The lead article in The Economist, which he had brought with him, questioned the viability of the Swiss private banking industry should Switzerland join the European Community.
Two overflowing glasses of beer were passed down from the aisle, followed by two plates loaded with sausages and Apfelkochli -sugary apple slices, fried in cinnamon and butter. Lemmy winked at the waitress, nodded at his neighbors, and returned to The Economist.
Halfway through the meal, he heard coughing from across the table.
Elie Weiss blew his nose into a paper napkin, which he squeezed into a ball and put in his coat pocket. He kept his wool cap on.
Lemmy leaned forward and spoke German with minimal movement of his lips. “You look awful.”
“You, on the other hand, look prosperous,” Elie said. “How’s your father-in-law?”
“ Fine for eighty-four, but the next heart attack could be fatal.”
“ It’s about time. By the way, good tip about Damascus.” Elie held the beer glass with two hands and sipped.
“I saw the salacious photos in the papers. Quite a scene.”
“A public execution scares other Oslo opponents. Rabin hopes the benefits of peace will calm the Palestinian street.” Elie smirked. “And swords shall be forged into scythes.”
“ Ploughshares.”
“ Yes, those also.”
Lemmy glanced at their table mates, who were engaged in argument over a soccer game lost to a Spanish team the previous weekend.
“ What about the Koenig account?”
“ Gunter needed goading, but he’s cooperating now. In two or three weeks, all of the accounts will be on the system.”
“Finally. It’s been a long road.”
“ I’ll still need a password to take any action within the account itself.”
Elie nodded. “Letters and numbers. Something related to Tanya Galinski. That Nazi truly loved her. You can relate, yes?”
The comment needled Lemmy, even after all these years. “I’m not my father.”
“There’s no shame. She was irresistible.”
“ Is my father still alive?”
“ For you, he’s dead.” Elie’s lips twitched as if he tried to smile, but couldn’t. “Rabbi Abraham Gerster disavowed you, sat shivah after you, even though you were still alive, just because you decided to leave his holy sect. A real father wouldn’t do that. What do you care if he’s dead or alive?”
“ I cannot understand him, especially now that I have a son of my own. Nothing could make me stop loving Klaus Junior. It’s against nature-”
“ What’s not to understand? He’s a religious fanatic. And you denounced his God. For him, you died the day you chopped off your side locks and threw away your black hat. And your mother became a sinner when she killed herself. That man is nothing to you.”
“ Still, I can’t imagine anything that could cause me to disown my son.”
“ Don’t forget who you really are.” Elie was whispering, but the hoarseness in his voice gave it a tone of hushed rage. “That family of yours? Just part of the job!” He slipped a brown envelope across the table. “Your wife and son are Gentiles. Goyim! ”
“ That’s irrelevant-”
“ They’re your cover, nothing more!”
It was no longer the case, but neither was it something he could actually discuss with Elie-not at this time and place, anyway.
“ Our destiny,” Elie said, barely audible, “is about to arrive. Money and power to launch Counter Final Solution. ”
Lemmy nodded.
“ I’m banking on you!”
“ Of course.” Lemmy understood. It had been Elie’s lifelong project-to take possession of the enormous fortune SS Oberstgruppenfuhrer Klaus von Koenig had deposited with Armande Hoffgeitz fifty years ago and use it to finance a worldwide network of Jewish assassins who would eliminate every enemy of the Jewish people. “I’ll gain control over the account very soon. It’s a lot of money. Will you transfer it to Paris?”
Elie shook his head. “Up to you. You’ll be in charge.”
“ What do you mean?”
“ As my successor.”
“ Me?” Lemmy pushed aside the half-full plate and leaned forward over the table. “I’m a Swiss banker. I’ve never communicated with anyone but you. I don’t know anything!”
“ The information will be available to you when it’s time for a transition.”
“ Not interested. It’s too dangerous!”
Elie clacked his tongue.
“ My life is complicated as it is. You don’t know-”
“ I know more than you think.” A hint of a smile passed over Elie’s thin lips. “All in good time. Have a pleasant day, Herr Horch.”
