CHAPTER 22

Somewhere in the middle of the Mediterranean Sea, November 1953

The ocean liner broke through wave after wave. As buckets of blue-green water crashed on the deck, a dozen children giddily challenged each watery crest. Glued to the railing, they would wait for the next swell. Seconds before it arrived, they would run away in a flurry of screams and laughter. They never moved fast enough or far enough—or maybe that was the point. The children met each drenching peak with glee. The oldest, who looked about eleven or twelve, was leading the game with all the bravery of a war hero. Like a Royal Air Force fighter, he was wearing a blue polka dot scarf around his neck and a leather jacket with extra-long sleeves that covered his fingers.

Eytan watched from a distance. The children’s playful shenanigans entertained him. But he was even more amused by the boisterous parade of parents who appeared one after another to retrieve their offspring and take them inside to warm up. The brisk late-November weather seemed to indicate that a harsh winter would sweep through Europe. But in a few days, the passengers on this ship would be enjoying the milder climate in Israel.

After losing some of his steam, the little RAF cadet left his battleground and sheepishly followed his furious father. This bold and energetic kid would soon epitomize the new Jewish man. In no time, his strong jaw and muscular arms would trump the anti-Semitic stereotypes that portrayed Jews as stooped and frail people with big noses.

Ten years earlier, Jews all over Europe had been teetering on extinction. Yes, millions had been lost in the extermination chambers. But now another era—one that Eytan couldn’t have envisioned in his darkest days—was beginning. And the survivors were sending down roots in a new land.

Eytan returned to his drawing. The soft squeaking of his charcoal against the sketchpad lulled him into a daydream, temporarily displacing any nostalgia for London. Based in England since the end of the war, he had never fantasized about going to Israel. But the bigwigs at MI6 and Mossad were sending him there, so that’s where he would go.

Equipped with the means to execute his missions, along with the serum he needed to stay alive, Eytan was now attached to the Israeli services. He would have the British military at his disposal on an as-required basis. He alone would decide on his targets and the appropriate time to take action. He would never have to answer to anyone. All issues concerning his missions were under his complete control. With his extraordinary strengths, incredible past, and almost unbelievable success rate, anyone betting on someone other than Agent Morg would have been crazy. And British Prime Minister Winston Churchill was far from crazy.

After the war, Churchill, had suggested just executing the Nazi leaders instead of going through the motions of the Nuremberg trials. A clean and simple solution for those who had schemed to bring about the Final Solution. Franklin Roosevelt and Joseph Stalin had dissuaded Churchill, but Eytan admired this pragmatic and witty British prime minister. In fact, the bulldog and the giant had become good friends over the years. Thanks to Churchill, Eytan had developed a fondness for cigars. Eytan would miss his British comrade in his new yet ancient home.

“Hey, mista!”

A shadow was hovering over the sketchpad. Eytan looked up. The boy in the leather jacket and RAF scarf had broken away from his father and had returned to the deck. He was planted in front of Eytan with a confidence that most adults couldn’t pull off.

“I heard the grown-ups talking about you. They say you’re a Nazi hunter. They say you made Wilhelm Stuckart’s car crash, the guy who wrote those anti-Jewish Nuremberg Laws. Is it true?”

For a second, it looked like the kid was about to throw down the gauntlet.

“Ah, to be young and uninhibited,” Eytan said under his breath as he rose to his feet. The boy’s eyes grew wide as he took in the man’s size.

“So, is it true, mista?”

“What do you think?”

“Come on, be a pal!”

Eytan laughed at the boy’s insistence. He leaned over to pick up his coffee thermos and poured himself a cup.

“Can I have some?”

“You’re too young. Is there no one else around here for you to bug?”

“I want to be a fighter pilot or a Nazi killer when I grow up.”

“It’s good to have goals,” Eytan replied, securing the lid on his thermos. He sat down again and picked up his charcoal and sketchpad, hoping the little squirt would get the hint.

“How did you get to be so big?”

The kid had tenacity. Eytan didn’t look up. Making eye contact would only encourage the pesky pipsqueak.

“I ate all my carrots. Now leave me alone!”

“And how come you got no hair? You’re not old.”

Was this how the whole voyage was going to go?

“So? How come you got no hair?”

“Scram, or I’ll drag you back to your dad.”

“He’s not my dad,” the boy said, wiping his nose with the back of his hand. “My name’s Frank.”

“Good for you. Now go someplace else.”

“My parents died in a camp. I was little when the Germans took them away. I don’t remember them. I try to, but I can’t. A new mom and dad are waiting for me in Israel.”

Eytan put down his sketchbook. The kid didn’t look sad.

“My parents were taken too. I’m big so that I can scare people who want to send us back to the camps. As for Wilhelm Stuckart, I just think he was a bad driver.” Eytan winked at the boy.

The boy grinned. “It’s true then! You kill Nazis!”

“You’ve got a one-track mind, champ, I’ll give you that. Let’s just say I make sure the bad guys who got away aren’t able to hide under their rocks for very long. But it’s a secret, okay?”

The kid put his index finger over his mouth, indicating that he would, indeed, stay quiet, and held out his other hand to shake on it. The hand disappeared in Eytan’s gigantic mitt.

An adult passenger loomed up from behind and grabbed Frank by the collar. “This child is out of control! Go back with the others,” the man ordered.

The man was bald, wore glasses, and looked like he was in his fifties. He easily could have been mistaken for a strict German headmaster who had time traveled from the eighteen hundreds.

“I hope he wasn’t bothering you too much, sir. He’s a mischief-maker.”

“You should be proud of his liveliness. It’s a rare quality. And no, he wasn’t a problem at all. Frank and I are pals.”

