*
Tuesday, October 17, 1995
Across Paris, at his clinic near Gare du Nord, Dr. Rene Geloux moved his stethoscope on Elie’s bony back. He listened to the crackling sounds that accompanied the movement of air while his eyes glanced at the x-ray prints on the illuminated board.
“So,” Elie said, “am I still alive?”
“You may put on your shirt, Monsieur Weiss.” Dr. Geloux was even older than his patient, but long summer weekends at his estate south of Paris had kept him slim and tanned. “Your emphysema is getting worse, and there might be something worse going on. You need to carry oxygen, that’s for sure. I’ll prescribe it.”
“ I can’t walk around with a tank.” Elie pulled on his shirt. “And other than my father, whose life was cut short by the Nazis, the men in my family always lived to a hundred.”
“ Did they smoke for fifty years?”
Elie shrugged.
“ You need a breathing test and a specialist to take a look inside your airways with a bronchoscope. How’s tomorrow?”
“I’m busy.” Elie buttoned his shirt. “Give me something for the pain.”
“ That’s not a solution. Low oxygenation, combined with excessive exertion, could be fatal.”
“We’re old pals, the grim reaper and I.” Elie’s laughter was dry, scratchy. He grabbed the physician’s hand. “Come on, I have a job to do.”
“Don’t tell me about your jobs. I’ve taken the Hippocratic Oath. And you should be in a hospital!”
“Not yet.” Elie coughed into a tissue. “This is a crucial time. Important things are happening, long-term efforts finally coming together. But in a few weeks I expect to relocate back to Jerusalem. The doctors at Hadassah will fix me.”
“They might need to give you new lungs.” The old physician took a small bottle from the glass cabinet. “One tablet every three hours. It’ll take the edge off the pain.”
They walked through the empty waiting room and down the hallway, which was lined with books on glass-fronted shelves. Dr. Geloux handed Elie his coat and unlocked the door.
Two-thirds of the way up the doorjamb, nailed to the wood, was a silver tube shaped as a thick cigar. Rolled inside was a parchment bearing Hebrew letters that a righteous scribe had inked with a quill. Dr. Geloux took Elie’s hand and made him touch the mezuzah. “You need all the help you can get, my friend.”
Indulging his old doctor, Elie kissed his fingers. He crossed the sidewalk and got into a waiting taxi. “To the airport,” he told the driver. “Departures terminal. Swissair.”
*
“ Christopher?” Lemmy held down the intercom button. On the computer screen, the video feed from a hidden camera showed his assistant swivel in his chair toward his desk.
“Yes, Herr Horch?”
“I just filled out a withdrawal order for one of my clients-Rupert Danzig. You’ll see it on your screen in a moment. Kindly draw up a cashier check for seventy-five thousand U.S. dollars for him.”
On the screen, Christopher’s face seemed tense as he leaned over the phone, speaking directly into the microphone. “Will Herr Danzig come here in person?”
“ No. I’ll deliver the check personally over lunch.”
“ Should I draw it to the order of Herr Danzig or To Bearer without a name?”
“Make it To Bearer. He can endorse it to himself if he so chooses.”
*
Gideon sat on the wide windowsill and marked an orange with a knife. Halfway through peeling it, he noticed a woman cross the street three floors below and approach the building. Her hair was pulled up in a bun, dark against her pale face. She wore a heavy coat over plain winter boots and seemed like any other petite Parisian woman returning home from work, elegant in a subdued, graceful style. But Gideon saw the slight twist of her head, left and right, as her eyes quickly scanned Rue Buffault up and down before she pulled open the heavy door at number 34. Her escorts were even less obvious-a delivery guy on a scooter, pretending to tinker with the motor, and a woman in a pay phone booth at the corner.
He went to the hallway, unlocked the front door, and opened it. He could hear her coming up the steps.
“ Good morning, Gidi’leh.”
“ Shalom, Tanya.” He shut the door behind her. “Elie didn’t say you were coming.”
“How would he know? I’m a spy, remember?” She pinched his cheek. “Your mother sends her love. We met for coffee last week.”
The half-peeled orange slipped out of his hand and fell to the floor. Gideon picked it up and brushed off the specks of dirt. “How is she?”
“ How should she be, with her only son throwing away his life?” Tanya Galinski, whom he had known since childhood as his mom’s elusive friend, now ran the Europe desk at Mossad. She controlled a network of agents and informants, spoke several languages with a variety of regional accents, and had developed a thorough understanding of the EU’s economic and political life. But she still treated him as a kid. “Hasn’t your mother suffered enough?”
A guilt trip, all over again. “Please, I’ve heard it a thousand times.”
“ Hearing isn’t the same as listening.” Tanya passed by the window and gestured subtly with her hand, signaling her escorts. “Your mother is a widow without a grave to visit, only a medal in the drawer. If you die like your father, she won’t survive it.”
“ Is this the reason you blocked my application to Mossad?”
In the cluttered room, Tanya looked for a place to sit, changed her mind, and remained standing. “The rules exclude children of bereaved families from serving. No exceptions.”
“ Punishing me because my father got himself caught?”
“ Shush!” Her porcelain-like face reddened. “Your father took the worst personal risk in order to defend Israel from its greatest national threat.”
Gideon knew the basic facts: Over two decades ago, the KGB had caught his father taking photographs inside a nuclear installation near Leningrad. That night he banged his head on the floor repeatedly until he fell unconscious. He died of a brain hemorrhage before the Soviets managed to interrogate him. Israel couldn’t even ask for his body-the KGB was convinced he was a West German agent. His corpse was buried behind the Lubyanka prison.
Tanya sighed. “Why don’t you go back home, Gidi’leh? Working for Elie Weiss is a dead end. The Special Operations Department is a one-man show. Once he’s gone, it’s the end.”
“ What do you know about SOD?”
“ Who’s going to take over?”
“ I’m sure Elie has designated a successor.”
“ Has he ever spoken with you about his other agents? His finances? Any operations beside what you’re involved in?”
“ No, but that doesn’t mean-”
“ Elie Weiss is finished. Mossad will no longer allow him to operate. We’ve made it clear to the top authority in Jerusalem.”
Gideon was shocked. “Mossad is challenging SOD? What’s next? You’ll challenge Shin Bet?”
“ That’s ridiculous. Shin Bet and Mossad are the two spy agencies set up by Israeli law-for domestic and overseas operations respectively. Elie Weiss created SOD without legal authority.”
“ And you guys do everything according to the law?”
Tanya shrugged.
“ Elie doesn’t need your permission to operate. He has direct authority from Rabin and independent financial resources!”
“ Those funds belong to the State of Israel, and by law only Mossad may conduct clandestine operations abroad. We’re determined to enforce this principle.”
“ Don’t you think Elie has prepared for such confrontation? You, of all people, know how dangerous he is.”
Tanya took off her coat. “I’ve told you too much already. For your mother’s sake, leave now. Go back to the university, find a lovely Israeli girl, get married-”
“ You never married.”
“ How can you compare? I’m a member of the Holocaust generation. We survived to do a job, not to pursue personal happiness. It’s a totally different situation with us.”
“ Why? You were young when the Germans lost the war. Couldn’t you fall in love?”