“Who said they’re lying?”
The rabbi was stunned. “Did you really go to prison?”
She hit the brakes, stopping with a screech at the side of the road. “You have a problem with that?”
The hurt in her eyes shocked him more than the revelation of her past imprisonment. “I’m sorry that you suffered.”
She touched his face. “You’re too good.”
Facing her so closely, he saw specks of gold in the dark green of her eyes. He leaned closer, craving to taste her moist lips.
Masada retreated a bit, and in that sliver of time he glimpsed Linda’s face between them and turned away, coughing to hide a groan.
Elizabeth McPherson sat at the prosecution table. The arguments had been intense, but her meticulous preparations had paid off again. Judge Tolstoy Rashinski pounded his gavel. “This court hereby accepts Miss McPherson’s position that the Immigration Service proved that this couple’s marriage was a scheme to obtain a green card for the husband.”
Defense counsel stood up. “Your Honor, the evidence points that way, but now they are in love. Really!” He motioned at the dyed-blonde, skeletal woman and her Mexican husband. “It would be a crime to separate them just because of a technicality.”
“The law,” Elizabeth stood, “is not a technicality, and this case is not a romance novel. Immigration fraud requires deportation.”
The young woman suddenly spoke up. “But I’m pregnant.”
“The child’s welfare,” defense counsel declared, “takes precedent!”
“I object!” Elizabeth could not believe her ears. This pitiful flat-chested woman was pregnant?
But the judge had no choice. He sent the two lawyers, the court reporter, and the young woman to the ladies’ room, where she proved her condition by urinating on a store-bought pregnancy test.
Back in the courtroom, the judge glanced at the proof without touching it and brokered a compromise, which Elizabeth had to accept. Instead of deportation, which would make the Mexican ineligible forever, he would leave the United States voluntarily and apply again.
Judge Rashinski ordered him handed to the Border Patrol to be escorted across the border. While Elizabeth was packing up her papers, she saw the Mexican kneel before his purported wife and bury his face in her tummy.
Professor Levy Silver crossed Encanto Park in a measured stroll, the beret pulled down to his brow. He stopped to let an open train with squealing kids rumble across the path. Passing the pedal-boat rental dock, he approached the service shed by the shore of the lake. The combination of extreme heat and standing water made it hard to breathe, but he knew there was no risk of running into any acquaintances from Temple Zion.
The service shed sat on a concrete pad that jutted into the brown water. Silver stood at the edge, hands behind his back. He wondered whether fish survived in the thick broth that licked his shoes.
“Professor!”
Silver waved at the approaching pedal boat.
Rajid helped him into the boat and pedaled away from shore. His tanned legs moved smoothly, his muscles bulging under the white shorts. As always, the handler from Ramallah wore enough cologne to ward off the stench of the lake.
“Let me help you.” Silver’s shoes rested on the rubber pedals and joined the turning motion. He adjusted his beret and wiped the sweat off his forehead.
“A fantastic day,” Rajid declared, “isn’t it?”
The handler was always cheerful, but the years had taught Silver to be wary of his temper. They met regularly on the first Tuesday of each month, though it was unclear how he was able to travel so freely. “Did you have a good flight?”
“As the Prophet said, Allah’s angels would fly from one end of the earth to the other, singing their Master’s praise.”
“On the River Jordan,” Silver sighed, “angels sing. In Arizona, they dehydrate.”
Rajid laughed as he pedaled the boat to the middle of the lake, where he slowed down. His perennial smile contrasted with the mirror shades on his eyes. He handed Silver a backpack. “Some dried figs and the best hashish. And cash for wrapping up the operation.”
Wrapping up? Silver shook his head. “This was the first phase. My work must continue.”
“You have done well. Humiliating the Zionists is a victory for Palestine.”
“Allah hu Akbar,” Silver said humbly.
“But we worry that the Jews might figure a way to turn the situation to their advantage.”
