The Jerusalem Assassin (21 page)

He shut the door and picked up the phone. “Wilhelm Horch here.”

“I gave you an order,” Elie said. “Have you finished off the old man?”

“And I asked you not to phone me at home.” Lemmy covered his mouth as he spoke into the receiver. “I have a family!”

“Silence!” Elie launched into a series of coughs, followed by spitting. When he spoke again, his voice was weak. “Do not interrupt me again, or I’ll visit your home in person and practice my father’s trade on your Gentile wife and your little Nazi namesake.”

The threat was so extreme that Lemmy could not speak.

“I need you to change the prince’s money transfer instructions. Write it down.”

Lemmy jotted Elie’s instructions on a pad and hung up. He sat there for a long time, unable to return to the kitchen and face Paula and Klaus Junior as if nothing had happened. Had Elie spoken merely out of rage? Or had it been a valid forewarning of real intentions? There was no way to know what Elie would do to ensure the realization of his grand vision. It had been a terrible mistake to give Elie the impression that his feelings for Paula and Klaus Junior could in any way hinder his complete dedication to the cause of Counter Final Solution. Elie would not hesitate to send a hit team to Zurich. What’s a couple of dead Gentiles in the context of obtaining twenty-three billion dollars to combat global anti-Semitism?

The door opened and Paula entered the study. She closed the door and came around the large desk. Gently she wiped the sweat from his forehead. “Are you going to leave us?”

“What?” He looked up at her. “Hell, no!”

She kissed the top of his head.

He hugged her, his ear against her stomach. “I’ll never leave you.”

“Good. Very good.”

“It’s something else.” He stood, facing her. “I should have told you long ago.”

Paula put a hand on his mouth. “I know who my husband is. You are a wonderful man and a terrific father. The rest is work stuff. I don’t want to know.”

He held her tightly. She truly, unconditionally loved him. And he felt the same, which meant that Elie had a valid reason for his deadly threat, because if Lemmy had to choose, Paula and Klaus Junior would come first. He had no qualms about killing to protect Israel, and he would have no qualms killing to protect his family!

They descended to the floor, kissing each other on the way down. They lay on the carpet. He nibbled at her neck, his left hand around her nape, his right hand pulling up her skirt. He mounted her, his knees parting her thighs. Paula quivered, breathing rapidly.

*

Wednesday, October 25, 1995

“My father will recover.” Paula sat in front of the vanity in the corner of their bedroom. “He won’t give up. I know him.”

“Armande is strong,” Lemmy agreed while tying his shoes.

Paula started her morning makeup routine. “I should have convinced him to work less, to spend more time with Junior. Maybe now he’ll agree to work part-time. You could run the bank day-to-day, right?”

“I’m not his son.”

Any reference to her dead brother, even indirectly, made Paula’s eyes moisten. She no longer cried, and most people would not even notice it, but Lemmy saw her reaction and regretted it. She smiled, which was her way of telling him it was okay to discuss this painful subject. “You’re like a son to him.”

“Not exactly. He doesn’t mind it when I go skiing, but when Junior wanted to learn how to ski, your father flipped.”

“We’re going to do it this year. We have to.”

“That’s right. I mean, what kind of a Swiss kid doesn’t ski?” Lemmy watched her face, which lit up when discussing their son. “The winter is coming. Should I make reservations?”

“As long as it’s not Chamonix.”

The Alpine ski resort had taken the life of Klaus V.K. Hoffgeitz in the twilight hours of a sunny day in the winter of 1973. He was found in a crevasse near an easy blue-diamond slope. An expert skier, he must have taken a wrong turn, confused by the shadows so typical of the western face of the mountain. Autopsy revealed that his injuries had not been severe, except for a stab wound, likely caused by the unlucky fall on a sharp icicle, which entered his brain through the throat, melting away long before the body had been found.

“I miss my brother,” Paula said. “He was fun.”

Lemmy held her hand. “I’m sorry.”

“I’ve accepted it. God wanted him by His side.” She wiped her eyes. “And my mother’s real illness, what really killed her, was a broken heart, which I also understand. But for my father, losing Klaus V.K. has been the tragedy of his life—not just the grief over a wonderful, loveable son, but the loss of his heir. I think it’s like the world went out of order for him. It was the breaking of continuity, an end to generations of family tradition. My father feels that he failed in his hereditary duty to groom a male heir.”

