The Masada Complex (61 page)

“It’s a mistake. He is in charge of VIP visitors. He picked me up from the airport!”

“You must escape. Cover yourself and come with me.” She bunched up the robe to slide it over Elizabeth’s head. “Quick!”

Elizabeth stepped back. “I’m not running away from him again.”

“But—”

“I’m a successful professional, not a frightened teenager. I deserve Father’s respect.”

“Allah’s mercy!” Aunt Hamida’s hands fell, and the robe dropped to the floor. “Stubborn, like my brother. I beg you, child, please!”

Men’s voices sounded from down the hallway.

“Thank you.” Elizabeth kissed her aunt. “Now go and call the U.S. consulate again.”

The handgun was a modern version of the old Beretta he had carried in Amman in the seventies. Professor Silver checked the magazine, which was full, and reset the safety. The silencer could be useful on Mount Masada in case things got out of hand.

He placed the gun under the pillow and lay down on the bed, closing his eyes. The possibility that he would have to actually shoot Masada was remote. Her tragic end must pass for a suicide. He would surprise her with a shove, sending her plummeting to her sad, untimely death at the foot of the mountain.

He thought about her question.
Did you search my Corvette?
The TV reporter must have told her. The fax from the lawyer had arrived with perfect timing. Masada’s transparency of emotions was endearing, the absence of a calculated façade was almost juvenile. The truth was, Masada was a tortured soul. Death would be a relief for her, a favor.

Too irritable to sleep, he removed his glasses and tested the blotch on the palm of his hand. It seemed smaller. Excited, he picked up the plastic bottle with Dr. Asaf’s experimental drops and held it over his eye. His hand shook, and the bottle let out more than he intended, some trickling to his lips.

“
Schlemiel!
”

He hurried to the bathroom, expecting a foul medicinal taste to spread inside his mouth. He opened the cold-water tap, filling his joined hands, leaning forward to slurp a mouthful.

He paused.

There was no unpleasant taste in his mouth, only mild saltiness.

Holding the bottle upside down, he plugged it with his thumb, which he then sucked. The liquid tasted like tears, a bit salty, melting away in his palate. He held the plastic bottle up against the vanity lights. The liquid was clear.

He found the original glass bottle Dr. Asaf had given him and turned it in his hand. There was only his name, handwritten on a white sticker.
Flavian Silver.
No list of ingredients, no chemical formulas, no warnings or instructions for the patient. In the corner of the sticker he noticed tiny letters:
PL

Placebo!

“Allah’s curses on you!” He snatched the plastic bottle and put it to his lips, taking a sip, swishing the liquid between his teeth, under his tongue, in the back of his mouth, until even the trace of salt was gone. He spat, threw the bottle at the mirror, and yelled, “Filthy Jews!”

Barely making it to the bed, he collapsed, holding his face in his hands, trembling. The world was going dark, closing in on him.

A voice in his head mocked him.
Blind!

He commanded the voice to shut up.

Blind! Blind! Blind!

He yelled, “Why, Allah?
Why?
”

As if in response, a muezzin whined mournfully over the roofs of Jerusalem, summoning Allah’s faithful to prayers.

Silver stumbled to the window, where the calls of the muezzin reprimanded him for his long absence from Allah’s worship. “I am observing Ramadan,” he pleaded. “I’ve lived as a Jew for our people, for Allah’s glory.”

But as he bargained for divine leniency, his heart told him he could have been a better Muslim, even in secret. Tears filled his eye, and he opened his arms, admitting his depravity, begging for Allah’s forgiveness. For a brief moment, the blotch was gone, and he no longer heard scorn in the muezzin’s chants.

The front desk clerk allowed Rabbi Josh to use the computer in the office. He Googled the words:
End Days Israel
. One of the sites showed a bearded man blowing a ram’s horn, a string of words emerging from it:
End of Days = Israel’s Salvation!
Below was a block of quotations from Ezekiel 38:

At the End of the Days, when my people return from the many nations of their exile and settle back on the barren hills of Israel; Gog and Magog shall attack them from the north; all the nations of the world, many horses and great battalions and large armies; I shall try Gog and Magog in blood and rain and rocks and fire; destroy him and the nations with him; it shall be known to all the nations that I am God.”

