The Jerusalem Inception

The Jerusalem Inception - By Avraham Azrieli




Chapter 1





His wool uniform was rough against her cheek, but Tanya continued to cling to his arm. It was silent inside the Mercedes, only a restrained murmur from its powerful engine. The supple backseat absorbed all but the deepest ruts in the Alpine road. The hands on the dashboard clock glowed in the dark, approaching midnight. In a moment, 1944 would end, and with it, their way of life.

They watched the driver struggle to keep the large staff car on the icy road, which slithered up into the formidable mountains toward the Swiss border. The headlights were painted over, only thin blades of light left to illuminate snapshots of steel barriers, pine trees, and mounds of fresh snow.

Klaus cracked the window, and cold air invaded the car, together with the engine roar of the loaded truck that followed them close behind. Tanya’s hand crawled into his, her fingers curled against his warm palm. The car entered a tunnel, and the phosphorous hands of the dashboard clock merged into one.

Midnight.

As the Mercedes emerged from the tunnel, the western horizon exploded—red, blue, and white lights, bursting into the black sky—a New Year’s salute from thousands of artillery guns, orchestrated by General Patton, the irascible commander of the American Third Army. In the front seat, the driver cursed under his breath.

“Happy birthday.” With a finger under her chin, Klaus brought up Tanya’s face and kissed her lips. “Seventeen,” he said, “and many more.”

“Together.” She pressed his hand to her lower abdomen, where a new life was growing.

Meanwhile, the driver began searching the radio frequencies through static and bursts of music until Adolf Hitler’s voice emerged. “Like a phoenix,” the Führer yelled, “Deutschland will rise again!”

Tanya felt Klaus tense up beside her, his arm rising for the customary Heil Hitler!

But the flame of excitement died instantly, his hand turned into a fist, and he grunted. She remembered the Wehrmacht’s intelligence reports he had shown her, patiently explaining the military jargon and the implications of color-coded arrows. The Ardennes Offensive continued in full force, with all surviving Panzer divisions thrown against U.S. forces. Hitler had refused a negotiated surrender and boasted of turning the tide with a wonder weapon of destruction. But the Führer was delusional. The most Germany could expect was a brief reprieve from Allied pressure on the Bulge. “And then,” Klaus had said, “the total destruction of the Third Reich.”

The Mercedes took another hairpin turn. In the windshield, Tanya could see the emblem glisten at the far end of the hood like a gun sight seeking a target.

The road leveled off, and the thin headlights hit a steel gate that blocked the way. A sign warned: Halt! Schweizerische Grenze!

The driver stopped the car, came out, and opened the door. “Herr Obergruppenführer!”

Klaus put on his gloves. He helped Tanya out of the Mercedes and raised the hood of her fur coat to shelter her from the biting frost.

A moment later the truck stopped behind the Mercedes. It was enormous, with a solid, steel-braced box resembling a train car.

Klaus took out a silver cigarette lighter and used it to signal up and down.

A reply came from the other side of the border, a point of light moving from right to left.

The Swiss guards opened the gate, and a dark Rolls Royce limousine glided through. A young man in a dark suit stepped out from behind the wheel. He knocked his heels together, bowed curtly, and opened the rear door. “Guten Abend, Herr General!”

“And to you, Günter,” Klaus said. He helped Tanya into the Rolls Royce, and the door closed.

The rear section of the vehicle was arranged like a cozy sitting room, with two leather sofas facing each other. A Wagner opera, Götterdämmerung – Twilight of the Gods, played softly. Dim lights illuminated the mahogany woodwork. Curtains covered the windows.

Armande Hoffgeitz shook Klaus’s hand and pecked Tanya’s cheek. “You’re three minutes late,” he said. “Do you need a new watch?”

The two men laughed, and Klaus pointed at the truck. “More than sixteen thousand gold watches in there. Maybe I’ll keep one.” He pulled off his gloves.

Armande Hoffgeitz looked at his hand. “You’re not wearing the ring.” He held his own hand to the ambient lamp. A serpent intertwined with the letters LASN, which stood for Lyceum Alpin St. Nicholas, the Swiss boarding school they had attended together.

“Regulations allow only one.” Klaus tapped his SS ring. “Treu. Tapfer. Gehorsam.”

“And are you still loyal, valiant, obedient?”

“I’m down to valiant only.” Klaus reached into his coat and took out 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 weariness. “Buy me American stocks—manufacturing, food, oil, chemicals.”

“As you wish.” The banker opened the ledger on the last page and scribbled at the bottom: Deposit of above-listed goods is acknowledged this day, 1.1.1945 by the Hoffgeitz Bank of Zurich. Signed: Armande Hoffgeitz, President. “We can’t just dump huge quantities of stones on the market—prices will collapse.”

“Take your time.” Klaus took the ledger and handed it to Tanya, who slipped it under her shirt, where it rested against her chest.

Armande asked, “When will I hear from you?”

“I will contact you from Argentina when it’s safe.” Klaus rolled down the window. “Felix!”

His driver hurried across the road.

“Tell your cousin to show Günter how to drive that monster.” He pointed at the truck. “I don’t want him to lose control on the way downhill.”

“Jawohl, Herr Obergruppenführer!” Felix ran to the truck.

“What about him?” Armande put the papers back in a briefcase. “Will you take Felix to Argentina?”