“Fear not. We shall soon celebrate their final doom.” Professor Silver took his feet off the pedals and rested his legs. “In time, we shall bring a truly final solution to what the Germans had accomplished in Europe.”
Rajid turned to him, the black shades reflecting Silver’s face. “But if the truth comes out, the Zionists would emerge stronger. The Americans hate dirty tricks-except their own.”
“I’m in control of the situation.” Silver removed his glasses. “However, I have a problem with my eye. I must go to Hadassah Hospital in Jerusalem. They invented a new treatment-”
“Jerusalem?” Rajid laughed. “You’re in America. Go to the doctor here.”
“Here one needs papers, Social Security, health insurance, mailing address. I don’t have any of those. I exist on a cash basis.”
Rajid found this even funnier. “Cash and carry!”
Silver didn’t see the humor. “The experimental treatment at Hadassah can save my vision. And, like any Jew, I can become an Israeli citizen overnight, entitled to free medical care.”
“Too risky.” Rajid pedaled a few rounds. “What about the photo montage we made for you? Mahfizie’s daughter can arrange American papers.”
“To enable me to travel, yes. But she can’t cure my eye!” Silver paused. “I’ll stay in Jerusalem only a few days.”
“Out of the question.” Rajid shifted in the seat, and the boat rocked, sending little ripples toward a grassy island. “You must remain here to tie up the loose ends.”
Silver wiped the back of his neck. “Listen, young man. I have done the impossible for Palestine. Soon the Israelis will be pulled off the American tit!”
“All the more reason,” Rajid said, smoothing his jelled hair, “not to jeopardize our achievement.”
The professor could not believe this was happening. “I have sacrificed one eye for Palestine. Without this treatment, I will lose the other. I must go to Jerusalem!”
“After you have tied up-”
“What do you want me to tie? Shoelaces? This was an intricate operation, which I devised, orchestrated, and executed. I deserve some gratitude!”
Rajid’s smile was gone.
The boat rose and sank with a slight swell.
Silver sensed that this man in shorts and running shoes was capable of violence. He regretted leaving the hunting knife in the car. He glanced at the shore and wondered if anyone would notice if Rajid held his head under the filthy water until he drowned. Silver sighed. “Pardon my frustration. Blindness is a terrifying prospect.”
Rajid nodded.
“You know that I devised the plan after years of studying history. The Jews in Germany were very strong-doctors, lawyers, business leaders-just like American Jews, but once the Germans were told that the Jews caused the economic problems of the Fatherland, there was hate wall-to-wall. And the world did not lift a finger to help the Jews. You should read my book about the Evian Conference.”
“I read it.”
“So you understand, yes? In order to destroy the Jews, we must first ensure that the world would not come to help them in Palestine.”
“Yes.”
“My plan is working! First, the bribe, and then the senator’s suicide, which has further inflamed Americans’ anger at Israel.” Silver pretended that this rocking boat was his classroom and that Rajid was one of his students. “Palestine could only be built on the ruins of Israel, and Israel could only be destroyed if America deserted her. And American politicians follow public opinion
polls like dogs after the scent of a female in heat.”
Rajid resumed pedaling, turning the boat back toward the service shed. “The woman writer is very clever. If she can trace the money to us, everything you planned for the Jews would happen to us. You must remain here to monitor her.”
“She’s no risk.” Silver chuckled. “Masada tells me everything. I’m like a father to her.”
“And the crazy Jew? He could tell someone that you sent him with the money.”
“Al Zonshine? No chance.” Silver laughed, but his laughter rang hollow even to his own ears. “He’s convinced we are agents of Judah’s Fist, clandestine Jewish warriors, saving Israel by bribing Mahoney. He thinks she followed him and got it on video.”
“The video clip you gave her? That memory stick could prove your involvement.”
“I took it back and destroyed it,” Silver lied, pretending to throw it in the water. “Gone.”
