The film was taken at night with poor lighting. A handful of young men, faces masked with bandanas, held pistols and copies of the Bible. They recited an oath: “I hereby join the ranks of the Organization of Torah Warriors. I swear, by all that’s dear to me, and by the honor of the Jewish People, that I will fight against the evil government until my last breath.”
The leader, a stocky figure who wore a large knitted skullcap, declared behind his mask, “The only law is the law of God and His Torah! No more Oslo Accords! No more sinful land-concessions! No more treason!”
Rabbi Gerster recognized the voice. It was the freckled, twenty-something stout man who had led the demonstration in front of Rabin’s residence and had furtively returned Elie Weiss’s greeting.
The camera zoomed in on one of them. Short, with a thin, boyish voice, his eyes peeked out through crude holes in the black fabric, blinking nervously.
The group sang Hatikvah in voices so off the mark that it bore little resemblance to the national anthem.
At the end, the leader raised a fist and declared, “We are the warriors of Torah! We will enforce the law of Rodef! Death to the pursuers of Jews! Death to the traitors!”
*
Monday, October 16, 1995
The first business day of the week was always busy at the Hoffgeitz Bank, as clients sent in transaction instructions after a weekend of deal making. This Monday was no exception. Lemmy lingered in the trading room, which the account managers shared. Phones rang, telex printers buzzed, and fax machines hummed. He stopped to greet each man. They ranged in age from forty to seventy, and he inquired about their children, wives, or an ailing parent. He had worked for years to earn their respect and loyalty, making sure none of them begrudged his early seniority. They knew it had not been only marital patronage that had propelled him upward in the bank. He had a gift for cultivating foreign clients whose cultures were vastly different from the Swiss. Oil-rich Arabs and African strongmen needed a safe place for their money, away from the political instability of their region, and they expected a level of personal service that few bankers in Zurich were capable of providing. Herr Wilhelm Horch often visited Saudi Arabia, Kuwait, and the Gulf states to spend leisure time with his clients. He marveled at their oasis compounds, rode their camels, and raced their Ferraris. And they trusted him with their money and secrets.
Christopher was at his desk outside Lemmy’s office. “Good morning, Herr Horch!”
“ And to you. Any news?”
“ Prince Abusalim’s account just received a deposit of two-and-a-half million dollars from the Wall Street branch of Citibank.”
“Nice. Total account balance?”
“Almost seventy-seven million U.S. dollars.” Christopher followed him into his office. “All from undisclosed depositors.”
“ He needs money, but receives none from his father.” During a visit to their desert oasis, Lemmy had met Sheik Da’ood Ibn Hisham az-Zubayr, a cousin of King Fahd. The sheik was a powerful tribal leader, who earned fat commissions on food and equipment purchases for the kingdom. His son, Prince Abusalim az-Zubayr, at thirty-eight was continuously travelling around the world to close huge deals, but his only personal asset was the secret account at the Hoffgeitz Bank.
“ What about the prince’s own family?”
“ His two wives and nine children live with the rest of the extended family back in Saudi Arabia. When I first met Prince Abusalim last year, I told him that a man without money is a man without power, and hidden money is hidden power, which is tenfold mightier.” Lemmy pointed downward in the direction of the bank’s subterranean vaults. “And I told him that, when it comes to secret money, Zurich is the Haram El-Sharif.”
“ The what? ”
Lemmy pulled a book from a shelf above his desk. He opened it to a page flagged with a blue sticker and showed Christopher a full-page photograph of a walled city crowned by two domes-one silver, one gold.
“ That’s Jerusalem.” Christopher pointed to the golden dome. “I was a volunteer at a kibbutz once, and they took us to all the tourist attractions.”
“Really?” Lemmy was alarmed. His assistant had never mentioned it before. “What made you go to Israel, of all places?”
“You know,” Christopher blushed, “I was a bit rebellious, wanted to piss off my parents. They were old-fashioned Germans, hated Jews, so that’s why I went there.”
Lemmy examined his assistant’s face, but saw no signs of deceit.
“ Didn’t Mohammed ascend to heaven from this location?”
“ For us Christians, it’s the biblical holy temple of the ancient Israelites, where Elijah’s carriage took off in an explosion of fire and smoke.” Lemmy returned the book to the shelf. “A smart banker can benefit from studying clients’ faiths, notwithstanding your personal religion, because there’s always a business opportunity when a rich man’s mind is possessed by spiritual beliefs that cloud his logic and reason.”
Christopher laughed.
“ According to my research, the az-Zubayr tribe has a historic aspiration to rule Haram El-Sharif. Just like the Saudi clan is the Kharass al-Hameini, Guardians of Mecca, the tribe of az-Zubayr claims to be the Kharass El-Sharif, Guardians of the Dome of the Rock.”
“ Isn’t Jerusalem the capital of Israel?”
“The Israelis unified Jerusalem during the Six Day War, but they gave control of Temple Mount to the Muslim Wakf, which is an independent religious council of mullahs. Later, King Hussein of Jordan was pressured by the PLO to give up his rights in the West Bank and Jerusalem. Now Arafat is getting ready to negotiate the final phase of the Oslo Accords, hoping to obtain East Jerusalem as capital of Palestine. But other powers are at play.”
“The prince?”
“Correct. Even though his father has pledged loyalty to the Saudis, Prince Abusalim harbors ambitions to recover the status of Kharass El-Sharif. He must choose who to support-Arafat and the Oslo peace process or the militants committed to destroying Israel.”
“ How would he choose?”
“ Arafat is already getting billions from the Europeans and Americans. His opponents, on the other hand, need money for their anti-Oslo jihad. Prince Abusalim can make a deal with them. When Israel is gone, they’ll anoint him Kharass El-Sharif, Guardian of the Dome of the Rock, restoring the hereditary birthright for the tribe of az-Zubayr.”
“Sounds like a dangerous fantasy.”
“ Clients’ fantasies are a major force in the banking business. What is wealth but a fantasy?” Lemmy sat back in his chair. “He has gotten several deposits through Citibank in New York, right?”
“Yes.”
“Does he maintain an account there?”
“No. It’s a conduit.”
“But Citibank knows where each deposit came from, correct?”
Christopher nodded.
“Will they tell us?”
“Not directly, but when I worked in New York, I noticed a weakness in the system.” Christopher took a piece of paper and scribbled a diagram. “Citibank sent us electronic funds for Prince Abusalim’s account. If we reject the transfer, it would bounce back to Citibank, which in turn would bounce it back to the original bank, which would issue an electronic receipt for the returned funds. Usually the acknowledgment bears the account’s information.”
“ So if we ask on behalf of the client that Citibank provides a copy of the acknowledgment, we’ll see the source of the money?” Lemmy thought for a moment. “Let’s do a partial rejection, a hundred dollars from each deposit, and see what comes back.”
Christopher hesitated. “Without client authorization?”
“It’s in the prince’s interest that we know his affairs, even if he doesn’t realize it.”
“Still early in New York City. We could get a confirmation today, unless they smell a rotten fish and call the prince directly.”
“ It’s a risk I’m willing to take.” Lemmy watched Christopher reach the door. “By the way, which kibbutz?”
“ Excuse me?”
“ That summer you spent in Israel, which kibbutz was it?”
“ Oh, it was in the north, near the Lebanese border.” He hesitated. “I’m not sure about the name.”