The Jerusalem Inception (34 page)
“Then why didn’t you?”
“Because we were ambushed by two starved, half-frozen Jewish partisans, one of whom was your father.”
Lemmy held up the gun. “That’s how he got this Mauser?”
She nodded. “Abraham shot Klaus in the head just before dawn, on the first day of 1945. My seventeenth birthday.”
“I didn’t know my father was a partisan.”
“War turns everyone into something else, often irreversibly. They had come from a shtetl, two Jewish boys, raised to take over their fathers’ peaceful professions. The war transformed them into soldiers of
Nekamah
. Revenge. An eye for an eye.”
Lemmy put down the Mauser. “So you went from the Nazi to my father?”
“Don’t judge me.” Her voice softened. “You should have seen Abraham when he was your age. Lean and strong, with blond hair and piercing blue eyes.” She gestured at Lemmy. “You look like him. We could have built a life together, but the Germans were losing the war, and he was obsessed.
Nekamah. Nekamah. Nekamah.
I thought he would quit, but he didn’t. He is that rare kind of a man—totally committed, but not to a person, not to a lover, not to an offspring, but to a higher cause.” She choked with emotions that had long been suppressed. “And then we lost each other and have remained separated all these years. But I’m glad I found out Abraham was alive, because it led to our first encounter, remember?”
“How could I forget?” Lemmy touched her forehead where the bruise had long healed. He pulled her closer, and Tanya rested her cheek against his bare chest, smooth and taut over his hard muscles, scented with soap. He cradled her face in his hands and leaned down to kiss her lips.
T
he Hoffgeitz Bank resided in a three-story stone mansion at the corner of Bahnhofstrasse and Augustinergasse. Elie rang the bell. The lock clicked, and an elderly man opened the door. “
Guten morgen
,” he said with a curt bow.
Elie handed him a business card that carried only the name Rupert Danzig and a P.O. Box in Paris. “I’m here to see Herr Hoffgeitz.”
The cozy lobby could have been a living room in an old-money residence. The leather sofas were worn yet elegant, and the oil portraits on the walls told of a long ancestry. When the man held out his hand for Elie’s coat, Elie noticed a ring on his finger, the familiar serpent intertwined with
LASN
. The cuff of his dark-navy suit shone with age, but the creased face was carefully groomed, the gray eyes alert, and the back not yet stooped.
The man hung Elie’s coat in a closet and picked up a telephone on a side table. A moment later Günter Schnell appeared through another door. “How can we assist you, Herr Danzig?”
“Greetings from my commander, Obergruppenführer Klaus von Koenig.”
A facial twitch was all that revealed Günter’s surprise. He gave a shallow bow and beckoned Elie. They went down a hallway with closed doors, accompanied by the muffled sounds of typewriters, men’s voices, and ringing phones, and entered a windowless room with a round mahogany table and straight-back chairs.
Elie waited alone. No sound penetrated the walls or the door, but he detected a trace of cigar smoke. He lit a cigarette.
More than a half hour passed. Elie noticed a rotary phone on a small shelf, picked up the receiver and listened. There was no dial tone, but he could tell someone was listening at the other end. He put down the receiver.
Not a minute later the bank’s owner appeared. He was a bit taller than Elie and weighed three times more. His ruddy cheeks told of good food and plenty of drink. He shook Elie’s hand. “I am Armande Hoffgeitz.”
Elie clicked his heels. “Untersturmführer Rupert Danzig, at your service.”
The banker sat across the table from Elie. Günter remained standing, his hands on the back of a chair, showing the same ring as the man downstairs. It appeared Herr Hoffgeitz only hired fellow graduates of Lyceum Alpin St. Nicholas.
Elie had planned this conversation carefully. “Obergruppenführer von Koenig often speaks of the delightful school years you shared.”
Herr Hoffgeitz nodded and blinked a few times.
“He sends sincere regrets for the long years of silence.”
“I see.”