The boat rocked on a shallow swell. “Sorry,” Rajid said, “but we spent a fortune on this operation. These two Jews must be watched carefully. There is too much risk.”
“Risk?” Silver wiped his face with his hands. “I once ran through the desert with blood pouring out of my left eye and tears pouring out of my right eye for my dead son. If not for the Bedouins who saved me, I’d be dead too. But here in Arizona?” He gestured at the park. “There’s no risk.”
The pedals stopped. Rajid looked away. He flexed his fingers.
Fearing Rajid would hit him in the face, Silver raised his left hand between them, feigning a slap at a fly.
Rajid cracked his intertwined fingers. “You are a hero, Abu Faddah. Your courage is inspiring. Your ability to assume a Jewish identity is nothing short of genius.” He resumed pedaling, making enough noise to prevent anyone from picking up their conversation remotely. “But you must prevent exposure by the writer or the crazy Jew.”
“You want me to kill them?” He held his breath, hoping for a nod.
Rajid sped up, his legs pumping rapidly, raising the noise of rushing water.
“I’m not too old to kill Jews!”
The young man glanced at him, his head tilted. “Killing is not a matter of age.”
“Discreet elimination would not draw any attention.”
“Too suspicious, both of them dying. You must monitor them for a few months.”
“I don’t have a few months. And everybody would assume the Israelis killed Masada El-Tal.”
“The Israeli government will never send agents to kill a Jew. If you were a real Jew, you’d know it.” Rajid laughed at his own cleverness.
“How am I to monitor them? Sit in a tree across the street with my monocular?”
“Think of something. You are a professor.”
They were halfway back, and Silver knew he must convince his handler now. “Let me go to Jerusalem. A few days won’t make a difference. Masada has no clue.”
“Don’t underestimate her ability.”
Silver thought of Masada, her green gaze focused with intensity. “I cannot accept blindness!”
“We are Fada’een!” Rajid’s angry words rolled with a strong Arabic accent. “We fight for Palestine until victory or death. Or blindness!”
The boat nudged the concrete at the service shed, which hid them from the rest of the park. Silver’s legs shook as he tried to stand. “How can I fight on if I’m blind?”
Rajid helped him onto the shore and kissed him on both cheeks. “Allah will show you the way.” He jumped back in the boat. “Good luck, Professor.”
Silver watched Rajid pedal off into the lake. “Tell them,” he yelled, “that I wish to discuss Phase Two!”
He sat down on the concrete, his back against the wood planks of the shed, removed his beret, and wiped the sweat from his head.
Al Zonshine appeared around the corner of the shed and asked, “What’s Phase Two?”
Elizabeth McPherson was covered in cold sweat. She leaned forward on the cheap bathroom counter, feeling sick. Was it this morning’s court loss? How could she predict such pregnancy trickery? She should file a supplemental demand for a paternity test!
A cramp sliced through Elizabeth’s abdomen, and she massaged it, feeling the undeniable swelling. Could it be Amebiasis again? The parasites had taken residence in her intestines back in the filthy refugee camp, but Dr. Gould had cured her years ago!
She glanced at her watch. 11:00 a.m. She would leave for the doctor’s office after the staff meeting. A tumor wouldn’t grow much more in a few hours.
Washing her hands in the sink, Elizabeth saw her pale face in the mirror and regretted rushing out of her office without her purse. She didn’t want to run into David in the hallway looking like this. Tilting her head from side to side, she fluffed her hair until it built some body. The black dress she had worn for the morning court hearing made her face look even paler. It felt tight around her chest, and she scooped her breasts in her hands, adjusting their position. She turned, examining her figure in profile. She was too short to carry excess weight, though David didn’t seem to mind.
A secretary entered, and Elizabeth left, hurrying down the hallway to her corner office. Before she could sit down, the phone rang. The director’s secretary said he wanted to see her.
One floor up, Allan Simpson greeted Elizabeth warmly. A career federal administrator with astute political instincts, he had treated her with abundant respect and never interfered with the legal department.
