“It’s not the computer system. It’s me. I failed to earn Gunter’s trust.”
“ Nonsense. He respects you greatly.” Armande Hoffgeitz pushed up his glasses. d up hi0 But he’s accustomed to the safety of physical records and steel doors, not wires and keyboards.”
“ Let me propose,” Lemmy said, “that Gunter will enter new transactions into the computer database and at the same time continue to update his paper records.”
“ Why can’t we let him keep only paper records for my clients while the rest of the bank transitions to the electronic records?”
“ We need all the numbers in the computer system in order to maintain a correct daily balance of the bank’s total assets, reflecting deposits and withdrawals in all the accounts without exception. Every bank in Zurich will soon be automated the same way. The Banking Commission set the new accounting regulations, and compliance would be impossible without a computerized system.”
Armande Hoffgeitz raised his hand. “I’m familiar with the regulations.”
“ But it won’t change the fact that only Gunter has the account numbers and passwords for your clients. Only he can look at individual records-paper files and computer files. We bought the best equipment, with top security features and redundancy. It’s better than the systems used by Credit Suisse, UBS, and all the other banks.”
“Still, it feels too…intangible…unprotected, you understand?”
“That’s a common misperception. Imagine the computer as a large filing cabinet with a separate drawer for each account, made of steel that’s thicker than our underground vaults. Each drawer is equipped with two keys- account number and password. No one except Gunter will be able to look up specific records of your clients’ accounts. The only accessible data is the total financial positions at the end of each day, including net assets after deposits and withdrawals. I covered all this in my presentation last year, but if you want me to suspend the project-”
“No. No. Keep going, but make sure Gunter is comfortable, yes?”
*
Gideon and Bathsheba left the Paris apartment and drove to Ermenonville. From the parking area beside a gas station they had clear views of the intersection connecting the local road with the highway. Other than single-lane roads hampered by slow farming machinery, this was the only way for Abu Yusef’s men to reach Paris.
Bathsheba opened yesterday’s evening paper, Le Parisien. Al-Mazir’s bloody corpse was splashed across an inside page, his faced blurred, under a headline: Three Palestinians Shot in Turf War over Underage Prostitution
“Phew,” Bathsheba said. “Profiteering from kiddie sex. These Arabs would do anything for a buck.”
“You’re really twisted,” Gideon said.
“Do you want to straighten me out?” She fluttered her eyelids. “Will you spank me?”
“Just watch the road.” He had bought an audio edition of Frederick Forsyth’s The Day of the Jackal. With the first tape playing on the cassette player, he settled to scan passing cars for the
green Peugeot 605.
*
Back in his office, Lemmy’s eyes rested on the wooden model of The Paula, her mainsail and jib full with wind. Klaus Junior had carved it out of a pine log as a school project recently. At the stern of the boat stood tiny people- Paula, flanked by Lemmy and her father. Klaus Junior stood at the helm, adorned in a miniature blue-and-white sailor suit resembling the one Lemmy had brought from Monaco for his birthday last year.
“ Herr Horch?” It was his lanky assistant, Christopher, bowing his head to avoid the top of the doorframe. “Any news from upstairs?”
“I think Gunter’s ulcer is bleeding again.”
Christopher laughed. “That bad?”
“Worse.” He had hired Christopher Ditmahr two years earlier. The young man had an ideal resume-a graduate of Lyceum Alpin St. Nicholas and Zurich University, followed by internship at Chase Manhattan bank in New York. His application had come in just as Lemmy was ready to hire. Christopher was smart, diligent, and devoted to his boss in the unspoken camaraderie shared by non-Swiss living among Zurich’s uppity purebreds.
“I think Gunter is paranoid,” Christopher said. “I showed him how to sign in with his personal pass code, activate the program, key in each account number and password, and enter the amounts of deposits and withdrawals. He insisted that we practice with fictitious accounts. I couldn’t believe it! What did he think? That I’d memorize his secrets?”
“That could be useful.”
“Sir?”
“Just kidding.” Lemmy sat back, placing his feet on the desk. “I sympathize with the poor fellow. Gunter has been with Herr Hoffgeitz since-”
“Nineteen forty-one.”
“Correct. Imagine working for the same boss for fifty-four years.”
“ He thinks Herr Hoffgeitz is God.”
“ And bank secrecy is the Ten Commandments.” Lemmy chuckled. “By the way, has there been any activity in Prince az-Zubayr’s account?”
“All quiet on the Saudi front,” Christopher said. “Nothing since the transfer to the private account of the French Consul General in Damascus.”
*
Like every Friday night during the bitter Jerusalem winter, only the male sect members attended prayers in Neturay Karta. Their wives prepared the Sabbath meals and watched the young children at home. At the conclusion of the prayers, Rabbi Abraham Gerster recited the mourners’ Kaddish. He paused, took the required three backward steps, bowed toward the Torah ark, and chanted the last line: “ He, who brings peace to Heaven, shall bring peace upon us and upon all His people of Israel, and we say, Amen. ”
Everyone answered, “Amen.”
Rabbi Gerster put on his black coat and wrapped a scarf around his neck. He watched as Rabbi Benjamin Mashash, who had succeeded him as leader of Neturay Karta, walked down the aisle to the door and stood there to shake each man’s hand and wish them a good Sabbath.
When the synagogue was empty, Rabbi Gerster joined Benjamin and his three teenage sons, who had their father’s dark eyes and their mother’s light complexion. The oldest, Jerusalem, was named after Rabbi Gerster’s son and Benjamin’s best friend, who had died during the Six Day War, almost three decades ago. Jerusalem Mashash already showed the start of a beard, and his dangling side locks swung back and forth as he reached to open the door.
“ So, Jerusalem,” Rabbi Gerster said, exiting the sanctuary to the chilly air outside, “what do you know tonight that you didn’t know this morning?”
Benjamin’s sons were accustomed to Rabbi Gerster’s daily query. They spent every day studying Talmud and were eager to share their knowledge with the elderly rabbi.
Jerusalem said, “Today we studied a Talmudic rule: Where there are no men, be a man! One interpretation is that the rule applies to prayers. In other words, even in a place that has no minyan of ten Jewish men to pray together, one must pray alone.”
“ That’s a convenient interpretation,” Rabbi Gerster said.
“ Convenient?” The boy wasn’t afraid to argue, just like his dead namesake. “To pray is a duty. A task. The rule creates a chore where there wasn’t one. What’s convenient about that?”
“ To pray is a chore?”
“ Easier to be free from the duty to pray, right?”
“ Praying is a ritual,” Rabbi Gerster said, “which gives men comfort, peace of mind, and a sense of fulfillment. It’s a privilege, isn’t it?”
“ Couldn’t a privilege be also a chore?”
“ Telling a Jew to be a man where there are no men sounds more serious than a mere technicality about prayer quorum, don’t you think?”
“ One commentator suggests that the rule imposes a duty to be a Jew where there are no Jews.”
Rabbi Gerster rested his arm on the youth’s shoulders. “But isn’t a Jew still a Jew, whether he’s with other Jews or alone?”
