The Jerusalem Assassin

by Avraham Azrieli

Gideon parked the Citroen halfway up the street from the two-story, glass-fronted building. Bathsheba propped a black-and-white photo of Abu Yusef on the dashboard, and they settled for the wait with an audio version of Frederick Forsyth’s The Fourth Protocol. An hour into the story, John Preston brought the stolen documents to the Yard, and a technician dusted them for prints. Gideon remembered Preston, played by Michael Cain, wearing his nonchalant expression that communicated so much to truly discerning Michael Cain fans.

  “He’s not coming.” Bathsheba hit the stop button on the cassette player. “Or it’s not him at all.”

  “ The bank closes in nine minutes,” Gideon said.

  “ Let’s go for a drink.” Her left arm rested on the back of his seat, then slipped down to his shoulder.

  He pretended not to notice.

  Bathsheba’s mouth was close to his ear. “You smell so clean.” Her fingers slid under the curls at the back of his head. “I was thinking-”

  “Don’t start.” Gideon pushed her hand away.

  Bathsheba sat straight up in her seat and saluted.

  He laughed despite his best efforts. The absurd contradiction between her girlish clowning and her womanly beauty was too funny to resist. She was a performer, both in her irreverence and on the job. Men never refused Bathsheba. He had seen her lure men who recklessly surrendered to the powerful lust she ignited. He sensed that she despised their submission. Did she despise all men because her father had died, leaving her orphaned when she was so young?

  “Look!” Bathsheba pointed.

  A green Peugeot stopped in front of the bank and a man sprang out of the passenger side. He looked up and down the street and tapped on the roof of the car. Both rear doors opened and two other men came out. They all wore dark suits and had thin mustaches, and the driver, Bashir, awkwardly hid a machine gun under his jacket.

  She aimed the Polaroid. “Come out, come out, wherever you are.”

  Abu Yusef emerged. He was older than the others, his hair gray and thinning on top. He crossed the pavement carrying a briefcase to the door of the bank.

  The camera clicked. “I’d rather shoot bullets,” she said, “than photos.”

  “ He’s too well protected.”

  A few minutes later Abu Yusef reappeared and hefted the briefcase into the back seat. The Peugeot drove off. Gideon waited a few minutes before heading back to Paris.

  *

  Elie Weiss sat on the edge of the bed. Tanya’s face was peaceful, almost happy. Finding her asleep was an unexpected pleasure-it had been three hours since he had called from Zurich. She must have been very tired. He enjoyed this rare opportunity to gaze at her without being regarded with cold hostility. For decades they had coexisted in the clandestine trenches of the war against Israel’s enemies, but neither her beauty nor her loathing of him had abated.

  He pulled off his gloves and carefully rested his hand on her cheek. Tingling warmth reached up through his arm to his chest. His eyes misted up and he leaned closer, taking in her unique aroma.

  Her eyes opened. She pushed his hand away and sat up.

  “ Shalom, Tanya.”

  “ Shalom.”

  “ You look well.”

  “What’s wrong with you?”

  “Nothing.” Elie rubbed his bald head. “I saw Abraham last week. A chance encounter. I barely recognized him. His beard is totally white.”

  “He’s not seventy yet.” Tanya stood, her hair came loose, and the past fifty years fell off. She was again the girl sitting in the snow on the first day of 1945, wrapped in a fur coat, her Nazi lover’s warm corpse beside her. Elie had fallen in love with her right there, a passion that would forever go unrequited. Instead she fell for Abraham, but her love had fared no better-Elie had made sure of that.

  “We haven’t spoken in years,” Elie said. “He shirked his duty when he passed the leadership to that fatherless disciple of his, Benjamin Mashash.”

  “A leader without an heir is a failed leader. What’s your succession plan?”

  “ People like us never retire. We must work to prevent the next Holocaust, use whatever skills and resources we possess. Abraham grew up as the rabbi’s son, so he should use the skills he acquired preparing for the pulpit. And I was the shoykhet ’s son, so I use the skills which I was groomed to practice.”

  “ Slaughtering animals?”

  “ Precisely, whether they walk on two legs or four. And you, Tanya? Are you still using your female skills?”

  “ What’s left of them.”

