“So what looks good?” Elan asked.
“I don’t know. You’ve been here before? What’s good?” She felt foolish, but she’d never been on a real date before. It was understood that Elan would pay the check, and she was uncomfortable as she went over the prices.
“Why don’t I order for both of us? Is there anything that you don’t like?”
“No, whatever you decide is fine.” She smiled, feeling stupid.
“I promise you will enjoy your dinner,” Elan said. He had such confidence.
For Katja, the times that she and Mendel had gone out for dinner had been like spending time with a brother. She’d never considered their evenings to be dates. It was easy for her to order, sometimes she offered to pay, but most times, Mendel refused. However, she never felt uncomfortable, it all just seemed natural. Perhaps it was because they’d grown up together.
Elan ordered far more food than she was used to eating. Besides, she was nervous, her stomach was a flutter and she felt as if she could hardly eat anything at all. Katja wiped her lips with the napkin several times, afraid that she had food on her face. Elan ate with gusto; he was not at all self-conscious.
“I’m glad you decided to finally have dinner with me,” he said.
She smiled.
“You like the food here? I think it’s the best in the city.”
“It’s very good.”
“So tell me a little bit about you, Katja. You are such a mystery . . .”
“ME? A mystery? How? I am just a girl who grew up on a kibbutz, nothing more. No mystery.”
“I think you have deep thoughts; tell me some of them. I would like to hear all of your secret inner feelings and thoughts,” Elan said, leaning on his hand with his elbow on the table. Even as crude and outspoken as he was, Katja could not help but find him terribly sexy.
She laughed. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“I mean, what do you think about when you are alone? What are your dreams?”
“I don’t know. I think this is rather personal,” she said, clearing her throat.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry. It’s just that I want to know everything there is to know about the beautiful Katja.”
“Like I said, there isn’t much to know.”
“You and your family were survivors. Were you in the camps?”
“Yes, we were survivors. But I don’t remember much. I don’t know if we were in the camps. My parents don’t talk about it, and I know it upsets them, so I don’t ask. I was very young and it was so terrible that I guess I must have put it out of my mind because I don’t remember anything at all. Except that we spent some time in a DP camp waiting to go to Israel. But it wasn’t a concentration camp. Those are my first memories.”
“I can understand.”
“I often feel as if the Nazis stole my youth. I don’t know if that makes sense.
“It does, they stole a lot from our people.”
“Yes. That is for sure.”
“All right, enough about the Germans. Let’s talk about your bright future. So what do you want to do when you are done serving in the IDF?”
She shrugged. Gosh, she felt so boring. She’d not made any decisions about the future. She had nothing exciting to say. He was probably quite ready to drop her off back at her barracks. The very idea that he was losing interest was upsetting to her. But she had no idea of what to do or say. I’m so clumsy, so inexperienced.
“How about hunt Nazis?” Elan took a sip of wine.
“Me? You’ve got me mixed up with Rachel. I’m not much of a fighter. I wish I were, but when I tried to fire a rifle, I couldn’t aim accurately and the sound was very loud,” she said.
“I would love to do that, hunt Nazis I mean. In fact, I know of people who I would love for you to meet.”
“Nazi hunters?”
“Not exactly. Can I take you somewhere exceptional this coming Sunday? There is something I want you to see.”
“Where?”
“You’ll have to trust me. Will you go?”
“All right; yes, I’ll go.”
“So, for now, let’s put the past behind us. I have a real surprise for you, something we can do tonight . . .”
“You are full of surprises.”
“This is going to be fun. It’s something I think you will enjoy.”
When they finished dinner Elan paid the check and helped Katja with her sweater. Then he took her elbow and they walked out into the night.
“It seems cooler then it was earlier. The temperature must have dropped,” he said. “Are you cold?”
“A little,” she said.
He took off his jacket and draped it over her shoulders.
They walked silently for a moment. The only sound was the click of Katja’s high heels on the pavement.
“So where are we going?” she asked.
“You’ll see.”
They walked two blocks, and then turned left. Elan opened the door and led Katja inside. It was dark and smoky. He helped her down the stairs into a room that was filled with people. Very loud American music blasted from a jukebox, a machine with records that spun on a turntable inside.
“Do you know who this is?” he asked.
“Who what is?”
“The singer on the record that is playing.”
“No idea. I’ve heard some music like this before, but not very often, and I don’t know the musicians by name. ”
“His name is Elvis Presley. How do you like the music?”
“I do,” she said, watching a couple whirl and spin on the dance floor. “It has a great beat.”
“Would you like to learn to dance like that?” Elan asked. “It’s called the jitterbug.”
“Yes, I’ve seen people do that dance, but I’ve never tried it myself.” she said. Her heart was pounding to the beat of the music.
“Elan, come on over here,” said a man wearing an IDF uniform who was sitting with a group of people.
“Shalom,” Elan said. “Katja, this is my friend Seth.”
“Shalom, Seth,” Katja said.
“Well, isn’t she a beauty?” Seth said. “Why don’t you kids sit down?”
“Thank you,” Katja said, glad it was dark so that no one could see her blush.
“So, who are all the others?” Elan asked.
