The second.
Clear again.
At Rue de Mogador, a one-way street going south, the green Peugeot was parked at the curb. Gideon made the turn and pulled over.
Bathsheba brought the binoculars to her eyes. “He’s dropping off the passenger. Fur hat and a long coat. I can’t see his damn face!”
“Even the coat is green,” Gideon said.
“I’m going after him.” Bathsheba took out her gun and screwed on a silencer.
“ Don’t shoot!”
“If it’s Abu Yusef, I’ll give him my father’s regards.”
Gideon knew he couldn’t stop her. He shoved the camera into her hand. “If it’s not him, take a picture. Maybe it’s one of his men. Elie would know.”
*
Cafe Atarah on Ben Yehuda Street in Jerusalem was almost empty. “I am Rabbi Abraham Gerster,” he said, joining the lone woman at a corner table. “Thanks for agreeing to meet with me.”
“How could I decline?” Itah Orr, a veteran reporter for Channel One TV, held the note he had left for her at the office that morning. “I tried to do a story about you years ago, on the tenth anniversary of the Six Day War. It would have been a good story.”
Rabbi Gerster smiled. “There are many stories that are far more interesting than mine.”
“More interesting than the leader of the anti-Zionist Neturay Karta sect, who sacrificed his only son for Israel’s greatest victory?”
“The former leader. Rabbi Benjamin Mashash took over my duties a long time ago.”
“ You were still Neturay Karta’s leader when you sacrificed your son.”
“ I didn’t sacrifice him. Jerusalem rejected our faith and joined the army without my blessing.”
A waitress brought two cups and poured black coffee. The reporter added cream and sugar, mixing it in. “Lemmy, wasn’t it?”
“ His nickname, yes.”
“ He graduated paratroopers training first in his class and went on to serve courageously on the Golan Heights.”
“While ignoring his mother’s desperate letters until she killed herself!” Rabbi Gerster immediately regretted his outburst. Temimah’s despair had been caused by his own behavior no less than by Lemmy’s silence. “Please. These are old wounds. My son and wife deserve to rest in peace.”
“So why did you contact me?”
Rabbi Gerster glanced over his shoulder. The few patrons in the cafe did not appear to pay attention to him. “I watched your report on Saturday night.”
“I thought you people don’t watch TV.”
“Those boys, taking the oath, were they for real? Or was it some kind of a show, a make-believe piece of propaganda?”
“Wait a minute.” Itah Orr jerked her head, clearing away shoulder-length gray hair. “What do you care about those kids? Or about Israel? You people live in your ghetto in Meah Shearim, don’t pay taxes, don’t serve in the army, don’t even recognize the State of Israel-except for its social security checks, of course.”
“ We object to Zionism, but we study Talmud every waking moment to make up for all the Jews who neglect their sacred duty.”
“ And how exactly would your Talmudists feed their hordes of children without Zionist tax money?”
“ Questions, questions.” Rabbi Gerster sighed. “You’re like a vacuum cleaner for information. I need a peek inside your dustbin, that’s all.”
She laughed. “Fair enough.”
“About that swearing-in of ILOT, tell me what you think. Please.”
“ Tit for tat. First tell me why you-a lifelong anti-Zionist rabbi-are suddenly concerned with a tiny nationalist militia? What’s going on?”
Rabbi Gerster stood up and buttoned his black coat. “I was mistaken in approaching you. May God bless your day.”
“Wait!” Itah Orr stood. “I’m sorry. I guess I’m still angry about my story getting killed.”
“Twenty years ago?”
“I had enough material for a great piece. Your son was very popular with his boot camp buddies, an excellent soldier and loyal teammate. And there was a mysterious woman he was carrying on a relationship with, much older than him and very attractive. Petite, black hair, pale face. She came to the base once, caused quite a stir.”
He kept his face straight, hiding the storm that Tanya’s description whipped up inside him. “Are you fishing for information?”
Itah smiled, looking much younger. “Just curious. I can’t do anything with it now. It’s too old a story.”
“ Why didn’t you publish it back then?”
“ Because a little creep from some secret service came to the studio and threatened me and my editor with immediate arrest on trumped up charges. He took all my drafts and notes and all the roughs we had filmed. It was as if I had touched a live wire.”
“ Perhaps you had.” He chuckled. “But that’s ancient history. I didn’t contact you to speak about my Jerusalem, may he rest in peace. Now will you grant me the respect of answering my questions?”
“ Will you answer mine?”
“ When a time comes for me to tell my story, I promise to speak only to you.”
“ Give me something now.”
“ Okay. How about this: I don’t believe in God.”
The reporter’s eyebrows rose almost to her hairline.
“ It’s true.” He placed a hand against his heart. “I swear.”
“ Okay, Rabbi Gerster. You don’t believe in God, and we are in business.” She offered her hand.
He glanced around furtively, making sure no one was watching, and shook it. “Tell me about the ILOT ceremony.”
“ They were young,” she said, “late teens or early twenties. Almost like boy scouts, except that the pistols were real and the vows were sincere.”
“Why did they allow you to attend?”
“In my profession, you don’t argue with a good source. Their leader is a true Jewish fascist.”
“ The chubby guy?”
“ Yes. Freckles. That’s his moniker. He’s very clever in using the media, has given me great stories-the type of stories any journalist would grab and run with.”
“ Do you believe these boys are for real?”
“ Absolutely. Classic right-wing extremists. A few months ago they incited a riot and beat up Arabs in Hebron, turned over market stalls, and destroyed produce. They set up fake military checkpoints in the West Bank and body-searched Arabs. They went into Old Jerusalem with clubs and broke windows and a few bones, forced Arab merchants to shut down their stores.”
“ All this was done by Freckles’ group?”
“ Oh, ILOT isn’t the only one. There are several other militias just like it-Kahane Chai, EYAL, Geva’ot. Each group numbers a handful of youths. They engage in violent attacks on Palestinians in order to scare the Arabs out of the West Bank and ensure Jewish control over biblical Israel. They’re not deadly like the Palestinian attacks on Jews. I mean, these kids don’t shoot and bomb innocent civilians, but they engage in harassment, and they’re aggressive enough to draw attention.”
Rabbi Gerster picked up a teaspoon and turned it around in his hand, using the curved back as a mirror to scan the view behind his back. “But their anti-Arab activities, distasteful as they are, could be a prelude to something worse.” He put down the spoon. “Violence against fellow Jews.”
“ It’s a natural progression. Take a look at this.” She handed him a stapled stack of papers. The cover said: ILOT – Member Manual – Top Secret
He browsed the pages. “Can I keep it?”
