The Masada Complex (74 page)

“Shut up!” Silver moved the gun barrel back and forth between them.

Rabbi Josh bent his knees slightly, placing the right foot forward. Five, six steps, and he would be upon Silver. Even with a bullet wound he would be able to hold the elderly professor long enough for her to get away. He waited for the gun to turn to him, so that Silver would not press the trigger while the gun was pointing at her.

But Silver was too angry now, the long silencer shaking, his finger sliding into the trigger ring. “You dimwit Jews. You call me a traitor?
Me?
The Zionists took away my home, my family, my son. I’d rather die than work for them!”

Rabbi Josh hesitated. He had one chance. He must be certain his attack would save Masada. He inched closer, but she gave him a cautionary glance and said, “Abu Faddah, an Israeli agent.”

“Shut up!” Silver kept the gun on her. “Tell me where is the woman soldier!”

“Okay,” Masada said, oddly calm, “but only after you tell me the truth about the Mahoney bribe.”

Silver tossed his bag to Rabbi Josh. “Open it!”

The rabbi had advanced another step.

“Sit on the ground and open it!”

Rabbi Josh crouched, put down the lantern, and took the heavy package out of the briefcase. He removed three rubber bands that held the documents together. The top cover was blank. The second sheet had only a title in typed letters:
Phase Three.

“I studied your history,” Silver said, “to understand how the Germans failed to rid humanity of the Jewish pests. I developed a plan, and you,” he pointed at Masada with the gun barrel, “helped me with the first phase. You wrote so convincingly, with such passion, that no one doubted Israel was behind the bribe.” He laughed. “But the money came from Ramallah!”

“God!” Rabbi Josh almost dropped Silver’s papers. “This is satanic!”

“Wait a minute,” Masada said. “This whole bribe operation was a Palestinian plot?”

“Exactly.” Silver grinned. “The plan, the execution, the funding—all directed by our leadership in Ramallah. You think of us as a bunch of stupid Arabs, capable only of shooting unarmed civilians or detonating explosive belts?” He glanced at his watch. “Within a few minutes, in Washington, the first phase of our operation will be accomplished, ending American support for Israel.”

“You’re lying,” Rabbi Josh said.

“The truth hurts,” Silver said. “But the future will hurt even more.”

“You know the future?” Masada leaned against the wall.

“The future will happen almost by itself. In Phase Two, without America, Israel will stand alone. The Europeans have always hated the Jews, and now they hate Israel. Asia is mostly Muslim. No government will alienate its population for the sake of Israel. The world will treat Israelis like it treated the Afrikaners—the
apartheidization of Israel.
International sanctions that will choke Israel until it grants Palestinian refugees the right of return and gives them the vote. And so, my dear former friends, from the Mediterranean to the Jordan River, from the Golan Heights to the Sinai Desert,” he smiled, the empty socket of his left eye squinting, “the dawn of a new Israel, ruled by an Arab majority.”

Rabbi Josh flipped the pages. A draft of a future press release was titled:
The Burning of the Knesset: Government Declares Emergency Measures.
He whispered, “Just like the burning of the Reichstag!”

“The Jews,” Silver declared, “will be very angry after the Arab majority elects a new government. It’s only reasonable to expect them to engage in rebellious sabotage. The world will understand the necessity of tough security measures to fight Jewish terrorism.”

“Heaven’s mercy!” Rabbi Josh turned to Masada. “Do you understand?”

“Like Flavius Silva,” Masada commented, as if this was merely an intellectual discussion. “Tell us the rest, Abu Faddah, and I’ll tell you where to find the woman who catapulted your son.”

The gun shook in Silver’s hand. “Flavius Silva smashed the Jews, but he didn’t finish the job. The Germans wasted resources on fighting Russia and America instead of concentrating on the extermination of the Jews. But we will finish the job. My designs cover information systems, government regulations, architectural blueprints, personnel charts, transportation, and processing—”

“What’s COCA?” Rabbi Josh looked at a map of northern Israel.

“An acronym,” Masada suggested, “for concentration camp?”

“We won’t use that term publicly,” Silver said. “
Retraining Academies
would be better. The Jews will be pacified by the educational flair.”

The rabbi turned the page, finding a map of the Dead Sea area.

“Final stage will be here.” Silver pointed through the open end of the room at the still body of water. “From the lowest land in the whole world a new future shall rise.”

“What’s ProPla?” Rabbi Josh asked.

“Processing plant for the bodies,” Masada said. “He’ll use salt.”

