The Jerusalem Assassin (46 page)

“Please,” Benjamin said, “calm down.”

“She’s right,” Lemmy said. “I deserve it.”

“You deserve worse,” Bira said. “Broke her heart, that’s what you did. She blamed herself for your death—can you imagine living with this kind of guilt?”

“I never imagined how much pain my faked death would cause Tanya. She was my first love. Her rejection seemed like the end of the world to me. I was too resentful and too young. The last thing I considered was that she would grieve or feel guilty.”

Bira sat down, still sulking. “All the grave-grooming and tears and self-deprivation. I can go on and on about the price my mother has continuously extracted from herself over that boy’s death.”

“I know. She told me.”

“What? She knows you’re alive?”

“Fate brought us together. We met, but she was being followed. She was hurt badly.”

“Oh, no!” Bira sucked air, covering her mouth.

“Here.” He handed her a note. “Call this number in Amsterdam. Ask for Carl. He knows me as a Swiss banker named Wilhelm Horch—Lemmy for short. Meet him there, and he’ll take you to Tanya. But trust no one else. Your mother’s life depends on it.”

“What about your father?” Bira’s eyes were no longer hostile. “The news reports are shocking.”

Lemmy took out his father’s notes, the bank statements and the
ILOT Member Manual
.

Bira read through everything while they watched her in silence.

“The strategy is working,” she said. “There are a few of these fanatical groups. The fringe right is now setting the tone for the whole right wing, including Likud. But if the public learns that Shin Bet pays for these incitements, there’s going to be a huge backlash. It will destroy Rabin politically, because no one will believe it was done without his knowledge.”

“It appears that Shin Bet has let Elie plot the whole thing, pay for it from SOD budget, and then they shut him down at the last moment. They probably think that your mom was working with Elie Weiss.”

Bira stood. “I can’t worry about Israel now. I must take care of my mother.” She left to prepare for her trip to Amsterdam. Lemmy picked a red grape and popped it into his mouth. He offered one to Benjamin, who recited a blessing and ate it.

“Amen,” Lemmy said.

“I’m concerned.” Benjamin pulled another grape off the vines. “What if those Shin Bet characters try to silence you?”

“I’m sure they’re already trying.”

*

“Okay.” The nurse raised her gun, aiming at the ceiling. “But I won’t surrender my weapon to you.”

“Then give it to me,” Gideon said. “I’m neutral.”

Elie gave him a cold glance, but Gideon’s offer was a clever face-saving way out. They put their guns on the counter, and Gideon collected them.

“Go over there,” Elie said, pointing at the sofa against the opposite wall.

They obeyed.

He beckoned the housekeeper. “Bring the phone to the good nurse.”

“Who do you want me to call?” The nurse’s face was crimson, either from anger or shame. “The Red Cross?”

Rabbi Gerster stood up and pulled over a chair. He helped Elie sit down slowly, but the change of angle caused his pinky to shift, and Agent Cohen cried in pain.

“Call your Number One,” Elie said.

The nurse opened her mouth to argue, but Agent Cohen yelled, “Do it!”

The call went though several secured connections before a man’s voice sounded on the speakerphone. “Yes?”

“We have a problem,” the nurse said.

“We have an opportunity,” Elie said.

“Weiss? Is that you?”

“How’s Paris treating you?”

“What’s going on there?”

“Let’s just say that…the tables have turned. Literally.”

“Explain!”

“He’s got Cohen,” the nurse said from the sofa.

Number One was silent for a moment. “What do you want?”

“How’s the wife and kids?”

“Skip the pleasantries, okay?”

“I’m upset,” Elie said. “You had me arrested—twice. You detained my people. You invaded my territory and prospected for my financial resources. It feels like a hostile takeover.”

“And who started it?”

“Ah. My meeting with Rabin?”

“That’s right! You made a move on us!”

“Not exactly.”

“Intelligence czar? Is that the mother of all takeovers or what?”

“I see your point.”

“What did you think? You left us no choice!”

“If I may,” Rabbi Gerster said, “this turf war is ripe for an armistice, so I propose—”

“
Excusez-moi
,” Number One said, the speakerphone communicating his irritation, “but who the hell is this?”

“Rabbi Abraham Gerster of Neturay Karta.”

