The Jerusalem Assassin by Avraham Azrieli

Lemmy steered the boat—a Beneteau Oceanis 510—away from shore, cutting a path in the fuzzy layer of white caps. The sky was clear, and the biting air forewarned of a cold winter.
    Armande Hoffgeitz stood with his grandson at the bow, rising and sinking against the tree-covered hills on the opposite bank of Lake Zurich. Klaus Junior held a monocular, tracing the sights that his grandfather pointed out. The boy shifted his aim to a flock of geese heading south across the bow. One of the birds dropped a glob, barely missing them, and they burst out laughing.
    “They’re like two peas in a pod,” Paula said. “I haven’t seen Father this happy since my brother died.”
    He kissed her honey-colored hair. “We’re blessed. And the wind is good too.”
    “Aye, aye, Skipper.” Paula sipped from a glass of merlot. “I should have let it sit another year.”
    He took a swig from his nearly frozen Heineken bottle. “This one’s properly aged.”
    “Like me?” She banged her hip against his.
    Her cheerful nature had put him at ease since the first time he approached Paula in the fall of 1967, on his first day at Lyceum Alpin St. Nicholas. The plan required him to carefully implement each phase in their relationship—an initial approach as a new student seeking advice, follow up with seemingly coincidental run-ins, develop a circle of mutual friends to maximize time together at school and on vacations, and only a year later, clinch their relationship as lovers. He had also nurtured a friendship with her young brother, Klaus V.K. Hoffgeitz, ensuring a loyal ally close to her heart.
    After graduation, Paula had studied art at the University of Zurich, living at Hoffgeitz Manor on the hills overlooking Lake Zurich. Lemmy worked evenings and weekends at the accounting department of Credit Niehoch Bank while studying at the Zurich School of Economics. She had insisted on keeping their relationship secret for fear of upsetting her father, who had planned for her to marry the scion of another Swiss banking dynasty. The tragic death of Klaus V.K. made her even more reluctant to upset her father. Finally, in 1979, when Lemmy was already a rising star at Credit Niehoch, he asked Herr Hoffgeitz for Paula’s hand in marriage. The aging banker reluctantly gave his blessing and walked her down the aisle at the Fraumünster church. Over the subsequent year, the two men got to know each other, discussing economics, finance, and the emerging deregulation of the banking industry. The father’s prejudicial displeasure with Paula’s choice gave way to grudging respect for Lemmy’s intelligence and knowledge. In 1982, Armande invited him to join the Hoffgeitz Bank.
    He had started as an account manager, one of twelve men who constituted the core of the private banking operation, each handling a group of clients. After several years, on the day following Klaus Junior’s baptism, Lemmy became chief accounts manager. And last year, Armande had promoted him to vice president. These promotions had been earned with hard work and successful client development, especially with Mideast oil sheiks. In addition, the presumed succession to a young and capable son-in-law projected long-term stability and continuity to the clients of the Hoffgeitz Bank. And lately Lemmy’s control over the bank’s technological metamorphosis placed a great deal of power in his hands, bringing him ever closer to the ultimate goal of the mission that had brought him into this family in the first place.
    Paula kissed his neck. She avoided his cheeks as he had not shaved this morning. Between weekdays at the bank and Sunday’s church attendance, Saturday was the only day he could dress casually and skip shaving. He had joked with Paula that the skin of his face needed a break, though in truth this habit was his private tradition—a link to a distant, secret past of observing the Jewish Sabbath.
    “Coming about!” He turned the wheel, and the boat changed course