by By Jon Land
“Leave us,” the woman ordered the four men at their posts.
The men hesitated, as if not used to hearing such an order.
“Now,” the woman said, with added emphasis in her voice.
The men reluctantly obliged, the last one out closing the door behind him.
“Chief Inspector Danielle Barnea of Israel’s National Police,” the woman announced, after the latch rattled shut. She had stopped at the very edge of the carpet on which Danielle was standing. “Currently under suspension for gross insubordination. Not expected to return. A pity, given your stellar career and background.”
“I suppose I should say thank you.”
“Do you know who we are, Chief Inspector?”
“Not a clue.”
“I’m disappointed. I thought your conversation with Gunthar Weiss would have given it away.”
“It didn’t help.”
“Have you ever heard of the Gatekeepers, Chief Inspector?”
Danielle hedged, feeling suddenly cold. “Yes.”
“My question surprises you?”
“Because the Gatekeepers don’t exist anymore.”
The woman bristled at her comment. “And when they did?”
“A group of Germans who dedicated themselves after World War Two to tracking down and ferreting out Nazis living under aliases around the world. They worked closely with the Israelis, often behind the scenes.”
“My name is Anna Krieger, Chief Inspector Barnea. My parents founded the Gatekeepers. My mother’s father was in charge of military ordnance for the Nazis. My father’s brother was a guard in Auschwitz. Their one desire after the war was to atone.”
“And they did—exceedingly well, by all accounts—until their services were no longer required.”
“The death of my parents did not leave the world free of Nazi war criminals, Chief Inspector. But their deaths made those remaining criminals feel safe ... until I took it upon myself to reestablish the Gatekeepers; guardians committed to assuring Germany does not repeat her mistakes of the past at the same time she atones for them. All of us are relatives, sometimes even the children, of Nazi war criminals. Some of these Nazis you would have heard of; others you would not.” The woman spoke emotionlessly, her words sounding almost rehearsed. “And some of these escaped punishment and remained free. Most were very young men during the war and some are left alone after careful investigations of their pasts. Others are too old and infirm to bother with anymore.”
“My father survived Dachau,” Danielle said, raising the issue that had brought her to Germany in the first place.
“Did he? Are you sure of that?”
“What are you talking about?” Danielle flared back at her in anger.
“Of course, you are sure.”
The indifferent way the woman named Anna said that knotted Danielle’s stomach. She made herself remain calm, determined to seek out the truth that had sent her to Germany. “What do you know about my father?”
“That is what you have come all this way to learn, isn’t it?”
Danielle pulled herself back, trying not to appear too eager. “I came here on the trail of the murderers of three old men in Israel.”
“Holocaust survivors.”
“Yes.”
“And this trail took you to Gunthar Weiss.”
“Where your people found me.”
“Then you came to Germany for nothing.”
Something in Anna’s voice, and her eyes, left Danielle unsettled. Gnawing at her in a place she couldn’t identify.
“You need an army to hunt down a few remaining old men?”
Anna shook her head. “We need that army to keep the mistakes of the past from repeating themselves. The rise of neo-Nazi movements throughout Europe for years now has been as staggering as it is frightening. We infiltrate these groups and mark those deemed most dangerous.”
“You’re murderers—that’s what you’re telling me,” said Danielle.
“Saviors is the way we prefer to regard it,” Anna Krieger said, and brushed a hand across the left side of her face.
“So why bother with me?”
“Your conversation with Herr Weiss, Haupsturmfuehrer of the largest of the three labor camps outside of Lodz, was taped. We need to know exactly what led you to him, how you came by what you learned.”
“I haven’t learned anything! I came to Weiss for information, but he told me nothing. If you taped our conversation, you know that.”
“You asked him about Paul Hessler and Karl Mundt.”
“I asked him about Hessler. He brought up Mundt.”
“You had never heard of Karl Mundt before?” Anna Krieger asked her.
“No.”
“And your interest in Paul Hessler, this came about from the case involving his son’s murder you were briefly assigned to. Am I right?”
“At first, yes.”
“And then you became aware of these other murders you mentioned that seemed to be linked to the attempt on Paul Hessler’s life and linked to your father as well.”
“What do you know about my father?”
“The connection between him and the three apparent Holocaust survivors who were murdered.”
“Apparent,” Danielle echoed. Anger surged through her, held back only by an increasing level of uncertainty. “Tell me what you mean!”
