The Masada Complex (38 page)

“I didn’t lie!”

Professor Silver took her hand. “Meidaleh, I’ll hire the best immigration lawyer in Phoenix. You’ll be out in a day.”

She stepped to the railing and looked down into the cavernous atrium below. “I’m not going to jail.”

“It’s not a jail, it’s a detention center.” Silver turned to Chadwick. “Give me the three top names in immigration law. I want the best. Money’s not an issue!”

Masada went over to a bench and sat down. The professor sat next to her, his face creased with worry.

Chadwick put down his briefcase. “McPherson is top notch. She got the facts lined up beautifully. We have to take the sixty days and agree to detention. Your new lawyer should get you out quickly.”

“Rubbish,” Tara said. “They’ll send you to Eloy, and you’ll be stuck there forever.”

“Why such pessimism?” Silver asked. “A good lawyer will obtain her release immediately.”

“I did a piece for Channel Six on Eloy. Tens of thousands of immigrants in cages. You think they’ll stop everything to roll out the red carpet for Masada El-Tal? You’ll be sucked into the system—a black hole.”

“Who are you to say?” Professor Silver raised his voice. “You’re a vulture, hunting for a story. Shame on you!”

Tara laughed. “Chill out, Lenin. We’re on the same side.”

Silver pushed himself between Masada and Tara. “Listen to your only friend. If your papa was alive today, he would say the same thing. Let me hire a lawyer who knows what he’s doing. You’ll be back here tomorrow for a new hearing and they’ll release you.”

“You’re dreaming,” Tara said. “Hearings are conducted by video from Eloy.”

“Let’s discuss this rationally.” Chadwick sat on the bench. “You must understand that I will not be your lawyer after today, so—”

“Why not?” Tara asked.

“Jab Corporation decided to terminate Masada’s publishing contracts, which creates a conflict of interests for me.”

“Great!” Tara pulled out a mobile phone. “Have you signed up with a new publisher?”

Masada shook her head.

Tara stepped aside, her phone at her ear. A moment later she returned. “It’s all arranged. Channel Six will pay your expenses, including travel, per diem, informers, and so on. You give us exclusivity. But you can’t investigate from jail. Go to Canada, we’ll set you up with a sister station, and the two of us will work together through Internet and phone. When we expose who really bribed Mahoney, you’ll win another Pulitzer Prize and recover everything you’ve lost.”

Rabbi Josh carried the round section of the dais into his house. The wood was heavy with dry blood. He kneeled and placed the piece on the living room floor, leaning it against the wall.

The phone rang. Marti Lefkowitz wanted him to know that Senator Mitchum was making an announcement about Israel. Rabbi Josh turned on the wall-mounted TV in the exercise alcove off his bedroom and got on the elliptical machine, resting his elbows on the display panel.

Senator Mitchum stood against a background of rocky, desert hills with saguaro cacti and sparse bushes. He fixed the angle of his Stetson and smiled broadly. “I am determined to continue the work of my mentor, the late Senator Mahoney, to bring federal dollars to the great state of Arizona, generating development while preserving this beautiful piece of God’s earth.”

There was meek applause in the background.

Rabbi Josh started pedaling the machine. “Go on, beat up on Israel.”

“As soon as I took over chairmanship,” Mitchum announced, his teeth sparkling with whiteness that defied his advanced age, “of the Senate Foreign Relations Committee, I vowed to investigate the plot against America until the guilty pay for what they did.”

“Say it!” Rabbi Josh wiped the sweat off his brow, pumping his legs faster. “The Jews!”

“The committee submitted the Fair Aid Act to the full Senate, so that no foreign nation would ever again dare corrupting our legislative process!”

“Miss El-Tal,” Judge Rashinski said, “the privilege to become a naturalized U.S. citizen depends on moral character and a clean record. Our laws require revocation when fraud is proven.”

Masada stood up. “I had no intention to defraud.”

“You’ll have an opportunity to respond to the motion by bringing your own evidence as to motive. Unfortunately, with the factual admissions you made on the record today, the likelihood of success tips strongly toward the government’s motion to revoke your citizenship. Therefore, this court cannot release you, lest our tax dollars be spent on a game of hide-and-seek.”

“What if I leave the country now?”

“We object,” McPherson said. “The government insists that she remains in custody pending deportation.”

Masada’s knee threatened to buckle, but she turned to the government lawyer and asked, “Who sent you after me? Washington? The Israelis? I have rights. I’m still an American citizen!”

“I am an angry man,” Senator Mitchum said, still smiling, “because a foreign government claiming to be our ally sent its agents with dirty money to buy favorable legislation in Washington.” He raised a fist and punched the air half-heartedly. “When its scheme imploded, that foreign government engaged in additional mayhem and violence in this peaceful valley, risking the lives of innocent Arizonans. That government must atone for its crimes.”

“That government,” Rabbi Josh said, picking up speed, “has a name!”

“Therefore, my first action as the new committee chairman was to propose the Fair Aid Act to suspend military aid and cooperation while we investigate inappropriate clandestine activities by a foreign country.”

“Here we go!” Rabbi Josh wiped the sweat from his face. “Say it. The bad Jews!”

Senator Mitchum shook a finger. “We will hold the guilty responsible!”

“Punish the Jews!” Rabbi Josh pedaled faster.

“A vote on the Fair Aid Act will take place on Wednesday, a week from tomorrow.” Mitchum must have tired of smiling, his face turning slack. “It will suspend all defense appropriations and sales of weapons to Israel.”

“That’s it.” Rabbi Josh panted. “Let Israel die!”

Masada looked up at the judge. “For the record, I contest the facts and the legal reasoning. However, in order to avoid incarceration, I request permission to leave the country voluntarily until my rights are restored.”

Judge Rashinski swiveled in his chair. “Your reasons for objection, Miss McPherson?”

Masada watched the lawyer’s face contort, as if the sweetness of victory had somehow turned sour. “We believe the process requires that Miss El-Tal is available for additional questioning and hearings. If she’s out of the country, what guarantee to we have that she would even respond to the motion?”

“She wants to win it, I believe.” The judge pounded his desk. “Miss El-Tal shall remain in custody in the holding cells in this federal building until arrangements are made for an official escort out of the country, but no later than ten o’clock tomorrow morning.”

“Your Honor,” McPherson protested, “the government needs more time!”

The judge smirked. “Unless an immigration official accompanies her onto a flight by ten tomorrow, she will be released on her own recognizance and make her own travel arrangements.
So ordered.
”

Thursday, August 14

P
rofessor Silver had spent the night on the basement sofa, awake and despondent, drained of energy and hope. Elizabeth had failed him on both counts—Masada was going to be released in the morning, and he had no green card. He was doomed to blindness.

The irony didn’t escape him. For years he had labored to realize his vision of ruining Israel, and now, when his brilliance had finally brought the Zionist enemy to its knees, his own demise was imminent.

Blind!

From his perch on the sofa, through a thin cloud of smoke, the dark blotch showed against the opposite wall. He moved his gaze to the left and the blotch moved with it. Last week it was smaller, next week it would be larger, and soon his hands would grope for the walls on his way to the bathroom.

He wished he remembered how to pray. “Allah,” he begged, a tremor in his voice, “guide me, tell me what to do!” He went down on his knees. “Don’t begrudge me, Great One, for my absence from your mosque. How could I, when my duty required that I live as an infidel Jew all those years?” He bowed, bringing his forehead to the ground too fast, bumping the concrete floor.
“Ay!”

He went upstairs to fetch ice. The early rays of the sun flooded the kitchen. His airline ticket was on the table. He sat down, feeling sick. All his efforts had gone to nothing.