At the forecourt of the synagogue, hundreds of Neturay Karta members congregated to exchange greetings and share news of recent engagements, new babies, and illnesses. Everyone was dressed in their best clothes, the men in tailored black coats and wide-brim felt hats, the women in colorful headdresses, and the kids in miniature outfits resembling the adults, except that the unmarried girls wore their hair uncovered.
“One day,” Lemmy said, “I’ll bring my wife and son to visit, see how I grew up, what gave me a solid foundation in life.”
“And what is that?”
“Talmud,” Lemmy said. “Everything you see here is the direct result of a communal, lifelong devotion to the study of Talmud, which is a boundless intellectual world spanning ten thousand pages of debates over right and wrong. A student of Talmud spends his days agonizing over what constitutes an ethical behavior in every aspect of one’s life-worship, family, business, politics. There’s nothing like it.”
“Do you miss it?”
“Yes, I miss Talmud. I miss it terribly. But I don’t miss the insular lifestyle. And I couldn’t live without cars.”
Itah laughed. “Cars?”
“Love them,” he said. “Have you ever fooled around with a Porsche? Made out with a classic Citroen?”
“Shhh!” She gestured at the people around them. “It’s Sabbath!”
They made their way between the people of Neturay Karta into the foyer of the synagogue. At the foot of the stairs leading to the women’s section, Itah said, “You could have been their rabbi.”
Lemmy looked at the animated faces of bearded men, the kind smiles of untimely aged women, the cacophony of Yiddish and Hebrew, and the little boys with kiddie black hats and dangling side locks, running around, squealing in joy. It was so familiar, yet so alien. He tugged at his fake beard. “I guess…it wasn’t meant to be.”
*
Rabbi Gerster spent the night in a small hotel overlooking a muddy canal. When he checked out, the Dutch proprietor said, “Good-bye, Herr Horch.” It took him a moment to remember this was his last name-same as his son’s, yet again.
According to the phonebook, Doctor Mullenhuis Data Recovery operated out of a warehouse in the southern outskirts of Amsterdam, on the road to Leiden. He didn’t have much hope of finding the office open on a Saturday morning, but to his surprise, a man opened the door as soon as the taxi stopped in front of the building. Rabbi Gerster asked, “Are you Carl?”
“It depends.”
“My name is Abelard Horch.”
Carl’s eyes lit up, but he didn’t volunteer anything.
“ I’m Lemmy’s father.” He put down the bag and patted his chest. “Back from the dead.”
“ Yes,” Carl said, “I can tell by the sense of humor!”
They went inside, where floor-wide workrooms were filled with computer terminals and bundles of color-coded wires. If there was a method to the madness, it was well concealed. Carl collected his keys and led the way to an underground garage, a large space occupied by about twenty cars. He went for a red Ferrari. “This is a real sport car,” he said, holding the door open for Rabbi Gerster, “not like your son’s wimpy Porsche.”
He sat with his bag on his lap as Carl maneuvered the grunting Ferrari out of the garage. “I don’t know my son as an adult. Do you like him?”
“ He’s the best.” Carl drove fast through the deserted industrial area toward the highway. “And if I ever marry, it will be someone like his Paula. Body and soul, that woman is perfect. Delicious!”
*
A map of the neighborhood was pinned to the wall, and within it, an area was marked with a red border that started and ended at the gate on Shivtay Israel Street. “This is our area of activity.” Gideon tapped the map with his pointer. “The vehicles will drop us at the gate. We’ll have sixty seconds to run up the alley to their synagogue. We must place a tight ring around the building before they notice what’s happening. Neturay Karta is a fundamentalist sect, and the men are accustomed to evading police during demonstrations. We don’t want them running out of the synagogue and alerting other neighborhoods. Surprise and speed are the keys to our success today.”
The briefing room at the Jerusalem central police station was almost full. In addition to Agent Cohen’s four subordinates, there were forty police officers and two medics.
