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Gideon waited for him to continue, but he remained mum, as if the answer was too shocking to be pronounced out loud.

“ Kill Arafat?”

“ Worse,” Agent Cohen said.

“ Who could be worse?”

“ We believe this Horch-Spinoza guy has come here to kill Prime Minister Yitzhak Rabin.”

*

Lemmy left the gun in Benjamin’s apartment, and Itah did the same with her pepper spray. Equipped with borrowed Israeli identification cards from a lookalike Neturay Karta couple, they received visitor tags at the entrance to the Knesset building, passed by the giant menorah, and crossed the vast forecourt. Inside, the three giant Chagall tapestries reminded Lemmy of the stained-glass windows at the Fraumunster church in Zurich, though here Chagall had brought to life biblical Jewish figures other than Jesus Christ. But the colors and flair touched Lemmy with warm familiarity.

The legislature was in session. The public gallery was filled with school children and tourists. Itah and Lemmy found room in the last row. A thick Plexiglas partition offered open views of the assembly hall below, filled with Knesset members of all parties. The government ministers, including Yitzhak Rabin, sat up front near the podium.

A Knesset member from the government coalition was arguing for censure of the Likud Party over the events at the right-wing rally last Saturday night in Jerusalem. “Is there no shame? Are there no limits to verbal violence? When is it too much? Tell me!”

Someone from the opposition benches yelled, “Rabin broke his promises!”

“ He’s a liar,” another member shouted.

The speaker hit the podium. “Is name calling acceptable? Cursing the prime minister? Slandering him? Chanting sexual innuendo? Urging his early death?”

No one responded to that.

“ Democracy and free speech don’t make it kosher to call for the prime minister’s murder!”

The speech was interrupted by the grave voice of Prime Minister Yitzhak Rabin, emerging with an odd echo from the rear benches: “I will never, never give up land that provides Israel with a security buffer against Arab attacks!”

Knesset attendants in uniform ran down the aisles, looking for the source of the recorded speech.

“ I will never,” Rabin’s voice roared, “never give back the Golan Heights-”

Among widespread laughter, the attendants grabbed a young Knesset member who had smuggled in a cassette player and portable loudspeakers to play Rabin’s old speech-an embarrassing reminder that the prime minister’s current policy contradicted his past promises.

Surrounded by his ministers, Yitzhak Rabin appeared amused by the prank, glancing back at the struggling attendants.

“ Our Labor leaders changed their minds,” the speaker continued, “because our enemies changed their hearts and agreed to peace. But Likud leaders are sticking to unrealistic policies. At Zion Square on Saturday night, they acquiesced to their supporters’ chants, adopted their murderous demagoguery, and poured oil on the fire of violence that’s consuming our democracy. The Likud Party is trying to topple the government by inciting a mob! I therefore move for a censure of the Likud Party!”

Benjamin Netanyahu, twenty years younger than the prime minister and an eloquent speechmaker, climbed the steps to give his party’s response. “It’s unfair,” he said, “to indict a large portion of the population because of the unsavory acts of a handful of hoodlums.”

Prime Minister Rabin stood and walked away from his front-bench seat, up the aisle, to the exit doors.

Netanyahu paused and turned to the Knesset chairman, who pounded his gavel and said into his microphone, “I ask the prime minister to return to his seat. Please!”

Rabin lit a cigarette, his back to the Knesset plenum. An elderly secretary in a beige pantsuit brought him a file with documents, and he browsed through, ignoring the noise.

The chairman pounded his gavel again. “Please! I ask the prime minister to return and hear the opposition’s reply! Please!”

Several Knesset members went to the door and spoke with Rabin. Netanyahu waited at the podium.

Itah leaned over and said, “They’re like children!”

“ Worse,” Lemmy said.

Down below, Prime Minister Rabin stubbed his cigarette and returned to his seat. The Knesset chairman pounded his gavel.

“ As we can see,” Netanyahu said, “extreme behavior happens on both sides of the aisle-even on the government side.”

“ Let’s go,” Lemmy said.

The Labor Party had offices on the second floor, reached via a wide set of stairs. The elderly secretary took one step at a time, holding the thick file to her chest. They caught up with her.

“ Excuse me,” Lemmy said, “would you kindly ask Mr. Rabin to spare a moment for a quick hello?”

“ You’ll have to send a letter requesting an appointment-”

“ Please tell him that I was the soldier who blew up the UN radar at Government House in sixty-seven. My name is Baruch.”

The secretary scribbled in her notepad and pointed to a decorative, wooden bench under a bronze sculpture representing the killing fields at Babi Yar. “Wait here. I’ll ask him after the vote.”

*

Agent Cohen returned to the apartment an hour later. He handed Gideon a wallet. “Here’s money, credit cards, and identification as special agent assigned to the prime minister’s office, with top security clearance. It will allow you access to every government agency, full cooperation from officials, and total immunity in the line of duty.”

Gideon collected the wallet. “Why me? Don’t you have enough Shin Bet staffers to chase this guy?”

“I don’t have anyone from SOD.” Agent Cohen handed him a Beretta 22. “You’ve worked in Europe, you trained with Elie Weiss, you understand Spinoza’s way of thinking. It’s your case now.” Agent Cohen saluted with his stick-taped finger. “From now on, I’m at your service. We can’t afford to fail.”

“No, we can’t.” Gideon pocketed the wallet and stuffed the gun in his belt. “But where do we start?”

“I have agents checking out every hotel in Jerusalem and the vicinity for anyone resembling Spinoza. Also, we’ve copied all the security tapes from the King David Hotel, where he spent the night after running into Elie at the entrance.”

“Were you there?”

Agent Cohen nodded. “I arrested them.”

“Did you notice Spinoza?”

“No. Our agents found him on the security camera tapes later.”

“Do you think Elie noticed him?”

Cohen hesitated. “You know, there was an interruption just when we were leaving the hotel.”

“ Did Elie act up?”

“ No. Weiss was as cool as a rotting cucumber.” Agent Cohen sat back, struggling to remember. “It was odd. I think Rabbi Gerster tripped. We all stopped, and he yelled something. But later, in the car, a strange thing happened.”

“What?”

“That rabbi is a tough one.” Agent Cohen shook his head. “I can’t explain it, but as we drove off from the hotel, he burst out crying.”

“ Crying? ”

*

Prime Minister Yitzhak Rabin waited in a large conference room reserved for government meetings held while the Knesset was in session. Two bodyguards frisked Lemmy and Itah at the door, which remained open. Music came from speakers in the ceiling, a Hebrew folksong from the early days of Zionism.

“ You chose an interesting day to visit,” he said, shaking their hands.

Itah said, “Are there any boring days here?”

“ Yom Kippur used to be boring,” the prime minister said. “What’s this about the UN radar? Were you that kid Elie Weiss sent in?”

“ That was me,” Lemmy said, removing the black hat with the attached beard and side locks. “Sorry about the disguise.”

“ I’m sure there’s an explanation for this.” Rabin chuckled. “You know, all these years people have called me a military genius, but if not for what you did that morning, they would be calling me an idiot.”

They laughed.

“ So tell me what I don’t know,” Rabin said, lighting a cigarette.

Lemmy quickly retold the story of his recruitment by Elie Weiss in 1967, the destruction of the radar just before Israel’s jets took off, his faked death, and training in Europe as an agent for SOD. He skipped the Koenig account, but described the events of the past week.