Jerusalem, April 1954
Miklós stays in the prosecutor’s room during the lunch recess to avoid the reporters loitering around the court building in the hope of buttonholing him for a controversial quote. He picks up a newspaper and on the third page he sees a profile of Amos Alon. It depicts the lawyer in glowing terms as a typical sabra, the new breed of Jew, fearless, brave and uncompromising, a David fighting the power of the sinister government. Even as a child, the reporter writes, Alon was sensitive to the corrupt machinations of the government. He describes an incident when Alon, as a feisty ten year old, was about to hurl a rock at a government building out of a feeling of injustice, but his mother knocked it from his hand just in time.
Miklós pushes the paper away, infuriated by the journalist’s fawning and by the implicit comparison between the stereotypical European Jews, who were so often insultingly portrayed as servile, passive sheep, and the image of the Israeli Jew who never surrendered. He knows that Alon is holding a rock once again, but this time it’s a much bigger rock, and it doesn’t look as if anyone will manage to knock it from his hand.
‘Why does Judge Lazar give Amos Alon so much latitude?’ he asks the prosecutor. He takes a sip of black coffee that one of the court attendants has brought in, pulls a face, and pushes the waxed cup away. ‘I can’t understand why he allows Alon’s irrelevant questions and upholds most of his objections, but overrules most of yours.’
Noah Elman looks up from his papers and shrugs. ‘Who can understand judges? They all have a bee in their bonnet about something, if you ask me. Take a reasonable, competent solicitor and promote him to the bench, and suddenly he can see a halo around his head and thinks he’s one of the archangels.’
He pushes his chair back and steeples his fingers as he looks up at the ceiling.
‘Unfortunately for you, he and Alon share one crucial motive. They both hate the government.’
‘Why’s that?’
The prosecutor leans back, and from his expression Miklós can see that he is looking forward to sharing some gossip. ‘In Alon’s case, it’s about the Altalena. You might remember this was in the early days of Israel’s independence, and soldiers of the new provisional government shelled it, killing his brother. As for Judge Lazar, his resentment is more recent, but just as bitter. He was furious when he was passed over when they were appointing judges to the Supreme Court. He was sure he had it in the bag on account of his seniority, but they appointed his deputy instead. He hasn’t made a secret of his disappointment. Or should I say dis-appointment.’
Miklós doesn’t smile at the pun and struggles to refrain from voicing his own resentment that the judge and defence counsel sharing a common bias was bad enough, but having an incompetent prosecutor on his side was even more disastrous.
Back in the courtroom for the afternoon session, Miklós looks at the judge with new interest as Amos Alon announces his next witness.
‘I’d like to call Zoltán Klein to the stand.’
Zolly Klein! Miklós is astonished. Most people regarded spies as ruthless people without moral fibre, but this one was a particularly duplicitous agent who probably acted for Germany, Hungary, Turkey and God knew who else, and was mistrusted by everyone. What could this disreputable spy possibly contribute to this case, and who would take him seriously?
While he waits for Klein to step into the witness box, Miklós recalls that, for some reason he had never understood, Eichmann had ordered Klein to accompany Gábor to Istanbul. He suspected that Klein’s role was to spy on Gábor and report back about the progress of his negotiations. That was sheer speculation at the time, but his friend’s evidence in court indicated that espionage must have played a major role in his arrest, most likely thanks to Klein. Either way, Klein wasn’t likely to reveal his secrets.
Unlike Gábor, Klein looks sharp and confident. The years haven’t ravaged him and neither, apparently, have his double dealings. In fact he looks less shifty than before, and he no longer dresses to blend into the background as he once did.
For his court appearance he wears expensive-looking beige slacks with turn-ups, and a crisp poplin shirt under a tweed jacket with leather buttons and large lapels, the kind that English tailors were renowned for. It’s clear that Zolly Klein’s shady deals have paid off.
Amos Alon begins his questioning. ‘Can you tell us, what was your occupation in Hungary in 1944?’
Miklós is wondering how honestly Klein will answer when, with a self-satisfied smile, he says, ‘I was an inter-government agent. I liaised between various agencies, ministries and organisations, and facilitated the exchange of important information.’
‘And which agencies and governments made use of these special talents of yours?’
Klein is still smiling and shows no annoyance at the lawyer’s sarcastic tone. ‘Anyone who was smart enough to recognise my expertise.’
‘So would it be correct to describe you as a gun for hire?’
Klein’s thin lips twist into a condescending smile. ‘You can describe me any way you like.’
The judge leans forward. ‘Mr Klein, please stop equivocating. And Mr Alon, how much of the court’s time do you propose to devote to this exchange? You don’t appear to be making much progress.’
‘Your honour, establishing the witness’s credentials is crucial to this case,’ Amos Alon replies. He turns to Klein. ‘Why were you on a Luftwaffe flight to Istanbul in May 1944 with Mr Weisz, and who sent you?’
