She blinks.

“Never mind.”

“So how many Nazis have you caught?”

“Well, it’s a little complicated,” I say. “We’ve won court cases against a hundred and seven Nazi criminals. Sixty-seven have been removed from the U.S., to date. But it’s not sixty-seven out of a hundred and seven, because not all of them were U.S. citizens—you have to be careful about the math. Unfortunately, few of the people we’ve deported or have had extradited were ever prosecuted, to which I say, shame on Europe. Three defendants have been tried in Germany, one in Yugoslavia, and one in the USSR. Of those, three were convicted, one was acquitted, and one had his trial suspended for medical reasons and died before it could continue. Before our department was created, one other Nazi criminal was sent from the U.S. to Europe and prosecuted there—she was convicted and imprisoned. We’ve got five cases currently in litigation and many more people under active investigation and... Your eyes are glazing over.”

“No,” Irene says. “I just wear contacts. Really.” She hesitates. “But aren’t the guys you’re chasing, like, really old now?”

“Yes.”

“So they can’t be moving all that fast.”

“It’s not a literal chase,” I explain. “And they did horrible things to other human beings. That shouldn’t go unpunished.”

“Yeah, but it was so long ago.”

It’s still important,” I tell her.

“You mean because you’re Jewish?”

“The Nazis didn’t just target Jews. They also killed Gypsies and Poles and homosexuals and the mentally and physically disabled. Everyone should be invested in what my department does. Because if we’re not, what message is America sending to people who commit genocide? That they can get away with it, if enough time passes? They can hide inside our borders without even a slap on the wrist? We routinely deport hundreds of thousands of illegal aliens every year whose sole offense is that they overstayed a visa or came without the right paperwork—but people who were involved in crimes against humanity get to stay? And die peacefully here? And be buried on American soil?”

I don’t realize how loud and impassioned I’ve become until a man who is sitting at the next table starts to clap, slowly but forcefully. A few other folks at tables around me join in. Mortified, I slink lower in my chair, trying to become invisible.

Irene reaches for my hand and threads her fingers through mine. “It’s okay, Leo. Actually, I think it’s really sexy.”

“What is?”

“The way you can wave your voice around, like it’s a flag.”

I shake my head. “I’m not some big patriot. I’m a guy who’s doing his job. I’m just tired of defending what I do. It isn’t obsolete.”

“Well, it is, kind of. I mean, it’s not like those Nazis are hiding in plain sight.”

It takes a moment for me to realize she is confusing the words obsolete and obscure. At the same time, I think about Josef Weber, who— according to Sage Singer—has done just that, for decades.

The waiter arrives with the bottle of wine and pours a taste for me. I swish it around in my mouth, nod my approval. At this point, frankly, I’d have given the thumbs-up to moonshine, as long as there was a valid alcohol content.

“I hope we’re not going to talk about history all night,” Irene says breezily. “Because I’m really bad at it. I mean, who really cares if Columbus discovered America instead of Westhampton—”

Дата добавления: 2015-10-21