Lone Wolf in Jerusalem

by Ehud Diskin

  Jeffries looked at me in shock. I shot him once point-blank and then again as he fell to the floor.

  I heard a gunshot from behind and felt a red-hot pain in my thigh, as if someone had stabbed me. Alec got off two rounds and killed the shooter. My leg instantly went numb, and blood poured from the wound, soaking into my trousers.

  Alec quickly went from one Brit to the next, putting another bullet in all four of them to make sure they were dead, then rushed over to me.

  “We have to stop the bleeding,” he said. He removed his shirt and tied it tightly around the upper part of my thigh to stem the flow of blood. Next, he wrapped a towel around my leg to help absorb the blood and prevent it from leaving a trail behind us.

  As soon as he had me secured, he collected the weapons and ammunition from the corpses and packed everything into his backpack. We made our way toward the service door and from there to the gate of the field, with Alec supporting me all the way.

  My leg just wasn’t working, and I was slowing Alec down. I tried to pull away from him. “Leave me,” I said. “I’ll say the shooter shot me too.” Alec shook his head and dragged me along.

  As I hobbled down the running track, the nerves in my leg began to recover from the shock, and every step sent waves of agony through me. Once we’d made it through the gate to the soccer field, I knew I couldn’t go any farther. Alec grabbed me and turned me to the left, toward the road heading west instead of the alley we had walked through earlier.

  Max leaped out of a parked car and ran to us. Together he and Alec picked me up and pushed me into the back seat. Max got into the driver’s seat, and the car surged forward. We could hear the sirens of the police headed to the scene.

  Alec knelt on the floorboard of the back seat and removed the shirt he had tied around my leg. It was completely saturated now, red and dripping with my blood. He cut away the bottom of my tennis shorts and started to disinfect the wound with iodine from a first aid kit emblazoned with a red Star of David.

  I grimaced as the liquid hit the hole in my leg, and I tried to breathe slowly while Alec dressed the wound with a large bandage. The pain was almost unbearable. Finally, he turned and yelled to Max.

  “He’s lost a lot of blood and needs to get to a doctor fast!”

  “We’re on our way to my apartment,” Max said. “I have a neighbor who is a doctor. He’s also an underground member and has treated several of our wounded. He’ll take care of David and won’t breathe a word about it.”

  “Where did Max come from?” I managed to gasp through gritted teeth as Alec finished dressing my wound, binding it tightly.

  “From me,” my friend said. “I didn’t tell you about Max, because I knew you wouldn’t approve, since secrecy is your paramount concern. I decided we needed backup.”

  “You did the right thing, Alec,” I murmured, just before the darkness took me. “We’re still a good team, and you’re a darn good friend.”

  17

  “THE BITTERSWEET OF DAYS THAT WERE”

  (FROM THE HOUSE OF THE WOLFINGS BY WILLIAM MORRIS, 1889)

  The pain jolted me back to consciousness as Alec pulled me out of the car. We were outside Max’s building. I held on to Alec’s shoulder for support as we slowly made our way inside and up the stairs to Max’s apartment.

  Nelka looked pale and worried as she ushered us through the door. “Take David to the bed in the study,” she said.

  As I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, exhausted and in pain, Max walked in with a short, balding man at his side. The man wore glasses over determined dark eyes, and his immediate interest in my wound gave away his identity. He pulled a chair up to the bed and removed the dressing Alec had hastily applied to my leg.

  “Not a pleasant injury but not terrible either,” he said, peering at it closely. “No damage to the bone or any major blood vessels. I’ll dress it properly and give you sulfonamide to help with infection, along with something for the pain. Most importantly, you need to stay off your feet for a while and wait for it to heal.”

  “How long will that take?” I asked.

  “You’re a strong and healthy young man,” the doctor said. “If it doesn’t get infected, you should be all right within a few weeks. You’re very lucky. The tiniest deviation to the left or right and you could have been crippled—or bled to death.”

  “What’s your name?”

  “Elisha Kaminitz.”

