She opened the sliding doors to the patio. The knocking quickened until it sounded like an old typewriter at top speed, simultaneously muffled and loud, far and nearby, impossible to locate. The next house was too far to be the source, especially as the owners lived in Nebraska most of the year, using the house only during the winter months.
The noise stopped as suddenly as it had started. She waited at the patio doors, torn between curiosity and apprehension. Several minutes passed. The mattress on the floor was inviting, the white comforter tucked in all around, the puffed-up pillows waiting to cradle her head. She could crawl in and snuggle for another night outdoors.
The phone rang, and she went to the kitchen to pick it up.
It was Rabbi Josh. “I’m calling to apologize for yelling at you.”
“You didn’t yell.” She hopped onto the counter, her legs dangling.
“For me, that was yelling.” Someone spoke to him in the background. “I have to go,” he said. “Have a restful night, okay?”
His brief call changed her mood. With renewed energy, Masada took the flattened boxes to the garage and fetched a broom and a dustpan to clean up the glass.
When she emptied the glass shards from the dustpan into the kitchen trashcan, the rapid knocking renewed outside with intensity. She realized it had responded to the noises she was making. It must be a woodpecker!
A half-hour with the vacuum cleaner left the house clear of dust and small debris. She opened the patio doors all the way and bent to grab the head of the mattress. The brace limited her ability to bend her right leg. Thank you for shooting me, Dov Ness.
Masada crouched, placing most of her weight on the left leg, jutting out the right leg sideways, holding on to the seam along the bottom of the mattress under the pillows. She straightened halfway, lifting the front of the mattress, her hands stretched, until her right leg could share the load. She kept her back straight and moved backwards in baby steps, pulling the mattress through the double doors into the great room.
Tension began to build up in her thigh muscles. She kept a slow, steady pace, dragging the mattress in a wide sweep through the center of the living room. Off the carpet, the mattress slid smoothly on the wood floor around the kitchen counter, down the hallway, and through the wide door of the master bedroom. Again on a carpet, pulling the mattress was harder, and her arms ached. She maneuvered it to align between side wall and the night table that carried a reading lamp and Silver’s book, which she hoped to finish tonight. Pulling backward, her posture uneven with the stiff right leg, her fingers clenched the seam at the bottom of the mattress. She glanced back to make sure the corners of the mattress fit and took another step back before her butt collided with the wall and her sneakers slipped on the carpet. She landed on her butt, her fingers pried from the mattress, which dropped on her legs, pinning her down.
“Silly you.” She said.
Tuck tuck tuck! Trrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr!
The knocking sound!
Not a woodpecker! In the room! Buzzing through the mattress into her trapped legs like a rampant electric current.
Her throat constricted, blocking the airways. She was paralyzed.
It paused and resumed in a rapid Tucktucktucktucktucktuck!Trrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr!
The comforter contorted wildly, and one of the pillows flipped over to the floor, causing Masada to jerk and bump the back of her head against the wall. Her legs, under the mattress, felt as if someone was rapping the mattress with immeasurable speed.
She struggled to release her legs, to push away the heavy mattress, her body barely following the orders sent from her brain, her limbs heavier than lead.
Trrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr! The comforter peaked in several places, poked from beneath repeatedly with thrashing, crazed rage.
Masada heard herself shout, “Get out!”
In a flash, a triangular head appeared from under the comforter, which flipped backward. Bulging eyes locked onto hers. A snake!
It slithered from under the comforter, its body transforming into a live spring, its tail emerging, the end pricked up with rings that turned into a blur of speedy rattling. Trrrrrrrrrrrr!
Its mouth opened impossibly wide. A pair of fangs emerged from their moist sheaths, rotated forward, and pointed at her.
Before going to sleep, Rabbi Josh phoned the vet to check on Shanty. The night nurse told him that the dog’s breathing was regular and the digestive system had cleared out. However, Shanty was lethargic and unable to even wag her tail.
After hanging up, the rabbi recited quietly, “Deliver me, O Jehovah, from evil men, who devise mischief in their hearts; they have sharpened their tongues like serpents, adders’ poison under their lips; Selah.” It felt odd to recite Psalms for a dog, but Shanty’s recovery was worth praying for.
