Avraham Azrieli - The Jerusalem Assassin

“ The rule of unintended consequences. You want to install one at home too? Watch the little wife with the gardener?”

“ You’re sick. Listen, I’m in Amsterdam and need a favor.”

“Shoot.”

“In person. Meet me at the Begijnhof, inside the yard.”

“What happened to the lobby at Hotel de L’Europe?”

“The Begijnhof, five thirty, okay?”

“I might be late. Have to finish up a project.”

“ A cheating husband?”

“ Venture capital outfit. They’re having a cocktail party tonight for all their competitors, with lots of booze and babes. They want every word recorded with full video, pick up all the secrets.”

“You should be ashamed of yourself.”

“ Look who’s talking!”

*

Tanya left the hotel briefly for a visit to a pharmacy. Back in her room, she spent an hour in the bathroom, cleaning the scratch left by Lemmy’s bullet yesterday as well as the bruises from the attack at the synagogue. She thought of Andre Silverman and his son, the funerals she was unable to attend. And she wondered how Juliette could go on living without her precious Laurent.

The rest of the morning she spent scouting the newspapers for news of Israel-any political or other event that would explain why the domestic security agency had gone overseas in violation of its very charter. It was obvious that Israel was approaching a political crisis over Rabin’s push to implement the Oslo Accords. Two major rallies were gearing up. The right-wing Likud planned a rally in Jerusalem tonight, and the Labor-led left wing was to hold a peace rally in Tel Aviv’s central square next Saturday night. But political crisis wasn’t unusual in Israel, even with such extreme accusations and counter-accusations. She still remembered the weeks leading to the 1967 Six Day War, the erosion of public confidence in the face of huge Arab armies supported by the Soviets, the digging of mass graves all over Israel in preparation for countless civilian casualties, and the bitter political acrimony around Levi Eshkol’s government. Israel’s fearful citizens had expected a crushing defeat at the hands of the Egyptians, Syrians, and Jordanians armies, reinforced by armored brigades from Lebanon, Iraq, Saudi Arabia, and Kuwait. Everyone feared a complete and fatal devastation of the young Jewish state.

But instead, Israel ended up celebrating an incredible victory, tripling its size, and cementing its right to exist in the Middle East. Still, that victory had planted the seeds of today’s conflict over Israel’s continued presence in the territories it had captured, a division that split Israelis along ideological lines. But a political crisis, severe as it was, could not explain the Shin Bet’s criminal violation of clandestine boundaries.

She again tried calling the bookstore next to Andre Silverman’s art gallery on Avenue Junot, where a member of her team always attended the phones, but got no response. A call to the gallery itself was answered by a woman whom Juliette had hired after the disaster. She informed Tanya that the bookstore had been closed since yesterday afternoon, when the staff left in the company of officious-looking people in two vans.

Out of options, Tanya decided to call Mossad headquarters in Tel Aviv. She had not checked in since yesterday, and for someone of her seniority, this should have caused alarm. By now they must be gearing up for a massive search, possibly worried about abduction.

“Research Department,” a man answered. “How may I help you?”

“This is Tanya Galinski. Patch me through to the chief.”

“Hold on.”

The line was silent for a moment, then switched to music. Tanya listened to Israeli singer Boaz Sharabi serenade an old flame, promising to bring moonstones and sea treasures if she still loved him.

“ Come on,” she said, “what’s taking so long-”

The music stopped, replaced by a dial tone.

She stared at the receiver in bewilderment. She punched the numbers again. The line was busy. But that was impossible! Mossad maintained multiple lines for incoming calls!

Tanya tried again.

Busy.

Was Shin Ben listening in on Mossad lines? Cutting off unwanted calls? Could they block this particular call? Or trace it back to Amsterdam?

The very idea seemed preposterous. Shin Bet wouldn’t dare interfere with Mossad communications. This would cause open war between the agencies. On the other hand, perhaps its fear of Mossad was the reason Shin Bet was determined to isolate her, prevent her from telling her colleagues in Tel Aviv what was going on in Europe.

Tanya put down the receiver, more shocked than angry.

The message light was blinking. She called the front desk and learned that Herr Horch would be calling again at nine tonight.

*

Lemmy walked the streets of Amsterdam for hours. Unlike other European capitals, its charm was unassuming, with arched bridges over murky water and absurdly-narrow houses along the canals. He repeatedly stepped aside to avoid bundled-up riders pedaling their way on bicycles. He thought about Tanya. Last night’s events seemed unreal. Their encounter could have ended terribly. Instead it had turned into a reunion he had never expected. But the things she had told him also seemed unreal. His father-a mole? Elie Weiss-his father’s handler? His own transformation from a young Neturay Karta Talmudic scholar to an IDF soldier-a deal between Elie and Tanya? And now he was risking everything in reliance on what she had said. But Tanya Galinski was no longer the woman he had made love to as a teenager. She was now a top Mossad official. Would she risk her position, maybe her life, for Lemmy Gerster, a boy she had long assumed to be dead?

A disturbing idea came to him. What if the man he had shot at the park was actually Tanya’s agent. What if they staged the call to Paris to set him up? What if “Number One” was merely a playact for the purpose of deceiving him? What if Tanya wasn’t in danger at all, wasn’t anyone’s target? What if he was the target? What if this whole thing had been staged to make him betray

Elie’s clandestine infrastructure and secret money sources so that Mossad could take over SOD?

It all came down to one question: Could Tanya be trusted?

He followed the Amstel River as it merged into the Singer Canal. Farther down, the row of houses seemed impenetrable until he came to an arched passageway. It led into a courtyard tiled in a colorful mosaic of the Holy Virgin. Each of the connected dwellings had a small garden, and Lemmy paused and took in the scent of freshly cut grass. A modest Catholic chapel on the left faced a stone-built English church on the right. He glanced at his watch. Carl was late.

Toward the corner he found a wall of icons. In the center, baby Jesus was cradled by Virgin Mary, while a burning candle cast golden light upon them. Below Jesus, a hand had written: In de salvaeder. Other icons had been carved into the stone wall by the loving hands of Beguine women over the centuries, biblical scenes whose colors had dulled from rain and wind. At the bottom was a drawing of an altar atop an arid hill, a young boy tied up, a bearded Abraham holding a long blade, ready to slay his son while a guardian angel stayed his hand.

“You believe in angels?” Carl threw his big arms around Lemmy.

“I need all the help I can get.” He returned Carl’s embrace, pounding his friend’s back. “I’m up against very capable people.”

“ Government or private?”

“ Government.”

“ Ah, bureaucrats!” Carl spat on the ground. “Incompetent fools, all of them.”

“ These are Israelis.”

“ Oops. They are the exception.”

Lemmy laughed.

“ How in the world have you antagonized the Israelis? I thought you Swiss vanillas are supposed to remain neutral.”