“How do you know?”
“Mossad has files on every significant businessman with ties to the Middle East. We have access to those files. Horch has extensive Arab clientele. No one knew of his connection to Elie Weiss—we’re still not sure of the nature of this relationship. When Tanya Galinski met Horch at a Zurich park a few days ago, we happened to be tailing her because we suspected she’s involved with Elie’s assassination scheme.”
“What’s Horch’s game?”
“He’s been playing Elie,” Agent Cohen said. “Look at these photos from the Galeries Lafayette.”
The same man, wearing a coat, a fedora, and a fake goatee, stood inside the glass doors of the Galeries Lafayette. Other photos showed him on the stairs and in the menswear section. “These are from the security cameras, recorded during the thirty seconds preceding the shooting of the Arab kid in the dressing room.”
“That shooting was a disaster,” Gideon said. “Police descended on the place, and Bashir drove off too fast for us to follow him back to Abu Yusef’s hiding place. Elie was certain the Arabs killed Latif in some kind of an internal feud.”
“We believe the Saudis paid Horch to do the job.”
“Why would they?”
“Latif’s killing—supposedly by Israel—provoked Abu Yusef’s attack on the synagogue.”
“But why would the Saudis do this?”
“To derail the peace process. Every Mideast dictator is terrified of an Israeli-Palestinian peace, even if they pay lip service in support of peace. Israel is their scapegoat. Peace would allow their masses to focus on the real culprits behind their poverty and suffering.”
“So they sent their Swiss banker to kill Abu Yusef’s boy toy to throw us off his tail and provoke another attack? It seems like a big risk for a small gain.”
“Not so small. Terror attacks are the main reason for Israelis’ loss of faith in the peace process. Our data shows that Abu Yusef’s attack on the Paris synagogue—just that one attack alone—caused public support for the Oslo Accords to drop four points among Israeli voters. In fact, Abu Yusef was getting ready to launch simultaneous, multi-target attacks all over Europe, which would have dealt a fatal blow to the peace process. Only thanks to Elie’s two-prong method, which allowed you to find Abu Yusef through his sponsor, this disaster was averted.”
He placed more photos on the table, showing the Swiss at the Metz department store in Amsterdam. “You see the pattern—he loves crowded retail venues. We think Tanya Galinski approached him in Zurich, and he agreed to meet her again in Amsterdam, where he pushed her under the tram.”
“Horch did that?” Gideon sipped coffee and examined the photos, which covered half the table. The theory made sense, but one aspect nagged him. Elie was not an easy man to fool. Hadn’t the Swiss banker provided Elie with good information on Prince Abusalim, which led them to Abu Yusef?
“Double agents,” Cohen said, as if reading Gideon’s mind, “have to prove their loyalty by giving useful, true information to both sides. But in the end, a double agent is loyal only to himself and therefore must choose one side. And a double agent who fears exposure will kill you unless you kill him first.”
*
The van rattled on the cracked asphalt of Shivtay Israel Street. As it approached the gate, Lemmy saw a group of women, their way blocked by two secular men in civilian clothes, one of them holding up something in front of the women.
“Hit the horn,” Benjamin told the driver. “Quick! Hit the horn!”
The driver pressed down, releasing a long, drawn out beep. It startled the women, and Benjamin stepped out of the van. Lemmy watched him speak with the two men, who returned to their Subaru. The women entered the neighborhood carrying their grocery bags. One of them glanced back over her shoulder, and Lemmy recognized her as the woman who had left the King David Hotel under guard with his father and Elie Weiss.
At Benjamin’s apartment, Sorkeh prepared an early lunch for them. She hugged Itah Orr. “This outfit looks good on you—like a beautiful Neturay Karta woman. We have several learned widowers. We can find you a perfect
shiduch!
”
“I think I’ve already found my match,” Itah said, and Lemmy noticed redness spread to her cheeks. Was she talking about his father?
Benjamin and Sorkeh left the room, and Itah said, “Your father sent me to warn you. Shin Bet is after you. They claim you shot one of their agents in Zurich.”
“It’s true,” Lemmy said. “But it was an honest mistake. Tanya knew he wasn’t Mossad, and since Shin Bet is not authorized to operate outside Israel, we assumed the man was an Arab.”