“We had to exercise extreme caution, considering what happened to Adolf.” Elie intentionally used only the first name, leaving it to the Swiss banker to guess whether the reference was to Adolf Hitler, who had committed suicide after killing his dogs and lover at his command bunker in Berlin, or to Adolf Eichmann, picked up by the Israelis in Argentina, tried in front of the world’s media, hanged, and cremated, his ashes tossed into the Mediterranean.
“Well.” Herr Hoffgeitz pursed his lips. “You can understand our need for verification before any discussion can take place, yes?”
“Herr Obergruppenführer ordered me to convey his gratitude for naming your son after him and his best wishes to your lovely daughter for success in her Alpine schooling.”
“Ah.” The implication that Koenig had been watching his private life from afar seemed to unsettle the banker. “Is that so?”
Elie pulled out the black ledger and placed it on the table between them, the red swastika facing up.
Herr Hoffgeitz put on silver-rimmed reading glasses and picked up the ledger. He turned the pages that listed the huge quantities of plundered diamonds, gems, and jewelry. His fingers trembled as he put it down on the table.
Elie didn’t touch it. “Herr Obergruppenführer trusts you have liquidated the valuables and converted all into growth investments.”
The banker didn’t respond.
“Transfers will need to be executed. Funds are required for certain needs.”
Herr Hoffgeitz looked at Elie over his reading glasses. “There was much gold, sent by sea to Argentina.”
“It’s an expensive business,” Elie said, “to hide from the Jews for twenty-one years.”
Even Günter allowed himself a smirk.
“These are three accounts in Paris, kept under my name for confidentiality purposes. Herr Obergruppenführer instructed me to transfer half the funds—”
“
Half?”
Herr Hoffgeitz’s shock confirmed the immense size of Klaus von Koenig’s account. Elie’s assessment, based on the quantities in the ledger, pinned it at several hundred million U.S. dollars—perhaps more if the banker had taken his time to dispose of the diamonds in small portions during high-market periods over the years while investing the proceeds wisely.
“My credentials,” Elie said, and placed Rupert Danzig’s passport and SS identification card on the table. “I have served Herr Obergruppenführer since the beginning of the war. I have executed all his orders diligently. He is still my master.”
Armande Hoffgeitz examined the SS card without touching it. “I wonder why he didn’t contact me directly.”
“He is,” Elie said, “contacting you directly—through me. He awaits the day that speaking with you face-to-face would no longer endanger him, or you.”
The hint of personal peril was sufficient to get the banker off the subject of direct communications. “But why does he wish to withdraw the funds? Does he doubt our reliability?”
Elie had an answer ready. “Herr Obergruppenführer has determined that it is time to begin preparing for the Fourth Reich.”
The Swiss banker put both hands forward as if trying to ward off the words.
“And the first step,” Elie continued, “is to help the Arabs complete the Führer’s final solution. Our men have kept in top shape, ready to serve under the new leader of the German people: Obergruppenführer Klaus von Koenig. Crack teams of veteran experts—battle strategists, armament specialists, engineers, pilots—will take undercover lead in the Middle East as part of the Egyptian joint-Arab command. Herr Obergruppenführer has decided that the narrow territory inhabited by the Jews in the Holy Land is perfect for a blitzkrieg—cut them in half through Jerusalem and the West Bank to the Mediterranean Sea, then thrust north and south simultaneously in a rapid annihilation of their primary population centers along the coast. It’s a very expensive project, but necessary. As long as the Israelis are still around, Herr Obergruppenführer’s personal safety is in danger. The destruction of the Jews will open the door for the return to power of our
Nationalsozialistische Deutsche Arbeiterpartei
in Germany and the rest of Europe. It’s time!” Elie stood up, clicked his heels, and raised his arm in a Nazi salute. “
Heil Hitler!
”
Armand Hoffgeitz’s cheeks lost much of their ruddiness. He rose slowly and buttoned his suit jacket over his protruding belly. “My assistant will handle the formalities.”
