by Joseph Kanon
“Otto Schramm is alive.”
Nathan stopped. “Otto Schramm.”
“I know. He’s supposed to be dead. But he isn’t. He’s here.”
“Here. What, having coffee with Bormann? With Mengele maybe.”
“Max saw him.”
Nathan glanced behind, then started walking again, turning in to one of the dock’s service streets, away from the water. “Max saw him,” he said, still taking it in.
“So did I. I know what you’re thinking. I thought so too. You get to that age—” He wagged his hand by his temple. “But I saw him too. This morning. I’ve got a friend in the hospital to prove it.”
Nathan tilted his head slightly, an I-don’t-follow look.
“He tried to get a picture and Schramm’s—bodyguard, I guess, didn’t like it, so—”
“He get the picture?”
“No. They smashed the camera. Then him. Real storm trooper stuff. Heavy on the kicking. So Fritz’s got a few ribs taped and half his head bandaged up.”
Nathan took a breath. “Fritz from the newspaper?”
Aaron nodded.
“And where was this?”
“Ohlsdorf. Schramm’s wife died. So, her funeral. That’s why he came. To pay his respects. Something like that anyway.”
“He’s so sentimental?”
“He’s here, that’s all I can tell you. I saw him with my own eyes. Fritz too. Not just Max. He’s here.”
“But not anymore, after this. And what am I supposed to do with this information?”
“Max thought you should know. Your people. He’ll need your help.”
“My help.”
“He can’t do this alone.”
“My friend, I am one man here. I help people emigrate. Sometimes I get information for Bauer, the prosecutor in Frankfurt. From the archives, in Israel. Bauer wants to make a series of trials. Here. So we help him. We want trials here too. By Germans, not by us. That’s what I do.”
“Everybody knows Mossad—”
“Everybody knows what we tell them. Mossad is everywhere. No one is safe from us. The invincible Mossad. The truth? Not so invincible.”
“All he’s asking—”
“I know what he’s asking. Another Eichmann. Do you think anybody would agree to that? Another operation like that? Put people on the ground? Halfway around the world. Safe houses. Exfiltrate a man. Where is all this money coming from? Some secret fund in the Knesset? We don’t have resources for this. It’s that simple.”
“You did.”
“And we made our point. Eichmann was worth it. A trial before all the world, so everyone could see. A stand-in for all the others. Now let the Germans put the rest on trial.”
“The small fry.”
“The small fry murdered people too. Max knows that. These trials that Bauer wants? Max was the one who—” He broke off. “Ach,” he said, waving hand. “But now Schramm. So Israel blamed again. Acting like gangsters. Kidnapping. On foreign soil. More people yelling in the UN. Just like before. Right under their noses. Because we’re so good.” He shook his head. “No, because we were so lucky. And had money to plan. Every detail, so nothing would go wrong. It worked, once. Not twice. This isn’t what we do.”
“And what happens to Schramm?”
Nathan didn’t answer for a minute, buying time by lighting a cigarette.
“I don’t know. Maybe he stays dead. It was good, that death, whoever arranged it. We believed it.” He looked up. “It’s really him? So you, what do you want to do?”
Aaron hesitated, thrown by this. “Me? I want what Max wants. To put him on trial.”
“Where? Israel? We’re out of the trial business.”
“For Schramm?”
“Yes, I know,” Nathan said, weary for effect. “A monster. But you know how many monsters there are out there? And how few of us? You see this?” He lifted his hand to his throat. “There are millions of Arabs who want to cut it. Like this.” He made a slicing motion. “And smile while they’re doing it. Butcher us. Wipe us out. That’s what Mossad does now. We fight for our lives. Not look for Nazis. Not Eichmann, over and over.” He took a long pull on the cigarette, then tossed it to the ground. “My parents were killed at Auschwitz. Max isn’t the only one. I know. To get someone like Schramm— But we have to survive first.”
“Then how does he pay?”
“I’m not God. I don’t know. Maybe he doesn’t. Maybe he dies again. For real, this time. Another accident. If God arranges it.”
“Or someone else.”