The question surprises Miklós. After all this time, Alon must know that it was Eichmann who sent Klein and Gábor to Istanbul to present his improbable offer of Jews for trucks.
But Klein is hesitating. He looks down at his hands, then up at the lawyer, and from his expression, it is clear that he is trying to decide how to answer. The judge props his elbows on the bench and looks as if he’s about to direct him to reply, but Amos Alon beats him to it.
‘I realise that you were in a delicate situation in 1944, but the war is long over, and I assume that past governments are no longer taking advantage of your expertise, so you can answer truthfully. I remind you that you are under oath. So I repeat my question: Why were you sent to Istanbul with Mr Weisz in May 1944, and at whose instigation?’
Klein holds the lawyer’s gaze and when he speaks, his voice is loud and clear.
‘At the instigation of Heinrich Himmler.’
The judge’s eyes widen and he looks at Klein in disbelief. ‘Heinrich Himmler? Hitler’s right-hand man?’ He doesn’t say You can’t really expect me to believe this, but his tone implies it.
‘That’s correct. Heinrich Himmler.’ Klein lets his thunderbolt hit home without saying another word and looks around at the courtroom, clearly relishing the uproar he has caused.
The judge can’t conceal a smile at the ludicrous notion. As if Heinrich Himmler would have sent this third-class spy on such an errand. The usually imperturbable Amos Alon is frowning. This wasn’t the answer he was expecting and he is no longer in total control of the proceedings. As for Miklós, he can only stare at Klein, bewildered. He can’t understand why the spy is fabricating such a bizarre version of events that can so easily be contradicted. He himself was present when Eichmann ordered Gábor to Istanbul. Is Klein saying this to make himself important, to create a sensation? Or does he have some other motive? He looks at Klein again, and, improbable as it seems, he begins to wonder if his statement could possibly be true.
Amos Alon continues his questioning, but he is thinking on his feet and sounds less self-assured than before. ‘Mr Klein, up until now we have been told that Eichmann sent you and Mr Weisz to Istanbul to persuade the representatives of the Allies and the Jewish Agency to provide Germany with ten thousand trucks in return for releasing one million Jews. Are you now telling us that it was Himmler, the man in charge of implementing the atrocities of the Holocaust, the Nazi who was Hitler’s right-hand man, that it was Himmler and not Eichmann who sent you on this errand?’
‘Yes and no,’ Klein replies.
‘What do you mean by that?’ The judge breaks in. ‘You must stop talking in riddles, Mr Klein. The answer is yes or no, not yes and no.’
Klein shrugs. ‘It’s not so simple but I’ll try to be exact. Yes, Himmler sent us, but no, it wasn’t on the errand that you mentioned.’
‘Another riddle. We are all ears, Mr Klein. Please enlighten us.’
‘It was Himmler’s idea from the start,’ Klein says. He sounds relaxed, and takes his time explaining. ‘Eichmann never wanted anything to do with it. The only mission he was interested in was killing Jews. Total extermination, that’s what he was after, not trucks or money. And he hated Himmler. Professional rivalry, I suppose. He and Himmler were always at loggerheads. Not that Himmler loved Jews, but he had his own reasons for my mission, and being more powerful than Eichmann, he was able to overrule him. And he had Kurt Becher’s support for his scheme.’
At the mention of Becher, Miklós tries to think back to their conversations. He recalls that Becher always lavished extravagant praise on Himmler’s intellect and, what was even more extraordinary, on his humanity. But as he was Himmler’s protégé, his admiration wasn’t surprising. Miklós concedes that Klein’s story is making sense, even though he had never suspected that this outlandish scheme had been foisted on an unwilling Eichmann.
‘And what scheme was that?’ Amos Alon is asking.
‘Himmler was ready to make a separate peace with the Allies. That’s why he concocted the trucks-for-Jews plan. It was a blind for his real purpose, and he didn’t want Eichmann or Hitler to know about it.’
Everyone stares at the man in the witness box, transfixed by his words. Even the reporters have stopped writing as they try to comprehend the significance of what they have just heard. History has leaped from the pages of textbooks and punched them in the face.
‘And you of course were privy to Himmler’s secret thoughts.’ Amos Alon can’t keep the sarcasm out of his voice.
‘As a matter of fact, I was,’ Klein replies coolly.
Miklós feels dazed. His head is a spinning top, gathering speed with each gyration. Klein’s bombshell turns everything he thought he knew upside down. Now he understands why Klein had been sent to Istanbul with Gábor. Not to convince the Allied leaders to give Germany trucks, not to facilitate the release of Jews, but to negotiate with the representatives of the Allies. Gábor’s role was to provide a smokescreen for the real mission.
