The Masada Complex (59 page)

“That’s a lot to expect from an old man’s memory.” Silver chortled and put his hand on the rabbi’s shoulder. “Joshua, my dear friend, you are suffering. I know, I’ve been there myself, when my beloved son died.” He coughed, clearing his throat. “Grief is a process. Let it take its course.”

“But did she—”

“Forget about Masada. Her errors are rooted in her failure to grieve properly for her loss. She hasn’t healed for decades.” He patted the rabbi’s bowed head. “One day, Joshua, when you recover, when you’re stronger, then you can try to help her. But not now, when you are so tortured.”

Rabbi Josh looked at his left foot, which was still laced up in his shoe, and dreaded what was waiting in there.

“Oh, almost forgot. You remember the package I gave you at Newark Airport?”

The rabbi hopped to the suitcase that lay open on the floor. Digging under shirts and socks and underwear, he found the package. “Here it is.”

Silver held it with both hands.

It occurred to the rabbi that he should have looked inside it. “No contraband, I hope.”

“I only deal in words.” The professor grinned, pushing up the thick glasses. His hand searched for the doorknob. “Good night.”

“Levy.” He waited for the professor to turn. “Rabbi Yehudah Ben-Tabai said:
Don’t be like the lawyers; when the accused suspect comes before you, treat him as guilty, and when he repents, treat him as innocent.
In other words, if a guilty man exhibits sincere regrets, he’s entitled to be treated as innocent.”

The professor stood at the door, holding the package, his thick glasses preventing Rabbi Josh from reading his expression. “The problem is, my friend, that nobody is innocent.”

Masada beckoned the bartender. “I can’t wait for the Senate to vote. I’m tired of Ness’s tricks. You want to hear the latest?”

Tara ordered two beers. She cradled her chin in her hands, elbows on the table, and listened to the story of how Ness had purportedly stopped Silver’s surgery.

“Lenin isn’t so innocent.” Tara punched a key, and her laptop came to life.

“His name is Levy, not Lenin.”

“It’s not Levy, either. It’s Flavian.”

A teenage boy passed between the tables handing out yellow flyers for the protest rally at the Jaffa Gate tomorrow evening. Masada wrapped it around the sweating beer glass to soak up the moisture. “I know him as Levy. Must be his Italian birth name. How did you find out?”

“I called the absorption ministry.” Tara hit another few keys on the laptop. “Remember the interview in your garage, when you gave me lousy answers?”

“You asked lousy questions.”

“Before the interview, we were adjusting light and sound.” Tara turned the laptop to face Masada. “Priest e-mailed this clip to me.”

The screen showed Masada’s garage, the light-blue Corvette in the background. Tara walked into the frame, counted numbers, raised four fingers in the air, and appeared brighter as the lighting was changed. A voice said, “Don’t mind me. Just getting something.” Professor Silver passed behind Tara and got into the Corvette.

“He was searching your car. What for? A memory stick”

“I don’t blame him. He begged me to give it back to him or destroy it, and I risked his life by keeping it.” Masada brought the beer to her lips but lowered it before drinking any. “He was desperate. He had to look for it himself.”

“Behind your back?”

“He was afraid. He’s got no one in the world.”

Tara shut the laptop. “Why are you making excuses for him?”

“Why are you trying to indict him? It’s Ness’s idea, isn’t it?” Masada was flushed with anger. “Levy is just a scared old man, that’s all. Sick and scared and trying to act brave.”

“Sick and scary. Your dear Lenin is the key to the whole thing. He’s the—”

“
Good night!”
Masada slammed a few shekels on the table and left.

Monday, August 18

A
wail tore Elizabeth from a deep sleep. A second later, it repeated, amplified, bouncing off the walls. “
Allah Hu Akbar.
” She groped in the darkness and felt the concrete floor and the bunched-up blanket under her head. Her bladder threatened to explode.

The muezzin repeated his dawn call to prayers.

Sitting up, back against the wall, she rubbed her eyes. Dim light outlined the door. She shifted, pain shooting through her shoulder. “Hello!”

There was no response. She pounded the door. “Let me out!”

The baby jolted in her lower abdomen. She stood, leaning against the wall. “You’re a hungry little guy, aren’t you? Mommy’s hungry too.”

Reflecting on what had happened, Elizabeth realized Father had to punish her for defying him in front of his followers. His honor had required it. But this morning he would release her, and she would dress more appropriately for the award ceremony.

She heard footsteps outside.