Nathan looked over. “Not us. We are not assassins.”
Aaron raised an eyebrow.
“We protect Israel. That’s all. Not nakam. You know nakam? Hebrew for vengeance. If we began—where would it stop? Six million lives later? Jews can’t afford nakam.”
“So he gets away with it. What’s Hebrew for justice?”
Nathan stared at him for a second, then looked away.
“Well, justice. Everybody has a word for that. But what is it? Something maybe doesn’t exist.”
“You don’t mean that.”
He waited out another silence.
“You’re sure it’s him?” Nathan said finally.
“Sure.”
“They said you were careful. In your work. So, all right, maybe it is.”
“That must be some source you have. Even my performance reviews.”
Nathan gave a half smile. “Ears everywhere. So people think.” He looked up. “You know what Max will do? What he always does. Go to Fritz, the newspapers. A press conference. The Nazi hunter gets his man. So we lose face if we don’t act. Where was Mossad all this time, with their ears everywhere? And then what? Argentina won’t arrest him. They’ve been protecting him. And how do they admit— Anyway, what law has been broken there?”
“There’s an extradition order.”
“To Germany? And what will they do with him? A show trial. You think there’s such an appetite here for that? Poland, where the crimes were committed? Israel, another diplomatic crisis? Everyone against us again?”
Aaron looked at him, dismayed. Nobody, not even the Israelis. Max the only one who wouldn’t let go.
“It’s an impossible situation for us. It’s better if he’s dead,” Nathan said. “Better for Max too. At his age.”
“Except he isn’t dead.”
Nathan lifted his head to respond to this, then stopped. “Listen to me. Nobody else will tell you this. They’ll say what you say. Who could argue? But nobody wants him. Except the newspapers. The newspapers want him. What does he look like now? How did he live all these years? The newspapers can do this for weeks. Longer. For them, gold. But for everyone else, a problem. These Bauer trials, the ones Max is helping with, they can make a difference. Maybe even some justice for a change, who knows? But this, this circus—let him stay dead. He’ll be dead soon enough anyway, so it ends the same.” He paused. “Nobody wants these men.”
“So what do I tell Max?”
“Tell him—” He stopped, frustrated, then sighed. “Tell him we’re grateful. I’ll pass this along. Upstairs. See what they say. Meanwhile, if there’s anything I can do here—”
“But you know what they’re going to say.”
“Sometimes they take a long time to say it. We’re playing for time here, my friend. If he finds Schramm, he’ll force our hand, yes. We can’t just sit by. But what are the odds he can find him? Seventeen years he couldn’t find him. Why now? What are the odds?”
Aaron looked at him. “Better. I’m going to help him.” Something he didn’t know until he said it.
Nathan took a minute, not saying anything, trying to read Aaron’s face. “You think you know what you’re doing. You haven’t even started and you’ve got one in the hospital. Who do you think these people are? Max is a sick man. You do this, you’re on your own. You’re ready for that? A desk man.” Nathan looked down. “Fritz’s doing a story?”
“Not without a picture. Without that, it’
s just Max seeing ghosts. But he will. I find Schramm, it’s a story. Then you’ve got the whole world watching. Mossad will have to do something then.”
Another silence.
“I’ll pass it along. That’s all I can do.”
“I’ll find him. But I’ll need help getting him out.”
“Like Eichmann, a whole team?” He shook his head. “Those days are over.”
“How many then?”
“You think this is a negotiation? How do I know? Find him and ask me again.”
“But enough to get him out.”
“To where? Germany?”
Aaron nodded.
“You need to see what this is. So let me ask you. If there’s no trial at the end, there’s no point wasting men getting him out. But there he is, walking around. No justice. So what then? He has an accident. That would only take one man. You prepared to do that? If that’s how this ends? Would that be enough nakam for you?”
He thought of Fritz being kicked on the ground, Schramm walking down a line, nodding his mother to the gas.
“I’ll tell you after I find him.”
* * *
The nurse intercepted him as he got off the elevator.
“The doctor would like to see you.”
“What’s wrong?”
“He’s this way,” she said, leading him down the corridor, evidently not allowed to say. News only a doctor could deliver.
