The Masada Complex (36 page)

When the pain eased and her breathing returned to normal, she got up and splashed water on her face.

Back in the study, she sat down and focused on creating an outline for her next article. Readers deserved the
whole
truth. She would unmask Al Zonshine, Rabbi Josh, and Colonel Ness as the men behind Judah’s Fist. All the elements of a good story existed—an Israeli spymaster manipulating a misguided American rabbi, taking advantage of the rabbi’s Zionist idealism, only to see the operation blow up and fail.

The key was Sheen. Why did he stay with Silver? It occurred to her that she had not checked on the Canadian couple Sheen had used as reference. She called Temple Young Israel of Toronto. The membership coordinator told her Bernie Solomon was deceased and his wife was in a nursing home, location unknown.

Masada hung up.
Another dead end.

“McPherson! Here you are!” Since promoting David over her head, the director had taken to calling her by last name only, a familiarity that unsettled Elizabeth with its tone of mockery.

Director Simpson led her to the lounging area in the corner of his office. “Coffee? Tea? Or me?” He laughed, patting her shoulder. “I like you, McPherson. You can take a joke.”

Elizabeth sat down and pushed her hair behind her ears, looking straight at him.

“I noticed you put in for a three-week vacation starting tomorrow. Everything in order?”

“My domain is always in order.” She glanced at his desk, piled with papers and magazines. “It’s my first trip home in many years.”

“Difficult times over there, missiles flying, people strapping on explosive belts, shooting at officials, lynching collaborators. It’s like a mini Iraq.”

“Media exaggerations.” She was getting annoyed.

“I’m concerned.” Director Simpson weaved his fingers together as if in prayer. “Why don’t you postpone until things calm down a bit?”

“I appreciate your concern, but my father is getting old.”

“One more thing.” The director got up and ambled to the window, where he watched the traffic below. “I hear you obtained a warrant against the writer who exposed Mahoney.”

Elizabeth had hoped he would not hear about it until after today’s hearing. “My department follows Homeland Security directives to investigate suspected crimes by any person previously processed for immigration status—”

“Spare me the legalese. This
crime
happened almost thirty years ago in another country. She’s no risk to anyone.”

“We suspect fraud in her immigration applications. We have a duty to investigate.”

“I wasn’t born yesterday.” He kept looking out the window, his back to her. “And I didn’t get to the eighth floor by being dumb.”

“There’s nothing inappropriate.”

“Of course there is.” He turned to face her. “Listen, McPherson. I know how these things work. Someone in Washington told you to pounce on her. Maybe they want to help the Israelis. I don’t want to know. But you’re playing with fire. El-Tal started an avalanche with her exposé, and every politician in Washington is scrambling to criticize Israel. Don’t drag us into this mess!”

“We’re doing our job.”

“That woman,” his voice went up a notch, “has been harassed by the media, searched by the FBI, firebombed, shot at, and got sued for all she has. I won’t have
my
agency join this spectacle of lynching!”

“Under the regulations, we are required to investigate immigration crimes.”

“Again with the regulations? We’re a pawn in someone else’s game!”

“I’m happy to step back if you wish to take over.” She motioned at his cluttered desk. “Should I sent up the file?”

He frowned. “I don’t need to be personally involved. But I’m warning you formally that you’re pissing into the wind!”

It was hard not to laugh at how easy he was to manipulate. “I’ll make sure you don’t get wet, Simpson.”

Masada made a list. She would investigate Rabbi Josh’s college days, rabbinical education, close friends, visits to Israel, bank accounts, houseguests, and his writings. She would cast a wide net over every aspect of his life to find the link to his Israeli handlers. Her follow-up exposé would tell the whole story, from the day he had been recruited as an Israeli agent, through his training, setting up the cell in Phoenix, selecting Senator Mahoney as a target, enlisting Al Zonshine, communicating with the mysterious Sheen, and executing the bribe operation, which only failed because Sheen forgot the incriminating memory stick in Professor Silver’s Cadillac. She would give the professor a fictitious name, of course, but her readers would learn everything that had happened. She would have to be methodical, trace all the evidence, and substantiate every allegation before publishing the story. Colonel Ness and Rabbi Josh Frank would go up in flames together.

