Jacob's Oath (30 page)

“Yo, give ’er one from me!”

“Move over Fritz, Alabama’s here!”

“Oh, man, check those boobs!”

“Look, he’s Jewish!”

“What an ass!”

“Not his, hers.”

“Cap’n, throw anchor!”

“Stop the boat, I want to get off!”

And just as quickly the swift-flowing river swept the G.I.s on the rubber pontoon
past the lagoon and out of sight.

Jacob and Sarah couldn’t stop laughing until they sank into the quiet water and she
curled her leg around his waist and drew him to her, and they grew silent and breathless
and they were laughing no more as the waves lapped around them.

That evening they strolled hand in hand along Hauptstrasse, lost in the maelstrom
of citizens on the evening circuit, and stopped for a drink with five hundred others
in University Square. The beer was cold and pleasing and Jacob sighed in satisfaction.
They seemed to have regained their place among the ranks of the townsfolk. They were
home.

Jacob enjoyed pointing out who was who. The best-dressed were the Nazis who had kept
their homes and jobs and wardrobes in their pristine town. The scruffiest were the
foreign slave workers who sought transport to their homes in the east. And in the
middle were the homeless German refugees who refused to leave town because however
bad it was in Heidelberg, it was better than anywhere else.

A slim man in a long gray coat, pinstripe trousers, and a well-brushed black homburg
sat next to them. In his lapel he wore a Red Cross pin. When an American officer walked
by, the man stood to rigid attention and saluted. The officer didn’t acknowledge him.

Jacob looked at Sarah. She had noticed too. “Times have changed,” she said.

Had they ever. They held hands across the table. For days they had hardly left the
room together. Now they wanted to be out and seen as much as possible. At any moment
Jacob could need an alibi.

TWENTY-NINE

Heidelberg,
June 8, 1945

By curfew at nine thirty, streets were deserted, the moon’s dim light glistened on
damp cobbles, and in the cozy dining room at the Schwartzer Bock guests sipped ersatz
coffee, drained their Schwindelcognac, and signed their exorbitant bills. Business
was good. From his table where he sat alone by the huge ornate ceramic stove, adorned
with azure and emerald-green tiles, Ari watched Hans and his parents finishing their
beers at the Stammtisch and wishing each guest a loud good night. The swing doors
creaked as they passed through to the staircase leading to their bedrooms. Not wanting
to draw attention to himself, Ari signed his bill and walked in the steps of an elderly
couple. He nodded good night as he passed the Seelers but Frau Seeler beckoned him
with a wave.

“You will be leaving in the morning, Herr von Schuhmacher?”

“Yes, that is right, Frau Seeler, thank you for a wonderful stay.”

“It is our pleasure. Would you like a packed lunch? What time will you be leaving?
Checkout time is noon.”

“Oh, I’ll be gone by then, thank you. No need for a packed lunch.”

“Where to next?” asked Mr. Seeler. He had a surprisingly high voice for such a big
man. “Oh. Just to Mannheim.” Mr. Seeler opened his mouth to say something else but
Ari wouldn’t let him. “Well, it’s late for me, early start in the morning. Good night,
everyone, and thank you again.” Hans Seeler studied him without moving a muscle. It
was the closest Ari had come to him and one glance told him enough. Seeler’s elbows
were on the table and his hands rested beneath his chin. His jacket sleeves were creased
at the biceps. Thick fingers, big hands. Strong and fit. One less Nazi bastard, Ari
thought.

In his room, Ari waited for the yellow band of light beneath the door to indicate
Seeler had entered his room. To see it more easily, he had turned his own light off.
He was ready but to be sure went through his gear once more. With light, or in the
dark, it was all the same to him. Left trouser pocket. Flashlight. He turned it on
and off. A strong beam. Battery’s good. He replaced it with a fresh battery anyway,
putting the old one in his bag. Hard to come by. Right pocket. Seven-inch dagger.
Right leg strap, the backup ten-inch. He took his Enfield pistol and moved the hammer
from safe chamber to loaded. Five bullets in, twelve more in the belt pouch. Just
in case. His holster was on his left hip.

His overnight bag was packed. He’d paid for the room upfront on arrival. Now he just
had to lie back and wait.