  “Thank you, Dr. Kaminitz, for helping me,” I said.

  After he’d finished treating me, I fell asleep. It was dark outside when I woke. Shoshana was sitting by the bed, looking at me sadly.

  “I’m glad you’re here, Shoshana,” I said. “I’m feeling fine, and the doctor said I’d be well in no time.”

  “Thank God you’re alive and not seriously hurt,” she said, caressing my hand. “I was so worried. Maybe it’s time for you to let someone else take the risks for a while?”

  “Inshallah,” I said, recalling the Arabic word I had learned from Yousef, which translated to “with God’s help” but more commonly meant “hopefully.”

  Max and Alec returned from the restaurant just before midnight. “I spoke to the doctor and was pleased to hear your wound isn’t life-threatening,” Max said. “But your absence from the restaurant, your apartment, etcetera needs to be explained.”

  “I’ve thought about that too and have come up with an idea,” I replied. “If anyone asks, tell them I received word that my aunt and uncle, survivors of the Bergen-Belsen concentration camp, are here in Israel and that I’ve gone to look for them.”

  “Excellent idea.” Max smiled. “I see that your mind still functions well despite your injury. The commander told me he wants to speak to you. I said I would ask if you’re up to it. Shall I tell him he can visit tomorrow morning?”

  “Perhaps this can wait until David recovers,” Shoshana said.

  “Let’s see how I’m doing tomorrow.” I squeezed her hand, and she nodded.

  “Of course,” Max said. “We should let you get some sleep. Alec, would you walk Shoshana home?”

  “Already? I’d like to stay a bit longer,” Shoshana said, giving me a hesitant look.

  “I’m sure David would love for you to spend the night with him,” Max said, “but you must keep up appearances and be prepared to explain David’s absence. If you disappear too, it might arouse suspicion.”

  Shoshana agreed, kissed me on the cheek, and left with Alec. Grateful to be able to simply rest, I took two painkillers and a sleeping pill and fell into a fitful sleep.

  I slipped into a dream about Leah that felt familiar and hauntingly real. It came to me in flashes—I saw us leaving Belarus and wandering through Europe together, happy and in love—then on a ship, full of hundreds of refugees, carrying us from Italy to Israel—lying in bed together, in the very same apartment where I lived with Shoshana—me looking at Leah, and Leah gazing back with her beautiful blue eyes.

  “You promised that when we got to Jerusalem, we’d get married and have two children,” she whispered. “Don’t you remember?”

  I woke drenched in sweat and burning with fever. I managed to turn on the bedside lamp and then just lay there, feeling weak and helpless. After a few minutes, Nelka stepped into the room, dressed in a nightgown and robe.

  “I saw the light on,” she said. “Do you need anything?”

  “Water.” My throat was dry and hot.

  She brought me a glass, and I sipped the water thankfully.

  “I had a terrible dream,” I told her.

  She sat down and rested her hand on my forehead, her eyes widening. “Oh dear. You have a high fever. I’ll wake Max and tell him to get the doctor.” She hurried out of the room.

  I drifted in and out of sleep, dreaming of Leah. I didn’t know how much time had passed before I opened my eyes again and saw Max and Dr. Kaminitz staring down at me. The doctor frowned as he took my temperature.

  “You have a fever of 103.6 degrees,” he said, reading t
he thermometer. “The wound must be infected. Fortunately for you, we have penicillin in Israel now. I’ll give you three shots today. Nelka, starting tomorrow, you’ll give him two shots a day. I’ll show you how to do it.”

  As the doctor filled a syringe with liquid from a small bottle, Max helped me turn on my side. I lay there, shaking and dripping with sweat, so ill I barely felt it when the doctor jabbed the needle into my hip.

  “We’re fortunate,” I heard him say to Max and Nelka afterward. “During the war, penicillin was worth more than gold. Even today, it’s not readily available in the private sector, but I have my connections. Now let’s clear the room. David needs to rest. No visitors and no lengthy conversations.”

  “But we have an important meeting scheduled for the morning,” Max protested.

