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joined him. “ Utter your curse, and it shall not stand, because God stands with us! ”
    The white sedan moved off the curb slowly while the rear window rolled halfway down. The interior was illuminated by the floodlights, and Rabbi Gerster locked eyes with Elie Weiss.
    “ Scheme your evil plot, and it shall be blotted ,” the demonstrators sang again, pushing against the barricades.
    Inside the car, Elie’s hand rose in a subtle greeting. Rabbi Gerster nodded, but then he noticed the leader of the demonstrators return Elie’s gesture with a quick thumbs up while chanting, “ Because God stands with us! ”
    *

 
     
     
     
     
    Friday, October 13, 1995
     
     
    Wilhelm Horch, vice president at the Hoffgeitz Bank in Zurich, adjusted the contrast knob on his computer screen. It showed a live video feed from the hidden camera in the office of the bank’s president upstairs. Satisfied with the picture quality, he put his feet up on the desk and watched his father-in-law dictate the next letter.
    “To the Association of Swiss Banks, chairman of the board, address, greetings, etcetera.” Armande Hoffgeitz tilted his chair backward and gazed at the ceiling. “We are in receipt of your recent inquiry about wartime accounts opened between nineteen thirty-five and forty-five. We commend your initiative to pacify the concerns of the last remaining victims of Nazi aggression. We are thus pleased to report that our records show no inactive accounts from said years—”
    “Perhaps we should use a different term.” The voice belonged to his assistant, Günter Schnell, who was sitting with his back to the hidden camera. “Something more…vague.”
    Wilhelm listened intently. He knew that at least one dormant account existed—a huge account, opened during the war by SS General Klaus von Koenig—which likely constituted a major part of the bank’s assets. How would they get around it without lying?
    “Let’s see.” Armande Hoffgeitz contemplated for a long moment. “Technically Klaus’s account has been inactive, which would require disclosure.”
    “But there was one instance of activity, when he sent a messenger to attempt a withdrawal—”
    “That little Nazi with the long nose, who didn’t know the account number or the password?”
    Günter looked at his notes. “Untersturmführer Rupert Danzig. He tried to make a withdrawal in May, nineteen sixty-seven.”
    “That’s twenty-eight years ago!”
    “He presented appropriate credentials,” Günter insisted. “And he had General Klaus von Koenig’s ledger showing all of the deposits made to the account.”
    “He could have found the ledger in a ditch somewhere.”
    “But he showed familiarity with Herr General. He clearly knew him well.”
    “Not well enough to know the account number and password.”
    “He claimed to have forgotten.”
    “But he never came back.”
    “Not yet.”
    “Not ever.” Herr Hoffgeitz knuckled his desk three times. “My old friend Klaus is dead. I’m sure of it. He must have perished in a bombardment or on the voyage to Argentina. By that time, the Allies were sinking most U-boats within three days of sailing.”
    “Banking regulations require us to assume a client is alive, unless a death certificate is presented to us by the executor of the estate.”
    “Fifty years has passed since we last saw Klaus at the border. Half a century! And twenty-eight years since that creepy little imposter showed up with Klaus’s ledger, trying to steal from us.” Armande Hoffgeitz pointed to the dictation pad. “Write this down: We are thus pleased to report that our records show no accounts in which the owners or their representatives have made no contact with the bank, directly or indirectly.”
    One floor below, Wilhelm laughed. His father-in-law was a clever man.
    “That’s better,” Günter said, writing it down.
    “Honesty is the best policy!” Armande grinned. “And finish with: Please let us know if we can further