“It’s tragic.”

“I tried to convince him it wasn’t like this anymore. It’s the twentieth century. Families hire professional managers to run inherited businesses. No one cares about bloodlines any longer. It’s so old fashioned.”

“Your father is not easy to convince. He takes everything very seriously.” Lemmy had not told Paula about the phone call that had instigated her father’s heart attack or about the huge sum in the inactive account. She was safer not knowing. “I think he was hoping to run the bank until Junior is ready to take over.”

“He’s ten!” She laughed, and the light from the window glistened in her eyes.

“It will take twenty years before—”

“Not necessarily. If we expedite his schooling, he could graduate university at twenty, while spending each summer at the bank to learn the ropes. Theoretically, in twelve or thirteen years he could take over as president. And I’ll be there to help him.”

“That’s ridiculous!” Paula brushed her hair. “My father is already eighty-four.”

“He’s as sharp as a young man, and if he recovers from this heart attack—”

“Our son is not the banker type.”

“What’s that supposed to mean? He’s good with numbers.”

“Klaus Junior would be miserable as a banker. It’s too boring.”

“Am I miserable and boring?”

She laughed. “You’re delightful and fascinating.”

“In what way?”

“I can show you.” She came into his arms, smelling fresh and enticing. “If you want.”

“I’ll be late to work. But if you won’t allow Klaus Junior to become a banker, then we have to—”

“Make a banker.”

“It’s our hereditary duty.” Lemmy began to undress. “A matter of generational traditions. The board of directors expects no less from us!”

Paula’s body shook with laughter. “We’re going to make the rabbits jealous—”

Pop!
The window exploded, raining slivers of glass all over them.

Lemmy pushed Paula down and lay on top of her, sheltering her with his body. He glanced up at the ceiling and saw a bullet hole. His mind digested the incredible fact: Elie had acted on his threat!

*

Gideon listened as Prince Abusalim called room service to order breakfast for two. A half-hour later, Abu Yusef called. The prince put the Palestinian terrorist on hold and, after a moment, picked up one of the phones in the bathroom. “The money is ready,” he said without a preamble. “It will arrive at the bank in Senlis later today.”

“The freedom of Palestine shall belong to you!”

“
Insha’Allah.
Call me in three days. I’ll give you the time and place for the job. Make sure you have enough firepower. He will be well protected.”

“Don’t worry, Excellency. It will be executed successfully.”

“Don’t underestimate your target. In Saudi Arabia we have a saying: A man whom the desert failed to kill is immortal.”

“We also have a saying,” Abu Yusef said. “A man who feels immortal is easier to kill.”

*

Lemmy expected a second bullet, but none came right away. He heard the Porsche’s alarm whining and recalled leaving it out in the driveway last night. “Stay down! I’ll get Junior.”

Paula tried to rise. “I’m coming—”

“Down!”

Staying low, he headed for the door. The bullet had come through the front of the house. Why had the shooter aimed at the window, when he could have shot them later outside? Was it a diversion while another assassin broke down the front door? Or the rear patio glass? Or was a lone sniper hiding in the woods across the street, waiting to take a second shot when a face appeared in the window? But the angle was too steep, as if the shooter was close to the house!

He ran downstairs, reached the kitchen, and crouched under the counter. “Klaus! Where are you?”

No response.

A sense of terror flooded Lemmy. Was the boy injured? Was he bleeding? But there had been only one shot, and the bullet was stuck in the bedroom ceiling. The boy must be listening to music with headphones.

“Klaus!”

Nothing. Where was he?

The Mauser! Lemmy knew he had to get it from the car and shoot back. By now he was doubting that this attack was Elie’s doing. It was too imprecise, even illogical considering that Elie’s threat had been directed at Paula and the boy. Elie would not have sent a shooter to attack while Lemmy was in the house, ready to defend them or get killed himself. Without him, how would Elie gain control of the Nazi funds at the Hoffgeitz Bank?

