“ Why would he talk to you?”
“ He’s a fundamentalist Jew. You think he would pass up an opportunity to talk shop with Rabbi Abraham Gerster of Neturay Karta-”
“- who doesn’t believe in God?” Itah grinned in the darkness.
“ Shush.” He put his finger to his lips. “That’s our secret.”
*
Monday, October 23, 1995
At the Hilton in Paris, Elie took the elevator down to the lobby and found a bank of pay phones near the restrooms. He called the Hoffgeitz Bank in Zurich and asked for Gunter Schnell.
“ Guten Morgen, Herr Schnell,” Elie said.
“ Who is this?”
“ Untersturmfuhrer Rupert Danzig. Remember me?”
The sound of air sucked in a shocked inhalation was followed by a long silence. “Please hold.”
After a few minutes, two clicks sounded, and another voice came on. “Armande Hoffgeitz speaking. What is this about?”
“ Herr President?” Elie waited for a couple of hotel guests to pass by on their way to the restrooms. “This is Untersturmfuhrer Rupert Danzig.”
“ Who?”
“ It’s been a long time, but here I am again, calling on behalf of your old friend, Oberstgruppenfuhrer Klaus von Koenig.” Elie spoke German with an eastern accent, an area until recently under Soviet communist control.
“ That’s impossible!” The banker’s voice was shaking. “I don’t know who you are!”
“ I think you do, Herr Hoffgeitz.”
“ Do not call here!”
“ But surely you want to hear from dear Klaus, yes?”
“ I will summon the police! This is Zurich, not some lawless East German province!”
“ The police?” Elie chuckled. “Perhaps you should consult your lawyers before contacting the authorities. Even Swiss law forbids misappropriation of clients’ funds. It’s a serious felony.”
“ How dare you! This bank has never lost a deposit from any client-”
“ Including Klaus von Koenig?” Elie didn’t expect a response. “If anyone should call the police, it should be me, don’t you think?”
There was a loud bang as if someone hit the desk in frustration.
“Very good,” Elie said. “Please make sure the records are in good order for my inspection. I will see you soon. Auf Wiedersehen!”
*
After dropping Klaus Junior off at school, Lemmy drove to the bank. As he climbed the stairs, Gunter was coming down, his face ashen. “Gunter? Are you feeling ill?”
“Ah, Herr Horch.” He paused, looked up toward the next floor, and continued on his way down, mumbling something incoherent.
Christopher was at his desk. “Prince Abusalim az-Zubayr called. He just landed in Paris. He’ll call from his hotel.”
Lemmy went into his office and shut the door. “Here we go,” he said out loud. He called the Hilton in Paris and asked for Rupert Danzig’s room.
After a few rings, a woman answered. “Who is this?” She said it as an Israeli, and he assumed she was the agent he’d seen by the Galeries Lafayette.
“ I’d like to speak with E.W. please.”
“ E.W. is out right now,” she said, switching to English with an even sharper Israeli accent. “A message?”
“ Tell him that the prince has landed.”
“ Thank you.” She hung up.
The computer completed its boot-up process. After two separate pass codes, the live video menu appeared with the list of the cameras: On the third floor, the interior of Herr Hoffgeitz’s office and the anteroom with Gunter’s desk, on the second floor, Christopher’s desk just outside Lemmy’s door, and on the first floor, the large room where the account managers worked. Each camera was smaller than a fingernail, built into a smoke detector, together with a pin-sized microphone. His computer was set up by the Dutch specialist to operate all cameras remotely.
He selected Herr Hoffgeitz’s office.
The chair at the desk was vacant, the office quiet. Lemmy used the arrows on his keyboard to turn the camera left and right.
No sign of his father-in-law.
As his finger reached to hit the escape button, Lemmy heard an odd sound, like an abrupt whizzing. He moved the camera again, searching the empty office. At the bottom of the screen a black object appeared. It grew as he aimed the camera lower, closer to the door.
A shoe.
The whizzing sounded again.
Lemmy made the camera shift to the right. A face appeared. Armande Hoffgeitz was on the floor, his eyes closed. He breathed with a whizzing.
This would be Armande’s fourth heart attack, Lemmy thought. A few more minutes and he would be dead of natural causes-no need to plan and execute a job or fight Elie over it.
He closed the video program, and Armande Hoffgeitz’s face disappeared from the screen. All he had to do was sit tight for a few more minutes, let the old man take his last few breaths.
Lemmy’s gaze wandered to the desk and met Paula’s laughing eyes in a photograph, standing with Klaus Junior. She loved her father, and the boy loved his grandfather. Lemmy imagined them crying at the news, sobbing by the open coffin, kneeling at the gravestone-
“ Damn!” He ran out of his office, startling Christopher, and sprinted upstairs. The door was slightly open. Herr Hoffgeitz was lying behind it. Lemmy pushed until there was enough space to squeeze in.
Christopher followed him.
“ Call an ambulance!” There was no pulse, or it was too weak to detect. Lemmy shoved his fingers into Armande’s mouth and pulled on the tongue. With the airway clear, he began resuscitation.
*
Gideon watched Elie walk into the suite, find a chair, and sit down, panting heavily.
“Someone called,” Bathsheba said. “A man with a very nice voice.”
Elie pulled off his wool cap. “The message?”
“ The prince has landed.”
Black rings circled Elie’s eyes. He pressed his chest and coughed again.
“ I’m listening to his phones,” Gideon said, pointing to the equipment. “Nothing yet.”
Bathsheba pulled a juice bottle from the fridge. “I hate waiting like this. We need to take the initiative. What if Abu Yusef drops another bomb?”
“ Another? He didn’t attack the synagogue,” Elie said, “and he won’t act until he gets more money.”
Bathsheba was unfazed. “How do you know the prince will contact Abu Yusef? Maybe they’ve already arranged it or maybe he’ll call from a public pay phone, like you do all the time to hide things from us-which is insulting, by the way.”
“ You miss the point,” Elie said, ignoring her gripe. “Prince Abusalim is no passive donor, but a businessman with an ambitious agenda. And he’s too spoiled to be inconvenienced by pay phones. Especially now, after he almost lost everything, he’ll be even more eager to secure his birthright. He will lead us to Abu Yusef, and we’ll take them both down.”
“ What birthright?” Bathsheba laughed. “He’s a rich Saudi with a taste for rough sex.”
“ Not so simple,” Gideon said. “The last Quraysh to rule Mecca was Abd Allah ibn az-Zubayr-a direct ancestor of Prince Abusalim, who’s next in line to lead this old and bitter dynasty.”
“That’s right,” Elie said. “His dreams of prominence have deep roots in history. He won’t wait for another
