Avraham Azrieli - The Jerusalem Assassin

He pulled the Mauser from his pocket and placed it on the desk. He recalled holding it for the first time in his father’s study, back in Jerusalem. So much had happened since then-the abortion riots, his excommunication from Neturay Karta, paratrooper service in the IDF, and the mission into Jordanian-occupied East Jerusalem to destroy the UN radar, which had prevented detection of Israel’s preemptive strike and led to the victory of the Six Day War. And then, alone in the world, he had accepted Elie’s offer of clandestine service, spent a summer in intense German-language study, attended Lyceum Alpin St. Nicholas, courted Paula, and turned himself into a successful Swiss banker, a family man, and a secret agent. The key to his long career was careful planning and meticulous execution to minimize risk of exposure. The exception was his continuous use of the Mauser for killing Israel’s enemies. The barrel had been honed to prevent ballistic tracing of the bullets, and he had taken pains to keep it out of sight and utilize generic ammunition. He knew that the repeat use of the same weapon was hazardous, but this Mauser was the single object of continuity in his life, the only physical possession going all the way back to the city of Jerusalem-and a boy named Jerusalem.

*

When Abu Yusef walked into the dining room, the men stopped talking and gathered around the large table. “We achieved a great victory on Saturday,” he declared. “The Zionists are bleeding badly. We must hit them again and again until they scatter to the four corners of the earth or die!”

The men cheered, raising clenched fists.

He turned to a map of Europe, which Bashir had pinned to the wall. “With our donor’s generosity, we are ready to launch a historic campaign that will blow away the Oslo Accords.” Abu Yusef paused, looking around. “Who in this room speaks Italian?”

Two of the men raised their hands.

“Spanish?”

Three hands came up.

“Greek?”

One hand.

“Dutch?”

No hand came up. Abu Yusef shook his head. “Pity. The Dutch are all Zionist bastards. Danish?”

A hand came halfway up. “I get by,” the man said.

Abu Yusef nodded. “Swedish?”

Another hesitant hand.

“Good.” He noticed two men whispering. “What?”

One of them said, “I speak good German.”

Abu Yusef shook a finger. “We’re not going to Germany. We won’t fall into that trap again. The world doesn’t like to watch Jews getting killed in Germany. It’s counter-productive.”

He realized they didn’t understand.

“ Munich was an unusual opportunity,” he explained. “The Olympics, the media. And I admit that even Munich might have been a mistake. When the Nazis exterminated the Jews, the Americans or British could have easily bombed the German rails and silenced the death camps. That’s why, after the war, everybody felt guilty and let the Jews steal our land. Jews know a lot about guilt, and if we kill them in Germany, they’ll cry Holocaust! Everybody will forget about us and feel sorry for the Jews again.”

Some of the men mumbled curses.

“ But you can go to Austria,” Abu Yusef said to the German-speaking man. “There are plenty of fat Jews in Vienna-an excellent target.” He looked at his list. “We still need Flemish and Portuguese.”

“ I have a few recruits,” Bashir said. “They’ll be in later.”

“ Good.” Abu Yusef turned to the map. “The blue pins stand for El Al stations and terminals. Red pins for Israeli embassies and consulates. And yellow pins for synagogues and Jewish schools. We’ll hit all these targets on the same day. Forty-seven targets representing the forty-seven years since the United Nations allowed the Zionists to declare their state!”

The men clapped.

“ That’s right!” Abu Yusef held up a fist. “We’ll rock the world!”

When they quieted down, Bashir stepped forward. “Listen carefully. The money is coming in today. This evening you’ll receive your individual assignments, including maps, blueprints of the target buildings, and escape routes. Also, each team will receive enough cash to purchase vehicles, weapons, explosives, timer fuses and everything else you’ll need to successfully destroy your targets. Tonight you’ll pack up your personal belongings and be ready to head out in the morning, each team travelling separately. After the simultaneous attacks, we’ll reconvene in a new location.”

“Think of the international impact!” Abu Yusef looked each man in the eye. “Forty-seven years of shame will be redeemed by delivering forty-seven unforgettable lessons to the Jews. We’re getting enough money to do what no one has ever dared before-a barrage of attacks at the same time, synchronized to maximum shock and awe. On a single glorious day, we’ll flood Europe with the blood of the Jews, just as the valleys of Palestine are flooded with the Zionist pests.”

He paused to give them time to absorb the enormity of the operation. They seemed excited. And nervous.

“ This time next week, the Oslo process will be derailed by your daring and unprecedented accomplishment. Your spirit will revive our people’s hopes. And soon you’ll lead them back to Jerusalem!”

He turned and left the room, hoping his words had inspired them. He had spoken as if a whole army was lined up in front of him, not merely two dozen men. More were joining, though. And when forty-seven Jewish targets blew up simultaneously all over Europe, every Palestinian man would leave his family and join their ranks. There would be an army of warriors waiting for his orders. The peace process would collapse into accusations and counter-accusations, and soon after that, he would see Palestine again as a victor, sailing his armada into the Haifa Bay through water dotted with the bobbing heads of dead Jews.

Bashir joined him. “It won’t be easy. We’re taking on the whole Oslo peace process. They’ll be pissed off-Arafat, Rabin, Clinton. Everybody will be after us.”

“No,” Abu Yusef said. “Everybody will respect us.”

“ That also,” Bashir said. “Many of Al-Mazir’s men are ready to join. After the operation, we’ll set up recruiting networks all over.”

“But first of all, we need our best two men to do the job for the prince. We can’t afford to disappoint him.” Abu Yusef opened the door to his bedroom. It was dark except for a lamp near the empty bed.

Bashir turned to go.

“Latif was a good boy,” Abu Yusef said. “I miss him. Maybe one day, after our victory, I will marry a woman. Like Arafat.”

“That’s right.” A rare smile appeared on Bashir’s face. “A woman like Arafat.”

*

Gideon wore a navy-blue suit and a gray tie. He stuck on a thin, black moustache. The small leather briefcase completed the image of a young businessman. Bathsheba had brushed his curly hair back, smoothed it down with gel, and sprayed him with Cacharel. Before he left the car to enter the bank, Elie said, “Put your hook deep into him and give him no reason to suspect you.”

“Show him,” Bathsheba said, “how deep you can bend over.”

Gideon slammed the car door and walked down the street to the bank.

The manager, Monsieur Richar, put down his pen and stood up. “ Oui? ”

“Grant Guerra.” Gideon extended a hand. “I believe you have funds awaiting me?”

“Oh, yes!” The bank manager beckoned a bespectacled clerk. “We’re ready for you. It’s an honor!”

“ Much obliged.”

“ Would you like to open an account with us? Our investment department can assist you with devising an appropriate strategy for growth. We’d like to earn your business.”

“ Perhaps in the future. Today’s transfer is earmarked for a joint venture that requires a substantial cash transaction. I will require a meeting room to conduct it.”