A new expression flickered on Anna’s face, still partly hidden in the shadows to which she clung. “On the table to your right, there is a picture. Please pick it up.”
Danielle stepped to the edge of the rug and saw lying on a small side table a black and white eight-by-ten photograph of a ragged, hard face framed by a mass of thick hair that belied the man’s age.
“Do you know this man, Chief Inspector?”
“Never saw him before in my life.”
“Then you have never heard of Hans Mundt?”
“I thought Weiss said his name was Karl.”
“It was: Karl is Hans’s father. Hans is the man in the picture. He learned his trade years ago with Stasi, the East German secret police. Hans Mundt is the man who provided the names of the three men who were murdered in Israel three days ago, along with a number of other names.”
“My father’s?’
“Your father’s already dead. There would have been no point.”
“Why? Why did Mundt want those three men killed and why should you care?”
“Because they were Nazis, Chief Inspector.”
* * * *
CHAPTER 62
B
en left the school, expecting that Jane Wexler would leave very soon after his departure.
Driving his ancient green Peugeot back into the West Bank, he considered the results of the computer’s cross match between companies e-mailed through the school and companies serviced by Abasca Machines. There had been four matches. Not one, but four. This hadn’t been a simple one-shot exercise that had ended tragically for the murdered students, no game gone wrong. And, if the targets chosen were any indication, they were after big money. Who knew how much had been wired into accounts the students would have opened electronically and then drained as soon as the deposits were made? The money Danielle found beneath Michael Saltzman’s bed, extorted by Jane Wexler, was likely only a small portion of what the scheme had brought them.
That’s where the students had made their greatest mistake. Beth Jacober must have withdrawn the cash to pay off Jane Wexler from the account they had opened electronically. Only someone was watching. Such large withdrawals of cash, extremely easy to keep track of, would have alerted the killers. And when they checked out Beth Jacober they must have realized they had found at least one of their blackmailers.
Ben recalled the discrepancy Danielle had turned up between the time the girl had left her friend’s birthday party and the time the alleged accident had occurred. More than enough time for the killers to question her about the identities of her accomplices. Drags or torture—such a young girl would h
ave quickly submitted to either. That would have given the killers the names of all four students, five including Zeina Ashawi, and explained why Beth had been the first to die.
Jane Wexler’s extortion had caused it all, forced the students to expose themselves. If not for her, he was convinced, they would still be alive today.
Ben considered returning to the school now and arresting Jane Wexler himself. While she had caused the students’ deaths, though, she hadn’t been the one who killed them, and Ben reviewed the list of possible suspects once again.
All of their targets were well-known firms and businesses, one of which stood out for its size and power: Hessler Industries.
The link with Danielle’s pursuits was unavoidable, too much so to be considered coincidence. Where, though, could the connection possibly lie?
Ben tried to plan his next step. He had the names of four companies, serviced by Abasca Machines, that he felt certain were the ones the murdered students had contacted. There was a law firm, a Palestinian investment consortium, a brokerage house, and, finally, Hessler Industries’ corporate offices in Tel Aviv.
Ben had to work out some way to gain access to the companies on the list, but the task seemed futile. Even though they were all suspects, he lacked the evidence he needed to launch an official investigation. And none of the companies would cooperate willingly, since that would indicate they had acceded to extortion demands. Whatever the high school students had uncovered was undoubtedly so sensitive their blackmail victims would still go to extremes to protect it.
Four companies; three in Israel and one in the West Bank. He needed to find out which one was behind the deaths of four children. That meant confronting them with what he knew and bluffing them with what he didn’t.
Starting in the West Bank.
He would begin with a Palestinian business consortium that might have some reason to fear him, while the others had none.
* * * *
CHAPTER 63
I
t took several moments for Anna’s words to sink in.
War criminals! The old men who were murdered, including the army’s deputy chief of staff, had been Nazi war criminals!
What about her father? Danielle wondered. How could he possibly be included on such a list?
“We have learned that some months ago Mundt interrogated a dying German,” Anna continued. “We believe this German gave Mundt the names of ex-Nazis still living, incredibly, as Jews in Israel.”
“You believe there could be more than three.”
“I fear that, yes.”
“And that my father might have been one of them.”
“We’re not sure. I can only tell you he certainly fit the profile.”
“Profile?”