“Holy shit! You work for SOD?”

“For the Jewish people,” Rabbi Gerster said. “What about a ceasefire? Let’s go back to the old détente. Elie calls off the deal with Rabin. SOD and Shin Bet return to peaceful co-existence. And we all live happily ever after.”

“Too late,” Number One said. “We already took over Freckles and shut down the staged assassination plot.”

“Did you?” Elie’s dark eyes focused on the bare wall across the room. “That boy, Yoni Adiel, is a free agent, real fanatic kind of a guy.”

“We’re watching him. He’s in the bag. ILOT is history.”

“Impressive,” Elie said.

“Your deal with Rabin is off, Weiss—if there ever was a deal, which is in question.”

“I accept my defeat,” Elie said. “That’s life. You lose some, you win some.”

“Good,” Rabbi Gerster said. “Let’s all go home now.”

“Not so fast,” Number One said. “We’ve shut down your ILOT scheme, got you locked up, and are closing in on your financial sources in Zurich. Why should we give up a perfect set of cards?”

“What about your agents here?”

Number One chuckled. “You won’t take another Jew’s life.”

“But I’ll take another Jew’s
marriage
.” Elie slipped his pinky out of Agent Cohen’s eye socket, making him cry out and cover his eye.

The line from Paris was quiet.

Elie wiped his pinky on a napkin. “How is Madame de Chevallier?”

Again, no answer.

“I hear she’s satisfied with your new implant.”

“
Weiss!
”

“But she complains that it makes you cocky.”

Everyone burst out laughing, even the housekeeper in the kitchen.

“I guess the free rent balances it out for her.”

“I’m warning you,” Number One shouted, “shut up!”
“Don’t take it personally, but I believe in wearing a belt
and
suspenders. To defend SOD’s independence in any confrontation with our sister agencies, I’ve formed solid political bonds
and
collected sordid personal secrets about every one of my opponents. Push me any farther, and there’s going to be a frightful surge in business for divorce lawyers, not to mention the media frenzy.”

Number One’s voice was deep with hate. “You wouldn’t dare!”

“That’s enough,” Rabbi Gerster interjected. “Do we have an agreement?”

“I can’t let you go,” Number One said. “The peace rally on Saturday night is crucial for Rabin’s government. We’ve detained hundreds of troublemakers and shut down provocative schemes, including yours. I won’t risk setting you free to pursue your crazy plots again.”

“Take me back to Hadassah,” Elie said. “They were going to fix my lungs. I’m operating on reserves.”

“Fine, as long as you remain in isolation. No outside contacts until after the rally.”

“Agreed,” Rabbi Gerster said in Elie’s stead. “I’ll stay with him at Hadassah.”

“And I’m staying here,” Gideon said from the kitchen. “The views are breathtaking.”

“Excuse me,” the nurse said, “but where’s Itah Orr?”

There was a long silence as everyone looked around.

“She’s not my agent,” Elie said. “Feel free to send your dogs after her.”

“Wait.” Agent Cohen was pale as the wall. “What about the Zurich shooter?”

“There’s new information,” the nurse said. “He arrived on a KLM flight yesterday. We traced his entry record. He is travelling under the name Baruch Spinoza.”

Rabbi Gerster barely managed to suppress a smile—Lemmy had assumed the name of another young Jew who, over a century earlier, had been excommunicated by his congregation.

“Only a matter of time,” the nurse said. “His name will pop up somewhere, and we’ll take him down.”

The comment made Rabbi Gerster cringe. The powerful Shin Bet was chasing after his son with the intent to kill! He cleared his throat and asked, “Doesn’t the stand-down agreement extend to
all
SOD agents?”

But the phone line had already gone dead.

*

Itah Orr changed taxis three times before reaching the central bus station in southern Tel Aviv. The evening rush was peaking, thousands of office workers and day laborers heading home. She lingered at shop windows, but no one was following her.

At a secondhand clothing store, she exchanged her outfit for a long-sleeved dress that reached down to her shoes and a dark-gray headdress, which she tied in the ultra-Orthodox style, hiding all her hair. She bought basic toiletries at a pharmacy, as well as a note pad, sunglasses, and a fresh can of pepper spray to replace the one confiscated by Shin Bet.