  “Don’t even think about it,” Kaminitz growled.

  Nelka brought me a cup of tea, and I swallowed two more painkillers. I continued to shake and sweat for some time before falling into another fitful sleep, disturbed by more strange dreams. I woke some time later to find Shoshana sitting at my bedside with a worried look on her face.

  “You must have been having a bad dream,” she said. “You were calling out ‘No, no’ in your sleep.”

  “Yes …” I tried to remember but couldn’t. “… I was having bad dreams, but now that you’re here, everything is fine.”

  Shoshana smiled and took my hand. “Rest quietly. I’ll sit here with you until I need to leave for work. And I’ll come see you again later tonight with Alec.”

  Max stopped in the doorway, looking weary, and shook his head. “Shoshana, my dear, David has an infection. The doctor says he’ll get better, but he needs to rest.”

  Shoshana caressed my forehead and promised to come again the next morning. A few minutes after she’d left, Dr. Kaminitz came back into the room, along with Nelka, and administered a second shot, explaining the procedure to her in the process.

  I spent the day in and out of sleep, with the pain in my leg still searing. I had a lot of time to think, although I found it hard to focus. We had pulled off a very difficult mission, and I was pleased with the success of our operation. Despite my injury, Alec and I had been extremely lucky.

  By that afternoon, my sweating had subsided, and my body wasn’t shaking as much either. Nelka gave me the third shot of penicillin later that night, with the doctor’s supervision. He left her with syringes and several vials of penicillin, which he instructed her to keep in the refrigerator. After changing the dressing on my wound, he told me to take a sleeping pill and get a good night’s rest.

  I did manage to sleep for a while. When I woke in the early hours of the morning, I could feel that my fever had dropped, and I was no longer sweating or shaking. My mind was more focused too. Relieved the medicine was working, I lay back and thought about all that had happened.

  Had I made a mistake in failing to consider that Jeffries might come to the Y with more than two guards? I didn’t think so. After all, Jeffries had trusted me completely, up until the final seconds of his life, and had told me himself that he usually went to the pool with two of his men.

  In any case, the incident had proved that any further operations against the British meant more chances for something to go wrong. Maybe the bullet hole in my thigh was a warning that I shouldn’t take such risks in the future.

  “You’re looking better today, David,” Nelka said. She stood in the doorway, holding a tray filled with tea and cookies. I was sipping my tea when Max stepped in a minute later and asked how I was feeling.

  “Better,” I said, “and if the commander wants to come and have a talk with me, I’m up to it.”

  “Great,” he said. “I’ll let him know right away.”

  Shoshana came by again, and she and I chatted until I heard someone enter the apartment. Max brought his commander into the room and asked Shoshana if she would mind waiting outside. She stood up to leave, but I intervened.

  “I would like her to stay. Shoshana is a part of my life,” I said to the men. “She knows what I’ve done, and she’s a member of your organization. You can trust her.”

  The commander and Max were visibly displeased, but neither chose to object. Instead, they pulled up two chairs and sat down at my bedside. Shoshana sat on the edge of the bed.

  “I didn’t know you were such an accomplished fighter, David,” the commander said. “That was a well-executed operation. You caught them with their pants down, as they say, in a place they considered safe, and you took them out perfectly. There is chaos in the city. The British don’t know where to begin. Their informants haven’t been able to provide a single lead that could point to the organization responsible for the assassination.”

  “I’m glad to hear it.”

  The man’s face became stern, and he leaned forward as he continued. “I realize this wasn’t your first operation since you arrived in Jerusalem. Perhaps you thought your silence protected you, but”—he gestured to my wounded body—“we now know you’d certainly be hanged for this if you were ever caught. There’s no reason not to be open with me and tell me about your previous activities and see how we can work together in the future.”

  With a sense of regret, I accepted that he was right. I began with the night I had attacked the British soldier and taken his gun and then quickly moved on to relate how I had fired into the Schneller Barracks from the rooftop on Geula Street. I left out how I had gotten my hands on Avrum’s rifle, mainly because Shoshana was in the room. Max’s eyes became moist as I told them about Greene, the British officer I’d killed on Ben Yehuda Street. I finished with the stories of Sergeant Perry and Inspector Ellis.