“Ah, Herr Wiley.” The doctor stood up. A desk cluttered with paper.
“What’s wrong?”
The doctor made a take-a-seat gesture. “He’s had another episode.”
“Episode.”
“Attack. My English. Ein Herzanfall.”
“How bad?”
“Bad. One right after the other—it’s difficult. Of course, he may—” He stopped, leaving it unfinished.
“But he may not. He could die.”
A slight dip of his head. “I wanted to prepare you. Of course, a man of great spirit. He may—”
“Can I see him?”
“Yes. He’s still lucid. That’s a good sign.”
Of what, Aaron wondered, when he saw him. Max’s skin seemed pulled against his face, as thin and fragile as yellowing paper. A small plastic oxygen tube had been fed into his nose, the mouth gaping anyway, as if he couldn’t get enough air. Aaron stared for a minute, eyes suddenly filling. I can’t die now. After. God’s final trick, taking him just when Schramm was in his sights.
“How did it go with Nathan?” he said, eyes still closed, his voice weak and scratchy.
“Good. He’s talking to his people, set things up. He’s excited.”
Max smiled. “I knew.”
“He’s nervous about operating in Argentina again. But it’s Schramm.” Why not enfold them both in the story, what Max wanted to hear?
“Good,” Max said. “If you have them, you can do it. Tell Elena to give you Goldfarb’s number. He’s a friend. Important in the Jewish community there. If it’s for me, he’ll help you.”
“You can call him yourself. You should be out of here in a week. He can wait that long.”
Another smile, this time fainter, an effort. “Don’t kid a kidder.”
Aaron took his hand. “You can do it.”
Max opened his eyes. “No, it’s the end,” he said, his voice clear. “I saw him tonight. Otto. Not for real. The way I said before, when you see people. It’s the brain talking to you. In his white coat, so I knew. Making a selection. This time left.” He gripped Aaron’s hand more tightly. “The way it was always going to end. To the left. I could see it in his face, that look he used to get. When he could decide. A god. Imagine, being able to decide death for people.”
“Max—”
“Shh. It’s all right. Now, then—what’s the difference? He was always going to do it. He pulled me out of the line—for how long?—but he was always going to put me back. So it’s now. But he doesn’t know.”
“What?”
“He thinks it’s over. His face tonight. He thinks it’s over. But he doesn’t know about you. He thinks if I’m gone, he’s safe.” He clutched at Aaron’s hand. “He doesn’t know about you.”
Aaron stared at him, at a loss.
Max loosened his grip. “And you’ll have Mossad. With them you don’t need luck. So you can finish it.”
“Max—”
“Something else. I wish we could have spent more time together.”
“We will.”
“But I think I know you a little, how you react, so something else.”
Aaron waited.
“When you go through the files, you’ll find some things from your mother. I don’t know why I kept them. Well, I keep everything. Elena says. And now it’s too late. You’ll find them. I want you to know how it was, what they mean. She wanted to get out, to be with you again. And Herschel. He never knew. I never said a word. But this man said he would help her. She was out of hope by then—they weren’t letting anyone leave, not even for money—and the man said he would help. So she believed him. You look at those letters, you might think she stayed for him. But it was the opposite. It was because she wanted to be with you. You understand?”
“Yes.”
“There’s no blame. She thought she had time. We all thought that.”
“How long did this go on?”
Max moved his hand. “I don’t know. What does it matter? But then, when she knew he wasn’t going to help, she had to stay with him anyway. Where else could she go? So it’s another story from that time. Another story. You know, I used to think, they go down that line, the selection line, and to them we’re like cattle—just something to slaughter. They couldn’t see us. All the stories. Just cattle.” His voice dipping at the end, but worked up, no longer peaceful.
“Maybe you should get some rest now.”
“Later. I just wanted you to know. No blame, do you understand?”
“Yes.”
“So, a few things. Keep Elena on—it’ll be worth it to you. She knows where everything is.”
“OK.” Agreeing to anything.
“When you get Schramm, give Fritz an exclusive, all right? I owe him some favors and anyway he’ll do a good job with it.”
