While the men of Neturay Karta repeated after Benjamin, Lemmy leaned closer to Elie. “Shin Bet is hunting us down. I fear for my family. I must make a trade with them. Offer them something they can’t refuse.”
Elie grimaced.
“I’ll give them Koenig’s money. It’s a king’s ransom—they won’t turn it down. I already know the account number and password.”
“You do? That’s good. Very good.”
“Where’s the ledger?”
“What ledger?”
“The record of all deposits that Armande Hoffgeitz signed in forty-five. Where did you hide it?”
Benjamin recited, “
They fed the carcasses of your fallen faithful to the circling vultures, the flesh of your disciples to the earthly scavengers.
”
“I gave you my orders.” Elie’s head rose from the pillow, trying to show himself to the surveillance camera over the men’s black hats. He gave up and lay back. “Counter Final Solution. That’s your job.”
“Tanya told me she gave it to you, and you presented it to Günter Schnell in sixty-seven. Where’s the ledger?”
“Go back to Zurich and serve the cause, or your cute little Nazi namesake will die—”
“In a ski accident? Like Christopher’s father? And Paula’s brother?”
The gaunt hand gestured in dismissal. “Gentiles.”
“I want the ledger!” He placed his hand on Elie’s neck. The skin was cold against his palm. He closed his fingers and squeezed.
*
From above, Hadassah Hospital looked like oversized Lego blocks, positioned among the pine trees in cascading order on a moderate slope, adjacent to the Ein Shemen village. A heliport was marked with a crossed circle and an orange wind bag. The pilot descended slowly, balancing the chopper against a gust of wind from the north.
*
Elie’s weak hands clasped the bedrails, rattling the frame. His mouth opened and closed, his yellow teeth clinking.
Lemmy let go. “Where is the ledger?”
His breathing fast and shallow, Elie reached under the sheets. His hand came out with his sheathed blade, which he offered to Lemmy. The gesture was more than a sign of capitulation, of a lifelong killer expressing his readiness to be killed by his successor. It was meant to symbolize a passing of the torch.
But Lemmy had no interest in carrying Elie’s torch or in trying to figure out if this was yet another manipulation, another clever signal intended to achieve the opposite result of what its plain meaning would suggest. He grabbed the blade and tossed it to the floor. “Answer me!”
Elie turned his face to the window.
Lemmy applied pressure again, shutting off the wind pipe.
Elie writhed, his legs kicking the mattress.
“
They spilled your chosen’s blood around Jerusalem
,” Benjamin chanted, “
and no one to bury the dead
.”
The men of Neturay Karta repeated the verse, their voices louder to drown out Elie’s noisy struggle.
“Where is it?” Lemmy’s grip tightened. He leaned so close that his face almost touched Elie’s aquiline nose. The squeaky breathing had stopped. Elie’s legs kicked once more. His hands feebly pulled against the rails.
Benjamin stepped closer to Lemmy and chanted, “
Be forgetful, Lord, of our early sins, put forward your compassion, for we are pitiable
.”
Elie’s eyes opened wide, focused on Lemmy, who released the pressure.
The chest under the white sheet heaved abruptly, air shrieking as it filled the sick lungs.
“
We are your chosen
,” Benjamin recited, “
your sheep, Shepherd, our gratitude is eternal, from one generation to the next, forever we shall praise your glory
.”
Lemmy put his hand on Elie’s chest, weighing down. “For the last time, where is the ledger?”
“Let’s…make…a deal.” Elie’s sallow face twisted into a grin, and he coughed hard.
Lemmy’s right hand clenched into a fist and rose up, ready to hit the demon in the bed. But Benjamin gripped his forearm while the men repeated, “
Forever we shall praise your glory
.”
Elie looked away, the black eyes focused not on the window, but on the night table by the bed, the tray with untouched lunch, utensils, and the thick book. Lemmy pushed the utensils out of Elie’s reach, more out of habitual caution than of real concern that Elie would attempt to attack him. The balance of power was too tilted, and even in his current state Elie would not be suicidal. He wasn’t the type.
Lemmy picked up the book, surprised by its weight. The top cover was a wooden plate carved with a Star of David and the Hebrew word for
Bible
. He noticed the unusual thickness of the cover and opened it. The back of the wooden plate was lined with a mesh material that connected it to the book’s spine. He gripped the front cover and tore it away from the bible.
