Convention-”
“It will be different under me. How would peace survive if not by fear and intimidation of its opponents?”
“ That’s a twisted approach. Peace will succeed through prosperity, through momentum of positive results. The Arabs wouldn’t fight us if they had a good life.”
“ Illusions. Anti-Semitism is deadly bacteria, which have kept mutating over three thousand years into worse forms of cruelty toward Jews. It’s a brand of hatred that has thrived among rich and poor alike.”
“ That’s why I’m making peace!”
“ Peace won’t extinguish the most resilient germs in the history of human wickedness.”
“ So what? You want to kill a billion Muslims?”
“ Only the carriers who spread the contagious disease of anti-Semitism.” Elie suppressed a cough. “Your Oslo Accords will only work with a serious dose of antibiotics-an army of Jewish assassins, hunting down every opponent of Israel, every plotter of attacks on Jews, every mosque preacher who calls for jihad-”
“How will you pay for this army of assassins?”
“I have enough funds.” Technically he was lying. The Nazi fortune held by the Hoffgeitz Bank of Zurich was still out of his reach. But not for long. The mole he had managed to insert into that secretive private bank was getting close to the top. “Money will never be a problem for me,” he added.
“ Money is a problem for Mossad and Shin Bet.” Rabin stood. “Anyway, go back to Paris and take care of Abu Yusef and his Saudi sponsor so that I can seal a final deal with Arafat.”
Elie went to the door. “I’ll get it done.”
“I know.” Yitzhak Rabin returned to the window and squinted through the slats at the nightly vigil across the street. “I have complete trust in you.”
“Unfortunately I cannot reciprocate the sentiment.”
The prime minister laughed. “Sometimes I wonder, Weiss, whether you intend to be funny or scary.”
*
Rabbi Abraham Gerster observed the group of demonstrators from the rear of the sidewalk. They yelled hoarsely, “With blood, and fire, Rabin will expire!” Across the street, the windows in the prime minister’s three- story residence were shuttered. A wall separated the forecourt from the street, which was illuminated by floodlights.
A stout young man with a freckled face and a large knitted skullcap silenced the group with a raised hand and recited from Psalms, “ So shall all your enemies perish, O God, lost and destroyed! ”
Rabbi Gerster pulled down the brim of his black hat. His photo occasionally appeared in news articles about Neturay Karta, the ultra-Orthodox sect that he had led for decades before handing the reins over to his protege, Rabbi Benjamin Mashash.
One of the demonstrators, a skinny youth with dark skin and a colorful skullcap, walked up and down with a cardboard sign: 1936 Berlin = 1995 Oslo.
Rabbi Gerster asked, “What does it mean?”
“ They’re the same.” His face was more mature than his slimness suggested. “Adolf Hitler and Yitzhak Rabin. Pursuers of Jews!”
The intense hate shocked Rabbi Gerster. Unlike the theological objection to Zionism, which ultra-Orthodox Jews held because only God may bring Jewish sovereignty back to the Promised Land, these demonstrators focused on the prime minister personally. The nationalist camp saw the handover of territories to the Palestinians as a handover of Jews to be killed by Gentiles. Until now, their rage had been expressed only with words and threats, but could it evolve into physical violence? Could this be the revival of the old menace of Jewish internecine bloodshed?
“ The sinner shall have no hope,” the demonstrators chanted. “ The traitor’s path shall end in demise! ”
Across the street, a steel gate opened and a guard stepped out of the prime minister’s courtyard. He surveyed the street, glancing left and right, and beckoned a white sedan that was idling nearby. Its headlights came on, and it advanced along the curb until its rear door lined up with the open gate.
As if expecting their voices to reach the prime minister more easily through the open gate, the demonstrators increased the tempo of their chanting, practically shouting each word that King David had written three millennia ago. “ God’s enemies…shall have neither seed…nor issue! ”
A small figure wearing a dark wool cap emerged through the gate, crossed the curb, and got into the sedan. The face was visible for only a second or two, but Rabbi Gerster recognized Elie Weiss by his aquiline nose.
The chubby leader switched from Psalms to a familiar song of Jewish defiance. “ Scheme your evil plot, and it shall be blotted! ”
The rest of them immediately joined him. “ Utter your curse, and it shall not stand, because God stands with us! ”
The white sedan moved off the curb slowly while the rear window rolled halfway down. The interior was illuminated by the floodlights, and Rabbi Gerster locked eyes with Elie Weiss.
“ Scheme your evil plot, and it shall be blotted,” the demonstrators sang again, pushing against the barricades.
Inside the car, Elie’s hand rose in a subtle greeting. Rabbi Gerster nodded, but then he noticed the leader of the demonstrators return Elie’s gesture with a quick thumbs up while chanting, “ Because God stands with us! ”
*
Friday, October 13, 1995
Wilhelm Horch, vice president at the Hoffgeitz Bank in Zurich, adjusted the contrast knob on his computer screen. It showed a live video feed from the hidden camera in the office of the bank’s president upstairs. Satisfied with the picture quality, he put his feet up on the desk and watched his father-in-law dictate the next letter.
“ To the Association of Swiss Banks, chairman of the board, address, greetings, etcetera.” Armande Hoffgeitz tilted his chair backward and gazed at the ceiling. “We are in receipt of your recent inquiry about wartime accounts opened between nineteen thirty-five and forty-five. We commend your initiative to pacify the concerns of the last remaining victims of Nazi aggression. We are thus pleased to report that our records show no inactive accounts from said years-”
“ Perhaps we should use a different term.” The voice belonged to his assistant, Gunter Schnell, who was sitting with his back to the hidden camera. “Something more…vague.”
Wilhelm listened intently. He knew that at least one dormant account existed-a huge account, opened during the war by SS General Klaus von Koenig-which likely constituted a major part of the bank’s assets. How would they get around it without lying?
“ Let’s see.” Armande Hoffgeitz contemplated for a long moment. “Technically Klaus’s account has been inactive, which would require disclosure.”
“ But there was one instance of activity, when he sent a messenger to attempt a withdrawal-”
“ That little Nazi with the long nose, who didn’t know the account number or the password?”
Gunter looked at his notes. “Untersturmfuhrer Rupert Danzig. He tried to make a withdrawal in May, nineteen sixty-seven.”
“ That’s twenty-eight years ago!”
“ He presented appropriate credentials,” Gunter insisted. “And he had General Klaus von Koenig’s ledger showing all of the deposits made to the account.”
“ He could have found the ledger in a ditch somewhere.”
“ But he showed familiarity with Herr General. He clearly knew him well.”
“ Not well enough to know the account number and password.”
“ He claimed to have forgotten.”
“ But he never came back.”
“ Not yet.”
“ Not ever.” Herr Hoffgeitz knuckled his desk three times. “My old friend Klaus is dead. I’m sure of it. He must have perished in a bombardment or on the voyage to Argentina. By that time, the Allies were sinking most U-boats within three days of sailing.”
“ Banking regulations require us to assume a client is alive, unless a death certificate is presented to us by the