  “ You’re too modest.” Elie smirked. “What you had achieved by your seventeenth birthday was enough for a whole career-an irony, really, that thanks to you the stolen riches, which your dearly beloved Klaus had stashed away until he could rebuild the next Reich, will instead finance the defense of a Jewish state to last a thousand years.”

  *

  “ I’m home!” Lemmy entered the house from the garage, and Klaus Junior leaped into his arms. “How was school?”

  “Great!”

  “You’re early.” Paula appeared in the kitchen doorway, wearing an apron. “What happened? The bank burned down?”

  He kissed her on the lips. “I missed you guys, so I came home.”

  “ There’s no dinner yet. I just started-”

  “ Turn off the oven. Let’s go out for pizza.”

  “ Wait a minute!” Paula stuck a finger in his chest. “What’s the catch?”

  “ You know me too well.” He laughed. “I need to go to Paris in the morning.”

  “ I knew it!” She pulled off her apron and tossed it at him. “Paris again-without me?”

  “ A quick business meeting, back tomorrow night.” He raised his hand. “Scout’s honor.”

  “ Papa!” Klaus Junior was already putting on his shoes. “When you were little, were you a scout leader?”

  “ Not exactly.” Lemmy pulled off his tie. “We didn’t have scouts in the neighborhood where I grew up.”

  *

  Abu Yusef dropped the briefcase on the bed and opened it. “Look!” He picked up a bundle of bills and threw it to Latif. “You were right! Allah still loves me!”

  “ And I love you too!” Latif rushed into his arms.

  They collapsed on the bed together, and Abu Yusef yelled, “I’ll show the damn Jews whose God is bigger!”

  Latif’s white teeth glistened. “You will show the whole world.”

  Abu Yusef felt the heaviness, which had weighed on him since Al-Mazir’s death, lift up. Not only could he now afford the supplies needed for an extravagant revenge, but this money signaled the Saudi prince’s commitment to the cause.

  “ All of Al-Mazir’s men will flock to you.” Latif unbuttoned his shirt. “You will unseat Arafat and become the leader of Palestine!”

  *

  Elie lit a cigarette. “You didn’t come here to rummage through old memories, did you?” He watched Tanya’s face carefully.

  “ We’re concerned. The little war you’ve started here could spread.”

  “ What war? The one over underage prostitution?”

  “ Those photos didn’t fool Abu Yusef. He must respond. What will it be? The El Al terminal? Another Jewish school?”

  “The Arabs don’t kill Jews in response to what we do. They’ve been killing us long before we did anything to them.”

  “Here we go again.” Tanya sighed. “Times are changing, politically and diplomatically. Our Jewish state is almost fifty. It’s time we think and act not only as Jews, but as a state. Mossad is the government agency for overseas espionage. Let us take over the Abu Yusef situation.”

  “ This isn’t a job for bureaucrats.”

  “ Neither is it a job for an old man and two cute amateurs.”

  Elie ignored her sarcasm. It was useful to be underestimated. “The prime minister asked me to handle this. He didn’t ask Mossad, did he?”

  “ Rabin wants deniability, because it’s illegal to assassinate targets without compliance with the
appropriate procedures.”

  “ Are you questioning Yitzhak Rabin’s authority?”

  “ He’s a soldier on a campaign,” Tanya said. “He has staked his reputation, his political future, and his legacy on the Oslo process. He thinks that eliminating Arafat’s opposition will pave the way for the final status agreement.”

  “ Pipe dreams,” Elie said. “Unlike you and me, Rabin didn’t experience the Holocaust. Otherwise he would know that Arafat, like all Gentiles, cannot stop hating Jews. They’ll never live in peace with us. We must continue to fight-or die.”

  “ Then why has Arafat signed two Oslo agreements? Why is he implementing those agreements?”

  “ It’s the ‘salami method.’ Arafat is negotiating in phases to get more and more slices of land without any real concessions on the ‘final status’ issues-the Palestinian refugees’ right of return, final borders, and the sovereignty over Jerusalem.”

  “ Rabin believes the Palestinians will ultimately keep the peace, even if their current intentions are cynical.”