“Thank you.”
“And please tell my dear friend Klaus that I look forward to seeing him in person.” Pausing at the door, Herr Hoffgeitz said, “By the way, how is his beautiful friend?”
It took a moment for Elie to understand he was referring to Tanya. “The Jewess?”
“Yes.”
“She’s dead.”
When his boss left the room, Günter Schnell opened a file. The top document was a blank form. He started filling it out, copying the information from Danzig’s passport and SS card.
Elie pulled out a new pack of Lucky Strike and tore off the wrapping.
“Account number please?”
Elie wasn’t ready for this question. “You don’t know the number?”
“Standard procedure. Like every other client, General von Koenig chose a number and a password. This bank will not take instructions or reveal account information before a client provides these two pieces of information. Surely he told you, yes?”
“Of course.” Elie coughed to mask his ignorant surprise. “Now let me think. It’s been several weeks since I left Argentina.”
Günter waited.
Trying to keep a straight face, Elie had to make a convincing show of forgetfulness. “He didn’t want me to write it down. I’m afraid the memory escaped me momentarily.”
“Well, then.” The banker put down his pen. “We cannot do anything until you provide the account number and password.”
Sudden rage hit Elie as he realized that Tanya had tricked him. “May I use the telephone?”
W
hen they left Tanya’s house, Lemmy thought he heard the phone ring inside. She was already by the car, reaching to open the trunk for his duffel bag.
“Isn’t that your—”
“I have an idea.” She held the trunk open. “Let’s stop by Meah Shearim, and you’ll run in to say hello to your mother.”
“
What?
”
She patted his Uzi. “No one is going to mess with you. Just go in and tell her you’re doing fine, not to worry. What’s the worst that could happen? They’ll ignore you?”
“Great idea!” Lemmy threw his bag in the trunk and slammed it shut. “Should I stop by the synagogue to say hello to my old friends? Check out the new chandelier?”
Tanya drove along the border, where hundreds of Orthodox men of all ages were digging up the sidewalks and filling up pillowcases in lieu of sandbags.
“You don’t understand,” he said. “I defied their God, spat on their sacred rules, made a farce out of their divine truth.”
“You didn’t spit on anything. You took a different path, that’s all.”
“My father once hit me for asking an inappropriate question. For a question!” He gestured at his uniform. “This is a million times worse than a question, more than blasphemy. For them, it’s
Khilool Ha’Shem
—Desecration of God in the worst way! Don’t you understand what Neturay Karta is all about?”
“But still, your mother loves you no matter what.”
“You love me too, right?”
“Of course.”
“Then imagine that I went to Tel Aviv and raped Bira, completely and violently ravished her, left your darling daughter violated, bleeding, broken, sprawled on the sidewalk. Would you still love me? Would you want me to stop by and say hello?”
“It’s not the same thing.”
“Yes, it is! I raped their Talmud, ravished their faith, crapped on their holy way of life, and shot down their chandelier.”
“That was an accident.”
“You don’t get it, do you? I’m dead to them, especially to my parents.” He hit the door of the car with a clenched fist. “Worse than dead!”
After a few moments of driving in silence, Tanya said, “You might be right.”
“What do you mean?”
“Don’t be angry at me, but I went to see your father.”
Lemmy was too shocked to say anything.
“Many weeks ago. I gave him your address in the army so your mother could write to you.” Tanya sighed. “I don’t understand why she didn’t.”
“Because I’ve been excommunicated! I don’t exist anymore!”
At the central bus station, Tanya parked and accompanied him inside. Hundreds of soldiers milled about, some young like Lemmy, others much older, reservists in haphazard combinations of uniform and civilian clothes.
A group of kids sat on the ground in a circle, singing a popular tune: “
Nasser sits and waits for Rabin, ai, yai yai, and he should wait ’cause Rabin is coming, ai, yai yai, to bang him on his head, ai yai yai.
”
They stopped to watch the kids sing. She took his hand.