A sigh came from the men.
With a knife from the food tray he separated the wood from the back lining. Loud cracking sounded as the two parts separated, and something fell to the floor.
Lemmy picked it up.
A small booklet, bound in black leather, stamped with a red swastika. He browsed through the pages, noting enormous quantities of precious stones, categorized by clarity and carats. On the last page was an acknowledgment: Deposit of above-listed goods was received 1.1.1945 by Hoffgeitz Bank of Zurich. The handwriting and the signature below belonged to Armande Hoffgeitz.
For a moment, Lemmy was Wilhelm Horch again, a meticulous Swiss banker holding an important financial document. He examined each page. It was an undeniable evidence of a horde of blood money, which his bank had kept secret for fifty years. The ledger, if exposed, would subject the Hoffgeitz Bank to the worst scandal in the long history of Swiss private banking. Or, better yet, it represented access to almost 23 billion U.S. dollars, which could be traded with Shin Bet in a bargain that would save him and those he loved.
*
No one waited for them at the rooftop landing pad. Gideon got out first and helped Agent Cohen, who shielded his bandaged eye with his injured hand. They jogged to the end of the helipad and went down a steel staircase to the actual roof of the building.
“There!” Agent Cohen pointed to sign: Stairs – Emergency Only.
They entered an enclosed stairway and headed down.
“Weiss is on the fourth floor,” Agent Cohen said. “You can do the talking. I’ll do the finger breaking and eye poking, okay?”
*
Benjamin beckoned his men to the door. Lemmy was ready to leave, but he noticed Elie reaching for the torn bible, which rested on the bed. Lemmy picked it up and ripped off the bottom cover. He used the knife again to separate the lining from the wood and pulled out a few pieces of paper hidden inside. He unfolded the brittle sheets.
Letters.
Familiar handwriting.
Mother!
He picked one letter, dated March 22, 1967, addressed to him in the army:
My Dearest Jerusalem,
You haven’t responded to my previous letter. Perhaps you are away on exercises. Today is Thursday, and I went out of the apartment for the first time since that terrible day, when your father, in his understandable anger, excommunicated you. Everyone was very happy to see me at the synagogue, and most of the donated clothes are gone. I asked Benjamin to take the rest to Shmattas to be exchanged, and he did it well. He also misses you very much and prays for your return. Please write a few words to let us know how you are. Your father agreed that you may come home to celebrate Passover with us, provided that you respect our traditions. Please, I beg you to come, even if you have to go back to the army. Maybe you don’t understand what it means for me. When you have a child one day, God willing, you will understand my agony. So please come home for Passover. I pray for your safe return.
Your loving mother,
Temimah Gerster.
She had written to him three more times, the last letter filled with anxious, urgent pleas. At the bottom, under Mother’s signature, his father wrote:
Jerusalem,
please respond to your mother, whose heart is broken. Cruelty is the gravest sin, while forgiveness is the finest virtue.
Your father,
Rabbi Abraham Gerster.
“I had to…intercept your mail,” Elie said, his voice thin. “These letters…would have interfered…diverted you…from your destiny.”
Lemmy was weak with a shattering sense of loss and grief.
When you have a child one day, God willing, you will understand my agony.
“They rejected you…sat shivah for you…and you hated them.”
“Because I didn’t know about these letters, which show that my parents had a change of heart, that they loved me still, even without my black hat and side locks.” Lemmy shook the letters in Elie’s face. “You’ve read these! You saw her pain! How could you let her suffer like this?”
Elie rose on his elbow, his face twisted in sudden fury. “We are soldiers! We have a war to win! If we indulge there will be real suffering! There will be another Holocaust!”
“These letters,” Lemmy pressed them to his chest, “are my Holocaust.”
*
On the fourth floor, Gideon stood aside as several bearded men in black coats and hats stepped out of Elie’s hospital room. “What’s this? Who let them in?”
The guard smiled sheepishly. “They just wanted to pray with the patient. I couldn’t refuse.”
Agent Cohen pushed his way in. Gideon followed him and froze at the sight of the man standing by Elie’s bed. Unlike the others, he had removed his hat, which rested on a chair with the attached fake beard and payos. His face was unmistakable:
Spinoza!