  “ Illusions. Once we stop giving him pieces of land, Arafat will use the land and weapons he’s gotten under Oslo to resume fighting-this time from a position of ruler of the West Bank and Gaza, a short distance from Jerusalem and Tel Aviv.”

  “ Is that what you told Rabin?”

  Elie shrugged. “He thinks the fruits of peace would be too sweet for the Palestinians to spit out. He calls it momentum.”

  “ And you’re removing obstacles from his path.”

  “ Look, I do what the prime minister asks even when I disagree with his strategy. With time, he will come around to seeing things my way.”

  “ Nekamah? Revenge? That’s a better strategy? Endless, useless bloodshed?”

  “ Revenge is useless?” Elie paced back and forth across the small room. “That’s the thinking that caused King Saul to spare the Amalekites and lose his kingdom!”

  “Enough with this biblical demagoguery.”

  “The past is instructive.” He could barely speak now, his scarce resources of energy almost depleted. It was time to gain her sympathy. The last thing he needed at this crucial time was open war with Mossad. He sat on the bed and dropped the cigarette on the floor, putting it out with the sole of his shoe. “Let me finish this last job. I’m very tired. This is it for me."3"›

  “I’ll give you a week. But if Abu Yusef spills Jewish blood, all bets are off. We’ll come after you, shut you down.”

  Elie understood. This was the message she had come to deliver. “You’ll enjoy that, won’t you?”

  “Yes!” Tanya’s serious expression suddenly broke into a smile. “I will!”

  He watched, reluctant to even blink, afraid to miss the transformation of her features, the arch of her lips, the faint creases in her cheeks, the way she moved with efficient, quick agility, full of grace. Even as she mocked him, Elie wanted this moment to last so he could take in every detail, memorize her every gesture, savor every bit of emotion he had managed to rouse in her.

  “ Haven’t you had enough of this?” Tanya came closer. “For fifty years you’ve begrudged me for loving Abraham instead of loving you. But how could I-or anyone else-love you? You’re consumed by hate, by death, by killing our enemies, real or imagined. Even Yitzhak Rabin knows that yesterday’s worst enemy could be today’s best partner.”

  Was she speaking of Rabin and Arafat or of the two of them, facing each other in this Paris apartment after a lifetime of rivalry? For a moment, Elie’s mind was consumed by hopes. Was there a chance for the two of them, after all these years? Would she take him in her arms, kiss him, caress him, tell him that she loved him? Because if she did that, he would give her everything-the job, the Nazi fortune, the life he had lived in secrecy, even his single-minded dedication to the cause. One hug, one kiss, one demonstration of true feelings, and he would give up everything that his life had stood for until this moment.

  “ We’re not going to let you go on killing,” she said. “Don’t force me to shut you down. Quit voluntarily, and you can go home to live in peace for the rest of your days.”

  Her words burst the bubble of his pathetic dream. Elie coughed a few times, intentionally causing the pain in his chest to spike, knowing his face would become ashen. He had to make her believe his deceit. “You’re right. I’m worn out. After Abu Yusef is done, I’ll go to Jerusalem.”

  “And you’ll hand over all SOD operations to Mossad.”

  “ Not much to hand over,” he lied.

  “ Including Klaus’s money? I want his bank ledger back.”

  Elie gave her his hand, and she shook it. He held on, gazing at their joined hands, savoring the moment. Clearly she was fishing for information about her lover’s fortune, trying to find out whether Elie had ever been able to put his hands on it. “On one condition,” he said.

  “ What?”

  “ Will you take care of Gideon and Bathsheba?” The question implied that the two were his only agents. To give credence to his deception, he met her eyes. “I’ll give back Koenig’s deposits ledger. To you, personally, so you can use it for a worthy purpose.”

  “ It’s a deal.” Tanya hesitated. “You’re not playing games again, are you?”

  “With you? How could I?” His hand let go of hers and rose to her face. Barely touching, his fingers caressed her hair. “My beautiful Tanya.”

  *

  Wednesday, October 18, 1995

  Abu Yusef woke up early. Through the window he watched the bare tree branches sway in the wind. He heard Latif shift under the covers and turned to look at him. Settled back into sleep, hugging a body pillow, Latif’s smooth face was peaceful. Abu Yusef smiled. The boy was an angel, a heavenly gift sent to ease the loneliness of the long struggle for Palestine.