Turning off the lights around the house, Rabbi Josh lingered in Raul’s bedroom. He sat on the bed, stroked his hair, and kissed him. The boy was fast asleep, hugging a stuffed puppy. “Sweet dreams, Son,” Rabbi Josh whispered. “Shanty will be all right.”
He looked closer and saw Raul’s eyelashes flutter. He wondered what dreams the boy was having.
The triangular head shifted from side to side, measuring Masada from each angle. The forked tongue lashed in and out, tasting the air between them. Its body was thicker than her arm.
The snake twisted back, the rest of its body slithering, constantly reforming.
Masada tried to shift her position.
The snake stuck up its tail and rattled its multiple rings. Trrr! Trrrrrrrrr!
The sound deprived her of the capacity to think.
Its head rose high, supported by a curve of its muscular body, parallel to the ground, pointing at her like an arrow on a tight bow. Its neck arched back behind the head with enough twisted length to strike at her face. Parting its jaws, the snake hissed at her, its tongue moving, fangs unsheathed.
Masada forced air into her lungs slowly and watched the rattlesnake without moving a limb. Its head kept shifting from side to side until it froze, as if reaching a decision. It opened its mouth even wider and tilted its head backward, the fangs aimed at her face. She was about to reach forward and grab it before it struck-what did she have to lose? — but the rattler closed its mouth, its tongue resuming a series of quick pokes at the air between them. It was giving her a chance to use her only weapon. But how could she draw it from the brace?
Forcing herself to avert her eyes from the snake’s menacing gaze, Masada slid her right hand under the mattress and slowly reached for the brace. But her leg was straight under the weight of the mattress, the knee beyond reach.
The snake must have sensed the movement, because it glided closer to her, its head swaying in precise angles. She strained the muscles in her right leg, trying to bend it, causing the mattress to shake.
Trrrrr! Trrrrrrrr!
The snake jerked its head, fangs like white hooks with dagger ends. Its palate was pink and wet with rows of tiny teeth. It lunged forward so fast she could barely see the movement, the gaping mouth flying at her face. She choked with fear and shut her eyes, ready for the bite.
She felt a light puff of air on her neck, as delicate as a feather. Her eyes opened, and she found the snake back in position, adjusting its aim. She waited for pain to spread, but none came. Had the snake made a fake attack? A practice strike to measure the distance for the next, venomous strike?
Masada focused on reaching the brace. By leaning to the side, she could bend her leg closer. Certain that her movement was subtle enough, she was shocked when the snake shifted simultaneously, maintaining its aim. It began a series of rocking motions, back and forth, its tongue emerging and retreating in quick lashes, as if it were sampling scent and sight and smell, collecting all the information it needed for a perfect strike.
Time was running out. Masada knew the rattler would strike soon-it had enough of torturing her. She tried to plan her defense. On her left, the mattress was flush against the wall. On the right, the
re were the reading lamp and Silver’s book on the night table. She could topple it if she managed to get from under the mattress and leap sideways, all that without getting bitten. But the intensity of the snake’s focus on her made it clear that its lightning-fast strike would reach her as soon as she tried.
As if reading her mind, the snake hissed and slithered, inching closer.
Tucktuck! Trrrrrrrrrrrrr!
Another pull, and she managed to bend her right leg enough to reach the brace.
The snake sensed her fleeting movement and grew more agitated, its head moving sharply, the diamond pattern on the tight, scaly skin changing with each contour of the slimy, tubular body.
Masada’s fingers reached below the brass knee cap to the shin part of the brace. She slipped a finger under the leather flap and fished out Srulie’s bone from its hidden sheath over her shin.
Her enemy sensed danger and raised its rattle, paralyzing her with a different sound, a deeper grinding. Krrrrrrrr! Krrrrrrr! Krrrrrrrrrrrr!
The snake’s head swiveled on its curved neck as if taking a radar reading of the room, then returned to glare at her, its head high, parallel to the floor, shifting sideways, its tongue taking air samples.
Masada forced herself to look away from the snake’s mesmerizing eyes. It was relocating itself to her left, selecting the optimal striking spot. She had once read that snakes rely on heat sensors to trace their targets. And here, within an arm’s reach, a live rattlesnake zeroed in on the heat emanating from the large neck artery that supplied blood to her brain-the best spot to inject its deadly venom. She had no illusion about what would follow such a strike. The venom would shoot up with the blood directly into her brain and begin dismantling the chemical blocks that formed her mind.