Silver woke up before 4:00 a.m., unable to sleep. Today his plan was going to become a reality. The Jews’ lifeline to America would be snipped. It was a dramatic paradigm shift, brought about by his personal genius and determination.

The front desk clerk allowed him to use the office to call a law firm in Phoenix, arranging an agreement to represent Masada. The lawyer promised to confirm the agreement by fax later.

He left the Ramban Hostel before dawn and found an open café. Freshly baked rolls, goat cheese, and real coffee, all of which he consumed with relish before the inception of another day of fasting. He sat in the corner and listened to the customers’ conversations. Some of the Jews thought the American senators would never suspend military aid to Israel—why would they hurt their own defense industry? Others joked that the Americans would come back begging for Israel’s forgiveness when they realized China was ready to fill the role of Israel’s defense trading partner. The woman at the coffee machine, while changing filters, argued that the Israeli government should resign to appease the Americans. Her boss, pulling a tray of rolls out of the oven, said it was all an FBI sting operation directed by the American president who is a secret Muslim.

A patron in a dark suit and a tie, who picked up a cup of black coffee, jokingly asked the proprietor for a dishwashing job. “If they pass this thing, I’ll have to shut down my company.”

By the time Silver left the café an hour later, he wanted to dance on the sidewalk. Raising his hand against the brightening sky, he looked straight at his palm, seeing a black circle surrounded by a hairy belt. Had the blotch grown overnight? He must remember to put in the drops as soon as he reached his room!

“Professor!” The call came from a car that stopped at the curb, Rajid at the wheel. He was wearing a black skullcap like an Orthodox Jew. “Come, I’ll give you a ride.” He flashed his shark-like smile.

Inside the car, the smell of citrus blossom made Silver gag.

“My apologies for the other night,” Rajid said. “I was out of line.” He reached under his seat and pulled out the gun, the barrel extended by a silencer, and dropped it in Silver’s lap. “Keep it for your protection.”

The professor raised the gun, examining it.

Rajid’s hand left the steering wheel and pushed the gun out of sight. “The Israeli police don’t appreciate guns in the hands of Palestinians.”

“Then how do you get through the Israeli checkpoints and the separation wall? Aren’t you afraid?”

The handler laughed. “I have enough sets of ID papers to pass a soccer team from Ramallah to Tel Aviv and back. The Israelis’ underestimate our capabilities. They don’t realize that we’ve been watching them and learning!”

They drove in silence for a few minutes.

“So,” Rajid said, “the Jews fixed your eye?”

“It’s a process.” To change the subject, Silver told him about the ceremony he’d promised Elizabeth. “We’ll tell her the event had to be cancelled for security reasons.”

“Where is she?”

“At the Kings Hotel. We can have a ceremony in her room. You’ll thank her on behalf of Palestine and give her a medal.”

Rajid waved his hand dismissively. “Forget her. She’s already done what we needed.”

“She could be useful in Phase Two.”

“You want her involved?”

“She is a prominent lawyer in America. The next phase of my plan—inciting an international boycott of Israel—would benefit from her legal expertise in drafting documents for the various human rights organizations, press releases, legal opinions and so on.”

“Would she do it?” Rajid drove by the Ramban Hostel and continued at a moderate pace.

“I guarantee it. She’s susceptible to threats and temptations. In her position, she could be very influential for the cause.”

“I’ll discuss it in Ramallah, see what our leaders think.” Rajid turned onto a side street.

Silver found the door handle. “You can drop me off here.”

Rajid slowed down but didn’t stop. “I need your papers about Phase Three. To keep in a safe place.”

“It’s safe.” Silver opened the door, though the car was still moving.

“Just think.” Rajid tapped the brake, inching forward. “How terrible it would be for Palestine if the media got hold of it.”

“Are the Israelis looking for me?” Silver tried to read Rajid’s expression. “They have informants in our ranks, that’s known.”

“The Israelis?” Rajid laughed. “They’re chasing explosive belts, not papers.”

“So why?”

“The leadership in Ramallah is nervous about you, Abu Faddah.”

“Then it’s time I presented my plans in person!” Silver stuck his foot out through the open door. “Pick me up tomorrow morning at the café. I’ll bring my papers, and you’ll take me to Ramallah.”

Rajid gripped Silver’s arm. “My orders are to pick up all your papers now. The president himself is concerned. Exposure at this time would ruin everything.”

“There will be no exposure.” Silver tried to free his arm. “Let go!”