Avraham Azrieli - The Jerusalem Assassin

“It’s not a game,” Bathsheba said. “And who’s Herr Horch?”

“ This is it,” Elie said. “Tomorrow afternoon. We must prepare well. We won’t have a second chance.”

“Wasn’t Horch a carmaker?” Gideon reset the recording device.

“ This guy doesn’t make cars.” Bathsheba looked at Elie. “How the hell did you manage to turn a Swiss banker into an Israeli agent?”

“Don’t worry about that.”

“ I do worry! What if he’s a double agent? What if he’s sick of you blackmailing him or whatever you’re doing to make him work for you? What if he’s setting us up for Abu Yusef?”

“ She’s right,” Gideon said. “We need to know if Horch is reliable.”

“ He’s more reliable than the two of you put together.” Elie lit another cigarette and opened his bible. “Better start to prepare. Everything will depend on your performance.”

*

Prince Abusalim rang room service for a bottle of iced champagne and an assortment of sweets. He went to the bathroom and watched his naked image in the wall-to-wall mirror, taking pleasure in his muscular body as it produced a healthy stream of urine.

Wearing nothing but a bandage on his hand, he returned to the bedroom, where a voluptuous blonde was spread out on the bed, supported by a mound of pillows, eating square bits of chocolate from a silver bowl nestled between her breasts.

He wondered if he should let her stay the night.

The book of Koran rested on the night stand. He opened the drawer and dropped the Koran out of sight. “You eat too much chocolate, my little Rubens.” He squeezed the flesh of her thigh.

She giggled, reaching for his groin. “Maybe I’ll eat this chocolate.”

“ That’s my girl.” He grabbed her hair. “ Bon appetit.”

*

Paula served tender pork chops and sweet potato fries for dinner. Klaus Junior nibbled at the food as he listened to Lemmy reading aloud get-well cards sent by bank employees, clients, and a few of Armande’s old friends.

While Paula served cheesecake for dessert, the phone rang.

Lemmy got up. “I’ll take it in the study.”

He shut the door and picked up the phone. “Wilhelm Horch here.”

“I gave you an order,” Elie said. “Have you finished off the old man?”

“And I asked you not to phone me at home.” Lemmy covered his mouth as he spoke into the receiver. “I have a family!”

“Silence!” Elie launched into a series of coughs, followed by spitting. When he spoke again, his voice was weak. “Do not interrupt me again, or I’ll visit your home in person and practice my father’s trade on your Gentile wife and your little Nazi namesake.”

The threat was so extreme that Lemmy could not speak.

“ I need you to change the prince’s money transfer instructions. Write it down.”

Lemmy jotted Elie’s instructions on a pad and hung up. He sat there for a long time, unable to return to the kitchen and face Paula and Klaus Junior as if nothing had happened. Had Elie spoken merely out of rage? Or had it been a valid forewarning of real intentions? There was no way to know what Elie would do to ensure the realization of his grand vision. It had been a terrible mistake to give Elie the impression that his feelings for Paula and Klaus Junior could in any way hinder his complete dedication to the cause of Counter Final Solution. Elie would not hesitate to send a hit team to Zurich. What’s a couple of dead Gentiles in the context of obtaining twenty-three billion dollars to combat global anti-Semitism?

The door opened and Paula entered the study. She closed the door and came around the large desk. Gently she wiped the sweat from his forehead. “Are you going to leave us?”

“What?” He looked up at her. “Hell, no!”

She kissed the top of his head.

He hugged her, his ear against her stomach. “I’ll never leave you.”

“Good. Very good.”

“It’s something else.” He stood, facing her. “I should have told you long ago.”

Paula put a hand on his mouth. “I know who my husband is. You are a wonderful man and a terrific father. The rest is work stuff. I don’t want to know.”

He held her tightly. She truly, unconditionally loved him. And he felt the same, which meant that Elie had a valid reason for his deadly threat, because if Lemmy had to choose, Paula and Klaus Junior would come first. He had no qualms about killing to protect Israel, and he would have no qualms killing to protect his family!

They descended to the floor, kissing each other on the way down. They lay on the carpet. He nibbled at her neck, his left hand around her nape, his right hand pulling up her skirt. He mounted her, his knees parting her thighs. Paula quivered, breathing rapidly.

*

Wednesday, October 25, 1995

“ My father will recover.” Paula sat in front of the vanity in the corner of their bedroom. “He won’t give up. I know him.”

“Armande is strong,” Lemmy agreed while tying his shoes.

Paula started her morning makeup routine. “I should have convinced him to work less, to spend more time with Junior. Maybe now he’ll agree to work part-time. You could run the bank day-to-day, right?”

“I’m not his son.”

Any reference to her dead brother, even indirectly, made Paula’s eyes moisten. She no longer cried, and most people would not even notice it, but Lemmy saw her reaction and regretted it. She smiled, which was her way of telling him it was okay to discuss this painful subject. “You’re like a son to him.”

“ Not exactly. He doesn’t mind it when I go skiing, but when Junior wanted to learn how to ski, your father flipped.”

“ We’re going to do it this year. We have to.”

“ That’s right. I mean, what kind of a Swiss kid doesn’t ski?” Lemmy watched her face, which lit up when discussing their son. “The winter is coming. Should I make reservations?”

“ As long as it’s not Chamonix.”

The Alpine ski resort had taken the life of Klaus V.K. Hoffgeitz in the twilight hours of a sunny day in the winter of 1973. He was found in a crevasse near an easy blue-diamond slope. An expert skier, he must have taken a wrong turn, confused by the shadows so typical of the western face of the mountain. Autopsy revealed that his injuries had not been severe, except for a stab wound, likely caused by the unlucky fall on a sharp icicle, which entered his brain through the throat, melting away long before the body had been found.

“ I miss my brother,” Paula said. “He was fun.”

Lemmy held her hand. “I’m sorry.”

“ I’ve accepted it. God wanted him by His side.” She wiped her eyes. “And my mother’s real illness, what really killed her, was a broken heart, which I also understand. But for my father, losing Klaus V.K. has been the tragedy of his life-not just the grief over a wonderful, loveable son, but the loss of his heir. I think it’s like the world went out of order for him. It was the breaking of continuity, an end to generations of family tradition. My father feels that he failed in his hereditary duty to groom a male heir.”

“It’s tragic.”

“I tried to convince him it wasn’t like this anymore. It’s the twentieth century. Families hire professional managers to run inherited businesses. No one cares about bloodlines any longer. It’s so old fashioned.”

“Your father is not easy to convince. He takes everything very seriously.” Lemmy had not told Paula about the phone call that had instigated her father’s heart attack or about the huge sum in the inactive account. She was safer not knowing. “I think he was hoping to run the bank until Junior is ready to take over.”

“He’s ten!” She laughed, and the light from the window glistened in her eyes.