All these thoughts rushed through his mind while the professional assassin within him coldly planned the run for the Mauser and the ensuing shootout. It would be hard to take proper aim at the sniper, but mounting a counter-attack was the best defense. He crouched by the front door, focusing on the task at hand. The Mauser had been in the car since the Paris job. It had taken two bullets to finish off the Arab. Nine left. He would have to run to the Porsche, break the windshield, pull the storage cover, get the gun out of the box, load it, cock it, aim, and start shooting.
Even with the car between him and the sniper, Lemmy knew he’d likely get hit at least once. But there was no other way to scare off the attacker before Paula or Klaus got hurt.

He grabbed the knob and realized the front door wasn’t locked. Why? Had Junior gone outside?

He threw the door open and sprinted to the Porsche in the driveway, expecting the pop of a shot and the jolt of a bullet hit.

Nothing. The sniper must have been focused on the windows, not expecting someone to run out. He was adjusting his rifle right now. Lemmy sped up. Ten yards to go. He lifted his arm over his head, ready to elbow in the windshield.

Five. Four. Now—

The windshield was already shattered. Like a spider-web, thousands of tiny cracks spread like rays from a finger-size hole in the upper part.

A bullet hole!

Lemmy glanced up at the broken bedroom window on the second floor of the house. The bullet had come from inside the car!

Through the windshield he noticed the open storage compartment.

Klaus Junior was in the passenger seat. His face was white, his eyes wide open. Lemmy opened the door and removed the Mauser from the boy’s hand. He held the warm barrel and pulled the small forefinger out of the trigger slot. Aiming at the sky, he released the magazine and cocked the Mauser to dispose of the bullet in the chamber, which he picked up and put in his pocket with the gun.

As he lifted his son from the car, Paula ran out of the house.

“He’s okay,” Lemmy managed to say, his voice choking. “He’s not injured.”

*

Christopher jumped to his feet. “Good morning, Herr Horch!” He seemed surprised to see his boss in so early.

“Prince Abusalim called me last night,” Lemmy lied. “A small modification in the transfer instructions. The recipient name will change to Grant Guerra.”

“Okay.”

“Send the order as soon as business opens. Such a large amount in U.S. dollars might require them to order extra cash.”

Christopher took the sheet and turned to his computer. The altered order would travel on telephone lines electronically through two inter-European clearing centers to the local branch of Banque Nationale de France in Senlis.

Lemmy wondered how Elie was planning to do the job. Was he sending in his agent to receive the money and wait to shoot Abu Yusef? The Arabs would be armed and alert. The bank probably had security cameras and push-button alarms, possibly even an automatic lockdown feature, which could be a disaster. And even if the assassination was successful, the subsequent investigation could lead to the Hoffgeitz Bank. The Zurich police department would never attempt to obtain the identity of his client—bank secrecy laws were sacred—but the French might tip the media, which would attract unwanted attention. A hit inside a bank was too risky, even in France. What was Elie thinking?

Paula called to report that Klaus Junior was watching TV and eating pancakes but refusing to discuss with her what had happened. She had told him that his father had promised to take him to a shooting range to have proper training in gun safety and usage, which made the boy excited. Lemmy apologized again for making such a foolish mistake—he should not have left a weapon in the car. Paula didn’t ask why he had the gun in the first place—most Swiss men served in the national army reserve and owned personal firearms.

He pulled the Mauser from his pocket and placed it on the desk. He recalled holding it for the first time in his father’s study, back in Jerusalem. So much had happened since then—the abortion riots, his excommunication from Neturay Karta, paratrooper service in the IDF, and the mission into Jordanian-occupied East Jerusalem to destroy the UN radar, which had prevented detection of Israel’s preemptive strike and led to the victory of the Six Day War. And then, alone in the world, he had accepted Elie’s offer of clandestine service, spent a summer in intense German-language study, attended Lyceum Alpin St. Nicholas, courted Paula, and turned himself into a successful Swiss banker, a family man, and a secret agent. The key to his long career was careful planning and meticulous execution to minimize risk of exposure. The exception was his continuous use of the Mauser for killing Israel’s enemies. The barrel had been honed to prevent ballistic tracing of the bullets, and he had taken pains to keep it out of sight and utilize generic ammunition. He knew that the repeat use of the same weapon was hazardous, but this Mauser was the single object of continuity in his life, the only physical possession going all the way back to the city of Jerusalem—and a boy named Jerusalem.