She paid cash for a room at a seedy motel. Against the background noise of hookers and their eager customers, she sat at a rickety desk and wrote down the events of the last few days.

*

Part Six

The Understanding

Thursday, November 2, 1995

The van left Meah Shearim after morning prayers with the same dozen black-garbed men whom Benjamin had brought along yesterday. They obeyed him without question, treating him with a reverence that astonished Lemmy. His childhood study-companion had come a long way.

As they had planned, the van parked in front of a phone booth on a busy street, and Lemmy stepped out. He placed a collect call to Zurich, and Christopher accepted it.

“Any news?”

“Yes,” Christopher said. “I received a call from Prince Abusalim’s father, Sheik Da’ood az-Zubayr. He demanded full accounting of his late son’s dealings with the bank. I explained that you’re away on business.”

“Call him back and extend my deepest condolences. Tell him that I plan to personally travel to the az-Zubayr oasis at a time of his convenience to assist him with the transition of the account and any other service that he would require.”

“Understood. Also, Herr Hoffgeitz regained consciousness last night. He asked for Klaus V.K. and had to be reminded that his son had been dead for a long time. He then asked for Klaus Junior. Paula brought your son, and Herr Hoffgeitz told him to learn from you how to run the bank.”

“He said that?”

“Yes. The doctors decided to sedate him again, give his heart a chance to heal.”

“Anything else?”

“A personal message from Paula. I don’t understand it. She said to tell you that she’s still late.”

“Still late?” Lemmy laughed. “That’s good! That’s
very
good!”

*

Itah Orr took the bus from Tel Aviv to Jerusalem. On the way to Meah Shearim, she stopped at a vegetable stand and filled up two shopping bags, paying in cash. On Shivtay Israel Street she joined a group of ultra-Orthodox women.

A white Subaru sedan parked on the pavement near the gate. As the cluster of women approached, two men emerged from the car and ambled over. Their presence, though impolite, achieved the desired effect. The women stopped, afraid to risk even accidental body contact with the strangers, which would constitute a sin under Talmud’s strict chastity rules.

“Shalom!” One of the men held up a silver, feline-shaped keychain. “Any of you girls lost this?”

Itah recognized the spare keys to her car, which she had parked nearby last Friday. The thought that these men had invaded her home and rummaged through her personal possessions made her see red, which was probably what they were hoping for. She kept her head up, her eyes hidden by the sunglasses.

“Anyone?” He dangled the keys. “Come on, ladies!”

None of the women responded.

“How about this?” The other agent held a short piece of gray, hairy rope. “Anyone?”

It took Itah a moment to realize it wasn’t a rope. It was her cat’s tail. As the agent shook it, she could see the clipped end, red with blood.

Biting her lips to block a scream, she reached into her purse for the pepper spray.

*

With Elie Weiss and Rabbi Gerster gone to Hadassah Hospital, the apartment felt big and empty. Gideon settled to watch CNN while the housekeeper set the breakfast table for two.

Agent Cohen showed up with warm pastries and a bandage over his eye. He held up his finger, which was taped to a short stick. “I’m filing a disability claim, maybe an early retirement.” His joviality didn’t mask the jittery tremor at the corner of his mouth.

“You shouldn’t feel embarrassed about what happened yesterday,” Gideon said. “Even your Number One is no match for Elie Weiss.”

The housekeeper served coffee and set the pastries on a plate.

“Fact is, I failed,” Agent Cohen said. “I underestimated him, and this debacle will haunt me for the rest of my career. Especially if the situation turns into a real disaster.”

“What do you mean? I thought it’s over. Didn’t SOD and Shin Bet agree to a truce?”

“That’s the least of our worries.” The agent bit into a chocolate-filled croissant.

“What else is there to worry about?”

He swallowed and sipped coffee to chase it down. “Spinoza.”

“Isn’t he part of the deal? Surely Elie will send him home now.”

“We don’t think Elie controls Spinoza.” Agent Cohen pulled photos from a thick envelope and set them on the table. The first group showed Arab sheikhs in settings that varied from formal dinners to car races and camel rides. “That’s him, with the red kafiya. His real name is Wilhelm Horch. A German national, married to a Swiss woman. He’s vice president at a Zurich bank, and his personal assistant is a member of a Nazi group.”