“I manipulated Abraham?” Elie sneered. “He was obsessed with revenge after he saw the Nazis butcher our families. He wanted to keep killing Nazis, terminate them in the most painful way, every one of them, including Nazis like your sweetheart, Obergruppenfuhrer Klaus von Koenig.”
“Klaus was an accountant. He didn’t butcher anyone.”
“Himmler’s deputy, the protegee who facilitated SS operations with his financial genius, was just an accountant?”
“He didn’t kill Jews.”
“Your dear Klaus was no less a mass murderer than the rest of the Nazi high command!”
“I thought we were talking about Abraham.”
“Right. That’s what drove him-avenge the Holocaust and prevent the next one. It still drives him today. Drives us! ”
Tanya smiled bitterly. “How could I compete with that?”
Elie didn’t answer. What could he say? The truth? That Abraham had changed his mind and wanted to quit his secret work to be with her? No. Telling her the truth would ruin everything.
“I don’t have to atone for failing to save Abraham or for losing him,” she said. “Abraham lost me then, and he lost me again a few months ago. He’d rather stay with those misguided Talmudic souls than live with me in happiness. But Lemmy is a different story. Him I can save!”
Elie clapped. “Bravo!”
For a moment he thought Tanya would hit him, but she turned and left. His agents put down the dice and started to rise, but Elie shook his head, and they sat back and watched her leave.
He took his seat and slurped cautiously from his tea. The waitress brought the check, and he dropped a few bills on the table. He had no intention of informing Abraham. The risk was small that Lemmy would approach his father again about the grenades before tomorrow morning. The boy was still smarting from a good fatherly beating.
T anya left the cafe on the verge of tears, determined not to give Elie the satisfaction. She walked down the street, shielding her face from the wind. He was doing it again, the same as twenty years ago, during those few months in the forest with Abraham, when Elie’s dark eyes had cast a constant shadow over their passion, his thin lips lopsided in a humorless grin. Now he was doing the same thing, mocking her relationship with Lemmy. But why was she so upset? Was there a grain of truth in it? Was she a pathetic middle-aged woman trying to relive the lost passion of her distant youth?
She reached a bus stop and huddled in the small canopy with a few other people. Lemmy would be preparing for the Sabbath now, changing into his best clothes. Earlier, when she had seen him stand next to Bira at the door, Tanya could hardly breathe. She had loved their fathers, one a Nazi general, the other a scion of a rabbinical line, two men who could not be more different. Yet Bira and Lemmy looked like siblings, with blue eyes, blond hair, and strong build. Even their different outfits-Lemmy’s ultra-Orthodox black garb and Bira’s IDF uniform-barely camouflaged their resemblance.
The bus approached, and the passengers lined up to board it. She glanced up the street at the cafe. Elie had not yet left, and his two goons were still bent over their game board. Why wasn’t he rushing off to warn Abraham? Why was he unconcerned with the warning she had delivered with such urgency?
“Young lady?” The bus driver tapped the steering wheel. “I don’t have all day!”
The realization hit her suddenly. She hurried back to the cafe.
“How did you know?”
Elie put down the tea cup. “Back already?”
“How did you know it was the middle of the night?”
He lit a cigarette. “When else would anyone deliver contraband?”
“It was you!” She pointed a finger in his face. “You delivered the grenades!”
“Nonsense.”
“You’re an evil man!” Her voice rose.
He signaled his agents, who shooed out the few patrons.
She leaned on the table. “Abraham has kept them quiet for eighteen years, sacrificed everything to prevent violence, and now you’ll destroy all his achievements!”
Elie clucked his tongue while stubbing the cigarette in the ashtray. “Even your darling Abraham can’t control them forever. We always knew that one day it would turn bloody. Read the Bible, it’s all there. Better it happens on my terms. My timing. My plan.”
“Have you consulted Abraham about your plan?”
Elie brushed the question aside. “He’s a soldier. Need-to-know basis. He managed to control them over Sabbath violations, their demonstrations at archeological sites, their window smashing at restaurants serving bread on Passover. Maybe he’ll control them over the abortion issue. But it’s getting harder. What I’m doing will eliminate his internal opposition in the sect. They’ll tremble in fear.”
“So why don’t you tell him about it? These are his people. He knows them better than you!”
“I spent a night in a cell with that Redhead Dan character. We bonded, prayed together like kindred spirits, a pair of seditious fanatics determined to teach the Zionists a painful lesson.” Elie chuckled hoarsely. “Physical pain and sleep deprivation are great fodder for brainstorming. He bought right into my act. We worked up a concept for a sensational attack.”
Tanya felt weak. Was he just bragging? “When?”
“Tomorrow morning. I promised to create a diversion, so the two of them can escape back to Meah Shearim. But, as Eshkol likes to say, I didn’t promise to keep my promise.”
“Where?”
“The prime minister’s residence, during a press conference about defending West Jerusalem in the event of a surprise Jordanian attack. Eshkol and Rabin will brief the journalists on the roof, and then- boom! They’ll see it from above in live action, like a movie. As soon as the black-hat terrorists attack, they’ll be cut down.”
Tanya grabbed the table, making the empty tea cups rattle in their saucers. “What do you mean cut down? ”
“They attack, the guards respond. Fair game. And the media will have photos of two ultra-Orthodox men, black coats and all.”
“It’s murder!”
“Don’t be naive. By tomorrow night, the public will rally behind Eshkol. I hired a professor at Tel Aviv University to do a whole analysis. He went back to Roman times, examined all cases since then, all the way through Queen Victoria-four attempts on her life, by the way. The American president, Andrew Jackson, who beat up his assassin with a cane. And Adolf Hitler, an excellent example too, attributing his survival to divine intervention. President De Gaulle, as well. Politicians who survive assassination attempts automatically gain hugely in popularity. Political scientists call it Popularity by Misfire. It’s the twisted psychology of public sentiment.”
“You’re sick!”
“Desperate situations require desperate measures,” Elie said. “The ultra-Orthodox fanatics will make Eshkol a hero to the secular majority.”
Tanya dropped into the chair. “You must call it off! These Neturay Karta men are like children, living in the fairytale world of Talmud. And why give them live grenades? You could have given them smoke grenades!”
“It has to look real. Can you imagine the mocking headlines: Assassins Believe Smoke Enough to Knock Down Eshkol. It would defeat the whole purpose. We need a heroic survival, photos of an unscathed prime minister standing in the rubble, sipping coffee amidst the debris, laughing in the face of danger. Don’t you see the brilliance of this plan?”
“Throwing grenades in a residential neighborhood, based on political science? Do you hear yourself?”
“You’ll see. Eshkol will address the nation with confidence, reassuring the people of his control of the situation. With the war imminent, the army needs a popular prime minister. The silent majority will unite behind him, and the Orthodox will keep their black hats down to the floor for years.”
“It will never work!” She could barely control her fury. “You’ll produce a handful of martyrs, and the next day hundreds of other Orthodox youngsters will start collecting weapons in all the yeshivas. You’ll start the very armed rebellion you’re trying to prevent!”