She grabbed the car keys and her purse. Earlier she had called a Chevrolet dealer to arrange a trade-in of her as-yet-unencumbered Corvette for some cash and the cheapest set of used wheels they had on the lot. On the way to the garage, she stopped at the kitchen to grab a bottle of water from the fridge and noticed something sticking out from under it.

With the tip of her finger she pulled out Silver’s book. She didn’t remember taking it to the kitchen. Noticing a scent, she brought the book to her nose. The sweet, smoky smell reminded her of Silver’s house.

Masada paused. Was her mind playing tricks on her? She sniffed the book again. The smell was real. Why would Silver’s book be under the fridge and smelling like his house? She touched her head, feeling the lumps left by Al. Was she hallucinating?

“Miss El-Tal?” The voice came from the broken front door.

The man wore a waistcoat with orange letters:
U.S. Immigration Service
. He handed her a piece of paper. “Would you come with us, please?”

Professor Silver peered through his living room window at the mail truck. It stopped at each mailbox along the street. When it reached his, he ran out to meet it.

The mailman, in shorts and a baseball cap, leaned out with a bundle of envelopes and printed catalogues.

“I’m expecting an urgent letter.” Silver sifted through the bundle. “It’s not here.”

“Maybe tomorrow.” The mail truck inched forward.

“Can you check on it?” Silver placed his hand on the side mirror. “I’m leaving for overseas tomorrow morning. It’s very urgent.”

“First class mail?”

“From the U.S. government. Official business.”

“That would be first class, unless they sent it book rate.” He revved the engine. “Nothing I can do. Have a safe trip.”

They allowed Masada to meet with Chadwick in a small room at the federal courthouse downtown. The lawyer was sipping coffee from a Starbucks paper cup.

“They’re trying to shut me up,” she said. “The public won’t condone it.”

“The public?” Chadwick shook his head. “You drove an admired senator to suicide. The public feels no sympathy for you. Neither does my client.” He pulled a sheet of paper from his briefcase and handed it to her. It was a letter from Jab Corporation:

Due to unethical, unsavory, and possibly criminal actions that you have engaged in, or failed to disclose heretofore, which constitute material breaches of the Publishing Contracts between us, said contracts are hereby terminated and declared null and void. You must repay all advances previously paid to you within ten (10) days.

Masada looked at Chadwick. “Is this a joke?”

“You need a new lawyer.”

“Aren’t you my lawyer?”

He adjusted his tie. “Jab is my primary client. You knew it.”

“Yes, but—”

“I have to withdraw. It’s a conflict of interests.” Before she could say anything, he added, “After today’s hearing, of course.”

In the courtroom, Masada followed Chadwick to the defense table. He pointed at a well-dressed, short woman at the other table. “Elizabeth McPherson, chief counsel for the immigration office in Phoenix. She’s very capable.”

They stood up when the judge came in.

Elizabeth McPherson said, “Your Honor, this emergency hearing is brought under the following regulations.” She opened a thick book and rattled off section numbers.

The judge, a diminutive man with white hair, said, “Go ahead.”

The woman glanced at Masada. “The government calls Miss El-Tal to the stand.”

“Objection!” Chadwick scrambled to his feet. “We received no pleadings or evidence. We don’t even know what this is about!”

The government’s lawyer opened another book. “Your Honor, the Department of Homeland Security, which now encompasses my agency, is tasked with investigating all immigration irregularities.”

Chadwick said, “This is an attempt to harass my client.”

“This is a limited inquiry,” McPherson said. “We only wish to clarify certain facts.”

“This court is not Lake Powell,” Judge Rashinski said. “I won’t allow a fishing expedition. Get to the point, or I’ll end this hearing with a decision
sua sponta
.”

Masada was led to the witness stand and took an oath.

The government lawyer approached the stand. She held no papers and looked straight at Masada. “Miss El-Tal, what is your nationality?”

“I am a U.S. citizen. Don’t you know that?”

“I’ll ask the questions.” The woman’s accent emerged with a harshly pronounced
L
. “How did you become a citizen?”