Avraham Azrieli - The Jerusalem Assassin

“ Go back to Zurich and serve the cause, or your cute little Nazi namesake will die-”

“ In a ski accident? Like Christopher’s father? And Paula’s brother?”

The gaunt hand gestured in dismissal. “Gentiles.”

“ I want the ledger!” He placed his hand on Elie’s neck. The skin was cold against his palm. He closed his fingers and squeezed.

*

From above, Hadassah Hospital looked like oversized Lego blocks, positioned among the pine trees in cascading order on a moderate slope, adjacent to the Ein Shemen village. A heliport was marked with a crossed circle and an orange wind bag. The pilot descended slowly, balancing the chopper against a gust of wind from the north.

*

Elie’s weak hands clasped the bedrails, rattling the frame. His mouth opened and closed, his yellow teeth clinking.

Lemmy let go. “Where is the ledger?”

His breathing fast and shallow, Elie reached under the sheets. His hand came out with his sheathed blade, which he offered to Lemmy. The gesture was more than a sign of capitulation, of a lifelong killer expressing his readiness to be killed by his successor. It was meant to symbolize a passing of the torch.

But Lemmy had no interest in carrying Elie’s torch or in trying to figure out if this was yet another manipulation, another clever signal intended to achieve the opposite result of what its plain meaning would suggest. He grabbed the blade and tossed it to the floor. “Answer me!”

Elie turned his face to the window.

Lemmy applied pressure again, shutting off the wind pipe.

Elie writhed, his legs kicking the mattress.

“ They spilled your chosen’s blood around Jerusalem,” Benjamin chanted, “ and no one to bury the dead.”

The men of Neturay Karta repeated the verse, their voices louder to drown out Elie’s noisy struggle.

“ Where is it?” Lemmy’s grip tightened. He leaned so close that his face almost touched Elie’s aquiline nose. The squeaky breathing had stopped. Elie’s legs kicked once more. His hands feebly pulled against the rails.

Benjamin stepped closer to Lemmy and chanted, “ Be forgetful, Lord, of our early sins, put forward your compassion, for we are pitiable.”

Elie’s eyes opened wide, focused on Lemmy, who released the pressure.

The chest under the white sheet heaved abruptly, air shrieking as it filled the sick lungs.

“ We are your chosen,” Benjamin recited, “ your sheep, Shepherd, our gratitude is eternal, from one generation to the next, forever we shall praise your glory.”

Lemmy put his hand on Elie’s chest, weighing down. “For the last time, where is the ledger?”

“Let’s…make…a deal.” Elie’s sallow face twisted into a grin, and he coughed hard.

Lemmy’s right hand clenched into a fist and rose up, ready to hit the demon in the bed. But Benjamin gripped his forearm while the men repeated, “ Forever we shall praise your glory.”

Elie looked away, the black eyes focused not on the window, but on the night table by the bed, the tray with untouched lunch, utensils, and the thick book. Lemmy pushed the utensils out of Elie’s reach, more out of habitual caution than of real concern that Elie would attempt to attack him. The balance of power was too tilted, and even in his current state Elie would not be suicidal. He wasn’t the type.

Lemmy picked up the book, surprised by its weight. The top cover was a wooden plate carved with a Star of David and the Hebrew word for Bible. He noticed the unusual thickness of the cover and opened it. The back of the wooden plate was lined with a mesh material that connected it to the book’s spine. He gripped the front cover and tore it away from the bible.

A sigh came from the men.

With a knife from the food tray he separated the wood from the back lining. Loud cracking sounded as the two parts separated, and something fell to the floor.

Lemmy picked it up.

A small booklet, bound in black leather, stamped with a red swastika. He browsed through the pages, noting enormous quantities of precious stones, categorized by clarity and carats. On the last page was an acknowledgment: Deposit of above-listed goods was received 1.1.1945 by Hoffgeitz Bank of Zurich. The handwriting and the signature below belonged to Armande Hoffgeitz.

For a moment, Lemmy was Wilhelm Horch again, a meticulous Swiss banker holding an important financial document. He examined each page. It was an undeniable evidence of a horde of blood money, which his bank had kept secret for fifty years. The ledger, if exposed, would subject the Hoffgeitz Bank to the worst scandal in the long history of Swiss private banking. Or, better yet, it represented access to almost 23 billion U.S. dollars, which could be traded with Shin Bet in a bargain that would save him and those he loved.

*

No one waited for them at the rooftop landing pad. Gideon got out first and helped Agent Cohen, who shielded his bandaged eye with his injured hand. They jogged to the end of the helipad and went down a steel staircase to the actual roof of the building.

“ There!” Agent Cohen pointed to sign: Stairs – Emergency Only.

They entered an enclosed stairway and headed down.

“ Weiss is on the fourth floor,” Agent Cohen said. “You can do the talking. I’ll do the finger breaking and eye poking, okay?”

*

Benjamin beckoned his men to the door. Lemmy was ready to leave, but he noticed Elie reaching for the torn bible, which rested on the bed. Lemmy picked it up and ripped off the bottom cover. He used the knife again to separate the lining from the wood and pulled out a few pieces of paper hidden inside. He unfolded the brittle sheets.

Letters.

Familiar handwriting.

Mother!

He picked one letter, dated March 22, 1967, addressed to him in the army:

My Dearest Jerusalem,

You haven’t responded to my previous letter. Perhaps you are away on exercises. Today is Thursday, and I went out of the apartment for the first time since that terrible day, when your father, in his understandable anger, excommunicated you. Everyone was very happy to see me at the synagogue, and most of the donated clothes are gone. I asked Benjamin to take the rest to Shmattas to be exchanged, and he did it well. He also misses you very much and prays for your return. Please write a few words to let us know how you are. Your father agreed that you may come home to celebrate Passover with us, provided that you respect our traditions. Please, I beg you to come, even if you have to go back to the army. Maybe you don’t understand what it means for me. When you have a child one day, God willing, you will understand my agony. So please come home for Passover. I pray for your safe return.

Your loving mother,

Temimah Gerster.

She had written to him three more times, the last letter filled with anxious, urgent pleas. At the bottom, under Mother’s signature, his father wrote:

Jerusalem, please respond to your mother, whose heart is broken. Cruelty is the gravest sin, while forgiveness is the finest virtue.

Your father,

Rabbi Abraham Gerster.

“I had to…intercept your mail,” Elie said, his voice thin. “These letters…would have interfered…diverted you…from your destiny.”

Lemmy was weak with a shattering sense of loss and grief. When you have a child one day, God willing, you will understand my agony.

“ They rejected you…sat shivah for you…and you hated them.”

“ Because I didn’t know about these letters, which show that my parents had a change of heart, that they loved me still, even without my black hat and side locks.” Lemmy shook the letters in Elie’s face. “You’ve read these! You saw her pain! How could you let her suffer like this?”

Elie rose on his elbow, his face twisted in sudden fury. “We are soldiers! We have a war to win! If we indulge there will be real suffering! There will be another Holocaust!”