Aaron thought of the bandaged head in the other hospital, Schramm’s latest victim. “OK.”
Max nodded. “You’re a good boy. Come, sit. You going to stand all night?” Keeping his hand, as Aaron pulled the chair over. “That’s better. Now I don’t have to look up at you.” A weak smile. “Herschel’s nose.” He closed his eyes for a second. “So, no problems with Nathan?”
“No. He had me checked out. At the Agency.”
“See.”
Another silence.
“You know what you don’t expect? You make a list—what you need to do. And what does it matter? You won’t be here anyway. Everything goes through your head. What you did, what you didn’t do, and none of it matters.” Another pause. “But he doesn’t know about you. So there’s something.”
A minute of silence, his breathing steady, in a light sleep. Aaron sat holding his hand, not knowing what to do. Max’s body seemed to be shriveling, no bigger than a child’s under the sheets.
“Do you know what I thought before?” he said suddenly.
“What?”
“Daniel. There won’t be anybody to remember him now. After me. So he’ll be free. I thought I let him go before, but I held on. Now he can go. All these years.”
And then he did sleep, Aaron still by his side, cramped but not wanting to move, afraid of waking him. At some point he worked his hand out of Max’s, so that the old man’s rested palm up on the sheet. A nurse tiptoed in, but Aaron put a finger to his lips, and after checking the hydrating drip she went away. Now there was nothing but the swish of an occasional car outside, the faint hiss of the oxygen feed, and Aaron felt himself beginning to drift. The final to-do list that didn’t matter. His mother yearning for him, not feckless. Seeing Otto in his white coat, th
e way it was always going to end. But he doesn’t know about you. In the quiet, his head began to droop, following Max into his half sleep. How long could he sit here? All night? But once Max was gone, there’d be no one. Little enough to ask. And what was a white lie at such a moment, Nathan marshaling his commandos?
When Max stirred, a rustling in the silence, Aaron started, the movement like a hand on his shoulder. Faint noises now, maybe the beginnings of a death rattle, the gasping intake of air. Should he call the nurse? Max’s eyes still closed, seeing whoever he was seeing. And then his hand closed on something tight, holding on, and Aaron watched, mesmerized, as it clutched and then, with a slight spasm, opened and let go, the hand flat and still, empty, as if nothing had been in it, not for years.
* * *
He walked back along the shore of the Aussenalster, shoulders hunched against the damp. He doesn’t know about you. But he knew there was someone. A man with a camera, who had called out his name, unmistakable. He’d have to leave. But maybe not yet. He’d been safe here until he heard the camera click. Where? Aaron looked across at the apartment buildings lining the street. Any one of these lights, safe, bolted in. A house in the country, no neighbors. Some hotel down in Altona, transient. But not the Atlantic, just ahead, its bright lights pouring onto the sidewalk, shiny with wet leaves, the long lakefront veranda lined with columns two stories high, a porch built to catch the breeze. Where you stayed if you wanted to be seen, or were rich enough not to care.
Aaron stopped short, scanning the façade. The kind of hotel an American would choose, the only place to stay. He thought of her suit, the hair knotted perfectly in place, and saw her in the lobby bar, settled in a club chair, a drink at her side. With whom? Impossible to imagine Otto taking that kind of risk here. Too public. But she must have known he was at Ohlsdorf. Restless while the old nanny wept, keeping an eye out for him. Aaron’s lead. Something Otto didn’t know he knew. A back way to him.
He crossed the street and walked up to the Holzdamm entrance, behind a party of people getting out of a taxi, noisy as birds, the doorman in top coat and bright buttons, shooing them in. The lobby was busy, a Hamburg meeting place, and he headed toward the bar, not hesitating, as if imagining her there had actually placed her there. He looked around. Not in one of the chairs, not on a stool at the long bar, maybe not even in the hotel. But it was the obvious place, more than a hunch. He went over to the front desk and borrowed some stationery, writing out a note and sealing it. Crane, but what was the first name? Had Fritz said? No. Someone he could talk to just by lifting the house phone, if she was here. And then say what?