Chapters (50)
- Praise
- Title Page
- Copyright Page
- Dedication
- Epigraph
- ONE
- TWO
- THREE
- FOUR
- FIVE
- SIX
- SEVEN
- EIGHT
- NINE
- TEN
- ELEVEN
- TWELVE
- THIRTEEN
- FOURTEEN
- FIFTEEN
- SIXTEEN
- SEVENTEEN
- EIGHTEEN
- NINETEEN
- TWENTY
- TWENTY-ONE
- TWENTY-TWO
- TWENTY-THREE
- TWENTY-FOUR
- TWENTY-FIVE
- TWENTY-SIX
- TWENTY-SEVEN
- TWENTY-EIGHT
- TWENTY-NINE
- THIRTY
- THIRTY-ONE
- THIRTY-TWO
- THIRTY-THREE
- THIRTY-FOUR
- THIRTY-FIVE
- THIRTY-SIX
- THIRTY-SEVEN
- THIRTY-EIGHT
- THIRTY-NINE
- FORTY
- FORTY-ONE
- FORTY-TWO
- EPILOGUE
- AUTHOR’S NOTE
- Teaser chapter
“I’m not going to kill you,” I panted. “I’m not going to kill you, because I want you to listen. My name is not and never has been Eric Gruen. At some stage in the future, if it’s humanly possible, I’m going to kill that man. My name is and always has been Bernhard Gunther. I want you to remember that name. I want you to tell that name to whichever fanatic is in charge of Haganah these days. So that you’ll remember it was Bernhard Gunther who told you that Adolf Eichmann is still alive. And that you owe me a favor. Only the next time you look for Eichmann, it had better be in Argentina, because that’s where we’re both headed. Him for obvious reasons. And me because Eric Gruen—the real Eric Gruen—has framed me to look like him. Him and your friend Jacobs. And now I can’t afford to take the risk of staying here Germany anymore. Not now that this has happened. Understand?”
He bit his lip and nodded.
I finished dressing. I helped myself to Shlomo’s shoulder holster and buttoned the Colt into it. Then I searched the big man’s pockets, taking money, cigarettes, and a lighter. “Where are the car keys?” I asked.
Aaron put his hand into his pocket and tossed them to me, covered in blood. “It’s parked all the way down the drive,” he said.
“I’m taking your car and I’m taking your boss’s gun. So don’t try to follow me. I’m pretty handy with this thing. Next time I see you I’m liable to finish the job.” I lit two cigarettes, put one in Aaron’s mouth and one in my own, and started down the hill toward the house.
“Gunther,” he said. I turned. He was sitting up, but looking very pale. “For what it’s worth,” he said, “I believe you.”
“Thanks.” I stayed put for a moment. There was more blood coming from his leg than I had imagined there would be. If he stayed there he would bleed or freeze to death.
“Can you walk?”
“I don’t think so.”
I got him onto his feet and helped him back down to the house. There I found some sheets and started fixing a tourniquet around his leg. “I’m sorry about your two friends,” I said. “I didn’t want to kill them. But I had no choice. It was them or me, I’m afraid.”
“Zvi was okay,” he said. “But Shlomo was a bit of a head case. It was Shlomo who strangled those two women. He wanted to kill every Nazi that ever existed, I think.”