He thinks back to his conversations with Kurt Becher. All the time he was trying to persuade Kurt Becher to help him, Becher was in cahoots with Himmler, and they were both plotting against Hitler and Eichmann, and using Klein to further their aims. He marvels that Klein, the spy everyone despised and mistrusted, enjoyed such a prominent role in the corridors of power. He had underestimated Klein and overestimated himself. It was an unbelievable story but he believed it. No-one could have invented it.
‘So will you share those thoughts with us?’ Alon is asking.
‘Himmler was a realist. In 1944, Hitler was still sending young German boys to die at the front, but Himmler knew it was hopeless. The Russians were advancing, and Germany was losing the war. So he decided to make overtures to the Allies and this trucks-for-Jews scheme was a ploy to let the West know that he was prepared to make a separate peace. Mr Weisz was his cover, and I was his instrument. Eichmann never intended to release a million Jews but he was forced to play along with Himmler’s plan. It was a trick to induce the West into negotiating. But it didn’t work, and the Jews of Hungary ended up in Auschwitz anyway.’
Klein has everyone on a knife edge. His testimony has provided the most explosive revelation of the entire trial, and the journalists, who thought that Gábor’s testimony earlier that day would be the most sensational story of the trial, are so riveted by what they hear that from time to time they hold their pens in mid-air above their shorthand notebooks and neglect to commit Klein’s words to paper.
Amos Alon now addresses Klein in a more respectful tone. As for the judge, he is hanging on every word.
‘How were you supposed to conduct those top-secret conversations?’
‘Himmler knew that Germany’s only hope was to split the Allies. From what he knew of communism and Stalin’s plans for Eastern Europe, he didn’t believe that England and America would stay allied with the Soviet Union for very long, so he cunningly proposed making a separate treaty with the Western Allies.’
Something about this sounds familiar, and Miklós recalls the conversation he had about trucks with Eichmann, in which the SS colonel had said that Germany wouldn’t use the trucks against the Western Allies, only on the Eastern front. That statement had puzzled him at the time, but now it made sense.
‘How did the Allies receive Himmler’s overture?’ Alon asks.
‘It was ridiculed and dismissed. The massive German defeat at the battle of Stalingrad marked the turning point of the war thanks to the Red Army, and Churchill and Roosevelt knew that without the Russians, they risked losing the war. They mistrusted Stalin but they needed his continued help to defeat Hitler. Although they and their generals didn’t trust Stalin, they didn’t dare do anything that would make him suspicious or, what would have been far worse, push him into an alliance with Hitler. So nothing came of Himmler’s scheme.’
Amos Alon frowns. ‘So how did the idea of releasing a million Jews fit into this scenario?’
‘It was Himmler’s cunning attempt to whitewash the Nazi record for the future. He foresaw that when the Allies won the war, Germany would be held responsible for atrocities which he himself had orchestrated. So he thought he’d found a reason to mitigate Allied judgement about Germany after the war. It obviously didn’t occur to him that it was a bit late in the day to seek absolution.’
Klein’s lengthy testimony continued, and there was not a whisper or a rustle in the courtroom as he went on. ‘There was also another aspect to his scheme. A cynical one. The war was coming to an end and Himmler was aware that Germany would be accused of unprecedented mass murder. Today we call the murder of six million Jews genocide, but that term hadn’t been coined yet. He figured that if the West ignored his scheme to rescue the remaining Jews, as he expected they would, then the Nazis would later be able to point out that the West didn’t do anything to save Jews when it had the chance.’
‘Just the West?’ Amos urges Klein on to the finish line.
‘The Western Allies and, by implication, the Jewish Agency.’
There’s an uneasy silence. People sigh and fidget. An accusing ghost has emerged from the shadows and stands in full view of the courtroom, no longer able to be ignored.
Miklós looks at Amos Alon and sees triumph in his eyes. This time his rock has found its target. Klein has articulated the calumny Alon has been working towards from the moment he took on Fleischmann’s case. Not content with destroying me, Miklós thinks, he has tried to destroy the government by implicating the Jewish Agency in the inaction of the Allies during the Holocaust. The accusation shocks him with its lack of understanding of the realities of the war, but from the ashen faces in the courtroom, it seems to have hit its mark. It’s unjust but justice seems irrelevant when the motive is vengeance.
‘There’s one thing that Himmler’s scheme did achieve,’ Klein is saying, and he turns his gaze on Miklós, ‘and it’s something that was never on the cards. I’m referring to the release of over fifteen hundred Hungarian Jews, and that happened thanks to Mr Nagy’s tireless efforts.’
Miklós looks at Klein, grateful for his unexpected acknowledgement and struck by its irony. Of all people, it’s not the ones he rescued, but the man he always denigrated, who has paid a tribute to his achievement.
He looks around the courtroom to make sure the comment hasn’t gone unnoticed, but from the tense, pale faces he realises that it’s not Klein’s tribute but his political revelations that have had the most profound impact on everyone. History has just turned a double somersault in the Jerusalem District Court, and those present are dazed by its shocking spirals.