hell broke loose.”
“ They kicked you out.”
“ Right. Herr Danzig picked me up, and we drove to Jerusalem. We sat on a bench near the Wailing Wall, and he told me the truth. His real name was Elie Weiss, a Jew, a Holocaust survivor. He invited me to work for SOD, to prevent another Holocaust. I had nothing waiting for me in Europe. My mother had died the previous summer, and I didn’t know any of my relatives, who had disliked my father and kept away from us. Also, the opportunity to serve the Jewish people was a chance to make up for what my father and his generation of Germans had done.”
“ You decided to work for a man who had lied to you and your mother?”
“ When I learned his real identity, I realized that Elie must have extorted money from my father and others like him, threatening them with exposure. But I don’t blame him. I’ve done my research. My father served at Treblinka. He killed countless innocent people. The SS motto was Loyal, Valiant, Obedient. It should have been Loot, Victimize, Obliterate.” Christopher’s voice rose in anger. “My father was a mass murderer. A monster!”
Lemmy secured the safety on the Mauser and holstered it under his coat.
“ You believe me now?”
“ It fits. Elie helped you get an MBA, intern in New York, and time your application to the Hoffgeitz Bank just when he told me to hire an assistant. But why?”
“ To watch your back. There’s a lot riding on you. Elie said that you are the key to the future safety and security of the Jewish people.”
“ That’s all?” Lemmy stood up and buttoned his coat. “I’m just a middle-aged banker trying to survive the most confusing set of circumstances.
Christopher laughed.
“ Anything else you want to share with me?”
“ I’m the keeper of all SOD files-Elie’s personal records, list of active and sleeper agents, files of former Nazis who pay Elie regularly to stay alive, and charts of tentative targets for Counter Final Solution. It’s all kept on the bank’s computer, encrypted, of course.”
“ What’s the password?”
“ JERUSALEM 1967.”
“ I should have guessed.” Lemmy gestured downward. “That’s some tattoo. Dating must be complicated.”
“ It’s not so bad.” Christopher grinned. “I tell them I’m too shy to fool around with the lights on.”
“ Do they buy it?”
“ Oh, yes. Girls find shyness very endearing.”
*
Saturday, October 28, 1995
“ I’ll be gone for a few days.” Lemmy pulled away from Paula. “When I come back, I’ll tell you everything, and you’ll decide if you want me to stay.”
“ Very funny.”
“ I’m serious.” He got out from under the covers and sat at the edge of the bed. “There are things I’ve kept from you.”
“ I know.”
“ Do you?”
Paula caressed his hand. “You spoke a foreign language in your sleep last night. It scared me to death. I thought there was a stranger in the room.”
Despite the ominous implications, Lemmy burst out laughing, and Paula followed suit. When they calmed down, she threw a pillow at him.
He caught it. “Are you still scared?”
“ Of you?”
“ Yes.”
“ Are you nuts? I know how much you love me.” She lifted her pinky. “I got you wrapped around this one like a slinky.”
He leaned over and kissed her lips. “But there are secrets-”
Paula pressed her lips to his, silencing him, and they stayed locked in a passionate kiss until they both ran out of breath. “Wow!” She sighed. “That was nice.”
He played with her hair. “There are parts of my work of which you might not approve.”
“ There’s nothing you could tell me that would change how I feel about you. My father raised me not to ask questions. You think I don’t know how Swiss banks serve dictators, drug dealers, and plain vanilla tax evaders from every country on earth? Those are the clients you must serve, because if you didn’t, someone else would-here in Zurich or in Lichtenstein, Vaduz, or the Antilles. I don’t need to know your professional secrets in order to trust you.”
He put his hand under the sheets and caressed her flat belly. “We’ll start working again when I’m back.”
“ Whether we need to or not.”
“ Really?”
Paula crossed her fingers. “My period is late. I’ll give it another few days before doing a test.”
“ Wouldn’t that be a treat?” Lemmy caressed her cheek. “I’ll call you when I can.”
“ I’ll be in the hospital every day. The doctors say my dad is showing signs of recovery. He’s off the ventilator.”
“ Good. Call Christopher if there’s any news. He’ll know how to reach me.”
Klaus Junior was still asleep when Lemmy kissed him good-bye. He drove the Porsche to the airport and parked it underground. KLM flight 312 to Amsterdam took off at 9:52 a.m., and ten minutes later the pretty attendant brought a breakfast tray and the International Herald Tribune.
Lemmy browsed the headlines. The first page contained the usual mosaic of news pieces from Wall Street and the financial markets in London, Hong Kong, and Tokyo. The second page was filled with photographs of toppled buildings in Beijing after an earthquake that killed hundreds of people. The third page contained summaries of international news, beginning with a report of the Philippine supreme court’s decision to dismiss a challenge to Imelda Marcos’s electoral victory. Another piece told of a brewing conflict in the Israeli parliament over the Rabin government’s ban on construction in Jewish settlements in the West Bank. Likud leader Benjamin Netanyahu, whose poll numbers had recently surpassed Rabin’s, declared: “The Labor government has betrayed Zionism and must be toppled.”
The pilot announced the beginning of their descent. Lemmy watched through the window at the picturesque view of Rotterdam’s harbor. From twenty-five thousand feet, Europe’s largest harbor was a manicured line of fingernail docks on a blue canvas. As the plane descended, the groomed Dutch landscape grew larger, with its tiny canals, grazing cows, and robust green fields. A wide circle over the coastline brought the plane to Schiphol Airport. The weather was nicer than in Zurich-clear blue skies and a bright wintery sun.
The train took him to Amsterdam’s central station, and from there he used the tram. He favored the Hotel de L’Europe on the River Amstel, where bankers and corporate executives walked the hallways in their tailored suits, consummating multimillion-dollar deals. But this time, Herr Wilhelm Horch of the Hoffgeitz Bank was not arriving to negotiate a major currency swap or to solicit a large deposit. There would be no dinners with wealthy clients, no rubbing elbows with colleagues. This time he was playing a different game altogether, a game he could not afford to lose.
“Herr Horch!” The front desk manager rushed to greet him. “Wonderful to have you with us again!”
“Good to be back,” Lemmy said, forcing a smile.
*
The floor-to-ceiling windows of the high-rise apartment filled with the blue Mediterranean. Gideon watched the Tel Aviv beach, alive with bathers, joggers, and windsurfers. Behind him, the maternal housekeeper moved around the place stealthily with her broom and duster.
Agent Cohen showed up with two plastic bags. He took out pita breads stuffed with falafels, humus, and Israeli salad, topped with tahini sauce. He beckoned Gideon to the table. “How do you like this place?”
“ I didn’t know Shin Bet could afford such accommodations for its prisoners.”
“ We like our guests to be comfortable.”