“Let me introduce you . . .”
It would have been impossible to remember all of their names, especially along with trying to hear them above the music. A song came on the jukebox that Elan recognized. Without any warning he stood up and pretended to have a microphone in his hand as he did an imitation of Elvis Presley.
Love me tender, love me sweet, never let me go…” He sang along with the record in his heavily-accented English, making his way to the front of the room.
Everyone at their table and the surrounding tables roared with laughter as Elan’s hips gyrated. Katja laughed, too. When the record was finished, Elan burst out laughing. As he headed back to his seat, the other guys patted him on the back.
“Great performance, Elvis,” one of them teased.
“Thank you, thank you very much.” Elan said, imitating Elvis Presley, his Israeli accent making the words even funnier.
It was plain to see that Elan was well-known and well-liked. How could such a strong man be so serious one minute, and so funny and lighthearted the next?
The beers that Elan ordered for Katja and himself arrived. He took a swig, and when the next song came on Elan took Katja’s hand and led her to the dance floor where he began to teach her to dance. Elan was light on his feet, a true athlete. He spun her around, singing in her ear while she giggled.
Katja was not as graceful as she would have wished to be, so it took her a while to learn to jitterbug. However, Elan didn’t mind. They danced until late into the night. When she returned to her room just as the sun was coming up, Katja decided that she loved American music, and . . . she loved Elan.
The following day Katj
a’s boss laid a pile of work on her desk. She had never stayed out so late on a work night and her head ached with exhaustion. She began to sort through the papers when the phone rang. Her heart jumped in spite of how tired she was. It could be Elan.
She took a deep breath, calmed her voice, then picked up the phone and answered.
“Sergeant Greenberg’s office, this is Katja speaking, how can I help you?”
“It’s me. How are you?” It was Mendel.
Katja felt her heart sink with disappointment. “I’m all right. I was out late last night. I’m a little tired.”
“Out with whom?” He tried to sound causal but it came out jealous and overbearing.
“Elan.”
“Really? Elan again? You just saw him on Sunday.”
“Yes, I know, we had dinner last night.”
“And you were out late having dinner?” Mendel said.
This was not like Mendel. He was sounding like an old biddy, full of questions.
“We went dancing.”
“You don’t dance.”
“He taught me. We went to a club to listen to American music.”
“American music?”
“Yes, Elvis Presley, Chuck Berry, it’s a lot of fun.” She said, apologizing but not knowing why she was sorry.
“I see,” Mendel said; his voice cold.
“Mendel, what’s wrong with you?”
“Nothing. Nothing at all.”
“You want to meet me for lunch today?”
“I can’t. I have a class,” he said, his voice distant.
“How about dinner?”
“I don’t know. Aren’t you having dinner with your brave soldier?”
“Elan?”
“Who else?”
“No, Mendel. I’m not. If you would like, I would love to have dinner with you.”
“All right, let’s have dinner.” His voice was softer; she thought it almost sounded sad.
“Mendel, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing; I’m just studying.”
“Then we’ll meet for dinner?”
“Yes, is six o’clock good for you?” he asked.
“It should be. I have a lot of work, but I’ll manage,” she said.
“Six o’clock then. I’ll come by your office.”
“See you then,” she said.
He hung up.
Katja sat looking at the phone and listening to the dial tone. Perhaps Mendel was feeling left out now that Elan was in the picture. She shook her head. Men.
All morning Katja drank coffee on an empty stomach until her mouth tasted like spoiled milk. At lunch she forced herself to have a square of pita with hummus, but she was too tired to eat. And worse, she had not heard from Elan yet today. How silly of me, she thought. Why would Elan call me today? We have plans for Sunday, and it’s only Tuesday. There is no reason for him to call. Yet she felt nervous, afraid that she’d done something wrong. Perhaps he’d lost interest. How odd for me to feel this way, Katja thought. I’m hanging on to a man whom I hardly know. I need to stop this right now.
But she couldn’t.
She forced herself to get through the day. When Mendel arrived at ten to six, she smiled at him and tried to appear casual, but inside she was twisted up like a ball of yarn after a kitten had spent an hour playing with it. Katja thought that Elan would at least have telephoned sometime during the day, if only to say hello. Stop . . . stop thinking about this! Why am I so crazy about this fellow? I don’t even know him really.
At first Mendel was cold towards her, but he warmed up after an hour or so. Katja tried to keep the conversation going with Mendel, regardless of the inner conflict about Elan that was tearing her up.
“How was your test?” she asked.
“I did well, I think.”
“I know you did, Mendel. You’ve always been very smart.”
“There is a lot of competition to get into law school. I hope I make it.”
“You will. I have confidence in you,” she said. She thought she saw his eyes grow moist.
“Thanks, Kat,” he said, his voice cracking ever so slightly.
When she got back to her room, Katja took a hot bath. She was beyond tired, yet when she lay down to sleep, she couldn’t rest. How could she have such strong feelings for Elan, having just met him? Why was she so upset that he had not called? She stared out the window at the top of the tree that was moving gently in the night breeze. This is ridiculous. She turned over, forcing her eyes shut. I need to sleep. I have to work tomorrow and I don’t want to be as drained as I was today. After an hour of tossing and turning, she finally drifted off to sleep.