Gideon drew his gun in a single, fluid motion, pulled on the barrel to slip a bullet into the chamber, and aimed at the assassin.
Spinoza raised his hands and said in perfect Hebrew, “
Ani sochen Israeli
. I’m an Israeli agent. Just like you.”
“Shoot him!” Agent Cohen maneuvered to the side of the room. He tried to draw his gun with his injured hand, but the gun dropped to the floor. “Kill him!”
“In God’s name!” It was the last of the black hats, who was still in the room. “I’m Rabbi Benjamin Mashash and I know this man. He’s a Jew. We grew up together!”
“Get out!” Agent Cohen pushed him through the door and slammed it.
“I’m unarmed,” Spinoza said. “I’m not a threat to anyone.”
“End this now,” Elie Weiss said, and while Gideon assumed the order was addressed to him, he heard Spinoza reply, “Be quiet. You’ve caused enough damage already.”
Gideon stepped closer, aiming, “Identify yourself!”
“My name is Jerusalem—”
“Shoot him!” Agent Cohen picked up his own gun from the floor with his left hand and tried to cock it. “He’s an assassin!”
“I’m part of SOD,” Spinoza said. “My cover is Wilhelm Horch, vice president at the Hoffgeitz Bank in Zurich. Look at this.” He held forth a small, black booklet. “I’m offering you a trade. I can transfer a huge—”
“Your father,” Elie said from the bed, “went to see Carl. You should follow him.”
Gideon’s finger slipped into the trigger guard. “I’m calling for reinforcement.” With the Beretta aimed at Spinoza, he moved toward the nightstand by the bed, but there was no telephone there.
“Shoot already!” Agent Cohen pounded Gideon’s back, and a shot exploded in the room.
But the Swiss wasn’t standing where he had stood a second before. And while Gideon was momentarily stunned by the blast of his unintended gunshot, a blurred figure rolled across the floor and kicked his legs from under him. Gideon spun in the air, the hard tiles coming at his head. He heard Agent Cohen scream in pain and felt a heavy body collapse on top of him. Then something very hard thumped the back of his head, and the world went dark, accompanied by the eerie laughter of Elie Weiss.
*
Benjamin had the presence of mind to rush downstairs with his men, start the van, and drive it to the front of the hospital, arriving just as Lemmy ran out, his hat askew, his fake beard covering his mouth.
They drove in the opposite direction from Jerusalem along winding mountain roads in a circular path that led them eventually back to the city through its northwest suburbs. Lemmy used the time to digest the changed circumstances. If Elie had spoken the truth, Rabbi Gerster had left Israel to be with Tanya. But following his father would not be possible as long as Shin Bet continued the chase. For some reason, Agent Cohen was determined to eliminate him, which made any deal unlikely.
Lemmy asked Benjamin to stop at a post office, where he mailed Koenig’s ledger to Christopher with instructions to keep it locked in the safe until his return to Zurich. He also sent the signed title for the Citroën DS with a note to arrange its shipping from Bet Shemesh to Zurich. The old letters from his mother he kept folded in his pocket.
Back in Meah Shearim, the white Subaru was still parked near the entrance, the two agents leaning against the hood, smoking. They had been checking women, obviously under orders to locate Itah Orr, but they ignored men entering the neighborhood. This would change now, Lemmy knew. His safe haven was no more.
Benjamin sent his men to the synagogue to resume their Talmud study, but not before instructing them to keep mum about the events at Hadassah Hospital. Sorkeh was ready with lunch, but Lemmy had no appetite. He told Itah what had happened.
“It’s obvious,” she said, “that they think you intend to kill Prime Minister Rabin.”
“That’s illogical,” Benjamin argued. “They saw Lemmy with us at Hadassah, so they now know we’re giving you shelter here. Why would we, a religious community, hide an assassin?”
“Come on, this is Neturay Karta, the most anti-Zionist Jewish sect in the world. You’re an enemy of Israel!”
“We have no enemies,” Benjamin protested. “Our Talmudic theology dictates that only God, through his Messiah, may collect the Chosen People from exile and rebuild our homeland. Therefore we are ideologically and religiously opposed to Zionism and the establishment of the State of Israel. But we’re not its enemy in a physical, worldly sense.”