The web site went on to explain that Ezekiel’s End of Days prophecy meant that Armageddon would be an attack on Israel by all the nations of the world, led by the U.N., UNIFIL, NATO, the OIC, and other international organizations—the modern version of Gog and Magog, an amalgamation of gentiles converging to destroy Israel. The war would end with a spectacular victory of God, destroying all the gentile armies and saving Israel. That victory would be followed by the arrival of the Messiah, the revival of the prophet Elijah and all the righteous Jews, and the rebuilding of God’s temple in Jerusalem. At the bottom it said:

It is the duty of every Jew to rise, instigate, promote, and incite by all available means the gentiles’ animosity toward Israel so as to hasten the End of Days. Give $$$ to hasten the arrival of the Messiah! Donations accepted in cash, check, credit cards, or PayPal.

The counter showed that more than seven million visitors had frequented the site. Rabbi Josh calculated that, if one visitor in ten gave ten dollars, the group would have collected seven million dollars to use in hastening the End of Days.

Questions chased each other in the rabbi’s mind: Was this the source of money used to bribe Senator Mahoney, followed by exposure to incite rage in America against Israel? Was Professor Silver an End of Days believer? He regularly referred to gentiles negatively, as if they were all anti-Semites. His constant quoting from the Torah and the sages revealed his literal interpretation of the Jewish scriptures. Even his book about the Evian Conference had a similar theme—the German Jews being rejected for immigration by all the nations of the world. What was he writing now?

The whole chain of events could be explained if Levy Silver indeed was an End of Days fanatic, working with others to actively instigate a showdown between Israel and the rest of the world. Had he arranged for Al to deliver the bribe and leaked the information to Masada to create the scandal? That would also explain his surreptitious attempts to defame and sabotage Masada, who presented the biggest risk of exposure! It also meant that he had lied about hearing Masada and Al together!

Rabbi Josh stood up. Masada should be aware of this possibility. Neither of them had known Silver for long, but she was a professional, capable of investigating. Could Silver’s warmth and intelligence hide such extreme ideology?

He heard voices in the lobby. The front desk clerk said, “Sure, Professor, use the phone in the office.”

The rabbi glanced at the desk, where a telephone rested by the computer screen that displayed the End of Days web site.

They led Elizabeth through a corridor, past a kitchen lit by the blue glow of a TV, under an arched entrance, and into the main sanctuary of the mosque. When her eyes adjusted to the bleakness, she saw three men seated at a table. Father was in the middle, hunched over an open book, murmuring. She was made to stand before them, the odorous blanket draped on her shoulders.

The man on the left, with a red band securing a checkered kafiya to his head, asked, “Why did you come here, woman?”

She recognized him. Imam Abdul, the school principal in her day. “I provided a service for our national cause. Our leaders invited me to be honored.”

“Where?”

“A senior Palestinian official will present me with an award at a ceremony in the main plaza on Wednesday. They must have notified you.”

Father shook his head, his lips continuing to silently recite from the book.

“Nobody knows about this
honor
.”

She felt her face flush. “I’m a very important lawyer in America. You think I would waste my time coming here to be treated like this? Pick up the phone and call Ramallah.”

“Silence!” Imam Abdul pointed at her. “Do not issue orders to this tribunal!”

Elizabeth was about to snap when the baby moved. “Father,” she said, “I didn’t mean any disrespect with my inadequate dress. I didn’t expect to meet you here, in the mosque. I looked for you at our home. But it’s in ruins. At least we can rebuild our relationship, right?”

Imam Abdul glanced at her father, who stopped murmuring and looked up from the book.

“I apologize,” she continued, “and wish to start my visit afresh. I will dress appropriately when I return. We do have an exciting event coming up, and—”

Father whispered, and the red-banded Imam asked, “What service?”

Elizabeth balked. “Excuse me?”

“What did you do for Palestine?”

“I am not at liberty to discuss it, but it’s of great value, which is why I’m being honored.”

“The
honor
, yes.” The imam showed the yellow teeth of a habitual smoker. “And who asked you for that service?”

“Actually, my father did.” She unzipped her purse and took out the photo, placing it face up on the open book before her father.

Father’s lips stopped moving. He bent closer, examined the photo, and shook his head.

“Turn it over. There’s a note in your handwriting.”

Father glanced at the scribbled message and grunted.

“A forgery.” Imam Abdul took the photo. “Who is this man?”

Elizabeth felt weak.
Why was Father denying his own writing?

“He is my father’s friend. Don’t you see the request on the back?”

“Hajj Mahfizie doesn’t know this man.” The imam threw the photo on the floor between them. “You were tricked. Foolish woman!”

She picked up the photo. “This man is Abu Faddah, a brilliant Palestinian who is running the most important operation in our national history.”