“Our intelligence,” Gideon continued, “indicates that all the members of Neturay Karta attend Sabbath morning services, including women and children. This is our only chance. A door-to-door search would incite a full-scale riot here, possibly spreading to the rest of the city.” He tapped on the enlarged photos beside the map, showing Spinoza and Itah Orr. “Former TV reporter Itah Orr, accused of banking fraud and identity theft. The man with her uses the name Baruch Spinoza, but is also known as Wilhelm Horch, a Swiss national. He’s probably dressed as an ultra-Orthodox man. Study his face in the flyer you’re about to receive. Be alert and careful. He’s a professional assassin.”
Each of them had been given a printout of a photo from Hadassah Hospital’s security cameras, which had captured Spinoza’s bearded face as he had entered the hospital on Friday with the other Neturay Karta men.
“The plan is simple,” Gideon continued. “We’ll enter through the main synagogue doors and run up the side walls to surround the congregation. Two of you will go upstairs to the women’s section.” He selected them with his pointer. “As soon as we surround the crowd, I will explain to them that we have no hostile intentions other than to apprehend the two criminals. At this point, either they’ll hand the suspects over to us or we’ll search the rows in the prayer hall and in the upstairs mezzanine until we find them. Questions?”
One of the police officers raised his hand. “What are the engagement rules? Should we have guns at the ready, or keep them holstered?”
“Holstered,” Gideon said. “We won’t give him a reason to shoot. He’s a professional, not a fanatic. He doesn’t want to die. As soon as he realizes he’s trapped by an overwhelming force, he’ll surrender.”
“What about the rest of them. How can we defend against them?”
“Are you afraid of a bunch of Talmudic scholars? The worst they can do is spit on you. Do you carry a handkerchief?”
Everybody laughed, and another officer asked, “What if the two suspects aren’t in the synagogue?”
“ They’ve taken cover inside a sect with strict rules of behavior, which include mandatory attendance at Sabbath morning prayers. We expect them to adhere to their hosts’ customs in order to blend in.”
“That’s correct.” Agent Cohen stepped forward. “However, we have identified Rabbi Mashash’s apartment as an alternative hideout. My team will raid it. We’re experienced in urban warfare from our work in the West Bank and Gaza. If the suspects are hiding there, I’m confident we can apprehend them easily. Or eliminate them.”
*
An hour into the service, the Torah scroll was carried up to the dais and rolled open on the table for the reading of the weekly chapter. The men stood in honor of the sacred scroll. They all wore striped prayer shawls draped over their heads and shoulders, providing each man with spiritual privacy.
The reading was divided into seven portions, and one man was honored to come up to the dais and make a blessing over each portion. Lemmy followed the verses, his finger proceeding under the Hebrew words in his book as Cantor Toiterlich read them from the scroll on the dais. The familiar ritual calmed him, taking away the worries that had plowed his mind all night. He felt at home, yet this wasn’t home. Zurich was home, Paula and Klaus Junior were home, and the coming baby was home.
An hour later, for the last portion, Rabbi Benjamin Mashash announced, “Ascend and rise for the seventh Aliya, our guest, who took the name Baruch.”
A murmur passed through the congregants. Normally a person was called up to the Torah by his first name and his father’s name. Lemmy hesitated. Everyone in this hall, except Benjamin, knew that Rabbi Gers
ter’s only son, Jerusalem, had been dead for almost three decades. What if someone recognized him?
Benjamin beckoned him to the dais.
Raising his prayer shawl to cover his head and most of his face, Lemmy paced up the aisle and onto the dais. Cantor Toiterlich, Sorkeh’s elderly father, used the silver pointer to mark the spot on the parchment. Lemmy placed the corner of the prayer shawl on the words and kissed it. His face hidden by the edge of the shawl, he bent over the scroll and recited. “ Blessed be He, Master of the Universe, who chose us from all the nations and gave us his Torah. ”
As Cantor Toiterlich bent over the parchment to read the quill-scribed ancient words, a loud bang sounded in the back of the synagogue.
Lemmy turned to see a group of police officers burst in, spreading left and right and along the side walls. The last to enter was Elie’s young, curly-haired agent from the Galeries Lafayette, whom Lemmy had knocked out cold at Hadassah Hospital yesterday.
