The Jerusalem Inception - By Avraham Azrieli Page 0,1
a pocket-size ledger, bound in black leather and marked with a red swastika. “How’s business in Zurich?”
“The war has been very good for us. Too bad it’s about to end.” His grin faded when he met Tanya’s eyes. “I’m only joking, Fräulein, yes?”
Tanya smiled. After three years in their world, she had learned to smile well, even to the most piggish remarks.
Klaus handed him the ledger. “The total numbers include all the previous deliveries. This truckload is my last.”
“Everything is still in the original boxes, stored in our cellar vaults, per your instructions.” The banker opened the ledger.
“We took back what they stole from Europe over the centuries. One day, I will use it to build the Fourth Reich.”
“A noble aspiration.” Armande glanced at Tanya before holding the ledger up against the lamp. “But it will take time for the world to forget this war.”
“I have time.” At thirty-four, Klaus von Koenig was the youngest Nazi general, thanks to a talent for finance and Himmler’s patronage.
The banker was no longer listening. He browsed the black ledger, his stubby finger running down to the totals at the bottom of each page. “This is fantastic. Fantastic!” His gold-rimmed glasses slipped down to the tip of his nose, and he pushed them back. “Diamonds, total weight, nine and one-quarter tons? God in heavens! Thirteen point four tons of pearls? Sixteen tons, eight hundred and ninety-two kilos of emeralds? Three tons, nine hundred and thirty-four kilos of red rubies?” He pulled the curtain aside and looked at the truck across the road. “The Jews had so much?”
Klaus patted his chest. “They swallowed more stones than breadcrumbs.”
Armande Hoffgeitz looked at him, puzzled. “So how?”
“Crematoria. The fire consumes everything but precious stones. The gold teeth had to be removed beforehand, of course.” Klaus didn’t miss the shiver that passed through Tanya, who would have been gassed and cremated had he not pulled her out of line at Dachau. “It’s almost over now,” he said. “We’re shutting down the camps, thank God.”
Tanya knew his itinerary, the names on his routine travel route—Maidanek, Belzec, Auschwitz, Dachau, Mauthausen, Gross-Rosen, Chelmno, and back to Herr Himmler’s compound near Treblinka, where she had overheard Commandant Franz Stangl brag of killing seventeen thousand Jews in a single day—stripped, shaved, herded into the showers, gassed, searched for gold teeth, and burned to thin powder, which was then combed for precious stones.
The banker’s thick forefinger pushed his spectacles up his stubby nose. “What did you do with the gold?”
“Shipped to Argentina by U-boats. The last one is waiting for us in Kiel.”
Armande Hoffgeitz held up the ledger, shaking it. “How could they have so much?”
“Why not? They were educated people. Scientists, engineers, doctors, businessmen. Even bankers, like you. But the Führer’s doctrine required cleansing Europe of the Jews to free up opportunities and wealth for the Aryan race. Turned out to be a tragic waste, in my opinion.”
“The costs of elimination?”
“The whole thing. Anti-Jew policies were useful initially to galvanize our political power, fire up the street. But actually rounding them up, transporting them, exterminating them? Huge waste of resources. And those who survived are helping our enemies defeat us.” Klaus motioned vaguely. “Anyway, the largest stones are in a steel case in the cabin, strapped to the passenger seat. Ten to thirty-five karats each. Museum quality. You’ll need to be very discreet when you sell those.”
The banker pulled down a mahogany tray, which formed a small working space. He produced a sheet of paper and copied the total quantities of each category of stones and jewelry, checking the numbers twice against the ledger. “You must choose an account number and a password that you’ll remember easily.”
Klaus took the pen and glanced at Tanya. In the space for the account number he wrote 829111. For the password he entered AYNAT. He sighed below: Klaus von Koenig, 00:16 a.m., January 1, 1945
Armande took the form and held it high, blowing on the wet ink. When he was satisfied, he folded it and tucked it away. “Regarding the conversion of all your deposits into liquid assets, I recommend a basket of currencies.”
“With all due respect, I prefer American stocks. Sell everything and buy shares of American corporations.”
“But America is broke. After the war, their economy will crash. How about—”
“The Americans are winning. Not the British, Canadians, Australians, or the Russian swine. The Americans have spirit. Forget Deutschland Über Alles. From now on, it will be America Über Alles. That’s the future!” He sat back with sudden