Elan did not call the following day or the one following that.
Katja was distraught.
Katja only worked a half day on Friday because of Shabbat. True to form, on the day of the Sabbath, Mendel called in the morning, asking what he could pick up from the store for their dinner. Katja went through the motions of planning with him. If she did not hear from Elan by the end of the day, he would not be able to reach her until Sunday morning. She thought he would have been more careful to secure their plans if he intended to keep them. Maybe he didn’t intend to keep the plans at all. Maybe he was punishing her for the time she stood him up for dinner. By noon, she was almost in tears. Why do I care so much? A week ago I didn’t even think about Elan. He is nobody to me; nobody at all. Her hands were cold as ice as she straightened up the office, getting ready to close for the weekend.
The office door opened. “Delivery for Katja Zuckerman,” said a jittery teenage boy who had a face full of pimples. He entered with a long white box.
“I’m Katja Zuckerman,” Katja said.
“Sign here.”
She did.
Katja knew she should have her boss inspect the box before opening it; there was always the chance that it could contain a bomb. That was protocol. But her boss had left and she couldn’t wait until Monday, so she took a chance and opened it anyway. Inside were a dozen red roses. Her hands trembled so much she could hardly open the card.
I just wanted to let you know that I’m thinking about you and looking forward to seeing you on Sunday. I will be at the barracks to pick you up at 1 p.m. We’ll have lunch first, and then I’ll take you to a very special place. See you then, Elan
She held the card to her chest and a tear fell on her cheek.
Chapter 64
Konrad felt a chill snake up the back of his neck as he looked into the unyielding eyes of the Mossad agent, eyes so black that Konrad could not distinguish the pupil. There was no doubt in Konrad’s mind that the Israeli would kill him and not think twice.
“So, tell me . . . what have you arranged?” The agent held a rifle, which was not pointed at Konrad, but just the presence of the gun reminded Konrad of the threat.
Three other agents surrounded Konrad. As he looked from one to the other, he felt his throat close as if he were being smothered. Konrad coughed in an effort to gain his voice, cleared his throat, and tried to speak, but no sound came from his lips.
The Mossad agent laughed. “You see how you feel right now? This is how all of the Jews you executed must have felt. Did you ever have any pity? Ever, Klausen? Ever when you looked into the eyes of the old women? Or how about the little children; so young, so helpless?”
Konrad was choking. His eyes were red and water ran from them and from his nose. He knew he was staring directly into the face of death. He knew it now and he knew if before, when Mossad had captured him and given him this deal. That was why Konrad Klausen had agreed to the terms without a fight.
“Listen Klausen, it’s as simple as this. I want your Nazi friends and you want to live. So, you give me what I want and I give you what you want. You don’t deliver, and well . . . then you die. Quite simple, really.”
Konrad watched the agent move around him like a panther. He’d never been so afraid, never felt so vulnerable. And the worst part of it all was that he knew how much this Israeli
hated him. If he looked into those onyx eyes deeply enough, he could see the faces of the Jews he’d killed.
“Speak, you bastard.” The agent was becoming impatient. “I don’t have all the time in the world to sit here and wait for you.”
“I have Blau for you.” Konrad strangled the words out of his closed throat. “Perhaps I can get Mengele and Eichmann too, maybe more. I’ll get as many as I can . . . please . . . don’t hurt me.” Konrad thought he must sound like a dying bird.
“Not bad work, Klausen. I have to give you that much. I’d heard that you were an easy mark, a coward. That’s good for our cause; it makes you willing to betray anyone to save your own hide.” The Mossad agent looked at one of the other agents. “I knew Manfred Blau was not dead. He is posing as Dolf Sprecht.”
The other Mossad agent, a short, muscle-bound man with a bald head, spoke from behind Konrad’s chair. “What about Heim, you slimy bastard?”
“I don’t know about Heim, but I’ll try.”
“Try hard, Klausen. Your worthless life depends upon it.”
Konrad wondered how they knew that Manfred was living under another name. He wondered if they already knew the alias for Mengele and Eichmann as well. He assumed that they did. They somehow seemed to know everything.
“How soon can you bring Blau to us?” the one with black eyes spoke.
“I don’t know. I have to arrange things.”
The Mossad agent nudged Konrad hard in the ribs with the butt of his rifle. “I said how soon?”
“How soon do you want him?”
“Next month. I’ll give you one month. That’s all you get.”
“Next month then,” Konrad said. “I’ll have him for you by next month.”
“You better.”
“I will,” Konrad said, rubbing his ribs where the soldier had bruised him.
“You told Blau what we told you to tell him, right? You said that Hitler was alive and that he was to help you aid the son of a bitch in an escape?”
“Yes, I told him what you told me to tell him.” Konrad felt the sweat beading on his brow.
“We want them all, but we’ll take Blau for now. Work on the others. I expect a lot more from you. I’ll be in contact with you to give you your instructions.”
Konrad nodded. “How will you find me?”
The Promised Land (All My Love, Detrick Series) (All My Love Detrick Book 3) Page 24