*
Gideon was pleased. The operation has commenced smoothly. While Agent Cohen and his Shin Bet team headed to the rabbi’s apartment, he led the police team to take control of the synagogue. As expected, it was filled with men and boys, while the women of Neturay Karta gazed down from the mezzanine in rapt silence.
“Good Sabbath!” Mounting the dais, Gideon held up his laminated ID. “This is an official search by the police and the security services of the State of Israel. Stay where you are and nothing will happen to you!”
“And Good Sabbath to you.” Rabbi Benjamin Mashash smiled. “Nice to see you again. Would you like to join us for the reading of the Torah?”
Gideon stood among the handful of men on the dais, all draped in their prayer shawls. “I apologize for this interruption,” he said. “You should be able to continue with the service as soon as we complete our business here.”
“God will be pleased,” Rabbi Mashash said.
“Could you instruct your people to cooperate with us?”
The rabbi gestured at the police officers along the walls. “Do we have a choice?”
“Exactly.” Gideon pulled a copy of the flyer. “We are searching for this man, who uses the name Baruch Spinoza.”
The name provoked angry muttering. The excommunicated philosopher, though long dead, was not a popular figure among ultra-Orthodox Jews.
The elderly cantor started saying something, but the rabbi interrupted him. “If we had such a troublesome Jew among us, we would have excommunicated him right away.”
The congregation exploded in laughter.
Gideon put his lips to the rabbi’s ear. “Your actions yesterday at Hadassah suffice to justify your arrest as well. Cooperate, or else!”
Rabbi Benjamin Mashash turned to his men and spoke in a sonorous voice that reached every corner of the large hall. “Our sages said that the laws of the land should be respected, even when they contradict the laws of Talmud.”
Gideon breathed in relief.
“It follows, therefore, that the lawmen of the Zionist government, who have just interrupted our Torah reading, should be respected.” The rabbi pulled off his prayer shawl. “Respect means forgiveness, which we will express by including them in our prayers.”
“Thank you.” Gideon turned to glance at the front section of the synagogue, making sure the officers guarded the front rows.
“To be thus included,” the rabbi said, “a Jew must drape himself in holiness, like this.” He tossed his prayer shawl in the air, holding on to one end, and shook it as a maid would shake linen over a bed in order to expand it to its full size. He swiveled sideways, forming an overhead canopy, which softly descended onto Gideon, engulfing him completely.
*
When Benjamin covered him with the prayer shawl, the young agent uttered a muffled shout and tried to free himself. Lemmy pulled off his own prayer shawl and wrapped it over him as well. Cantor Toiterlich, with impressive swiftness for his age, did the same, and the agent’s struggle turned helpless. The cantor laughed, but when his eyes landed on Lemmy, he froze, his mouth agape.
“ It’s a long story.” Lemmy gave him a quick hug. “Benjamin will explain later.”
The hall turned into a madhouse. The men followed their rabbi’s example and shrouded each of the policemen in prayer shawls. Soon Neturay Karta’s frail scholars were doubled over in laughter while all the policemen were struggling to find their way out of multiple layers of striped cloth.
“Thank you,” Lemmy kissed Benjamin’s cheek and ran off. “I’ll be back one day!”
“God bless,” Benjamin yelled after him.
Itah was already in the foyer, her headdress loose, her sleeve torn from the wrist up to the armpit. “Don’t ask,” she said as they ran out. “We didn’t have prayer shawls upstairs, but there were only two of them.”
They reached the gate, which was blocked by several police vans and a few white Subaru sedans, one with a half-open window. Lemmy reached inside and opened the door. It took him thirty seconds to rip off several plastic pieces from under the steering column, strip a few wires, and start the car.
“ I’m impressed.” Itah held on as he made a sharp turn. “They teach hotwiring in Swiss banking school?”
“ I just finished re-wiring an old Citroen. They’re all the same, basically.”
“ And your buddy Benjamin-he’s something else! That agent didn’t know what hit him!”
“My clever, wonderful Benjamin.” Lemmy changed gears. “It’s like we’re teenagers again.”
