zurich.

Christopher was at his desk. “Herr Horch?”

“Sorry to drag you to the bank on Sunday morning.” Lemmy sheltered the receiver. “Regarding the inactive account, I want to try a few things.”

“We first need an account number. Only then will the computer let me try a password.” The sound of fingers hitting the keyboard came through the receiver. “I’m ready.”

“Try this date: January one, nineteen twenty eight.”

“One. One. Nine. Two. Eight.” The keystrokes were quick. “No good.”

“Try the opposite order: Eight. Two. Nine. One. One.”

Rapid keystrokes. “Yes! It’s asking me for a password!”

Lemmy breathed deeply. Tanya’s birthday did the trick. Would her name finish the job? He glanced over the two tulips, toward the green phone booth on the other side of the street, by the arched bridge. “Try this: T-A-N-Y-A.”

Again the keys clicked. “No good,” Christopher said.

Lemmy bit his lips. A group of teenagers walked in, chatting happily. When they passed, his eyes caught sight of the petite figure across the street, her head held up, her hair flowing free now, casting a silky shadow over her shoulders.

“Try the reverse order: A-Y-N-A-T.”

The rattling of the keyboard was followed by Christopher’s cheer. “I’m in!”

“Tell me!”

“The account owner is Klaus von Koenig. First name is spelled like your son’s name.”

Lemmy wiped the sweat from his face. “What else do you see?”

“The entry page. It’s asking for Günter’s personal pass code.”

“That’s required if you wanted to conduct transactions in the account. There should be an icon for
View Only
. It’ll let you see the history of the account, such as deposits, withdrawals, and balance.”

“I’m clicking on
View Only
.”

The keys rattled again. Then there was silence.

“Christopher? Are you there?”

A long whistle came through. “Jesus Christ Almighty!”

Lemmy turned to the wall, the receiver pressed to his ear.

Christopher’s voice trembled as he read from the screen. “Client Name: Klaus von Koenig. Authorized Officers: Armande Hoffgeitz, Günter Schnell.”

“Go on.”

“List of deposits. The last one was received on January 1, 1945. That’s fifty years ago!”

“The amounts?”

“Deposits are in goods. Primarily diamonds, rubies, pearls, and other gems. And expensive wrist watches. The goods were sold over the first two decades. Now it’s all in financial assets, mainly stocks of large American corporations. There has never been a withdrawal.”

“What’s the current balance?”

“It’s in U.S. dollars.” Christopher cleared his throat. “Twenty-two billion, eight-hundred and forty-seven million dollars.”

*

Rabbi Gerster waited for Itah in his alcove off the synagogue foyer. She had slept in Benjamin’s apartment and arrived after morning prayers were over. She pointed at the narrow cot. “Did you have the best sleep in three decades?”

He laughed. “I couldn’t sleep at all. And you?”

“Like a baby. And Sorkeh forced me to eat the biggest breakfast of my life.” Itah burped. “Excuse me!”

“I wrote a letter to my son.”

“Can I see it?”

“I’ve already hidden it in a place that only he would think of.” Rabbi Gerster didn’t mention the risk, of which they were both aware, that Shin Bet agents would arrest and interrogate them. It was safer for her not to know. “Are you ready?”

“Yes.” She raised the plastic shopping bag in her hand. “Sorkeh lent me shoes, a headscarf, and a dress.”

“You told her we might not be able to bring it back?”

Itah nodded. “What about the butcher shop?”

“They slaughtered a cow yesterday, so we got everything we need right here.” Rabbi Gerster pointed to the icebox by the door. “It’s a bit heavy.”

They picked it up by the handles, one on each side, and carried it together. On Shivtay Israel Street they flagged down a taxi.

A half-hour later, they arrived at Hadassah Hospital. Itah left him at the entrance. She returned a few minutes later, dressed in a white coat, her hands in latex gloves, pushing a wheeled gurney.

They loaded the icebox on top of the gurney and rolled it through the lobby to the elevator. Up on the fourth floor, Itah lingered in the elevator with the gurney while Rabbi Gerster walked down the hall, past the nurses’ station, the waiting area, and several ICU rooms. Next to the last door on the right, two young men in civilian clothes sat at a desk covered with books and papers, likely catching up on school work while making hourly wages. One of them glanced up, saw him, and nudged the other one, who whispered a comment that caused them both to snicker. Secular Israelis loved to poke fun at black hats for their odd garb and dangling side locks.

Rabbi Gerster didn’t mind, especially today, considering what these two guys were about to experience. “Is the patient back from the operation?” He pointed at the closed door.

One guard lounged back in his chair, ready for fun. “What’re you saying,
Hassid?
”

Ignoring the mocking tone, the rabbi smiled. “I was coming to pray with him after the operation.”

“What operation?” The guard smirked. “A nose job?”

“Heaven, no!” Rabbi Gerster struggled not to laugh. “They had to remove most of his intestines—the AIDS is eating him up from within.”

