Harri Nykanen - Behind God's Back

“I’m coming up to retirement age. Maybe I’ll quit this business and come back to Finland. It’s safe up here behind God’s back. Or then I’ll go somewhere else. I own a house in a place where oranges grow.”

Nurmio’s phone rang. “It’s Levi.”

Sillanpää pulled over at the side of the road.

“Did you get hold of Jakov?”

“Yes. He says he didn’t send anyone after you. The sole targets were Jacobson and Oxbaum. It must have been a misunderstanding, or else there’s something personal. Maybe you’ve stepped on someone’s toes. He’s sorry for the trouble he’s caused you, and promised to compensate you generously. We agreed that I’d get you on an El Al flight to Israel. The Finnish authorities will have no way of getting at you there.”

“That’s very thoughtful of you, but my photo is in every paper and on television, and they know my name. How do you propose I’ll get to the airport?”

“I made arrangements with the embassy to handle it. You’ll get a new passport and diplomatic status. You can even spend the night there. You’ll leave on the morning flight tomorrow. Rest assured: we brought Adolf Eichmann to Israel from Argentina, we’ll get you from Helsinki to Tel Aviv. Are we set?”

“It doesn’t feel like it. I don’t trust Jacobson’s son. Kazan is married to his sister.”

“Don’t worry about him. He’s in this up to his neck, even though he doesn’t know it.”

“But he never paid back his loan to you.”

“That gave us a good excuse to tell Oxbaum we no longer required his services. I don’t have any more time to discuss this. Go straight to the embassy, and they’ll take care of the rest.”

“I guess I don’t really have any choice. Thanks for the help.”

“Remember, straight to the embassy. Do you understand?”

Nurmio hung up and smiled broadly. “The crooks are hooked.”

Sillanpää started up the car and sped off.

“That’s fantastic,” I said. “Now for something a bit more unpleasant: we’re going to have to arrest you on suspicion of the murder of Igor Semeyev.”

I attended synagogue so infrequently that I felt guilty even when I did go, which made each subsequent visit more and more tortuous. Even this time, I wasn’t at synagogue because of Rosh Hashanah; I was there for work. Haim Levi wanted to spend the holiday, which fell during his visit to Finland, at the Helsinki synagogue. Or I don’t know if he wanted to, but he submitted to realities. Aside from being considered offensive, not attending synagogue would have demonstrated that Levi didn’t honour his Jewishness. How could a man like that act as Minister of Justice, the judge of judges?

Rosh Hashanah, which fell in early September that year, marks the beginning of the ten days of repentance that come to their conclusion in Yom Kippur. During these days, after having weighed all of a man’s deeds and thoughts, God decides whether his name will be recorded in the Book of Life or the Book of Death. Wrongdoers have reason to fear, ask for forgiveness and make restitution for their deeds. Debtors must pay their debts, quarrellers settle their quarrels.

Haim Levi had done so much wrong, and brazenly broken not only earthly but also divine laws, that I didn’t believe ten days of repentance would suffice — even if he asked for forgiveness from dawn to dusk and dusk to dawn and recited a thousand Kol Nidre s.

There was a large crowd in front of the synagogue, and more people kept arriving. The visit of the Minister of Justice of the Promised Land was an event that drew congregants who normally wouldn’t have attended. Television fame has a strange effect on people. I was still a patrolman when the Palestinian leader Yasser Arafat visited Finland in 1989. Even though the Finns considered him a terrorist, throngs gathered to gawk everywhere he went. I was ordered to go to the Kalastajatorppa Hotel to meet his vehicle. Someone in police command evidently thought it would be a good joke.

A few months later, the Pope visited Helsinki, and once again folks were swarming all over the place, holding out their hands to shake his, even though only a handful of Finns are Catholics.

If the worst serial killer in history had been brought to the Jumbo shopping mall, the place would have been overrun with mobs of autograph-seekers. People hadn’t changed a bit from the days when everyone went to the circus to be horrified by freaks disfigured since birth.

I was standing in front of the synagogue with Simolin, a few uniformed officers and a press photographer. The wind was blowing coolly from the north, and it felt as if the flu that had tried to grasp at me a few times was finally getting a proper grip. I was shivering and my throat felt gravelly.

A motorcade of motorcycle police and four black cars came from Fredrikinkatu and pulled up in front of the synagogue. Sillanpää and some other SUPO agent got out of the first car. Both wore the sunglasses that were the trademark of their profession. I could see Silberstein hurry across the yard to receive the arrivals. Josef Meyer and Eli followed at his heels, Eli looking somehow reluctant.

Two Israeli secret service men stepped out of the third car. They reacted to the environment clearly more suspiciously than Sillanpää and his companion. They came from a country where bombs and assassination attempts were not something you just read about in the papers; they were part of everyday life. That left a mark. That’s why two security officers from the embassy had been to the synagogue that morning to go over the place with the SUPO security detail and a bomb dog. They had even checked and sealed the manholes in front of the synagogue. The neighbouring buildings had been inspected carefully, all the way up to their attics, as had the guest list at the SAS Radisson hotel, where some of the rooms had line-of-sight views of the synagogue. These guys were real professionals.

The Israeli ambassador and Minister of Justice Haim Levi stepped out of the second car. The fourth car contained one more Israeli secret service man and the ambassador’s family: his wife and two children. Levi waved at the curious congregants like he was Barack Obama visiting his hometown.

The party moved into the courtyard, where Silberstein was waiting. It must have been the first time I ever saw him so obsequious. Levi knew the protocol and shook hands with Silberstein first, then with Meyer, and finally extended his hand to Eli…

I looked at my brother, and it occurred to me that the last time I had seen that look on his face was when I had beaned him in the head with a snowball and then laughed. He had chased me around the yard, bellowing with rage and face contorted in fury. For a second I was sure that if he caught me, he would kill me. I was faster, and he didn’t catch me, but I hadn’t dared to approach him for hours afterwards.

I saw Levi stand there expectantly, hand extended. But Eli pulled his own hand back. It clenched into a fist, picked up speed and slammed into the corner of Levi’s eye.

For a split second, the entire courtyard froze, colours faded, sound waves paused mid-air, and second-hands stopped ticking. Everything was suspended like that instant after a nuclear explosion before the blast of light strikes and the mushroom cloud rises from the ground. Then the moment passed and the secret service agents leapt into action. They dived for Eli and grabbed his hands. I rushed in and yelled: “I have him! It’s OK! Look out for the minister!”

Eli writhed and looked at me with unseeing eyes. “Max was killed because of that shitbag… Let me go…” I clenched Eli tightly by the arm and led him off to the side. I managed to see a smile cross Sillanpää’s face before civil servant officiousness washed it away. He came over and grabbed Eli by the other arm.