The Jerusalem Inception - By Avraham Azrieli Page 0,90
would be fighting not on the front lines, but in the back alleys of Marseilles, or the power hallways of Paris, where armament, money, and military secrets could give Israel the upper hand in what seemed like an unavoidable calamity. And for her to win the secret battles under her command, Tanya had to regain the single-minded ferocity of a hunter who was simultaneously being hunted. She had to focus, to forget everything else, including the two souls that occupied her heart—Bira and Lemmy—a daughter she loved by force of motherhood and two decades of a perilous-yet-joyous life together, and a boy she loved by force of fate, or coincidence, or sheer stupidity and feminine weakness for which she had only herself to blame.
“Enough,” he said as if reading her mind. “There’s only here and now, okay?”
They held each other for a long moment.
Tanya breathed deeply. She rebuked herself silently for letting gloom and fear take over. Israel wasn’t a Shtetl, or a ghetto, but a Jewish state with an army of dedicated men and women, ready to defend it. And she had a vital role in that effort. “My assignment here will end soon. I’ll probably be sent back to Europe. This house might be empty or occupied by someone else when your next leave comes around.”
“I’ve never been abroad. Can I visit you?”
There was no way she could see him in Europe. Mossad life didn’t allow for casual visitors. To change the subject, she asked, “Have you received any letters from home?”
“Are you kidding?”
Tanya was surprised. Abraham had clearly said that his wife would write to Lemmy. “Your mother didn’t write to you?”
“She probably forgot about me already.”
“Don’t be stupid!” Tanya immediately regretted her sharp tone. “There’s nothing my daughter could do to make me forget her. Your mother will never—”
“What do you know about Neturay Karta?”
“I know how a mother feels.”
“Not my mother. She feels what my father allows her to feel, which obviously can’t include feelings for a banished son.”
“That’s not what—”
“I don’t want to talk about it!” Lemmy put down his coffee and left the kitchen. She heard him enter the bathroom, and a moment later the water was running in the shower.
Elie Weiss had spent the night at the Pension Naurische, a small hotel run by an elderly couple near Zurich’s train station. When he came downstairs, Frau Naurische handed him a thick envelope addressed to Herr Danzig. Taking his breakfast in the cozy lounge, Elie used a butter knife to open the seal.
One of his agents had collected background information on Armande Hoffgeitz. Technically it was a violation of Israeli law, which limited all overseas clandestine activities to Mossad. But Elie had never considered his operations to be subjected to this or any other law. Only the best interest of the Jewish people counted.
He pulled out a manila folder, which contained approximately twenty black-and-white photographs. In the first photo, a family was seated on the deck of a sailboat, chewing on sausage sandwiches. The parents were pudgy, but the two children seemed athletic. The note on the back of the photo read: Armande, wife Greta, daughter Paula, and son Klaus V.K. Hoffgeitz.
Another photo showed a thin, tall man in a dark suit and a tie standing by a Rolls Royce. The note on the back read: Günter Schnell, long-time assistant to Herr Hoffgeitz. In the next photo, the family entered a church whose front was adorned with three stained glass windows that seemed familiar. The agent noted that the Hoffgeitz family regularly attended Sunday afternoon mass at the Fraumünster on the Limmat River, which apparently was opened to tourists in the morning hours.
As he walked to church through the streets of Zurich, Elie remembered walking with his father to the synagogue through the muddy roads of the shtetl, both of them in black coats and wide-brimmed hats. At the door of the synagogue, Rabbi Yakov Gerster greeted them with his son, Abraham. The rabbi asked how Elie had been progressing as an apprentice shoykhet, and while Elie’s father bragged about his son’s proficiency with the slaughter of livestock, Abraham scrunched his face in revulsion.
With this memory on his mind, Elie mounted the stone steps of the Fraumünster church and entered the cavernous space, which was braced by multiple cross-arches high above. The three aisles of the gothic basilica were lit by the rays of the sun, filtered through the stained glass windows. Less than a third of the pews were taken. The Hoffgeitz