Eytan’s response seemed to ease the man’s mind. Before being shepherded back to his cabin, Frank glanced over his shoulder and waved to Eytan, who raised his hand in return.

Eytan couldn’t help but wonder: How many orphans like Frank were on this ship? Five? Fifty? And how many more of them were scattered around the globe? Fifty million deaths. It was nearly impossible to comprehend all the parents, wives, husbands, and children who had been forced to live without their loved ones because of World War II. Always on the move, he had never dwelled on the statistics until this moment. Now they were almost too much to think about.

Unlike Frank, Eytan remembered his parents. Just as clearly as he remembered the face of the soldier who killed his little brother. He put that face on every enemy he tracked down. The memory of it fueled his relentless drive. But he drew his strength not so much from hatred for his torturers but from compassion for the victims. As long as he maintained this balance, and the scales didn’t tip, he would be all right.

Eytan spent the rest of the day sketching passengers who braved the wind and the cold to get a breath of fresh air on deck. At nightfall, he returned to his cabin. It was so cramped, he could barely move. But for someone who had experienced the cages of Stutthof, the cabin was as good as the presidential suite in a five-star hotel.

After dropping off his things, he went to the common room, where all the travelers took their meals. He sat down at a table with a dozen other people and ate his dinner while eavesdropping on small talk. His tablemates were chatting about their respective careers, family members who had already relocated in Israel, and what they planned to do when they got there. Their words were loaded with life and hope.

Eytan stayed true to his daily routine by waving a polite good night and heading in the direction of the deck to savor an evening cigar.

After that, he usually went back to his cabin. He would try to make it as late as possible, because his bed was too small to allow for much sleep. He sometimes spent most of night reading. It was a way to make up for an education that had been cut short thirteen years earlier. And he didn’t need much sleep anyway, no more than four or five hours. This evening, he would be reading Stefan Zweig’s wonderful novel The Royal Game.

Eytan was still savoring his after-dinner Cuban cigar, when he heard a woman calling him. He turned, irritated at the interruption, and saw the ship’s nurse in white uniform running in his direction. She had curly brown hair and appeared to be about his age. She was cute, too.

“I’m sorry to bother you, sir, but we need your help in the infirmary.”

“The infirmary? What—”

The nurse stopped him before he could finish his sentence.

“No time to explain. Follow me.”

Cute, but firm. He had no choice but to comply. He was hoping to deal with the matter as quickly as possible, because he was eager to get back to his book.

Three hallways and two staircases later, he entered the infirmary behind her.

Eytan was expecting a small room, like a sick bay with a single bed and a medicine cabinet. What he saw shocked him. Some thirty beds were packed into the space. A child lay in each one. There were kids of all ages. This wasn’t an infirmary. It was an orphanage. The room was warm and surprisingly calm.

The nurse approached one of her colleagues. Eytan could see only her massive back as the woman leaned over a table covered with a white sheet. The two women spoke a few words, which he couldn’t hear, and then turned around and started walking toward him.

Eytan could tell that the older—and larger—woman was a Mrs. Bossypants. She looked determined—probably a necessity given that she looked after nearly three dozen children with no parents. In fact, she had one of them in her arms.

She gave him a head-to-toe look-over before saying hello. It was a bit intimidating, even for a man like Eytan.

“I’ve been told you work for the government?”

“Actually, to be honest…”

“Yes or no?” she pressed.

“Well, yes, in a way. But who told you that?”

“The young man behind you.”

Eytan turned around and saw Frank’s adorably guilty face. It was bright enough to melt the ice caps. The giant didn’t have time to scold the boy before the matronly nurse started talking again, drawing Eytan’s attention to the young child she was holding in her arms.

“We’ve asked everyone on board, and nobody will take him,” she said.

“That’s unfortunate, but…”

“Frank told us you were traveling alone. You must have a lot of free time. Could you at least watch this little tyke for the rest of the trip? You’d be doing us a huge favor. We already have so much to do,” she said, nodding in direction of the beds. “And after we dock in Haifa, perhaps you could find trustworthy people to take him in. It’s hard to find homes for boys so young. With your government connections, it would be a cinch.”

Her last sentence felt like the slam of a judge’s gavel.

“No, no, no, wait a minute. I’m the last person you’d want for something like this,” Eytan said, pointing at the younger boy in the nurse’s arms. “I can’t take care of him.”

He turned to Frank, who was standing next to him, proud as a peacock. The kid had cojones. “What crazy lies have you been spewing?”

“Um, I didn’t…” the boy sputtered.

The nurse had been shifting her weight from one foot to the other. The child she was holding, as frail as he looked, was getting heavy. She put him down on a nearby table and began telling off poor Frank, whose bedtime was long overdue.

As he watched the scene, Eytan felt a small, soft hand grab his index finger. The younger child could barely wrap the hand around his finger, but he held on. Eytan looked down at the boy and tuned out the nurse’s reprimands.

“What’s his name?” the giant asked, interrupting the nurse.

“Eli, sir. Eli Karman. His mother died of tuberculosis, and his cowardly father ran off long before the boy was born.”

There was a pause, as Eytan observed Eli, who was still gripping his finger. The boys eyes were filled with joy, curiosity, and a certain twinkle. Eytan looked up to the nurse.

“Listen, I won’t be able to take care of him full time, but I can make sure he gets everything he needs, including a good education.”

The faces of the two women lit up. Frank was thrilled too. “Really?” he exclaimed.

With his right hand still held for ransom, Eytan kneeled down and spoke to the child in a soft voice.

“So, Eli, how about we go for a quiet stroll, just the two of us?”

The offer was greeted with a pure and earnest smile. The deal was sealed.

So off they went on their walk together.

One that would last a lifetime.