“Shin Bet sees it differently. And knocking down the nurse at Hadassah didn’t help. They know your assumed name—Baruch Spinoza.” She chuckled. “Nice touch.”
“Wasn’t my idea.”
“Did you find your father’s letter?”
“Yes. Have you discovered anything new since he wrote it?”
Itah pulled off the headdress. She described in detail what had occurred at the apartment in Tel Aviv. “All they care about,” she concluded, “is to ensure that nothing interrupts the Saturday night peace rally in Tel Aviv. It’s supposed to launch Rabin’s reelection campaign. Labor strategists are working hard to bus in supporters from all over Israel, and Shin Bet is locking up every potential troublemaker. They shut down ILOT and Elie’s fake assassination operation.”
“What about you?”
“They’re confident that my credibility is ruined and my nerves are shot by the criminal accusations. They’re wrong. None of it will stop me from going public with everything I know, except that I’ll have to find a way around exposing your father.”
“Where does it leave me? Should I let Shin Bet shoot me in the leg to get even?”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
Lemmy pulled the gun from his coat pocket and dropped it on the table. “I’m good at what I do, but I can’t fight the whole Israeli secret service.”
“You won’t need to,” Itah said. “I have an idea. There’s a crucial debate in the Knesset today. We’ll approach Rabin and ask him to order Shin Bet to leave you alone.”
“That’s bold. Can you get us in?”
“It’s open to the public. But we’ll need to find a way to meet him.”
“I can do that,” Lemmy said. “He owes me one.”
“The prime minister?” She laughed. “What does he owe you?”
“Oh, just his victory in the Six day War.”
*
Agent Cohen lined up a series of photos on the table, showing the Swiss banker at passport control at Ben Gurion Airport, at an Avis counter, and at Hadassah Hospital.
“The plot thickens,” Gideon said. “What reason did he give at the airport for his visit?”
“Car restorer shopping for parts. Original, isn’t it?” Agent Cohen sneered. “We found his rented Fiat at the YMCA. No fingerprints. He’s a professional.”
“Are you watching departures at the airport?”
“Yes, but only as a precaution.”
“Why? He saw Elie being arrested at King David. Without access to Elie, he won’t stick around to get caught.”
The agent collected the photos, slipping them into the envelope. “He has a job to do.”
“What job? To kill Elie Weiss?”
“That too, as a defensive move, to get rid of someone who can identify him. But his primary target is not Elie Weiss.”
“Then who?”
“Our Shin Bet analysts believe the Saudis are paying this assassin a fortune, enough for him to disappear afterwards, retire to some island for the rest of his life. They want him to do something that will destroy the Oslo Accords once and for all, a decisive hit that will end this whole effort to reach a permanent co-existence with the Palestinians in the foreseeable future.”
Gideon waited for him to continue, but he remained mum, as if the answer was too shocking to be pronounced out loud.
“Kill Arafat?”
“Worse,” Agent Cohen said.
“Who could be worse?”
“We believe this Horch-Spinoza guy has come here to kill Prime Minister Yitzhak Rabin.”
*
Lemmy left the gun in Benjamin’s apartment, and Itah did the same with her pepper spray. Equipped with borrowed Israeli identification cards from a lookalike Neturay Karta couple, they received visitor tags at the entrance to the Knesset building, passed by the giant menorah, and crossed the vast forecourt. Inside, the three giant Chagall tapestries reminded Lemmy of the stained-glass windows at the Fraumünster church in Zurich, though here Chagall had brought to life biblical Jewish figures other than Jesus Christ. But the colors and flair touched Lemmy with warm familiarity.
The legislature was in session. The public gallery was filled with school children and tourists. Itah and Lemmy found room in the last row. A thick Plexiglas partition offered open views of the assembly hall below, filled with Knesset members of all parties. The government ministers, including Yitzhak Rabin, sat up front near the podium.
A Knesset member from the government coalition was arguing for censure of the Likud Party over the events at the right-wing rally last Saturday night in Jerusalem. “Is there no shame? Are there no limits to verbal violence? When is it too much? Tell me!”
Someone from the opposition benches yelled, “Rabin broke his promises!”
“He’s a liar,” another member shouted.
The speaker hit the podium. “Is name calling acceptable? Cursing the prime minister? Slandering him? Chanting sexual innuendo? Urging his early death?”
No one responded to that.