  There was a knock on the door. Bashir entered with a pitcher of orange juice and a thermos of black coffee.

  “ Assemble the men in the dining room,” Abu Yusef said. “We have work to do-and the money to do it with.”

  “Of course.” Bashir glanced at the sleeping Latif and left the room.

  *

  Lemmy’s favorite border crossing handled traffic between Paris and Dijon to the west, Strasbourg and Stuttgart to the north, Basel and Zurich to the east, and Bern and Lucerne to the south-thousands of cars and trucks bearing license plates from France, Luxembourg, Germany, Austria, Switzerland, and Italy, in addition to many EU, NATO, and UN vehicles. The inconvenience of using a stick shift in slow traffic was a small price to pay for reliably lax border inspections. He had estimated the delay at no more than one hour, which would enable him to reach Paris by early afternoon at the latest. He could also push the Porsche harder, which was even more fun.

  At the French side of the border, a customs officer beckoned him to stop. Lemmy lowered the window, turned down Stravinsky’s The Rite of Spring, and handed his passport to the officer. “ Bonjour! ”

  The officer glanced at the Swiss passport and handed it back. “Anything to declare?”

  Lemmy smiled. “Nothing at all.”

  The officer gave the car an admiring look. “ Bon voyage. ”

  *

  Abu Yusef walked into the large dining room with Bashir. The twenty or so men stood at attention. “I lost my beloved friend,” he said. “May Allah accept Al-Mazir’s soul with open arms.”

  Some of the men touched their foreheads in devoutness.

  “ Like me, he was a boy from Nablus, who dedicated his life to fight for our land.” Abu Yusef lowered his head and placed his right hand on his chest. “Al-Mazir was a hero of the Palestinian revolution. We must avenge his blood.”

  They grunted in agreement.

  “We are few, but we will grow. Our Palestinian brothers will soon realize that the PLO is selling out, that Arafat is whoring away our land to the Zionist enemy. He calls it peace, but we know it’s capitulation and shame. They will join us from Syria’s refugee camps, from Tunisia and Lebanon, and even from the slums of Paris.” Abu
Yusef shook his finger in the air. “We will lead the Palestinian jihad. Off with Arafat and his gang of pork-eaters and vodka-drinkers! Off with the Jews!”

  Abu Yusef embraced each of his men. Back at the head of the table, he opened his arms to Bashir. “May Allah’s blessing accompany us on the path to victory.”

  “ Insha’Allah! ” Bashir embraced Abu Yusef.

  They exited the dining room together.

  “You spoke well,” Bashir said. “The men’s morale is renewed-”

  “The hell with their morale. You think I don’t know my men?” Abu Yusef snorted. “They would rather drink vodka and lay with prostitutes than risk their lives to liberate Palestine from the Zionists.”

  “A strong leader can inspire the meekest of soldiers. They want to believe in you, but they see this.” Bashir gestured down the corridor, toward the bedroom.

  Abu Yusef felt his face turning hot. “Latif is a good soldier.”

  “ I can send him into the synagogue with explosives and use a remote detonator.”

  “ No!”

  “ He won’t even know what happened to him. It’s the best way to get rid-”

  The door to Abu Yusef’s bedroom opened. Latif appeared wearing only his white briefs. The olive skin of his chest was hairless, his shoulders straight and bony, his arms long and slim. His boyish face flushed under Bashir’s hard glare. “Sorry,” he said and closed the door.

  Bashir said, “Allow me to take care of him.”

  “Not yet.” Abu Yusef placed his hand on Bashir’s shoulder, which felt as hard as a rock. “When we win Jerusalem, I’ll marry a good woman and give Palestine ten brave sons.”

  Bashir’s expression was neither blank nor hostile, but all-knowing. “As you wish.”

  *

  Shortly before one p.m., Lemmy drove into the underground parking garage at the Societe Generale building, across from the Paris Opera, and parked the Porsche in a corner spot far from the stairway. He sat in the car and waited to see if anyone was following. The garage was quiet.

  Using the point of a pocket knife, he popped out the cover of a storage compartment built into the steel dashboard. A wooden box filled the space. He opened it and removed the Mauser handgun that rested in a perfectly matched depression.