Avraham Azrieli - The Jerusalem Assassin

“ It’s a long story. Can you get me a valid Dutch passport and a couple of credit cards with the same name?”

“ Are you running away from them?”

“ On the contrary. I’m going into the lions’ den.”

“ To Israel?”

“ Yes. My cover will be the car restoration. I hear there’s a good selection of old Citroen models for parts.”

“ I’m sure they have plenty of Deux Chevaux wrecks, but your old Presidential will only take SM and DS parts. I’ll run a search for you.”

“ Thanks.” He handed Carl an envelope. “Snapshots for the passport. I’ll meet you in front of Metz amp; Co. tomorrow at noon.”

“I’ll do my best. Anything else?”

“A friend of mine will be staying with you while I’m away. She’s in danger.”

“Is she pretty?”

“She’s incredibly beautiful, considering she’ll turn sixty-eight on January first.”

They hugged, and Carl left. A few minutes later Lemmy headed back to his hotel. He walked quickly through the dark mist that descended on Amsterdam, his hands in his pockets, his head bowed against the cold.

From his room he called Christopher in Zurich and asked him to go to the bank the next morning and wait for his call.

*

Sabbath was over when three stars could be seen in the darkening sky. After the evening prayers and a light dinner, Rabbi Gerster and Itah Orr left Benjamin’s apartment. Itah wore a long dress and covered her hair with a scarf. They walked to the center of Jerusalem. Along the way, she used a pay phone to call her neighbor and ask him to feed her cat and clean its litter box every other day until she returned. “I hope you’re not allergic to cats,” she said as they resumed walking.

“ I don’t know. There are no pets in Neturay Karta.” He hesitated. “I take it you’re not married?”

“ Three times widowed. First husband killed by Egyptian artillery on the Suez Canal, left me with a baby girl. Second saw his son born-thank God for small favors!-before he was hit by a Katyusha rocket near the Lebanese border. I actually have the casing and a bunch of fragments from the rocket. I put them together like a puzzle showing the Russian manufacturer’s name, ink-stamps from Iranian and Syrian customs, and a Sharpie note from Hezbollah: Jews are monkeys and dogs. ”

“ Didn’t Mohammed say that?”

Itah shrugged. “Even a great man can sometimes say foolish things. Didn’t Moses tell God to go find someone else?”

“ What happened to the third?”

“ Johnny? He was Canadian-came to Israel too old to serve in the army so I thought we would be safe, grow old together, all that. Super guy. Helped me raise the kids like they were his own-though now they’re both in Toronto, studying art on Grandma’s dollar.”

“ And Johnny?”

“ Run over while crossing the street. Can you believe it?” She chuckled to dispel the morbidity of her marital record. “The fourth would have to be suicidal.”

“ I disagree,” he said, and left it at that.

On Jaffa Street, a line of police barricades blocked vehicle traffic, allowing thousands of pedestrians to march down the wide road toward the Zion Square. A building overlooking the vast square had been decorated with flags of the Likud party. A huge banner read: Peace only with security! Many held placards with photos of victims from recent terror attacks as well as skeletons of blown-up buses. A chorus of a few hundred people adapted the tune of a romantic Zionist folksong to crude lyrics: “Yes, Rabin is a homo…yes, Rabin is an SOB…’cause Rabin is a dog…and a murderer!”

The offensive crooning repeated again and again, with more voices joining. Rabbi Gerster felt Itah grip his arm. He turned to see an elderly man in a suit, who held a sign with a photo of a young woman and the words: I survived Auschwitz, but my daughter didn’t survive Oslo!

The long balcony across the front of the building was filled with political leaders of the right, led by Ariel Sharon and Benjamin Netanyahu. The banner under the line of Likud leaders read: The Murderer Arafat Deserves Capital Punishment!

Underneath, the plaza was dense with people, many of whom now chanted, “Death to Rabin! Death to Rabin! Death to Rabin!”

Arik Sharon started talking into a loudspeaker, barely overcoming the chanting crowd. “The murderer Arafat was brought into our midst by the collaborators. It’s a government that forgets everything, forgets the victims of the war criminal Arafat!”

“Look!” Itah pointed at a stout young man wearing a white skullcap. “That’s Freckles!”

Rabbi Gerster recognized him as the leader of the small demonstration in front of the prime minister’s house. He was holding a placard with a life-size photo of SS leader Himmler in dress uniform, only the face was substituted with Prime Minister Yitzhak Rabin’s face. Next to Freckles stood a few other young men with colorful placards on sticks, showing Rabin dressed as an Arab with a checkered kafiya, Rabin with a hangman’s noose around his neck, Rabin shaking hands with Arafat under the headline: Partners in Terror.

“Freckles is very creative,” Itah spoke into Rabbi Gerster’s ear as the noise around them was deafening. “But the money fuels everything. We need to find the old man in Paris!”

Rabbi Gerster nodded.

The crowd switched to another chant: “With blood…and fire…Rabin will expire!”

Next came Netanyahu, who managed to say, “Good evening,” before the crowd roared, “Bibi! Bibi! Bibi!”

Rabbi Gerster saw other signs rise above the crowd’s heads:

Government of Death!

Labor Party is Good for Arabs!

Government of Traitors!

Your Day is Coming!

Likud leader Benjamin Netanyahu declared: “Arafat is a serial killer whose rightful place is among war criminals. A wicked murderer who is now supported by the current Israeli government, which blindly enables him to implement the first phase in his plan to destroy the Jewish state!”

As the two of them advanced through the dense multitude toward Ben Yehuda Street, Netanyahu’s voice faded, while the eerie serenade continued, “Yes, Rabin is a homo…yes, Rabin is an SOB…”

*

At nine p.m. Lemmy called the American Hotel and asked for Frau Koenig. He wondered if Tanya knew she was hiding in the same hotel where another beautiful spy had stayed, though he hoped Tanya’s fate would be better than Mata Hari’s.

She picked up after the third ring.

“It’s your dead lover,” he said, “calling from the great beyond.”

“ Not funny. Are you in Amsterdam?”

“ Yes. How’s your head?”

“ Achy and confused. Can you come over?”

“ I’ll meet you at noon tomorrow in front of the Metz amp; Co. department store. You’ll be staying with a friend of mine until I come back.”

“ Back? From where?”

“ I’m going to Jerusalem. Elie holds the key to everything. I have to talk to him.”

“ They won’t let you see him.”

“ You underestimate me.”

“ And you underestimate Shin Bet.” She was silent for a moment. “What about the bank?”

“ Swiss banks move slowly. I can handle most things by phone through my assistant.”

“ Especially inactive accounts.”

“ Exactly.” Lemmy thought about the Mauser, which he’d left in Zurich, the writing engraved along the barrel. “Koenig was an Oberstgruppenfuhrer in the SS, right?”

“ Correct.”

“ That was the second-highest rank in the SS.”

She hesitated. “He was an accountant by training, a genius really, when it came to budget allocations, financial administration, things like that.”

“Things like calculating how many humans could fit in a cattle-train car? Budgeting for bulk-purchased Zyklon-B gas canisters? Valuating human hair as an industrial commodity?”