“I offered. He’s loyal and obedient, but no longer valiant. He wants to go with his cousin back to Bavaria, till the fields, milk the cows. Fools’ dreams.”

Armande Hoffgeitz’s assistant climbed into the cabin of the truck. The engine roared, and the truck proceeded through the gate into Switzerland.

They got out of the Rolls Royce. It felt even colder than before. The banker rubbed his hands. “A U-Boat ride across the Atlantic is risky. Why don’t you come with me to Zurich?”

“It’s too close to Germany,” Klaus said. “I must be far away when the Reich surrenders. The Allies will hunt us down, put up show trials, and march us one by one to the gallows.”

Tanya clutched his arm.

“Good luck, my friend.” Armande Hoffgeitz got behind the wheel.

“Auf Wiedersehen.”

The Rolls Royce slid backward across the border, and Klaus led Tanya to the Mercedes.

Felix held the door open. His cousin stood at attention.

“Excellent driving,” Klaus said. “You’ll be rewarded.”

They saluted. “Danke, Herr Obergruppenführer!”

He helped Tanya into the car and was about to follow, but paused. “What was that?”

The two soldiers looked around, uncertain.

“I heard something!” He drew his service Mauser.

Felix and Karl cocked their submachine guns and followed him around the hood of the car. The night was quiet, the moon exposed by the thin clouds. He stayed back as the two soldiers advanced toward the trees, their boots sinking into the snow, their weapons ready.

He raised his arm, aimed, and pressed the trigger once. The shot caused a flock of birds to scramble off a nearby tree. Felix turned to his cousin, who collapsed, blood trickling from a hole in the back of his head. The Mauser shifted, aligning with Felix’s head, silhouetted against the snow-weighted branches. The next bullet entered Felix’s temple and exited on the other side. The driver’s knees folded under him and he knelt down, blood oozing down both sides of his face. His mouth gaped as if attempting to speak, and he fell forward in the snow.

Klaus got behind the wheel and shut the door. “I’m sorry you had to see this,” he said. “But they knew too much.”

Tanya didn’t answer. She forced her mind to recall the photos he had shown her of the ranch in Argentina, the rolling hills and lush pasture, the sturdy cattle and proud horses. She imagined the sound of chirpy children.

Elie Weiss crouched in the snow by the roadside. The wool coat, stripped from a corpse a month earlier, was too big. The gloves were tattered, the knuckles bare. Another hour of exposure could cost him a finger, or worse.

“We’re too late,” Abraham Gerster said, clapping his hands to keep the circulation going. “We missed them. Let’s go back to the village, steal some food.”

“Not yet. They might come back this way.”

Abraham obeyed without argument. Elie was barely two years older, but they had known each other since childhood, when such age differences fix seniority in concrete. But Elie envied Abraham’s vitality, his youthful energy, the strength he hadn’t lost despite the harsh weather, constant hunger, and bursts of violence. At eighteen, Abraham was still running at full speed, four years after they had escaped the German slaughter of their shtetl. They had learned to survive in the thick forests, stealing food when possible and killing Germans at every opportunity. But as the war dragged on, hiding became harder, and the dwindling German units had little food left to steal.

“Maybe they took another route,” Abraham said.

“I heard them clearly.” Elie had eavesdropped on two German soldiers smoking outside the inn at the village. They were cousins, 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, leaving a dark trail of blood. The car wreck must have injured her.

“Shoot her in the leg,” Elie ordered. “Pain will make her talk.”

“She’s bleeding already,” Abraham said. “A lot.”

“Do it!”

She raised her hand to stop him, shut her eyes, and recited, “Shmah Israel, Hear, O Israel, Adonai is our God, Adonai is one.”

Elie was shocked by the words of the ancient covenant. A Jewish woman travelling with a Nazi general? Shedding tears for the dead monster? He ignited the cigarette lighter. In the small flame, her face was shockingly beautiful, the angelic features of a woman-child, her green eyes wide and moist.

Abraham stashed the gun in his belt, dropped to his knees, and took her hand. His face was fresh, cheeks red from cold, chin marked by the shadow of a beard. His blue eyes sat large in his face, filled with compassion under the shock of blond hair. “Hear, O Israel, Adonai is our God.” He pulled out a dirty handkerchief and wiped her forehead. “But there’s no God. No Adonai. If only He existed!”

She touched Abraham’s lips, silencing him, and Elie killed the lighter.

“What’s your name?” Abraham slipped his hands under her and lifted her up effortlessly.

“Tanya.” Her eyes turned to the dead Nazi lying in the snow. “Tanya Galinski.”

Grabbing her arm, Elie said, “You grieve for him? Why?”

“Leave her alone,” Abraham said.

“Where is his ledger?” Elie pointed to the corpse. “He kept a record!”

“Enough with the questions.” Abraham turned, carrying her, and stumbled. But he regained his footing and kept going. “She needs a doctor.”

“Did he give it to you?” Elie felt up the fur coat. “Tell me!”

Tanya rested her head in the small of Abraham’s neck, and he carried her through the snow back to the road and down toward the village. It started snowing again, and the ground quivered under the distant bombardment. The Battle of the Bulge lit up the western horizon with a glowing, man-made dawn, as if the first day of 1945 was eager to begin.





Four months later …