“Acid.” Silver smiled. “Less offensive than smoke stacks, wouldn’t you agree?”

As soon as Elizabeth finished eating, the baby became active, poking her from within until she smiled. It was almost six in the morning, and the kitchen was filling up with men, who gathered around the small TV. The screen showed the podium at the U.S. Senate, where the most junior senator was completing his remarks against Israel.

Senator Mitchum, in a red tie and fresh makeup, took over the podium. “Let me quote the writer Masada El-Tal,” he declared, “who courageously stepped up to the challenge despite her conflicting loyalties.” He held up a copy of
Jab Magazine
. “She wrote:
Only a country founded on the religious sectarianism would feel justified in manipulating the legislative process of a democracy. And only a country that glorifies its sons’ ultimate sacrifice could justify sacrificing its own integrity.
And with these wise words,” the senator declared, “I hereby call for a vote on the Fair Aid Act, which will suspend all military aid to, and cooperation with, the State of Israel, pending a full Senate investigation of the events leading to the tragic suicide of our colleague from Arizona—”

An aide tapped his shoulder and whispered in his ear.

Senator Mitchum returned to the microphone. “It seems that new facts have emerged.” He covered the microphone, consulted with someone else, and announced, “We’ll take a brief recess.”

The anchor’s face appeared on the screen. “We go live now from Mount Masada, near the Dead Sea, in Israel.”

The picture changed again, and Professor Silver appeared on the screen.

Elizabeth covered her mouth. The professor was aiming a gun with a silencer at the camera. His glass eye was missing. Behind him was a wall of rough stones. She listened with growing fear as he admitted he had bribed Senator Mahoney as part of a Palestinian plot to take over Israel and exterminate the Jews.

Professor Silver laughed. The two Jews were stricken by shock, especially Rabbi Josh, who resembled a car wreck survivor. “Don’t try anything funny!” Silver held the gun with both hands, shifting its aim constantly. “Now you tell me where I can find the woman who killed my son.”

“Yes, the crazy soldier,” Masada said. “What do you remember?”

“She swung on a steel cable and grabbed my Faddah, then she attacked me.”

“Tall and stringy, with black hair.”

“Yes.”

“Like me?”

Silver felt a chill.

Masada pointed at the low wall at the edge. “Your dear Faddah didn’t even fight. Maybe he preferred death to staying with Papa.”

“No!”

She pulled up her right pant, exposing a brace. “Did you notice when Ness shot me in the knee? Or was your eye hurting too much?”

“You!” He realized she was telling the truth. It was like a string of dominos falling in a row. “That’s why the your brother yelled—”

“Masada!”

It was the rabbi’s voice, and Silver realized he’d focused on her, forgetting the rabbi. As he turned, his finger starting to press the trigger, Rabbi Josh threw the lantern, hitting the gun, which flew over the edge into empty air. The lantern shattered on the floor, and the rabbi leaped forward.

There was one thing Silver was determined to do:
Punish Faddah’s killer!
He threw himself at Masada. His shoulder rammed her in the chest, propelling her over the edge.

Elizabeth McPherson could not move. Senator Mitchum’s face reappeared on the TV screen. “Well, considering the new information, we will take this matter under advisement. The Fair Aid Act is withdrawn. This session of the United States Senate is adjourned.”

The senator disappeared from the TV screen, replaced by the black reporter in Jerusalem, smiling as circles of yellow-clad Jews danced around him. “The atmosphere in this ancient city,” he yelled over the noise, “is ecstatic. People feel vindicated. Not only was Israel proven innocent of the bribery charges, but a terrible Palestinian plot to destroy the Jewish people has been exposed. Someone here just told me that God has intervened to prevent a second Holocaust. But that, of course, is a matter of faith. Reporting from Jerusalem, this is—”

Someone turned off the TV. Elizabeth saw her father being carried in. Aunt Hamida helped her kneel before him. Father’s hand rested on the scarf covering her shaved head. He mumbled a blessing.

The men carried Hajj Mahfizie from the kitchen. Aunt Hamida helped Elizabeth to her feet and hugged her tightly. “
Ah-Salaam
, Elzirah.”

“See you soon,” Elizabeth said.

Aunt Hamida started crying and ran from the kitchen.

This was it. She was free to go. Surely the Israelis at the checkpoint could call a taxi for her. She went to the door.

Three men in white coats blocked her way. They grabbed her arms, turned her around, and blindfolded her. She felt her yellow robe being lifted up to her armpits. A heavy pouch was tied around her waist, and the robe was pulled down over it.