  I was done, and after a moment, the commander said, “If anyone but you had told me such tales, I’d think I was listening to a liar. I don’t know anyone here in Israel who has carried out such daring and dangerous operations without a single failure. I can only admire your planning and execution skills, and you appear to have luck on your side too—very important for someone who is willing to take such risks. Now, since you’ve been open with me, I will be open with you too.” He paused, gave me a considering look, and then continued.

  “My name is Zvi. Contrary to what you might have been thinking, I do not belong to the Irgun. I lead the Wolves. Have you ever heard of us?”

  I shook my head.

  “Good,” he said approvingly. “That proves our ability to act in absolute secrecy. Some of our members are affiliated with other resistance movements, and we have a network of informants in the British army and the police force. With their help, we stay up to speed on everything that happens. I’ll fill you in on our past operations another time.”

  I was tempted to ask more about the organization but stayed silent.

  “As I’ve already told you, I was born in Belarus and spent most of my adult life in Poland. I fled Poland with my wife and kids—a son and daughter—immediately after the Nazi occupation. The border guards opened fire on us, killing my wife and children. If my son were alive today, he’d be about your age. I was wounded but managed to escape into Russian territory. I joined General Anders’s army, and when we reached Israel, I deserted, along with most of the other Jewish soldiers.”

  I could hear the edges of emotion he held at bay. This man had been through as much as, or more than, I had, and I felt a sudden kinship with him.

  “Despite my heartfelt appreciation for the British and their determined struggle against the Nazis, I can’t forgive them for their injustice toward the Jewish survivors in Europe, for not allowing them to immigrate to Israel. The Brits violated the commitment they had made in the Balfour Declaration to endorse the establishment of a Jewish home in Palestine.” He nodded in my direction. “Like you, I have experienced the dangers of betrayal that lie in wait for members of a resistance movement. As a result, I, and a close group of friends who also deserted General Anders’s army, set up a small underground organization that requires absolute loyalty and secrecy from its member
s. Just as you have trusted no one here in Israel but your partisan comrade, I have trusted only a handful of my Jewish friends from Anders’s army.

  “We’ve gradually increased our numbers, very selectively, and we’ve become highly effective. In the meantime, I’ve also established a successful business that partially funds our organization. Losing my wife and two children was very difficult for me. At this stage of my life, I’m not cut out for starting a new family, and I’m devoted entirely to the struggle against the British.”

  Zvi went quiet for a moment. Again, I felt a great deal of empathy with the man, and I shared his sorrow over losing his family. “I think I understand,” I told him.

  He nodded and then continued. “You’ve been stalking the British in Jerusalem as a lone wolf, and we wolves are deadlier in packs. Together we can tear out the throat of the British occupation in Israel. If you’d like to learn more about the philosophy behind our organization, I suggest you read The House of the Wolfings by William Morris. He wrote it in England at the end of the nineteenth century. The book tells of a tribe that lived an idyllic life in nature until it was attacked by legions of Roman soldiers, who killed or enslaved everyone in their path. Max has a copy, I believe.”

  “I’d like to read it,” I said.

  Zvi stood up and extended his hand. “I’m an observant man, and I think I can safely say I know the Bible. The Book of Judges tells us that before Gideon embarked on his decisive battle against the Midianites, an angel appeared before him and said, ‘Go in this thy might, and save Israel from the hand of Midian.’ And now, David, I say to you, go in this thy might, and save Israel from the hand of the British.”

  “Thank you, sir,” I said, shaking his hand. “I will do my best.”

  Max accompanied Zvi to the front door and then returned to my room, beaming. “I feel so lucky to have hired you,” he said. “God only knows how I would have wormed my way out of trouble with Greene had you not killed him. I foolishly continued to insult you …” His eyes glistened with tears. “I hope you can forgive me.”