serving as drivers for SS General Klaus von Koenig, who was transferring loot from the camps to the Swiss border. Elie and Abraham had climbed the steep mountainside, plowing through deep snow and treacherous boulders, to set a trap. But they must have been late.
“Listen!” Abraham tensed, inching closer to the road.
An engine sounded from uphill. Elie watched the next turn up the steep road. His eyes never disappointed him. Back in Kolno, his father had been the village shoykhet – the kosher butcher. People had said that Elie had the devil’s eyes, small and black and all-seeing, even in darkness. People had strange ideas where death was involved.
The engine noise came closer. A single car.
Abraham got up on one knee, ready for action. His hands were strong, his shoulders wide. He was no longer the rabbi’s dutiful son. Gone were his side locks, the black coat, and the hat. He grabbed the trunk of a fallen tree and dragged it into the road.
The car made the last turn. Its headlights painted over, it headed downhill, gaining speed, oblivious to the impending disaster. The front tires hit the tree trunk. The car lost its ability to steer, missed the next turn, and crashed into the ditch, landing on its roof.
Elie crossed the road and approached through the snow. It was a Mercedes sedan. Steam hissed from its engine, fading into the cold air.
The driver’s door opened, and a man crawled out, coughing hard. The SS insignia glistened on the collar of the gray uniform. A general.
Elie drew his long blade and stabbed the Nazi through the back, just above the right kidney, puncturing the lung. He pulled the blade straight out, careful not to damage a major artery. Searching the man’s pockets, Elie found a cigarette lighter and a wallet filled with cash. He held the lighter flame to the face—sculpted, Aryan features, square jaw, thin lips pressed in pain. Elie recognized him from newspaper photos: General Klaus von Koenig, Heinrich Himmler’s deputy.
A wave of hatred flooded Elie, but the caution that had kept him alive through the war made him pause. Why was the general driving himself? Elie looked up the road and listened carefully. No escort vehicle, no guards, no entourage. What happened to the drivers? Had they continued to Switzerland with the truck? Elie remembered one of them speak of the general’s exactness in recording the details of the loot in a small ledger. He felt the pockets again. Nothing. Was it in the car? He turned and saw Abraham drag something out of the overturned Mercedes—a black bag, or an animal?
Up close, Elie realized it was a fur coat. The hood fell back, releasing a cascade of black hair. A white hand emerged and punched Abraham in the crotch. He cursed, clenched her hair, and slapped her across the face. With the speed of a snake she grabbed his hand and sank her teeth into it. He yelled and stumbled back, holding his hand. Then he leaped forward, his right boot rising behind for a kick that would surely kill her.
Elie stepped between them. “Not yet!”
Abraham bent over in pain. “Nazi bitch!”
“Watch them.” Elie got down on his knees and hands to search the car, using the cigarette lighter to illuminate every corner of the plush sedan. Nothing resembling a ledger, but he found a handgun, its handle plated with ivory.
He tossed the gun to Abraham, who prodded the general with his boot. “Stand up! Schnell!”
Elie watched with satisfaction—the rabbi’s son was doing the butcher’s work.
General Klaus von Koenig pulled himself up on one elbow. His breathing was labored, a gurgling Elie recognized as the sound of foamy blood filling the chest. His eyes squinted with pain as he looked at the woman. “Auf Wiedersehen, meine geliebte.”
“She’ll see you in hell!” Abraham’s ragged boot banged against the German’s back. “On your feet!”
With great effort, the Nazi rose.
“We are Jews,” Abraham said, aiming the gun at his head. “Juden!”
General von Koenig straightened up, pulled back his shoulders, and raised his right hand at the dark sky. “Heil Hitler!”
Abraham shot him in the face.
The woman gasped.
“Nekamah!” Elie’s frozen lips hurt, reciting the Hebrew word for revenge. “Nekamah!”
She stared at the dead German a few feet away. Tears lined her cheeks.
“Whore!” Elie addressed her in German. “Where is the truck?”
She tilted her head up the hill, where they had come from.
He kicked snow in her face. “Who took it? Which bank? Tell me!”
Clawing at the snow, she edged away,