It was eleven fifteen when the light went out in Hans’s room and Ari allowed himself
to doze. He heard the scratching of mice, or rats, and the persistent sighing of wind
through the window-frame. Footsteps above, the flushing of a toilet, a door quietly
closing until soon the hotel was silent and dark. Every twenty minutes he looked at
his watch, and he waited for two hours to pass. He breathed lightly and easily, and
with twenty minutes to go, he took out his knife. He looked out of the window. He
was ready.

Outside, it was a cool night with a quarter-moon and a slight drizzle, perfect for
a not uncomfortable wait in poor visibility, to see and not be seen.

Omri hid in the dark recess of the café entrance. In his pocket his right hand played
with a sock stuffed with dirt, which he would stick in Seeler’s mouth as soon as he
opened it. In his left hand he held a wooden cosh, just in case. And if all hell broke
loose, his Sten gun was strapped to his chest, beneath his German army jacket.

Farther up the street, with the hotel and the café in view, Yonni waited at the wheel
of the jeep; he looked at his watch and turned the engine on.

He was thinking. That cake Ari brought was really good. Maybe they could get some
more on the way out. He checked the gasoline gauge. Handled the pistol on the seat.
Looked over his shoulder and back toward Omri. Even though he knew he was in the awning,
he couldn’t see a hint of him. That Omri: He was like a snake, he could wait all night
and nobody would see him till he slithered out. And by then it was too late.

Just a few minutes to go until the killing.

Curfew. The street should be empty but … movement caught his eye. Leaning forward,
he looked tensely into his near side mirror.

Behind him a lone figure had appeared and was running toward the jeep. He was growing
bigger in the mirror. Yonni’s hand closed on his gun. He felt the adrenaline racing.
Thoughts chased each other: Could be nothing to do with us, a guy running away from
something. He’s not army or police, if he was he wouldn’t be alone. Coincidence?

No such thing.

He released the safety catch. One of us? Only two people know. He depressed the handle,
leaned against the door, opened it a fraction, ready to burst out if needed.

The man was waving.

Yonni left the jeep and crouched on the sidewalk, behind the open door. He held his
gun in firing position, arm out, body twisted to reduce the target.

Ten meters away the man halted, bent from the waist, hands on knees, heaving.

“Yon … Yonni?” he panted. He could hardly breathe.

“Password,” Yonni said.

“The rat.” The man tried to raise himself, said it again, “The rat.”

“What day is it?” Yonni said, lowering his gun.

“Hanukkah.”

“Okay. So what is it?”

“Call it off. Now. Immediately.” He was leaning on the jeep, every breath a gasp.
“Don’t do it. Word from Blue. And Red.”

“Quiet, you’ll wake the whole street,” Yonni said, climbing back into the jeep seat.
He flashed the headlights twice short, followed by one long. He did it again. Omri
would know now: it’s off. “Why didn’t you drive here?”

“I did. Damn jeep broke down.”

“See the corner café? The first door past the turning?” The man nodded. “Go there.
It’s Omri. Tell him. Make sure.” The man threw his head back, took in a deep breath,
and ran to the café.

When Ari opened the door for Omri he already had the key to suite nine in his hand.
His face was covered with a black commando mask and the streetlight glinted on the
blade of his dagger. He handed Omri the pillow. Omri whispered: Won’t be needing that.

Even beneath his mask Omri could see Ari’s jaw fall as he told him the hit was off:
The cloth clung to his open lips. He nodded, crept back to his room, collected his
small bag, hung the keys on their hooks, and quietly closed the hotel door behind
him.

By dawn, driving south, after a quick briefing from Red, who they met for the first
time, and a coded radio talk with Blue, they had the full story.

They were hunted men. The U.S. army was looking for them. They needed to get to the
British zone yesterday.

The service numbers and names they had given the foot patrol in Stuttgart were now
confirmed as false, the mess they had left behind needed a culprit, and they were
known to be in Mannheim heading for Heidelberg. They were one step away from serious
jail time for murder. So don’t make things worse, call off the hit, keep calm, and
get back to base.

Moreover, Red told them, the Jewish Brigade had new orders; they were to be reassigned
to Holland, all five thousand men. The assassination campaign was bad enough, but
much worse from the British point of view was the Bricha, the smuggling of Jews from
Europe to Palestine carried out secretly and against all orders by Jewish Brigade
soldiers via the Italian coast. The solution, the British had decided, was to move
the entire brigade out of temptation’s way, to Holland, about as far from the Mediterranean
as they could be sent.

