Avraham Azrieli - The Jerusalem Assassin

“ Of course.” The bank manager seemed a tad disappointed. “We ordered additional bills as soon as we saw the wire. We normally don’t carry that much in U.S. dollars.”

“Excellent.”

They led him to a vacant office. An electrical counting machine rested on the table. The manager examined Gideon’s driver’s license, a fake that matched the particulars on the transfer from Zurich, and asked him to sign a receipt. A few moments later, a clerk brought in the money in a sack-twenty-five thousand $100 bills.

As the manager was leaving the room, Gideon said, “My associate, Monsieur Sachs, should arrive within the hour.”

“Certainly, Monsieur Guerra. Would you like some coffee while you wait?”

*

The street outside the Banque Nationale de France buzzed with afternoon shoppers. The white Citroen drew no attention. Bathsheba sat behind the wheel, Elie in the passenger seat. It was four o’clock p.m., and there was no sign of Abu Yusef.

Bathsheba turned on the radio and searched the dial until she found music. Her head rocked with the drumbeat. “What if he doesn’t show up?”

Elie shut off the radio. “Abu Yusef has been waiting all his life for something like this. Arafat has always managed to squeeze heaps of cash from donors, who liked and feared him at the same time. Today Abu Yusef will step out of Arafat’s shadow, financially speaking.”

“ And he’ll cast his own long shadow, if we don’t stop him.”

Elie nodded. “They’ll be edgy with so much cash on board. You must be very careful following them back to the nest. If they notice us, bad things will happen.”

Bathsheba used a piece of cloth to shine the binocular lenses. The minutes passed slowly with constant traffic along the street. Customers visited the retail shops and clients frequented the bank. Closing time approached fast.

“Here we go.” Elie pointed.

A blue BMW sedan stopped in front of the bank, followed by a red Mazda RX-7. Bashir Hamami got out of the BMW and looked up and down the street, his right hand under his coat. Two younger men emerged from the red Mazda and joined Bashir. One of them opened the rear door of the BMW, and Abu Yusef stepped out with a large briefcase.

“Nice cars.” Bathsheba reached into a tennis bag on the back seat and took out a handgun with a silencer. She cocked the gun and put it on the floor between her legs. She repeated the process with another gun, which she kept in her lap.

“You’re a pessimist,” Elie said.

“ Wasn’t plan B your idea?”

“ For me, redundancy is a necessity, not an aspiration.”

*

Gideon was on the move as soon as he saw the cars through the glass front of the bank. He took off his jacket, straightened his tie, and hurried to the front door, reaching it just as one of Abu Yusef’s men opened it from the outside.

He flashed a wide smile. “Monsieur Sachs?”

Abu Yusef looked at him with surprise and shook his hand.

“Welcome to Banque Nationale de France. I’m Grant Guerra-foreign currency desk. I’m sorry we missed each other last week.”

“ Then how did you recognize me?”

Without missing a beat, Gideon gestured at the men and cars. “We don’t handle many transactions of this size in our branch.”

Abu Yusef’s eyes measured him up and down. “It’s a pleasure, Monsieur Guerra.”

“ Please, call me Grant.”

“ Grant. A strong name.” He signaled to his men to stay outside and followed Gideon through the bank.

As they passed by Monsieur Richar’s office, the bank manager glanced over his spectacles and started to get up. Gideon waved and continued to walk. These few seconds were the weakest link in the sequence of planned events. An interaction with Richar could blow his cover. Abu Yusef would realize he was dealing with someone pretending to be a bank employee and try to draw a weapon. Gideon was ready for plan B. He would kill Abu Yusef quickly with a knife, but the way out of the bank would require a public shootout with the Arabs outside. Even with Bathsheba and Elie attacking them from the rear, Bashir and his men presented a formidable force, and such a battle would have uncertain consequences.

They entered the office before Monsieur Richar managed to join them, and Gideon shut the door. “A few formalities, if you don’t mind?”

“Of course,” Abu Yusef presented a Belgian passport under the name of Perez Sachs.

Gideon examined it carefully and compared it to a copy of a false transfer order he had brought with him that carried the name Perez Sachs as recipient. He smiled at Abu Yusef and handed him the form and a pen. “Please sign here, Monsieur Sachs.” He pointed and rested his hand on the Arab’s shoulder.

*

Abu Yusef recognized the scent. Cacharel. It reminded him of Latif, and the memory at once saddened and aroused him. He signed Perez Sachs and looked up at the young man, who was standing over him. Their faces were only a few inches apart, and Abu Yusef took in the sweet scent, leaning slightly closer. His nostrils quivered. He returned the pen. For a moment, their hands connected, and Abu Yusef felt a wave of heat in his groin.

“Would you like to count the money now?” Grant’s gaze was direct and unwavering, bright with excitement.

“I trust you.”

“ We have time. It’s no problem.” Delicate wrinkles adorned the corners of his glistening eyes. The white, tailored shirt fit perfectly on what was clearly an athletic, masculine body. “I’m at your service, in every way you should require.”

“ I might be a demanding man.” Abu Yusef chuckled.

“ I’m accommodating by nature.”

“ You work out regularly?” He moved a finger down the clerk’s shirtsleeve.

“Yes.” His face became a little red, but he kept smiling. “I like to break a sweat.”

“It shows.” Abu Yusef felt doubly aroused by the young man’s discomfort. He opened the large briefcase, packed up the money, and closed the lid. The handsome bank clerk remained close, smiling, inviting. Didn’t he mind the age difference, the belly, the receding hairline? His body language communicated undeniable interest. Was it the money? Did it matter? Abu Yusef took a deep breath and asked, “Perhaps we could chat later?”

“If you’d like to, sure.” Grant scribbled a number on a piece of paper and handed it to Abu Yusef. “Call me at eight tonight, okay?”

Abu Yusef followed him to the front door. It was obvious Grant was anxious to usher him out of the bank lest his boss noticed there was more going on between the two of them than a banking transaction. “Until later then.”

“ Au revoir, Monsieur Sachs.” The young banker’s hand touched Abu Yusef’s back, gently prodding him out to the street. He winked and closed the glass door.

Bashir had the men facing away in all directions, alert to any sign of trouble. Abu Yusef got in the back seat of the BMW, the briefcase on his lap. “Allah is great,” he declared. “Let’s go!”

*

The Arabs kept to local roads, avoiding the highway. Rush hour slowed everything down and provided plenty of vehicles to blend in. Bathsheba stayed well behind, while Elie kept the binoculars trained on the red RX-7. Twenty minutes later, they reached Ermenonville. The two cars turned into a narrow street. Bathsheba passed the turn and stopped. She got out, ran to the corner, and peeked through the shrubs. An iron gate opened, and several armed guards stood aside to let the cars enter.

Back in the Citroen, Bathsheba said, “This is it. The snake pit.” She drove off while Elie wrote down the name of the street: Boulevard Royale.

*

After ten minutes, the manager came to check on Gideon. “Monsieur Guerra, I was hoping to meet your associate.”