Avraham Azrieli - The Jerusalem Assassin

The Shin Bet officer, who had introduced himself at the airport as Agent Cohen, pulled a sheet of paper from the breast pocket. “By authority promulgated by the emergency regulations, a decree has been issued to hold you in administrative detention for up to ninety days.”

*

When Christopher arrived at his desk, Lemmy was still contemplating what to do with the shocking information from Kibbutz Gesher. Was his assistant a Nazi mole? It had been fifty years since Germany lost the war, but Nazi organizations continued to flourish in Germany, Austria, Belgium, and some of the Balkan countries. But here in Switzerland? He had always thought of skinheads as a bunch of frustrated racist youths trying to attract attention with shaven scalps and swastika tattoos. Their wrath was directed mostly toward poor immigrants and ethnic minorities, expressed with petty violence and street demonstrations. But obviously they were much more ominous. Was Christopher employed by such a group? Were they after the Koenig fortune?

He pressed the intercom. “Good morning, Christopher. Please come in.”

His assistant entered the office and sat down.

“ Have you thought about Herr Hoffgeitz’s inactive accounts?”

“ What else?” Christopher smiled. “It can’t be anything illegal. I mean, Herr Hoffgeitz would never engage in criminal activity. It could risk the bank’s future.”

And you, Christopher? Are you engaged in criminal activity? Are you a risk to the bank’s future? Lemmy suppressed the hostility that rose inside him. “Perhaps Herr Hoffgeitz knows facts that would protect the bank in case of exposure. But he’s unconscious in the ICU, his recovery in doubt, and I don’t trust Gunter.”

“ He’s very secretive. I don’t think he has a life outside the bank.”

“ Gunter is merely an employee. If there’s trouble, they would look to the executive in charge for answers. That’s me, and I’m concerned. Very concerned.” In fact, Lemmy wasn’t concerned at all. There was no risk of government interference in the bank’s affairs, and according to Elie, the Nazi general had been dead since 1945. “What do you think they’re hiding?”

“Maybe,” Christopher said, “it’s about Recommendation 833?”

Lemmy considered the idea. In 1978, the Council of Europe had adopted what became known as Recommendation 833, which required European countries to share banking information when clients were suspected of international money laundering and tax evasion. Switzerland was not a member of the European Community, and Swiss bankers enjoyed a surge in business.

“ It doesn’t make sense,” Lemmy said. “This money isn’t moving-no withdrawals, no deposits. Why? Tax evaders and criminals use their accounts. We know this from our own clients. Why is this account inactive? Maybe it’s related to Clause 47b?”

“What’s that?” Christopher shifted uncomfortably. He hated being caught unprepared.

“When Hitler came to power, Switzerland added Clause 47b to the 1934 Banking Act. It was aimed at reinforcing secrecy of bank accounts against the competition of bankers from Liechtenstein, in order to attract deposits from German Jews, who at that time thought the new Nazi government was only after their money.”

“Wasn’t there a big case about it?”

“Good memory.” Lemmy gave Christopher an appreciative nod. The Interhandel case involved proceeds from a post-war sale of General Aniline and Film Corporation by the German cartel I.G. Farben, which employed slave labor during the war. The scandal had exposed the Swiss banks as Nazi profiteers.

“At least we’re not like Banque Leclerc.”

“No,” Lemmy chuckled, “we’re not. Our president is dying naturally.” In 1978, the Swiss Banking Commission had shut down Geneva-based Banque Leclerc after the suicide of its CEO and the discovery of another executive floating in Lake Geneva. The investigation had revealed a deficiency of close to 400 million Swiss francs related to a shady resort project.

“I would have thought it’s Jewish money from the war,” Christopher said. “But the Banking Association has recently sent another survey.”

“Only twenty-six banks responded to the questionnaires about dormant accounts.”

“Didn’t they find a lot of money?”

“Peanuts. In September they informed the World Jewish Organization that they had found eight hundred and ninety-three pre-war accounts with a total value of thirty-four point one million U.S. dollars and that they would continue to search. I assure you the Hoffgeitz Bank reported no such accounts.”

“But Herr Hoffgeitz would not lie to the association, would he?”

“ Not blatantly.” Lemmy recalled watching his father-in-law rephrasing his response to the commission to fit the idea that the account was not completely inactive because of a single attempted withdrawal in 1967. But this wasn’t something Christopher should know. “I need you to think creatively. Find a path around Gunter’s secrecy. We must find out what he’s hiding and take control of whatever it is before it becomes a problem for the bank.”

*

The El Al flight from Tel Aviv to Zurich was only half-full, and Tanya managed to sleep for most of the time. She travelled alone, her hair covered with a headscarf, her face behind oversized sunglasses. Passport control was quick at this early hour, and she had no luggage.

She bought a cup of coffee and wandered up and down the terminal, trying to shake off a feeling that she was being watched. The people around her seemed like the typical purposeful travelers, and she could trace no tail. It must have been her own unease, travelling without escort for the first time since she had taken command of Mossad’s European operations a few years earlier.

Tanya found a bank of pay phones. She had committed to memory the telephone number for the Hoffgeitz Bank. There was little to go on-the name of the bank executive who had signed the wire transfer to Senlis, which ultimately resulted in Elie’s successful elimination of Abu Yusuf and the Saudi prince. But she had a hunch that Elie must have planted a mole inside the bank. There was only one way to find out.

*

The phone rang and Lemmy picked it up. “Wilhelm Horch here.”

“ I have a message for you.” It was a woman, speaking German with a Bavarian accent. “From Elie Weiss.”

“Excuse me?” Lemmy watched Christopher get up and leave the office.

“I have a message from Elie Weiss.”

“You have the wrong number.” He heard a click and noticed Christopher’s line light up. Turning to his computer, Lemmy hit the keys for the video surveillance system.

“Aren’t you Herr Horch of the Hoffgeitz Bank in Zurich?”

Lemmy selected the camera in Christopher’s office. On the computer screen, his assistant was holding the receiver to his ear, listening. Lemmy hung up.

On the screen, Christopher put down the receiver.

Two minutes later, the phone rang again. The delay told him that she was probably dialing the general number of the bank and following the automatic directory instructions to reach his line.

He pressed the speaker button. “Yes?”

Behind the wall, Christopher picked up his receiver and listened.

“Don’t hang up.” She had a calm voice, almost familiar.

“ You have the wrong person.”

“Elie Weiss is incapacitated. You must talk to me now. Or would you prefer that I show up in your office?”

“We open at nine a.m., if you’d like to come in.” There was something in her voice that interfered with his clear thinking. But with Christopher on the line, there was no time to hesitate. “Good-bye.” He hung up, went to the door, and opened it.

Christopher’s hand was still on the receiver. He looked up, blushing.