“As of this morning, the total value of the account stands at two and a half billion dollars. Roughly one billion of that is cash, equally divided between dollars and euros. The rest of the money is invested-the usual fare, securities and bonds, along with a substantial amount of real estate…”

TEN MINUTES LATER, Gabriel reached down and pressed the Stop button. Carter emptied the contents of his pipe into the fireplace and slowly loaded another bowl.

“That conversation took place in Vienna last week,” Carter said. “The banker is a man named Konrad Becker. He’s from Zurich.”

“And the account?” Gabriel asked.

“After the war, thousands of fleeing Nazis went into hiding in Austria. They brought several hundred million dollars’ worth of looted Nazi assets with them: gold, cash, artwork, jewelry, household silver, rugs, and tapestries. The stuff was stashed all through the Alps. Many of those Nazis wanted to resurrect the Reich, and they wanted to use their looted assets to help accomplish that goal. A small cadre understood that Hitler’s crimes were so enormous that it would take at least a generation or more before National Socialism would be politically viable again. They decided to place a large sum of money in a Zurich bank and attach a rather unique set of instructions to the account. It could only be activated by a letter from the Austrian chancellor. You see, they believed that revolution had begun in Austria with Hitler and that Austria would be the fountain of its revival. Five men were initially entrusted with the account number and password. Four of them died. When the fifth took ill, he sought out someone to become the trustee.”

“Erich Radek.”

Carter nodded and paused a moment to ignite his pipe. “Radek is about to get his chancellor, but he’ll never see a drop of that money. We found out about the account a few years ago. Overlooking his past in 1945 was one thing, but we weren’t about to allow him to unlock an account filled with two and a half billion in Holocaust loot. We quietly moved against Herr Becker and his bank. Radek doesn’t know it yet, but he’s never going to see a penny of that money.”

Gabriel reached down, pressed REWIND, then STOP, then PLAY:

“Your comrades provided generously for those who assisted them in this endeavor. But I’m afraid there have been some unexpected… complications.”

“What sort of complications?”

“It seems that several of those who were to receive money have died recently under mysterious circumstances…”

STOP.

Gabriel looked up at Carter for an explanation.

“The men who created the account wanted to reward those individuals and institutions who had helped fleeing Nazis after the war. Radek thought this was sentimental horseshit. He wasn’t about to start a benevolent aid association. He couldn’t change the covenant, so he changed the circumstances on the ground.”

“Were Enrique Calderon and Gustavo Estrada supposed to receive money from the account?”

“I see you learned a great deal during your time with Alfonso Ramirez.” Carter gave a guilty smile. “We were following you in Buenos Aires.”

“Radek is a wealthy man who doesn’t have long to live,” Gabriel said. “The last thing he needs is money.”

“Apparently, he plans to give a large portion of the account to his son.”

“And the rest?”

“He’s going to turn it over to his most important agent to carry out the original intentions of the men who created the account.” Carter paused. “I believe you and he are acquainted. His name is Manfred Kruz.”

Carter’s pipe had gone dead. He stared into the bowl, frowned, and relit it.

“Which brings us back to our original problem.” Carter blew a puff of smoke toward Gabriel. “What do we do about Erich Radek? If you ask the Austrians to prosecute him, they’ll take their time about it and wait for him to die. If you kidnap an elderly Austrian from the streets of Vienna and cart him back to Israel for trial, the shit will rain down on you from on high. If you think you have trouble in the European Community now, your problems will be multiplied tenfold if you snatch him. And if he’s placed on trial, his defense will undoubtedly involve exposing our links to him. So what do we do, gentlemen?”

“Perhaps there’s a third way,” Gabriel said.

“What’s that?”

“Convince Radek to come to Israel voluntarily.”

Carter gazed at Gabriel skeptically over the bowl of his pipe.

“And how would you suppose we could convince a first-class shit like Erich Radek to do that?”

THEY TALKED THROUGH the night. It was Gabriel’s plan, and therefore his to outline and defend. Shamron added a few valuable suggestions. Carter, resistant at first, soon crossed over to Gabriel’s camp. The very audacity of the plan appealed to him. His own service would have probably shot an officer for putting forward so unorthodox an idea.

Every man had a weakness, Gabriel said. Radek, through his actions, had shown he possessed two: his lust for the money hidden in the Zurich account, and his desire to see his son become chancellor of Austria. Gabriel maintained that it was the second that had led Radek to move against Eli Lavon and Max Klein. Radek didn’t want his son tarred by the brush of his previous life, and he had proven that he would take almost any step to protect him. It involved swallowing a bitter pill-making a deal with a man who had no right to demand concessions-but it was morally just and produced the desired result: Erich Radek behind bars for crimes he committed against the Jewish people. Time was the critical factor. The election was less than three weeks away. Radek needed to be in Israeli hands before the first vote was cast in Austria. Otherwise their leverage over him would be lost.

As dawn drew near, Carter posed the question that had been gnawing at him from the moment the first report of Gabriel’s investigation crossed his desk: Why? Why was Gabriel, an Office assassin, so determined that Radek be brought to justice after so many years?

“I want to tell you a story, Adrian,” Gabriel said, his voice suddenly distant, as was his gaze. “Actually, maybe it would be better if she told you the story herself.”

He handed Carter a copy of his mother’s testimony. Carter, seated next to the dying fire, read it from beginning to end without uttering a word. When finally he looked up from the last page, his eyes were damp.

“I take it Irene Allon is your mother?”

“She was my mother. She died a long time ago.”

“How can you be sure the SS man in the woods was Radek?”

Gabriel told him about his mother’s paintings.

“So I take it you’ll be the one who’ll handle the negotiations with Radek. And if he refuses to cooperate? What then, Gabriel?”

“His choices will be limited, Adrian. One way or another, Erich Radek is never setting foot in Vienna again.”

Carter handed the testimony back to Gabriel. “It’s an excellent plan,” he said. “But will your prime minister go for it?”

“I’m certain there will be voices raised in opposition,” Shamron said.

“Lev?”

Shamron nodded. “My involvement will give him all the grounds he needs to veto it. But I believe Gabriel will be able to bring the prime minister around to our way of thinking.”

“Me? Who said I was going to brief the prime minister?”

“I did,” Shamron said. “Besides, if you can convince Carter to put Radek on a platter, surely you can convince the prime minister to partake in the feast. He’s a man of enormous appetites.”

Carter stood and stretched, then walked slowly toward the window, a doctor who has spent the entire night in surgery only to achieve a questionable outcome. He opened the drapes. Gray light filtered into the room.

“There’s one last item we need to discuss before leaving for Israel,” Shamron said.

Carter turned around, a silhouette against the glass. “The money?”