Lemmy folded his coat over his arm and made his way to the aisle. Their table mates lifted their beers in greeting. Glancing back, he saw Elie examine the cover of The Economist, his thin body rocking back and forth as if in prayer.
*
In his alcove off the foyer of the synagogue, Rabbi Abraham Gerster took out the stapled booklet Itah Orr had given him and placed it on the small desk. ILOT – Member Manual – Top Secret. The second page carried typed text that resembled the oath recited at the swearing-in ceremony he had seen on TV. The third page had the Table of Contents:
1. Tight lips – how to keep your true identity secret from friend
2. False identity – how to select, maintain, and change your alias;
3. Passwords – how to create, obtain, and use them;
4. Comrades’ personal info – what you don’t know you can’t reveal;
5. Field security – how to detect and shake off a tail;
6. Surveillance – how to conduct basic tracking, scouting, and watching;
7. Sabotage – how to maximize damage while using everyday materials;
8. Street warfare – how to start a riot, trip law enforcement, and slip away;
9. First aid – how to treat for tear gas, baton strikes, horse kicks, and bullet wounds;
10. Light weapons – how to obtain a license, purchase, and maintain guns;
11. Target practice – basic rules, secret locations, standards of proficiency;
12. Surviving capture – how to resist physical/psychological pressure by the authorities;
13. Readiness to sacrifice – giving up your life for Torah, Land, and People of Israel!
Rabbi Gerster proceeded to read each page of the ILOT manual with growing concern. The loud, constant hum of hundreds of Neturay Karta men studying Talmud in the synagogue filtered through his door, providing none of the calming effect he usually found in the familiar noise. Some of the pages provided detailed instructions, which appeared to have been copied from military manuals more suitable for urban warfare than an illegal militia. The pages dealing with passwords, aliases, and surveillance tactics contained details and procedures that had clearly originated in professional secret service training manuals, not in the mind of an amateur right-wing activist.
A knock came from the door. Rabbi Gerster folded the ILOT manual and stuck it in his coat pocket. “Yes?”
Benjamin’s eldest son, Jerusalem, poked his head in the door. “My father asked if you would like to hear today’s lecture.”
“ Ah, yes.” Rabbi Gerster rose slowly from the chair. “I can’t wait to hear how Benjamin explains the sage Elazar’s comment about the lawyers.”
“ You mean, how not to be like the lawyers?” Jerusalem held the door. “I told my father that maybe the sage Elazar was joking.”
Rabbi Gerster laughed. “You’re a clever boy.”
The synagogue greeted them with cigarette smoke and the intensity of voices arguing over Talmudic quandaries.
“ Most of our friends here,” Rabbi Gerster waved at the rows of scholars, “would never assign humor to our ancient sages. Why is it, Jerusalem?”
“ Perhaps they forgot,” Benjamin’s son intoned in the traditional singsong of Talmudic studying, “that the sages were flesh and blood, like us.”
“ Precisely!”
*
At the Hoffgeitz Bank, Lemmy entered his office and made sure the door was locked. On the way from the Bierhalle Kropf he had reflected on the conversation with Elie. You’ll be in charge…as my successor. It must have been a joke. Running SOD required skills and knowledge he did not possess. He had been an undercover agent for twenty-eight years, slowly growing roots as a reputable banker in Zurich. His Mideast clients had been a fountain of useful intelligence for Israel, and every year Elie had sent him on jobs that sharpened his deadly skills. But he had never worked directly with other SOD agents, had not been privy to the organization’s structure or composition, and had never interacted with any Israeli official. To the best of Lemmy’s knowledge, only Elie Weiss knew who Wilhelm Horch really was and that Jerusalem Gerster had not died in battle on the Golan Heights in 1967. This total anonymity enabled him to do his job in relative safety while protecting his family. There was no way he could take over command of SOD from Elie Weiss. It would put everything he possessed and everyone he loved at an unacceptable risk.