“Democracy and free speech don’t make it kosher to call for the prime minister’s murder!”
The speech was interrupted by the grave voice of Prime Minister Yitzhak Rabin, emerging with an odd echo from the rear benches: “I will never, never give up land that provides Israel with a security buffer against Arab attacks!”
Knesset attendants in uniform ran down the aisles, looking for the source of the recorded speech.
“I will never,” Rabin’s voice roared, “never give back the Golan Heights—”
Among widespread laughter, the attendants grabbed a young Knesset member who had smuggled in a cassette player and portable loudspeakers to play Rabin’s old speech—an embarrassing reminder that the prime minister’s current policy contradicted his past promises.
Surrounded by his ministers, Yitzhak Rabin appeared amused by the prank, glancing back at the struggling attendants.
“Our Labor leaders changed their minds,” the speaker continued, “because our enemies changed their hearts and agreed to peace. But Likud leaders are sticking to unrealistic policies. At Zion Square on Saturday night, they acquiesced to their supporters’ chants, adopted their murderous demagoguery, and poured oil on the fire of violence that’s consuming our democracy. The Likud Party is trying to topple the government by inciting a mob! I therefore move for a censure of the Likud Party!”
Benjamin Netanyahu, twenty years younger than the prime minister and an eloquent speechmaker, climbed the steps to give his party’s response. “It’s unfair,” he said, “to indict a large portion of the population because of the unsavory acts of a handful of hoodlums.”
Prime Minister Rabin stood and walked away from his front-bench seat, up the aisle, to the exit doors.
Netanyahu paused and turned to the Knesset chairman, who pounded his gavel and said into his microphone, “I ask the prime minister to return to his seat. Please!”
Rabin lit a cigarette, his back to the Knesset plenum. An elderly secretary in a beige pantsuit brought him a file with documents, and he browsed through, ignoring the noise.
The chairman pounded his gavel again. “Please! I ask the prime minister to return and hear the opposition’s reply! Please!”
Several Knesset members went to the door and spoke with Rabin. Netanyahu waited at the podium.
Itah leaned over and said, “They’re like children!”
“Worse,” Lemmy said.
Down below, Prime Minister Rabin stubbed his cigarette and returned to his seat. The Knesset chairman pounded his gavel.
“As we can see,” Netanyahu said, “extreme behavior happens on both sides of the aisle—even on the government side.”
“Let’s go,” Lemmy said.
The Labor Party had offices on the second floor, reached via a wide set of stairs. The elderly secretary took one step at a time, holding the thick file to her chest. They caught up with her.
“Excuse me,” Lemmy said, “would you kindly ask Mr. Rabin to spare a moment for a quick hello?”
“You’ll have to send a letter requesting an appointment—”
“Please tell him that I was the soldier who blew up the UN radar at Government House in sixty-seven. My name is Baruch.”
The secretary scribbled in her notepad and pointed to a decorative, wooden bench under a bronze sculpture representing the killing fields at Babi Yar. “Wait here. I’ll ask him after the vote.”
*
Agent Cohen returned to the apartment an hour later. He handed Gideon a wallet. “Here’s money, credit cards, and identification as special agent assigned to the prime minister’s office, with top security clearance. It will allow you access to every government agency, full cooperation from officials, and total immunity in the line of duty.”
Gideon collected the wallet. “Why me? Don’t you have enough Shin Bet staffers to chase this guy?”
“I don’t have anyone from SOD.” Agent Cohen handed him a Beretta 22. “You’ve worked in Europe, you trained with Elie Weiss, you understand Spinoza’s way of thinking. It’s your case now.” Agent Cohen saluted with his stick-taped finger. “From now on, I’m at your service. We can’t afford to fail.”
“No, we can’t.” Gideon pocketed the wallet and stuffed the gun in his belt. “But where do we start?”
“I have agents checking out every hotel in Jerusalem and the vicinity for anyone resembling Spinoza. Also, we’ve copied all the security tapes from the King David Hotel, where he spent the night after running into Elie at the entrance.”
“Were you there?”
Agent Cohen nodded. “I arrested them.”
“Did you notice Spinoza?”
“No. Our agents found him on the security camera tapes later.”
“Do you think Elie noticed him?”
Cohen hesitated. “You know, there was an interruption just when we were leaving the hotel.”