“And I’m sorry for speaking harshly.” Elie patted his shoulder. “Anger and grief go hand in hand, as we both know from our days of fighting the Nazis. Losing your son must be a never-healing wound. I wish I could ease your pain, my dear friend.”
Abraham nodded, but the look on his face was too cryptic for Elie’s comfort. Did he know more than he was saying? Had he and Itah really dug up Lemmy’s grave? And even if they had, how could Abraham tell if the remains belonged to his son? Elie was about to ask him, but Itah grabbed the remote and increased the volume.
The TV screen showed two photos side-by-side, with a subtitle: Rabbi Abraham Gerster amp; TV Reporter Itah Orr.
“The two suspects evaded police yesterday,” the news anchor said, “when investigators sought them in connection with unauthorized hacking into financial databases and the theft of confidential bank records. The investigation revealed a criminal conspiracy with non-profit religious organizations, including Talmudic yeshiva institutions in Israel and New York, which have allegedly been utilized for money laundering.” The two photos were replaced by a video showing several police cars at the entrance to the Meah Shearim neighborhood, and officers carrying boxes of evidence down the road from the Neturay Karta synagogue. A group of bearded men in black hats and coats held a prayer on the pavement nearby, swaying devoutly.
“Channel One,” the anchor said, “announced it was suspending Itah Orr until the investigation is concluded. Anyone with information on the suspects’ whereabouts should contact the police.”
Itah switched off the TV. “I don’t believe this!”
“They’re clever,” Elie said. “You were identified on the security system at Hadassah, but they don’t want to mention that scene, so they made up a criminal investigation. All you need to do is stay out of sight or change your appearance. Once my operation reaches its successful conclusion, Rabin will pull back Shin Bet, and we’ll be home free.”
“What if Shin Bet stops your operation?”
“They’re groping in the dark,” Elie said. “They know I’m up to something, but they don’t know what. They’re clueless.”
“You’re an optimist,” Itah said, exchanging a glance with Rabbi Gerster. “Anyway, I can use Sorkeh’s headscarf.”
“Yes,” Elie said, “but what about the famous leader of Neturay Karta?”
Rabbi Gerster stood up. “It appears that my rabbinical career is over.”
Elie watched from the bathroom door. The scissors in Itah’s hands were small but relentless. She snipped off the payos and worked through the bushy, gray beard that had masked Abraham Gerster’s face for fifty years. The medicine cabinet was well stocked with shaving cream and disposable blades. She shaved him carefully.
Removing his black skullcap, Itah watered her hands and combed his hair backward. “My my,” she said, standing back to examine her handiwork, “you’re drop dead handsome!”
Elie felt a stab of envy. It had been the same with Tanya Galinski in 1945. Despite the deep snow and the warm corpse of her Nazi lover, Tanya had stared at Abraham Gerster the same way-enamored, enchanted. It was incredible to watch him now, at age sixty-nine, impact a woman the same way. Elie cleared his throat. “Shall we go downstairs for dinner?” He had decided not to warn them that Freckles would be arriving to pick him up. Their reaction would reveal how much they knew about the chubby agent-provocateur.
“I’m starving.” Itah adjusted Sorkeh’s headscarf over her hair.
“ Why don’t we order room service?” Rabbi Gerster absently rubbed his smooth cheeks.
“ Don’t worry,” Elie said. “The restaurant here is too expensive for Shin Bet agents.”
*
Traffic inched uphill while pedestrians threaded their way among the moving vehicles. Lemmy turned into the YMCA parking lot and found a spot for the Fiat. This was the last known stop in Elie’s escape, and the mention of going to Haifa could have been a diversion for the benefit of the taxi driver’s ears.
He stepped out of the Fiat, looked around, and immediately saw the solution.
Across the street, he strolled into the circular driveway at the King David Hotel and balked at the sight of two Subaru sedans with the familiar roof antennas. He kept moving along the circular driveway until he was back on the street, this time walking downhill. Was this the next trap? But how did the Shin Bet know he would be coming to the King David Hotel? Had they made the same assumption as he and were now searching the hotel?
A limousine passed by with small flags fluttering from the corners of its hood. It occurred to him that the King David Hotel was the preferred place for visiting foreign dignitaries. Shin Bet, or another government agency that used similar Subaru sedans, was probably at the hotel for reasons that had nothing to do with Elie Weiss, SOD, or the man travelling under the name of Baruch Spinoza. He almost laughed in relief. The world wasn’t revolving around this single crisis! He turned back toward the hotel.
*
Rabbi Gerster felt naked without his black coat and hat, without the long beard and dangling payos. For decades, throughout his adult life, whenever he entered a public place, people recognized him, bowed their heads in respect, and made way for him. But as he entered the La Regence Grill, the only glances he attracted came from two middle-aged women, who smiled at him, and from a single man in a pink jacket, who looked up from his soup and winked. It took Rabbi Gerster a moment to comprehend that his new appearance was attracting a different type of attention, the type drawn by a handsome, mature man who radiated confidence and authority.
Elie ordered a cup of chicken soup. Itah and Rabbi Gerster ordered steak dinners.
Before the food arrived, a stout young man joined their table. His face was infested with the dotted pigmentation that had earned him his nickname. He was dressed inadequately in worn sandals, khaki shorts, and a white T-shirt that bore a quote from the prophet Isaiah: Your detractors and destroyers shall emerge from within you. The knitted skullcap sat askew on his head, jauntily contrasting with the nervous twitch of his mouth. At first glance, he seemed like a beggar who had slipped through the lobby to hit on gullible tourists before the maitre d’ threw him out.
Elie looked up from his soup. “You’re early.”
“ Am I?” Freckles glanced over his shoulder.
“Three minutes,” Elie said. “How uncharacteristic of you.”
“ Trying to get better at my job, you know?” He laughed nervously. “Ready to go?”
“ Hungry, Freckles?” Itah nudged the basket of fresh rolls toward him.
He creased his eyes. “Do I know you?”
Itah pulled off the headscarf.
“ Oh, God!” He stood, then sat back down, looked left and right. “No cameras, right?”
Itah laughed. “Not today. Hush hush. Like spies. You ever heard of Kim Philby?”
Freckles looked at Rabbi Gerster, and his eyes widened. “God, have mercy!”
“ Amen.” Rabbi Gerster’s hand instinctively reached to touch his beard, which was gone. He realized that Elie had tricked them by summoning his agent to take him somewhere else. “How’s business going for you? Money coming in steadily?”
“ What’s going on here?” Freckles got up again, glanced at the door. “I don’t like this!”
“ Sit down.” Elie said it quietly, but the tone was icy. “You all know each other?”
“ Freckles has been a great source,” Itah said. “I’ve earned many kudos for my reports on ILOT. But lately I’ve come to doubt him a bit.”
Elie’s little black eyes focused on her. “Why?”
“ Hold on.” Rabbi Gerster noticed that Freckles kept looking toward the entrance to the restaurant. “I think we should-”
“ I had a little peek,” Itah said, “at his bank account. Regular deposits of French francs in cash, but also a monthly paycheck from Shin Bet, plus medical and pension. Did you know about that?”
“ It’s a trap,” Rabbi Gerster said, rising.
Elie didn’t answer Itah’s question, but his hand landed on the rabbi’s toothed steak knife, rose unhurriedly, and stuck the knife’s point under Freckles’ chin, penetrating the skin, and pulled him closer. “Is that true? Do you work for Shin Bet?”
Freckles couldn’t nod, and opening his mouth was also impossible. Only his lips moved when he squeaked, “I can…explain.”
Rabbi Gerster grabbed Itah’s arm. “We’re leaving!”