So they should report back to base as quickly as possible and be prepared for fresh
orders. Needs were changing. The killing season was over. It was more urgent to beat
the British blockade: to bring the Jews home.

“Told you,” Yonni said at the wheel. “Killing Nazis makes you feel good but it does
more good to bring the Jews to Palestine.”

“Yeah, that’s why the Brits won’t let us,” Omri said.

“They can’t stop us,” Ari said. “Not forever.”

“So you’re right this time, then, Yonni,” Omri said. “But what about that evil rat
bastard?”

“Fuck him,” Yonni said, slapping the steering wheel. “The one that got away.”

THIRTY

Heidelberg,
June 10, 1945

Midday. Lauerstrasse, a narrow cobbled street. Dark green ivy wrapping the painted
houses trembles in the river breeze, wooden window shutters slowly swing and creak.
At the open door of number 13, Frau Bohrmann pours water from a bucket into the pot
of geraniums on her yellow windowsill, while an ancient dog with hanging teats slumps
at her feet in the sun. Two boys in shorts play hopscotch, hopping from square to
square. A horse and cart clatters by, piled high with branches and firewood for sale
in the market. A wooden wheel lurches into a jutting stone and a long branch falls
to the ground. The two boys grab it and flee. Gazing from the attic window of a sky-blue
house, old Herr Glas contemplates it all, and listens to the bold tones of the great
bell in the Catholic church tower, jutting above the rooftops, chiming twelve times.

A serene and balmy day. Outside.

While inside the love nest at number 9, it is stormy weather.

Jacob stomped to the table, back to the bed, got up again, and fell on a chair. Back
to the bed, where he threw himself onto his back, staring at the ceiling. Back to
the table.

“For God’s sake, sit still,” Sarah hissed.

“I promise you, so help me God, I will do it. So stop it now. It’s no good.”

Sarah closed her eyes and pressed her lips together and breathed in, trying to control
her fury. She emphasized each word. “Jacob, please, consider it isn’t just you now,
it’s both of us, together.”

“I have, you know I have. Look, for two days, two whole days, we thought they’d do
it. Okay, now they can’t, I understand, it was too good to be true. But that doesn’t
mean it’s all over. What, all of a sudden all my promises, everything I have lived
for since the camp, I’m going to throw it all away…”

“What do you mean throw it all away? That’s exactly what you’re doing, throwing all
this away, all we have found together, all we mean to each other, that’s what you’re
throwing away…”

“That’s not what I mean, you know that. I mean I can’t throw away all my plans, my
promise. I must…”

“Oh, stop it, for God’s sake, what plans? Who are you fooling? You couldn’t kill him
any more than I could. Let him go, let it all go, it’s the future that counts, our
future, not the past. Don’t you realize, he ruined your life and now he’s ruining
you again. He killed your brother, now he’ll kill you. You’ll get caught, and then…”

“No, I won’t. I know what to do. I know exactly how to do it.”

“No, you don’t. You said so, you’ve got no idea.”

Jacob lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling, breathing heavily. She was right. He
had no idea. No idea at all, and if he was right, the Rat was leaving in four days.
Four days. The only way to do it now is just to follow the bastard and club him on
the head till he’s dead.

“I know how to do it,” he said.

“How?”

“I know how.”

“How, then?”

“Trust me. I know.”

“But I don’t trust you!” Sarah shouted. “I don’t trust you, all right? I don’t want
you to get caught. I don’t want to lose you. I don’t want any of this.” She clung
to him. “Oh, please, Jacob, please stop it now. You’re not a murderer. It will ruin
you. You’ll get caught. I can’t lose you, I can’t.” She threw herself onto the bed.
“For God’s sake, don’t I mean anything to you?”

Jacob sank onto the bed next to her and took her hand. “Sarah. Oh, Sarah.” He pressed
her fingers to his lips. “Don’t you think I care? Of course I do. But listen, please
listen. You didn’t go through what I did. Believe me, I know you went through hell,
but it was a different kind of hell. I don’t even really know what happened to you.
But if I tell you just one percent of what this man did, and he wasn’t the only one
by a long way, you’d feel the way I do. I can’t kill them all. But this one man, I
can kill. Just one. I swore I would. It kept me alive. I’m nothing otherwise. If you
had been there…”