understand perfectly well. We can’t upset the Arabs.”
“You mean it’s true? We’re harboring German war criminals?”
“Harboring isn’t exactly the word I would have chosen.”
“Which word would you choose?”
Chandler’s tone was sharper. “As I said, Henry, it’s the three monkeys on this one.’
“This man might be a mass murderer! Do you know what the SS were-”
“-We have to look at the big picture. It is imperative we retain our influence here - if we don’t, then we leave it open to the Russians or, God help us all, the Americans. It behoves us to examine carefully every slice of bread that comes our way and see which side the butter’s on.”
“It’s intolerable!”
“For your information, there’s scores of SS and Gestapo officers in Palestine, maybe hundreds. They’re here at the invitation of the Arabs but in the present climate, we cannot and will not do one damned thing about it. But you didn’t hear that from me.”
Talbot was speechless.
“Don’t look at me like that, Henry. It’s not my fault and it’s not yours. We’re here to carry out government policy.”
“Is this official government policy, sir?”
“Of course it isn’t. It’s a fact of life. Now is there anything else?”
“No, sir. Thank you for your advice.”
Talbot got up and went out. He felt ill. He heard the sound of children’s voices coming from the chapel long ago in Guildford Grammar School: Till we have built Jerusalem, in England’s green and pleasant land . . .
Well, if the High Commissioner and his Private Secretary weren’t interested in former SS officers, he knew someone who was.
Rehavia
The block of flats was within walking distance of the Jewish Agency where he worked but that was before the British shot half his leg away. Today he found that by the time he got there his leg was aching so badly it was an effort just to stand. He gritted his teeth and limped up the stairwell to the sixth floor. It seemed to take forever.
The smell of baked bread filtered on to the landing as he stood, hunched over, getting his breath back. He heard a baby crying behind one of the doors. When he had recovered he found flat 613 and knocked on the door.
It edged open a fraction and a small, dark-haired woman peered out at him. “What do you want?”
“Pray for the peace of Jerusalem,” Asher said, giving the current Palmach password.
The woman opened the door and Asher went inside. The curtains were drawn and the air was stale. The remains of a meal were scattered on the kitchen table. There were five other occupants, four young men, and a girl. A Sten gun lay dismantled on the floor on a white sheet, and two of the men were carefully cleaning and oiling the mechanism.
One of them recognized him straight away. “Asher!”
“Hello, Moshe. How’s things?”
Moshe embraced him. “This is Asher Ben-Zion,” he said to the others. “He was in command of my battalion up in Haifa. He led the raid on Atlit.” The others relaxed. The girl who had answered the door offered him a cigarette.
“How’s the leg, Ash?”
“It’s coming along.”
“What are you doing these days? I heard you went back to the kibbutz .”
“They won’t get rid of me that easy. I’m working for the Shai until I can get another combat posting.”
“So what brings you here?”
“I’m looking for Rosenberg. Is he here?”
The door to one of the bedrooms opened and Netanel came out. His hair and clothes were mussed from sleep. He stretched. “Ash! What are you doing in Jerusalem?”
“I’ve got some good news for you, Netanel. How would you like to do a little job for the Shai ?”
There were only two bedrooms, with a single metal-frame bed in each room, mattresses taking up the rest of the floor space. Six rucksacks were lined up against the wall. They all had to be ready to leave at ten minutes’ notice.
“See how we live in Jerusalem?” Netanel said. “Sometimes I
“You mean it’s true? We’re harboring German war criminals?”
“Harboring isn’t exactly the word I would have chosen.”
“Which word would you choose?”
Chandler’s tone was sharper. “As I said, Henry, it’s the three monkeys on this one.’
“This man might be a mass murderer! Do you know what the SS were-”
“-We have to look at the big picture. It is imperative we retain our influence here - if we don’t, then we leave it open to the Russians or, God help us all, the Americans. It behoves us to examine carefully every slice of bread that comes our way and see which side the butter’s on.”
“It’s intolerable!”
“For your information, there’s scores of SS and Gestapo officers in Palestine, maybe hundreds. They’re here at the invitation of the Arabs but in the present climate, we cannot and will not do one damned thing about it. But you didn’t hear that from me.”
Talbot was speechless.
“Don’t look at me like that, Henry. It’s not my fault and it’s not yours. We’re here to carry out government policy.”
“Is this official government policy, sir?”
“Of course it isn’t. It’s a fact of life. Now is there anything else?”
“No, sir. Thank you for your advice.”
Talbot got up and went out. He felt ill. He heard the sound of children’s voices coming from the chapel long ago in Guildford Grammar School: Till we have built Jerusalem, in England’s green and pleasant land . . .
Well, if the High Commissioner and his Private Secretary weren’t interested in former SS officers, he knew someone who was.
Rehavia
The block of flats was within walking distance of the Jewish Agency where he worked but that was before the British shot half his leg away. Today he found that by the time he got there his leg was aching so badly it was an effort just to stand. He gritted his teeth and limped up the stairwell to the sixth floor. It seemed to take forever.
The smell of baked bread filtered on to the landing as he stood, hunched over, getting his breath back. He heard a baby crying behind one of the doors. When he had recovered he found flat 613 and knocked on the door.
It edged open a fraction and a small, dark-haired woman peered out at him. “What do you want?”
“Pray for the peace of Jerusalem,” Asher said, giving the current Palmach password.
The woman opened the door and Asher went inside. The curtains were drawn and the air was stale. The remains of a meal were scattered on the kitchen table. There were five other occupants, four young men, and a girl. A Sten gun lay dismantled on the floor on a white sheet, and two of the men were carefully cleaning and oiling the mechanism.
One of them recognized him straight away. “Asher!”
“Hello, Moshe. How’s things?”
Moshe embraced him. “This is Asher Ben-Zion,” he said to the others. “He was in command of my battalion up in Haifa. He led the raid on Atlit.” The others relaxed. The girl who had answered the door offered him a cigarette.
“How’s the leg, Ash?”
“It’s coming along.”
“What are you doing these days? I heard you went back to the kibbutz .”
“They won’t get rid of me that easy. I’m working for the Shai until I can get another combat posting.”
“So what brings you here?”
“I’m looking for Rosenberg. Is he here?”
The door to one of the bedrooms opened and Netanel came out. His hair and clothes were mussed from sleep. He stretched. “Ash! What are you doing in Jerusalem?”
“I’ve got some good news for you, Netanel. How would you like to do a little job for the Shai ?”
There were only two bedrooms, with a single metal-frame bed in each room, mattresses taking up the rest of the floor space. Six rucksacks were lined up against the wall. They all had to be ready to leave at ten minutes’ notice.
“See how we live in Jerusalem?” Netanel said. “Sometimes I
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