Anna raised her eyebrows. “What better guise for a former Nazi than that of a Jew, especially a refugee and concentration camp survivor?”
“You’re saying this was widespread?”
“We don’t know. The problem is we’re not talking about an organized network here or an organized plot. Taking on the identities of Jewish prisoners was carried out on an individual basis by soldiers or guards who were usually of relatively low rank. It wasn’t hard—-so many of their victims were alone, the remainder of their families wiped out. Disguising themselves as Jewish refugees was a perfect fit for Nazi soldiers who wished to avoid prosecution.”
Danielle swallowed hard. “Tell me what you know about my father.”
“I already have.”
“Nothing! You said nothing!”
“There’s your answer.”
Danielle pushed her words through the lump in her throat. “A few years before he died, before a stroke incapacitated him for good, a sniper put a bullet in my father’s head. He was never the same.”
“The shooter was not ours, Chief Inspector. But that doesn’t mean such an action wasn’t considered. In his case there were too many ... irregularities.”
“Like what?” Danielle asked, the words feeling like nails as they emerged.
“The money, for instance.”
Danielle could feel heat building behind her cheeks. “What money?”
“Over a million dollars deposited to an account in his name in the United States.”
“He never even lived to enjoy his pension, for God’s sake!”
“No, he didn’t. But such a large sum, hidden away, is one of the flags that has alerted us over the years to possible targets.”
“I never knew anything about this money.”
“Another flag. Targets often keep their stashes secret from even their children. To avoid unwanted questions, of course.”
“Stop calling my father a target.”
“As I said, we lacked sufficient evidence.”
“But you didn’t clear him.”
“Nor did we kill him, Chief Inspector.”
“Why? Because he was lying in a hospital? Or was he already dead by the time you made your decision?”
Anna looked unmoved by Danielle’s accusation. “Finding Hans Mundt is our concern now.”
“Why?”
“Because he has some ... information that we seek. Information we hoped he might have shared with you.”
“I’ve never even heard of him before now.”
“That’s too bad. For you and the future. We will atone for the acts of our fathers and grandfathers. It will never happen again. Not here or anywhere else. Not so long as we stand as keepers of the gate.”
Danielle shook her head disparagingly. “The world has caught up with you, Anna. Your targets, these neo-Nazi leaders, are pariahs. It’s all self-justification now. You’ve wiped out all your old enemies so you’ve got to come up with new ones to perpetuate your own existence.”
“You think that’s all there is to it?”
“That’s exactly what I think.”
“You’re wrong,” Anna said, and stepped into the light, removing the wig that covered her scalp.
Danielle gasped. The right side of her face all the way to her ear was covered in scar tissue. The mottled flesh curled around her exposed dome. Anna turned slightly and Danielle could see the other side of her scalp was smooth, shaved clean to allow a neat fit for her wig and slightly darker than the pale, thick makeup with which she had covered her entire face.
“My parents made their share of enemies in their work, Chief Inspector,” Anna explained calmly, holding the wig by her side. “Odessa, the organization charged with resettling escaped Nazis, was foremost among them. One night they blew up our house. They found me on the lawn with half my face on fire. I was rescued. My parents were not.”
“I’m sorry,” Danielle uttered.
“You don’t have to be. It is not for you that we do this. It is for Germany, and the legacy of our names.”
“I’m sorry I can’t help you find Mundt.”
“So am I.”
The menacing intent in the scarred woman’s voice was clear, and for some reason Danielle felt more angry than scared.
“This isn’t just about Mundt, is it?”
“It no longer matters.”
“You thought I had information about something else, someone else. Who? What is it that you’re really after here?”
“Can’t you figure it out for yourself?”
“No.”
“Mundt did. It’s behind everything he’s been doing in your country. But that doesn’t matter now, because we’re going to act with or without the proof that he’s found.”
“Proof of what?”
Before Anna could reply, the lights in the house died and all went black.
* * * *
CHAPTER 64
T
he door to the grand library burst open seconds later as the guards Anna had dismissed surged inside.
“Fraulein!” one called.
“Right here,” Anna managed to say before Danielle closed a hand around her throat.
Danielle’s plan was to use Anna as a hostage to gain safe passa
ge out of the house. To Danielle’s surprise, though, her hold didn’t last for long. She heard Anna’s dress tear as the taller woman twisted from her grasp.