*
What struck Gideon more than anything else during the few minutes of his confinement was that no one tried to hit him or push him off the dais or hurt him in any way. On the contrary, when he stumbled after failing to free himself, the ultra-Orthodox men pulled off the prayer shawls, helped him sit on a bench, and served him with sweet wine in a plastic cup. Similar scenes took place around the synagogue, where the frazzled police officers, their hair messed up, their faces red, were nevertheless smiling as the men catered to them with wine and good cheer.
Rabbi Benjamin Mashash was gone, and suddenly Gideon remembered that Agent Cohen was about to raid the rabbi’s apartment. Was Spinoza hiding there? Gideon ran out and headed down one of the alleys, trying to recall the map he had pinned to the briefing room wall. He took the turns from memory, catching up with the rabbi, who was older and in the physical shape of one who spends his days studying.
“He’s not there.” The rabbi panted badly. “Only my son…ill…stayed home.”
Gideon sped up. “I’ll stop them,” he yelled over his shoulder. But he knew he was too late.
*
“ Slow down,” Itah said. “Nobody is chasing us.”
“Are you sure?” Lemmy opened the storage bin between the seats, finding a bottle of water and loose change. There were two sets of communication devices-a CB radio and another unit he wasn’t familiar with. He made sure both were turned off. “Search the glove compartment.”
She did. “Registration papers and manuals. A pen.”
“What kind?”
“The pen? Ballpoint.”
“Good.” He took it and stuck in his shirt pocket. “Where are we?”
“The French Hill neighborhood. It was built after the Six Day War.”
“That’s why I don’t recognize it.” Lemmy stopped on the side of the road. “We need to figure out what’s going on.”
“The raid?” Itah unscrewed the cap from the water bottle. “I thought they’d wait for you outside the neighborhood, but obviously they’re impatient.”
“ Why? How can I hurt Rabin if I’m holed up in Meah Shearim?” Lemmy took the bottle from her and took a sip. “Maybe they’re worried about something else.”
“ Other than Rabin’s safety?”
“ Elie would know. I should have squeezed him harder.”
“ There’s someone else you could squeeze.” Itah found a roadmap folded between the seats and spread it open.
“Who?”
“Freckles.” Her finger traced a road on the map. “He’s the only agent serving both SOD and Shin Bet.”
“ He’s a low-level provocateur. Why would they tell him?”
“ Freckles doesn’t need to be told. He’s a born sniffer. He would know.” She tapped the map. “The settlement of Tapuach. That’s where he lives.”
“ In the West Bank?”
“ No. In Switzerland.” Itah laughed. “You’ve never been to a settlement, have you?”
“ I left Israel one day before the IDF captured the West Bank. Other than my radar sabotage foray into East Jerusalem and a recent visit to the Wailing Wall, I’ve never been across the sixty-seven border.”
“ How bizarre. Our worst political problems in the past decades-the vicious rift between left and right, the loss of international support, and the Intifada-all came after the Six Day War.” Itah punched his arm. “If not for your pyrotechnics at Government House, Israel’s first strike would have failed. Even if we had somehow survived the Arabs’ overwhelming forces, we would have never captured the West Bank. If not for you, the Middle East would have gone in a different direction.”
“ You blame me?” Lemmy merged back into traffic, speeding up. “Don’t you believe in God?”
*
Smoke petered out of the windows on the second floor of the apartment building. Gideon ran up the stairs. The door was broken, hanging from a single remaining brass hinge. He yelled, “Abort! Abort!”
“ Stay back!” Agent Cohen’s voice was muted by the gas mask. “We got Spinoza!”
The teargas had immediate effect on Gideon. His eyes watered and his nose began to burn. The apartment was wrecked, with bullet holes and broken furniture. “Abort, I said!”
Agent Cohen was crouching in the hallway. “He’s cornered!”
“ It’s not him!”
Down the hallway, the nurse lifted her leg to kick in a door to one of the bedrooms, while another agent stood with his back against the wall, gun ready.
The Jerusalem Assassin Page 41