The director led her to the sitting area in the corner of his office, and they settled into two armchairs separated by a coffee table. He stretched his long legs, making himself comfortable. “Some committee in Washington decided to add a deputy director for coordination between us, the Border Patrol and the Customs Service in the southwest region.”
“I understand.” Elizabeth pursed her lips. This was the opportunity she had been waiting for-a chance to move up from legal to management. “The Border Patrol has grown quite imperial with all the quasi-military paraphernalia. We must hold them on a short leash.”
He smiled. “I want to appoint someone who can prevent budgetary shifts at our expense, protect our turf, but appear neutral.”
“You need a good lawyer.” Elizabeth could hardly hold back a cheer. The stars had aligned perfectly. “I’ve dealt with the complexities of the Patriot Act and the regulations setting up the Homeland Security Department. For example-”
“That’s why I called you.”
“I’m flattered.” Elizabeth realized her promotion would open up her current job for David. “My department should be in good shape-”
“I looked through the lawyers’ list to see who’s ripe for promotion.”
Elizabeth perked up. Simpson was a step ahead. He must have realized her first concern would be to find a good replacement for the chief counsel position. “David Goodyear is excellent, has a good mind, solid work ethics, and people skills. He’s ready for more responsibility, no question about it.”
“That’s what I like about you, Elizabeth.” Director Simpson stood up, offering his hand. “You understand how this business works.”
She scrambled to her feet, a bit surprised by how easy it was. “Should I mention it to him?”
The director led her to the door. “Let me do the honors.”
Back in her own office, she called David, who came over and closed the door. He towered over her as they hugged and kissed. He sat across the desk and slipped off his shoes. His legs reached under the desk, his feet touching her. “How do you feel?”
“My stomach is bothering me.”
His foot climbed the inside of her leg and tickled her thigh. “You should drink something warm.”
“You’re terrible!”
He laughed, his brown hair falling onto his boyish face. He jerked his head to one side, throwing off the hair. “Come on, Ellie, I can’t wait till tomorrow night.”
“Soon we’ll be living together, and you won’t have to wait.” He had promised to l
eave his wife when his daughter turned six. “You will chair the staff meeting today. It’s time the others saw you as a leader.” She pushed a pile of papers across the desk. “Here’s the material.”
“You’re the leader.”
“I’m grooming a successor. We can’t work in the same section after we’re married.” She pointed to the pile. “The agenda is on top, background and weekly reports underneath. You have thirty minutes to prepare.”
He browsed the list. “Piece of cake.” He got out of the chair. “This dress is wooph!”
She crossed the room, intending to open the door, but he caught up with her in two long strides and grabbed her from behind, his hands cupping her breasts. “They’re big!”
“David!” She was terrified someone would walk in.
His mouth closed on her ear and his tongue sent a buzz of pleasure through her body. She reached forward and locked the door. He rubbed against her buttocks. His right hand gave her breast another squeeze, dropped down, pulled up her dress, and reached into her underpants. He clung to her from behind, his left arm wrapped around her chest, his tongue in her ear, his bulge poking her behind. His finger entered her.
Elizabeth surrendered to his dominance, letting him bring her closer and closer to climax. “Bend over,” he whispered urgently.
“No!”
He leaned on her, his chest forcing her to bow.
“Not here!” She clenched his hand between her legs as his finger moved up and down, the pressure increasing, until she exploded, burying a scream in his arm.
Rabbi Josh wanted to explain himself. It’s been only five years since Linda died. But Masada seemed relieved the intimate moment had passed. She drove off, catching a yellow light, and turned left onto Forty-fourth Street. The Corvette hit a pothole and rattled noisily. “I don’t need a knight on a white horse,” she said. “If I wanted emotional entanglement to interfere with my work, I’d be married already.”
“I don’t believe you,” he said quietly.
“I investigate. I write. I publish and make a difference. That’s my life.”
The Masada Complex Page 7
