'You want to know what they believe in? The Nazis? People like Eichmann and Hagen? They believe that Germany is a thing worth cheating for. Worth lying for. And you're a pair of goddamn fools if you think any different. Even now those two Nazi clowns are preparing to meet your friend, the Grand Mufti, in Cairo. They'll make a deal with him. And then the next day they'll make a deal with you. And then they'll go back to Germany and wait to see which one Hitler will go for.'
The barman arrived carrying three cold beers in glasses and put them on the table. Polkes smiled. 'I think Eliahu likes you,' he said. 'He wants to know what you're doing in Palestine. With Eichmann and Hagen.'
I told them that I was a private detective and about Paul Begelmann. 'And just so you know there's nothing noble about it,' I added, 'I'm being paid quite handsomely for my trouble.'
'You don't strike me as a man who's entirely motivated by money,' said Golomb, through Polkes.
'I can't afford to have principles,' I said. 'Not in Germany. People with principles end up at Dachau concentration camp. I've been to Dachau. I didn't like it.'
'You've been to Dachau?' said Polkes.
'Last year. A flying visit, you might say.'
'Were there many Jews there?'
'About a third of the prisoners were Jewish,' I said. 'The rest were communists, homosexuals, Jehovah's Witnesses, a few Germans with principles.'
'And which were you?'
'I was a man doing a job,' I said. 'Like I told you, I'm a private detective. And sometimes it takes me way out of my depth. It can happen very easily in Germany right now. I forget that myself sometimes.'
'Maybe you would like to work for us?' said Golomb. 'It would be useful to know the minds of these two men we were supposed to meet. Especially useful to know what they agree to with Haj Amin.'
I laughed. It seemed that everyone these days wanted me to spy on someone else. The Gestapo wanted me to spy on the SD. And now Haganah wanted me to spy on them. There were times when I thought I'd joined the wrong profession.
'We could pay you,' said Golomb. 'Money's not something we're short of. Fievel Polkes here is our man in Berlin. From time to time you two could meet up, and exchange information.'
'I wouldn't be worth anything to you,' I said. 'Not in Germany. Like I said, I'm just a private detective trying to make a living.'
'Then help us here in Palestine,' said Golomb. He had a deep gravelly voice that was entirely in keeping with the amount of hair on his body. He looked like a house-trained bear. 'We'll drive you to Jerusalem from where you and Fievel can catch a train to Suez, and then to Alexandria. We'll pay you whatever you want. Help us, Herr Gunther. Help us to make something of this country. Everyone hates the Jews, and rightly so. We know no order or discipline. We've looked after ourselves for too long. Our only hope of salvation lies in a general immigration to Palestine. Europe is finished for the Jew, Herr Gunther.'
Polkes finished the translation and shrugged. 'Eliahu is quite an extreme Zionist,' he added. 'But his is not an uncommon opinion among members of the Haganah. I myself don't accept what he says about Jews deserving hatred. But he's right about our needing your help. How much do you want? Sterling? Marks? Gold sovereigns, perhaps.'
I shook my head. 'I won't help you for money,' I said. 'Everyone offers me money.'
'But you are going to help us,' said Polkes. 'Aren't you?'
'Yes, I'll help you.'
'Why?'
'Because I've been to Dachau, gentlemen. I can't think of a better reason to help you than that. If you'd seen it you would understand. That's why I'm going to help you.'
Cairo was the diamond stud on the handle of the fan of the Nile delta. That was what my Baedeker said, anyway. To me it looked like something much less precious--more like the teat under a cow's belly that fed a representative of every tribe in Africa, of which continent it was the largest city. 'City' seemed too small a word for Cairo, however. It seemed something much more than mere metropolis. It was like an island--a historical, religious, and cultural heartland, a city that was the model for every city that had come after it, and also its opposite. Cairo fascinated and alarmed me at the same time.
I checked into the National Hotel in the Ismailiyah Quarter, which was less than half a mile east of the Nile and the Egyptian Museum. Fievel Polkes stayed at the Savoy, which was at the southern end of the same street. The National was not much smaller than a decent-size village, with rooms as big as bowling alleys. Some of these were used as pungent-smelling hookah dens where as many as a dozen Arabs would sit, cross-legged on the floor, smoking pipes that were the size and shape of retort stands in a laboratory. A large Reuters notice board dominated the hotel lobby and, entering the guest lounge, you might have expected to see Lord Kitchener sitting in an armchair, reading his newspaper and twisting his waxed mustaches.
I left a message for Eichmann and, later on, met up with him and Hagen in the hotel bar. They were accompanied by a third German, Dr. Franz Reichert, who worked for the German News Agency in Jerusalem, but who quickly excused himself from our company, pleading an upset stomach.
'Something he ate, perhaps,' said Hagen.
I slapped at a fly that had settled on my neck. 'Just as likely it was something that ate him,' I said.
'We were at a Bavarian restaurant last night,' explained Eichmann. 'Near the Central Station. I'm afraid it wasn't very Bavarian. The beer was all right. But the Wiener schnitzel was horse, I think. Or even camel.'
Hagen groaned and held his stomach for a moment. I told them I had brought Fievel Polkes with me and that he was staying at the Savoy. 'That's where we should have stayed,' complained Hagen. And then: 'I know why Polkes came to Cairo. But why did you come, Papi?'
'For one thing, I don't think our Jewish friend quite believed you really were here,' I said. 'So you can call it a sign of good faith, if you like. But for another, my business was concluded sooner than I had expected. And I decided that I might never have a better chance to see Egypt than this. So here I am.'
'Thanks,' said Eichmann. 'I appreciate your bringing him down here. Otherwise we very probably wouldn't have met him at all.'
'Gunther's a spy,' insisted Hagen. 'Why listen to him?'
'We applied for a Palestinian visa,' said Eichmann, ignoring the younger man. 'And were turned down again. We're applying again tomorrow. In the hope we can get a consular official who doesn't dislike Germans.'
'It's not Germans the British don't like,' I told him. 'It's Nazis.' I paused for a moment. Then, realizing that this was a good opportunity to ingratiate myself with them, said, 'But who knows? Maybe the official you got last time was a yid.'
'Actually,' said Eichmann, 'I think he was Scottish.'
'Look here,' I said, affecting a tone of weary honesty. 'I might as well level with you. It wasn't your boss, Franz Six, who asked me to spy on you. It was Gerhard Flesch. From the Gestapo's Jewish Department. He threatened to investigate my racial origins if I didn't. Of course, it's all a bluff. There are no kikes in my family. But you know what the Gestapo are like. They can put you through all sorts of hoops in order to prove that you're not a yid.'
'I can't imagine anyone who could look less Jewish than you do, Gunther,' said Eichmann.
I shrugged. 'He's after proof that your department is corrupt,' I said. 'Well, of course, I could have told him that before we left Germany. I mean about my meeting with Six and Begelmann. But I