The mention of that dreaded contagious disease drained the blood from the guard’s face. “Nobody told us he has
that!
”

Rabbi Gerster glanced over his shoulder. Itah was halfway down the hallway, approaching fast. “The poor
yid
. And he’s not even forty.”

“Oh!” The guard was relieved. “Our guy is an old fart.”

“He sure is,” the other one said.

Itah’s gurney was rattling on the floor, closing in.

“I’m sorry,” Rabbi Gerster said, pulling out a piece of paper. “Must be another room. You should have seen our patient. Not only his intestines. Also tumors from here.” He gestured at his neck. “Big chunks. And here too.” He tapped his buttocks. “His whole rectum had to be carved out. Riddled with AIDS. Practically rotting away.”

“Yuk!” The two guards grimaced.

“Ah! Here’s his nurse!” Rabbi Gerster half-turned toward Itah. “Where is he?”

“What’s left of him,” Itah said, “is in recovery.” She patted the icebox. “And all this is going to the incinerator—lumps and lumps, chopped off, and all the blood he has lost, full of AIDS. Highly contagious!” She arrived fast, and at the last minute pretended to trip on something, yelped, and swiveled the gurney around, causing the icebox to tip over. Its contents emptied onto the guards’ desk in a torrent of red blood, cascading fleshy chunks, and slithering intestines. The momentum sent much of the gory mess across their desk, over their books and papers, and onto their chests and into their laps.

*

“Almost twenty-three billion dollars.” Lemmy took a deep breath. “One big account, inactive for fifty years. That’s why Herr Hoffgeitz and Günter have been so anxious.”

“It’s incredible,” Christopher said. “What now?”

“Sign out of the account and wait for further instructions from me. I’m going to Jerusalem to speak with E.W.” He hung up and turned to watch Tanya. She looked up and down the street, searching for him. Was it a coincidence that she reappeared in his life just as he was gaining access to the fortune left by her Nazi lover in a dormant account for five decades? The account was larger than the annual budget of some countries.
Twenty-three billion dollars!
Was this just a twist of fate or was she lying to him?

Tanya stood by the arched bridge, observing the traffic of pedestrians and cyclists. Her composure didn’t lend itself to coincidences. There was only one logical explanation for her sudden appearance in Zurich. She wanted Koenig’s blood money. She had admitted to a long feud with Elie, and this was the final round—she had locked Elie up in Jerusalem and headed to Zurich to grab hold of the Nazi fortune! And if she had lied to Lemmy about the reason for coming to Zurich, she must have lied about the rest. The man hiding behind the chess board and the whole story about Shin Bet had been a show, put up for Lemmy’s benefit, to confuse him, trick him into trusting her as they escaped together so that he would hand over Koenig’s account to her.

Lemmy picked up the receiver and dialed. A tram rattled by, its bell tolling to ward off cyclists and pedestrians, hiding her from him. When the tram cars reached the next street corner, he saw Tanya step into the green phone booth and pick up the receiver.

“It’s me,” Lemmy said.

“You’re late.”

“I was on the phone with my assistant in Zurich. We managed to penetrate the most secret account at the Hoffgeitz Bank.” Sweat dripped down his forehead, but he had to keep on his fedora, especially with the security camera so close. “It belonged to Klaus von Koenig.”

“After all these years. Klaus was very good at his job, but he was also a romantic.” Her tone was endearing, almost longing. “There must be an incredible amount of money in the account by now, after so many years of appreciation.”

“You’d think.” Lemmy stepped as close to the glass doors as the cord permitted and surveyed the street in both directions. If he was right about Tanya, there would be a whole Mossad team waiting to pounce on him.

“What do you mean?”

“Life’s full of surprises.” Sure enough, at the top of the arched bridge, a young woman in a knitted cap leaned on her bicycle by the railing, sipping from a coffee mug. Near her stood an older man, who wore sunglasses despite the cloudy day, pretending to watch the ducks in the canal. “I was also expecting a large balance.”

“And?”

“It’s disappointing.” In the opposite direction, where the street leveled out, lined with small shops, Lemmy saw another couple, also pretending to ignore each other, both smoking as they examined window displays. “Seems like my father-in-law made some foolish investments in the seventies, then lost a great deal on Black Monday in eighty-seven.”

“There must be a lot left though, right?”

“Less than a thousand dollars,” Lemmy lied, watching Tanya for her reaction. “The account’s practically empty.”

*

The two guards screamed and sprang from their chairs. One of them doubled over and vomited. The other tried to shake off a length of intestine that had hooked on his belt. He moaned as if he’d lost the ability to speak coherently.

“Oh, my God!” Itah shoved the gurney against the wall and pointed at the staircase at the end of the hallway. “Run! Second floor! Biohazard showers!”

The two of them stumbled toward the double doors.

“Strip down and scrub everything!” Itah ran ahead of them and opened both doors. “Quick! Before the virus gets in your system!”

They were cursing as they ran down the stairs. Itah let the doors close. She grinned and motioned at Rabbi Gerster to get into the room while she dealt with the nurses, who were rushing over. “Don’t worry,” he heard her yell, “just a little accident.”