clothes. The leader was a smallish man in his thirties with dark complexion, rust-colored hair, and a blue blazer. He flashed an identification card at Tanya. “I’m Agent Cohen from the Shin Bet. We’ll take over from here.”
Tanya’s team stepped forward, surrounding her protectively.
Gideon watched the confrontation with interest. Cohen was a generic last name that filled several pages in the telephone directory. His accent revealed a Sephardic background, probably from Iraq or Morocco. The Shin Bet, Israel’s domestic security agency, primarily engaged in counter-terror and anti-spying activities. Many of its agents were Sephardic Jews, first or second generation immigrants from Arab countries, who were able to easily infiltrate Palestinian organizations and recruit informants.
“I am Tanya Galinski,” she said.
“ I know. An honor to meet you.”
“ What’s your first name, Agent Cohen?”
“ It’s classified.” He grinned.
“ Do you know who this is?” She gestured at the hospital bed standing in the sun.
“Elie Weiss, Special Operations Department. Now retired.” Agent Cohen placed a hand possessively on Elie’s bedrail. “As you are aware, Shin Bet has jurisdiction over all clandestine activities inside Israel.”
“That’s the law, but-“I
“He’s our responsibility now.”
“But we need to question him about his activities overseas, which is Mossad’s jurisdiction.”
“We’ll make him available to you in a few days.” Cohen beckoned to his men. They rolled Elie’s bed into an ambulance marked with a red Star of David and loaded Bathsheba’s coffin into a hearse. Both vehicles drove off, disappearing around the terminal building. The Shin Bet team got back into their Subaru sedans.
Tanya walked over to Cohen’s window. “What Shin Bet department are you with?”
“ Yehida Le’Avtahat Isihim.”
Gideon was surprised. The VIP Protection Unit provided bodyguards for senior government officials. Did it also conduct investigative operations? Their sudden appearance here implied that they did. But why were they interested in Elie Weiss?
Tanya tilted her head at the departing ambulance. “Are you taking him into protective custody? Because I really need access to him-”
“No problem.” Agent Cohen’s car began to move. “We’ll be in touch.”
*
Tanya watched the departing cars. How did Shin Bet know she was bringing Elie back? Perhaps someone at El Al Airlines was on the lookout? It would have been better to question him in Paris, find out about his network and how close he had come to Klaus’s fortune. The small, leather-bound ledger that Klaus had entrusted to her in 1945, which she had given to Elie in 1967, was nowhere to be found in Elie’s hotel suite or among his belongings. Where was he hiding it? Without the ledger she had no basis to approach the Hoffgeitz Bank.
And why was Shin Bet so eager to take custody of Elie before Mossad had a chance to properly question him? The Abu Yusef assassination clearly fell under Mossad’s overseas jurisdiction. Something was up, and she was piqued. Did they know about the Nazi fortune? Everyone in the upper echelons of the small Israeli intelligence community envied the financial independence of SOD and its consequent freedom from bureaucratic budgetary constraints. But Elie’s operation had always been tiny in comparison, too little for anyone at Shin Bet or Mossad to make a move to take over SOD. And as far as Tanya knew, only Abraham and Elie were aware of the plundered fortune her Nazi lover had deposited with the Hoffgeitz Bank of Zurich fifty years earlier. Had Elie managed to put his hands on it?
She turned to her agents. “I’ll see you at headquarters tomorrow morning.”
They departed toward the main terminal, and she held Gideon’s arm, following behind. “Gidi’leh, how long have you worked for Elie?”
“Three years.”
“ Do you know where he got the money to finance SOD operations?”
“ I know where he got the orders-from the prime minister.”
“Elie was his own man. He took no orders.”
“Why do you use the past tense? He’s not dead yet.”
There was no point in arguing. She stopped at the foot of the steps leading up to the terminal. “What are your plans?”
“ I’d like to continue to serve.”
“ Well, SOD has just gone out of business.”
“ Don’t be so sure. Elie believed in redundancy. He always had two tracks going on at the same time.”
“Not when it came to himself. SOD was his show, and it’s retiring with him. It’s over. Would you like me to talk to Bira about a position for you at Hebrew University’s archeology department?”
“In exchange for information?”
The sun was in her eyes, and Tanya used her hand as a visor. “I’ll help you no matter what. But you care about Israel’s security, don’t you? Elie spent decades building a network of agents in Europe, possibly elsewhere. And he’s got money for operations. Why should his agents and funds go to waste?”
“ I can’t help you. Elie traveled on his own, conducted hushed telephone conversations, and told us only what we needed to know. He kept things strictly compartmentalized.”
“ How about a notebook? A computer file? Any lists?”
“ None that I saw, other than the files concerning Abu Yusef.”
“We got those. Do you know names? Contacts? Locations?”
“ Sorry.”
She sensed that he was holding back. “Come by Bira’s house later. Her vines have ripened late this year, red and juicy. I’ll have her squeeze a pitcher for us, okay?”
Gideon smiled.
They passed through the wide doors into the main terminal and were greeted by the familiar air of impatience and excitement. The place was bustling with passengers and luggage carts. Loudspeakers played Hebrew music. They were home.
*
Tanya’s team had tried to pry information from him in Paris the night before, but Elie had laughed at them. So they had put him to sleep, and now he was back in Israel. He held his bible, which gave him confidence that his plans would proceed despite this interruption. The switch at the airport had troubled him. It was all temporary, of course, until the deal with Rabin materialized. But why was Shin Bet so eager to take him in? He could hardly think with the drugs still in his system.
From the sights outside the window Elie could tell the ambulance was traveling east, across the Ayalon Valley on the Tel Aviv-Jerusalem Expressway. He glanced at the nurse, a plain, middle-aged woman, who sat on the bench with the patience of one used to long hours on the job.
The ambulance slowed down and took an exit ramp. A moment later it stopped on the side of the road. The nurse opened the rear doors and stepped out. Elie saw a gray Cadillac stop behind the ambulance.
A man in oversized sunglasses came out of the Cadillac and climbed into the ambulance. The doors closed, and a moment later they were moving again.
Prime Minister Yitzhak Rabin sat on the bench and took off his glasses. His face was wrinkled, his hair almost white, but his vital gruffness hadn’t changed.
Elie cleared his throat. “Shalom, Yitzhak.”
“ Welcome home, Weiss.” Unlike most of his generation, Yitzhak Rabin was a born Israeli, not an immigrant from Europe, and his Hebrew was free of any Diaspora accent. “How’re you feeling?”
“In need of a major overhaul.” Elie coughed.
“The doctors at Hadassah Hospital will put you back on your feet.” Rabin leaned closer. “You’ve done Israel a great service by removing Al-Mazir, Abu Yusef, and their Saudi sponsor. Arafat can now proceed with the third phase of the Oslo process. And you can finally rest.”
“Rest? I must get back to work. Great dangers ahead-”
“You’ve done enough.” Rabin tilted his head sideways, signaling impatience. “It’s the era of peace, my friend. Two states for two people.”
