The Rembrandt Affair

days before his death,” Landesmann said after another pause. “The money, the painting, the visit from Voss’s wife, Carlos Weber…”
    “Your father admitted to killing Weber?”
    “My father didn’t kill Weber,” Landesmann said. “It was handled for him.”
    “Who did it?”
    Landesmann glanced at Müller. “An earlier version of Ulrich.”
    “They come in handy, don’t they? Especially in a country like Switzerland. Concealing the more repugnant aspects of your past is a national tradition, rather like your chocolates and your clean streets.”
    “They’re not as clean as they used to be,” Landesmann said. “Especially in certain neighborhoods. Too many damn foreigners in the country all the time.”
    “It’s good to know you haven’t forsaken your Swiss German roots entirely, Martin. Your father would be proud.”
    “Actually, it was Father who suggested I leave Zurich. He knew the banks would eventually pay a price for their activities during the war. He thought it might hurt my image.”
    “Your father was a clever man.” Gabriel was silent for a moment. “You built your empire on a great crime, Martin. Did your conscience ever bother you? Did you ever feel guilty? Did you ever lose a night’s sleep?”
    “It wasn’t my crime, Allon. It was my father’s. And as your own Scripture makes clear, the son will not bear the punishment for the father’s iniquity.”
    “Unless the son compounds his father’s sins by using the stolen fortune as the basis for a lucrative worldwide holding company called Global Vision Investments.”
    “I didn’t realize Ezekiel contained such a passage.”
    Gabriel ignored Landesmann’s sarcasm. “Why didn’t you come forward, Martin? The original value of the accounts was a drop in the bucket compared to the wealth you created.”
    “A drop in the bucket?” Landesmann shook his head. “Do you remember the Swiss banking scandal, Allon? The autumn of 1996? Every day brought a new headline about our collaboration with Nazi Germany. We were being called Hitler’s Swiss fences. Hitler’s bankers. The jackals were circling. If anyone had ever discovered the truth, GVI would have been torn limb from limb. The litigation would have gone on for years. Decades . The descendants of any Jew in any country where Kurt Voss had operated could have come forward and made a claim against me. The class-action lawyers would have been falling over themselves to sign up clients and file suits. I would have lost everything. And for what? For something my father did a half century earlier? Forgive me, Allon, but I didn’t feel it was necessary for me to endure such a fate because of him.”
    Landesmann made an impassioned case for his innocence, thought Gabriel. But like most things about him, it was a lie. His father had been driven by greed. And so was Martin.
    “So you did exactly what your father did,” Gabriel said. “You kept quiet. You profited wildly from the fortune of a mass murderer. And you continued to look for a lost masterpiece by Rembrandt that had the power to destroy you. But there was one difference. At some point, you decided to become a saint. Even your father wouldn’t have had the nerve for that.”
    “I don’t like to be referred to as Saint Martin.”
    “Really?” Gabriel smiled. “That might be the most encouraging thing I’ve ever heard about you.”
    “And why is that?”
    “Because it suggests you might actually have a conscience after all.”
    “What are you going to do with that list, Allon?”
    “I suppose that depends entirely on you, Martin.”

75
    CANTON BERN, SWITZERLAND
    W hat do you want, Allon? Money? Is that what this is about? A shakedown? How much will it cost me to make this matter go away? A half billion? A billion? Name your figure. I’ll write you a check, and we’ll call it a morning.”
    “I don’t want your money,” Gabriel said. “I want your centrifuges.”
    “Centrifuges?” Landesmann’s tone was incredulous. “Where did you get the idea I was selling centrifuges?”
    “From your computers. It’s all there in black-and-white.”
    “I’m afraid you’re mistaken. I own companies that sell dual-use components to trading companies that in turn sell them to other companies that may or may not be selling them to a certain manufacturer in Shenzhen, China.”
    “A manufacturer that you own through a Chinese partnership.”
    “Enjoy trying to prove that in court. I’ve done nothing illegal,