“It makes perfect sense. My Jerusalem spoke fluent German, had the looks and brains, and was alone in the world. A perfect recruit for such a long-term assignment in Switzerland.”
“He was too dead for the job.”
Itah groaned in shock at Elie’s cruel response, but Rabbi Gerster didn’t flinch. “What if he didn’t die on the Golan Heights? What if he survived? It wouldn’t be an unprecedented situation, considering your track record. Hadn’t Tanya spent twenty years thinking I was dead? Hadn’t I spent twenty years thinking she was dead?”
“ I understand your pain,” Elie said. “You excommunicated Lemmy, turned your only son into a pariah, and expected him to come back begging for your forgiveness. But instead he joined the army and found happiness among the paratroopers. Yes, his happiness was short-lived, and it’s a tragedy. But don’t try to relieve your guilt by pinning it on me.”
With one hand, Rabbi Gerster grabbed the front of Elie’s shirt and lifted him over the railing. The only thing that Elie’s flailing hands could clench was the rabbi’s white beard, but with a swipe of his free arm he knocked Elie’s hands away.
“Stop it!” Itah stepped forward. “Killing him won’t bring your son back.”
“That’s right,” Elie said, glancing down over his shoulder, where a rocky garden rested eleven stories below.
“The body in the grave is not my son.”
“It’s true,” Itah said. “We dug it up.”
“Is Lemmy your mole at the Hoffgeitz Bank?” The rabbi tilted Elie farther back. “Answer!”
Elie closed his eyes. His limbs slumped as if he gave up-or fainted.
“Put him down,” Itah said. “He knows you’re not a killer.”
*
Carrying the flowers in front of him, Lemmy stepped off the elevator on the fourth floor of the hospital. Three hallways led in different directions. A brass plaque credited donors who had helped construct each hospital wing. A directory pointed to rooms 400-420. The double doors were marked Intensive Care Unit.
Beyond the doors he found a strange calm, as if the severity of the patients’ conditions merited hushed voices and light steps. He glanced into the rooms while heading down the hallway. The buzzing of ventilators was constant, the sick lying immobile, connected to tubes and machinery. He kept his head turned sideways while his eyes surveyed the hallway from behind his dark sunglasses. Room 417 was near the end. A desk and two vacant chairs sat by the closed door.
He passed by the nurses’ station, drawing no attention. The absence of guards was both a relief and a concern-either they were accompanying Elie for a test on another floor or they had moved him elsewhere. The last possibility, that he had died, was out of consideration. That would truly be a dead end.
A quick glance over his shoulder, and Lemmy slipped into Room 417, closing the door.
The bed was made. The side table was clear. No shoes, clothes, or personal effects. He opened the cabinets and found only medical supplies. Had Elie been moved to another room without changing the record in the computer? Was it an intended diversion? Turning back toward the door, Lemmy noticed a security camera bolted to the ceiling. A tiny red light indicated it was operating.
Three knocks came in quick succession, and the door flew open.
*
The satisfaction Elie had felt by turning the TV reporter into a potential member of his team was tainted by doubts. If she and Abraham had dug up Lemmy’s grave, what else had they dug up? She was a professional investigator, and Abraham, despite decades of relative seclusion from the modern world, had clearly maintained both his incredible intellect and powerful physique. These two made for a dangerous pair. How much did they know?
Abraham pulled him back over the railing and lowered him into a chair. Elie kept his eyes closed and listened, hoping they would assume he was out and speak carelessly.
“He’s so skinny and pale,” Itah said. “Is he okay?”
“The shortness of breath is chronic emphysema.” Abraham felt Elie’s wrist. “But his heart is pumping well.”
“Isn’t he heartless?”
They laughed, and Elie heard them enter the suite. He needed to plan ahead. Abraham had guessed correctly that Lemmy was in Zurich rather than in the grave, but the time for their father-son reunion had not yet arrived, and maybe never would. They were more useful separately. As to the reporter, she seemed enamored with the rabbi and his mysterious life. They had worked well as a team, executing a clever rescue operation at Hadassah and choosing a perfect place to hide him. Elie knew that without their help he would be exposed to recapture by the Shin Bet. But he could not trust Abraham any longer. It was time to find another safe place to hide for the next few days.
All this trouble was temporary. Rabin’s reluctance to make a deal in advance was nothing but the naivete of a dignified career-soldier, who had not completely internalized the rigors of real politics. But after the assassination attempt, once Rabin saw how effective Elie’s strategy worked, he would pull back Shin Bet and honor the deal. What choice would Rabin have while running for a certain victory over the discredited Likud? He would have to appoint Elie as intelligence czar-or risk a “leak” to the media of the true conspiratorial circumstances of the failed assassination, which would destroy Rabin’s credibility.
Elie heard the TV blaring. He peeked inside and saw neither of them in the living room. The bedroom door was closed, and faint voices came through. Elie reached into Itah’s purse, which rested on the table by the door. His fingers touched a few bills, which he pocketed, together with the suite’s cardkey.
Downstairs he found a phone in the lobby and asked the operator for an outside line. Freckles answered immediately.
“It’s me,” Elie said.
“ Hey! How’s it going?”
“ I need a safe house for a few days.”
“ Super! Not a problem!” The feigned exuberance must have been for the benefit of the people present in the room with Freckles. “It’s a pleasure!”
“ Pick me up at six tonight. The King David Hotel. I’ll be in the restaurant.”
“You got it!”
“Make sure you’re not being followed.”
“We’re cool,” Freckles said. “God bless!”
*
The door opened, and a nurse faced Lemmy. She was tall and broad, her white uniform ill-fitting, and her smile too wide to be sincere. “May I help you?”
“ Oh, yes.” He took a step toward the door. “I’m a bit confused.”
She didn’t move aside to let him out, but her smile remained fixed. “Are you looking for someone?”
“ My aunt, Esther Weiss.” He lifted the bouquet. “I was told she’s in room three hundred and seventeen.” He tilted his head at the empty bed. “It’s not too late, I hope?”
“ No, she’s fine.” Instead of stepping aside, the nurse entered the room and kicked the door shut with her heel. “Esther was taken downstairs for x-rays.” She reached into her coat pocket.
He shoved the flowers in her face and used a chopping strike to disable her right arm. She raised a foot to kick him, which he dodged, taking advantage of her temporary imbalance to knock her other leg from under her, swing her around, and land a punch into her left kidney. She managed to elbow him hard in the chest, but a second fist to the kidney removed what was left of her fighting spirit. He pulled her coat off her shoulders, leaving the sleeves on, and used the loose ends to tie her hands behind her back. She was lying face-down on the floor, right under the video camera. He knew time was short before her colleagues showed up.
A sucking sound told him she had managed to fill her lungs for a scream. He silenced her with a knuckle-jolt to the side of the head.
The nurse was out cold. But not for long.
As he exited the room, a man was jogging down the hallway. Lemmy pretended not to notice and walked in the opposite direction, where another set of double doors was marked with a red exit sign.
He made it down one bank of stairs when the man yelled, “Stop or I shoot!”
