The Rembrandt Affair

'I got it from Lena Herzfeld, Peter Voss, Alfonso Ramirez, Rafael Bloch, and a young woman who kept it hidden and safe for many, many years.'

Landesmann's face registered no change.

'Don't you recognize the names, Martin?' Gabriel glanced at Muller. 'What about you, Ulrich?'

Neither man responded.

'Let me help,' Gabriel said. 'Lena Herzfeld was a young Dutch Jewish girl whose life was traded for a Rembrandt. Peter Voss was a decent man who tried to atone for the sins of his father. Alfonso Ramirez had proof that a small private bank in Zurich was filled with looted Holocaust assets. And Rafael Bloch was the Argentine journalist who uncovered your ties to a German firm called Keppler Werk GmbH.'

'And the young woman?' asked Landesmann.

'Oil on canvas, 104 by 86 centimeters.' Gabriel paused. 'But you already knew that, didn't you? You've been looking for her for a long time. She was the most dangerous one of all.'

Landesmann ignored the last remark and asked, 'What is it you want, Allon?'

'Answers,' Gabriel said. 'When did you learn the truth? When did you find out that your father had stolen the money that Kurt Voss hid in his bank?'

Landesmann hesitated.

'I have the list, Martin. It's not a secret anymore.'

'He told me about it a few days before his death,' Landesmann said after another pause. 'The money, the painting, the visit from Voss's wife, Carlos Weber...'

'Your father admitted to killing Weber?'

'My father didn't kill Weber,' Landesmann said. 'It was handled for him.'

'Who did it?'

Landesmann glanced at Muller. 'An earlier version of Ulrich.'

'They come in handy, don't they? Especially in a country like Switzerland. Concealing the more repugnant aspects of your past is a national tradition, rather like your chocolates and your clean streets.'

'They're not as clean as they used to be,' Landesmann said. 'Especially in certain neighborhoods. Too many damn foreigners in the country all the time.'

'It's good to know you haven't forsaken your Swiss German roots entirely, Martin. Your father would be proud.'

'Actually, it was Father who suggested I leave Zurich. He knew the banks would eventually pay a price for their activities during the war. He thought it might hurt my image.'

'Your father was a clever man.' Gabriel was silent for a moment. 'You built your empire on a great crime, Martin. Did your conscience ever bother you? Did you ever feel guilty? Did you ever lose a night's sleep?'

'It wasn't my crime, Allon. It was my father's. And as your own Scripture makes clear, the son will not bear the punishment for the father's iniquity.'

'Unless the son compounds his father's sins by using the stolen fortune as the basis for a lucrative worldwide holding company called Global Vision Investments.'

'I didn't realize Ezekiel contained such a passage.'

Gabriel ignored Landesmann's sarcasm. 'Why didn't you come forward, Martin? The original value of the accounts was a drop in the bucket compared to the wealth you created.'

'A drop in the bucket?' Landesmann shook his head. 'Do you remember the Swiss banking scandal, Allon? The autumn of 1996? Every day brought a new headline about our collaboration with Nazi Germany. We were being called Hitler's Swiss fences. Hitler's bankers. The jackals were circling. If anyone had ever discovered the truth, GVI would have been torn limb from limb. The litigation would have gone on for years. Decades. The descendants of any Jew in any country where Kurt Voss had operated could have come forward and made a claim against me. The class-action lawyers would have been falling over themselves to sign up clients and file suits. I would have lost everything. And for what? For something my father did a half century earlier? Forgive me, Allon, but I didn't feel it was necessary for me to endure such a fate because of him.'

Landesmann made an impassioned case for his innocence, thought Gabriel. But like most things about him, it was a lie. His father had been driven by greed. And so was Martin.

'So you did exactly what your father did,' Gabriel said. 'You kept quiet. You profited wildly from the fortune of a mass murderer. And you continued to look for a lost masterpiece by Rembrandt that had the power to destroy you. But there was one difference. At some point, you decided to become a saint. Even your father wouldn't have had the nerve for that.'

'I don't like to be referred to as Saint Martin.'

'Really?' Gabriel smiled. 'That might be the most encouraging thing I've ever heard about you.'

'And why is that?'

'Because it suggests you might actually have a conscience after all.'

'What are you going to do with that list, Allon?'

'I suppose that depends entirely on you, Martin.'

75 CANTON BERN, SWITZERLAND

'What do you want, Allon? Money? Is that what this is about? A shakedown? How much will it cost me to make this matter go away? A half billion? A billion? Name your figure. I'll write you a check, and we'll call it a morning.'

'I don't want your money,' Gabriel said. 'I want your centrifuges.'

'Centrifuges?' Landesmann's tone was incredulous. 'Where did you get the idea I was selling centrifuges?'

'From your computers. It's all there in black-and-white.'

'I'm afraid you're mistaken. I own companies that sell dual-use components to trading companies that in turn sell them to other companies that may or may not be selling them to a certain manufacturer in Shenzhen, China.'

'A manufacturer that you own through a Chinese partnership.'

'Enjoy trying to prove that in court. I've done nothing illegal, Allon. You can't lay a finger on me.'

'That might be true when it comes to Iran, but there's one thing that hasn't changed. You can still be torn to shreds by the class-action lawyers in America. And I have the evidence to bring you down.'

'You have nothing.'

'Are you really willing to take that chance?'

Landesmann made no reply.

'I have a hidden child in Amsterdam, a remorseful son in Argentina, contemporaneous diplomatic cables from Carlos Weber, and a list of names and numbers of accounts from your father's bank. And if you don't agree to cooperate, I'm going to take everything I have to New York City and give it to the most prominent law firm in town. They'll file suit against you in federal court for unjust enrichment and spend years picking through every aspect of your business. I doubt your saintly reputation will hold up under scrutiny like that. I also suspect your friends and protectors in Bern might resent you for reopening the most scandalous chapter in Swiss history.'

'Allow me to impart a sad truth to you, Allon. If I wasn't doing business with the Iranians, one of my competitors would be. Yes, we make all the appropriate noises. But do you think we Europeans truly care whether Iran has a nuclear weapon? Of course not. We need Iranian oil. And we need access to the Iranian market. Even your so-called friends in America are doing a brisk business with the Iranians through their foreign subsidiaries. Face facts, Allon. You are alone. Again.'

'We're not alone anymore, Martin. We have you.'

Though Martin's eyes were concealed by sunglasses, he was now having difficulty maintaining his veneer of confidence. Martin was wrestling, thought Gabriel. Wrestling with his father's sins. Wrestling with the illusion of his own life. Wrestling with the fact that, for all his money and power, Saint Martin had been bested on this morning