From the moment the Romania docked at Jaffa, things did not go well for the two SD men. The British must have suspected that Hagen and Eichmann were from German intelligence and, after a great deal of argument, gave them leave to come ashore for just twenty-four hours. I myself encountered no such problems, and I was quickly issued a visa allowing me to remain in Palestine for thirty days. This was ironic as I had only intended staying for four or five days at most, and caused much chagrin to Eichmann, whose plans were now in complete disarray. He railed on about this change of plan in the horse-drawn carriage that carried the three of us and our luggage from the port to the Jerusalem Hotel, on the edge of the city’s famous “German colony.”

“Now what are we going to do?” he complained loudly. “All of our most important meetings are the day after tomorrow. By which time we’ll be back on the boat.”

I smiled to myself, enjoying his consternation. Any setback for the SD was fine by me. I was pleased if only because it relieved me of the burden of inventing some story for the Gestapo. I could hardly spy on men who had been refused visas. I even thought the Gestapo might find that amusing enough to forgive the lack of any more concrete information.

“Perhaps Papi could meet them,” said Hagen.

“Me?” I said. “Forget it, Hiram.”

“I still don’t understand how you got a visa and we didn’t,” said Eichmann.

“Because he’s helping that yid for Dr. Six, of course,” said Hagen. “The Jew probably fixed it for him.”

“Could be,” I said. “Or it could be that you boys just aren’t very good at this line of work. If you were good at it then perhaps you wouldn’t have chosen a cover story that involves you both working for a Nazi newspaper. Moreover, a Nazi newspaper that was stolen from its Jewish owners. You might have picked something a little less high profile than that, I think.” I smiled at Eichmann. “Like being a petroleum salesman, perhaps.”

Hagen got it. But Eichmann was still too upset to realize he was being teased.

“Franz Reichert,” he said. “From the German News Agency. I can telephone him in Jerusalem. I expect he will know how to get hold of Fievel Polkes. But I haven’t a clue how we’re going to get in touch with Haj Amin.” He sighed. “What are we going to do?”

I shrugged. “What would you have done now?” I asked. “Today. If you’d got your thirty-day visa after all.”

Eichmann shrugged. “I suppose we would have visited the German Freemason colony at Sarona. Gone up Mount Carmel. Looked at some Jewish farming settlements in the Jezreel Valley.”