The snake repositioned itself in a fluid rhythm, its head high on a loop that would provide the force and length for an effective strike.
Her right hand clasped the bone just under the small ball that had once been part of her brother’s elbow. She would have one chance, resulting in a death-either a quick death for the snake or a slow, horrible death for her.
Masada’s right hand emerged from under the mattress, holding the dry bone as a dagger, rising slowly.
Khhh! Khhhh! Trrrrrrr!
The snake suddenly pulled its head back, its neck curved in a wide arc, its mouth open, fangs drawn. It was reading her mind!
Trrrr! Trrrrrrrrrrrrr!
With no time to think, Masada realized it would now strike her neck, too close to miss. She was pinned down like a trapped rabbit.
Now!
She passed the bone to her left hand, raised it above her head, the dagger pointed downward, and with her right hand reached sideways and snatched Silver’s book from the night table.
The snake hissed. Its arrow-shaped head made a snap adjustment of position. Its fangs unsheathed and aimed.
Her hand drew back with Silver’s book, and the rattler struck, its gaping mouth moving so fast it became a blur. It punched the book like a fist, pounding the cover into her face. Its fangs burrowed deep, piercing the book, determined to inject venom through an inch of printed pages into her pulsating artery.
Numb with fear, Masada let go of the book. It flew from her hand, the triangle head of the diamondback attached to it by the hooked fangs. The snake thrashed furiously to release itself for a second strike. She willed her left hand to strike down with the pointy bone, but the snake’s eyes swiveled upward and met her gaze.
It stopped moving. Its greenish eyes glowed, drawing her. It shook its head from side to side, never letting go of her eyes, until its fangs unhooked from Professor Silver’s book.
The rattler’s mouth opened in a wide grin as its body slithered, re-forming itself into a spring for another strike.
Masada shut her eyes, breaking the spell, and her arm stabbed downward with all the force it had.
She opened her eyes. Her brother’s bone had pierced the scaly skin just behind the rattlesnake’s head, nailing it down through the comforter into the mattress. The snake looked at her, its mouth open, its fangs drawn forward. Its body coiled and recoiled in crazed twitching. Its tongue darted rapidly. Its eyes bore into her, still trying to possess her mind.
Masada struggled to free her legs from under the mattress. She stepped over the twitching snake and across the room. Leaning against the doorframe, she watched the rattler, pinned down by the bone dagger, until it ceased to move.
A corner of the comforter had flipped backward during their battle, exposing a crumpled pillowcase. On it, spray-painted in mustard-yellow, was a crude fist that clenched a letter J.
Wednesday, August 6
Professor Silver paced the basement floor from wall to wall, puffing smoke that gathered thickly under the low ceiling. In his haste, he had rolled the joint with too much hashish. The glue parted, and he kept it together with the fingers of both hands like a flute.
“Chill out,” Al said. “Get her next time, promise!”
Silver wanted to stub the crumbling joint in the Jew’s eye. Or better yet, finish him off with the hunting knife, a quick slash across the throat. He drew deep and shot the smoke at Al’s face. “You send a snake to kill her? Who do you think you are? Harry Potter?”
Al snorted. “Made her piss in her panties, that’s for sure.”
“Enough! From this moment on, you’re not lifting a finger without my explicit permission! Understood?”
Al leaned back in the armchair, his short legs forward, his hands locked behind his head. “Suffered a minor setback. So what? Got to roll with the punches, lose a battle, win the war, you know?”
Silver threw the burning cigarette at Al. It bounced off his bald head and landed on his shoulder, smoldering.
“Shit!” He jumped, brushing it off. His hairy neck and bulging eyes contrasted with the childish hurt on his face. “You crazy?”
Coming from Al, the accusation almost made Silver laugh.
“Combating is like that! Win some, lose also, real life, not like your books.” Al touched the pin on his chest, which Silver allowed him to wear in the basement. “Action is my specialty. Not like you. A bucket of words. Professor.”
“Are you trying to insult your commanding officer?” Silver sat on the sofa, leaned back, and watched the smoke rise from his mouth to the ceiling. Rajid had ordered him to monitor Masada and Al, but that was a death sentence to his eyesight. That’s why Masada had to die. “What’s your plan?”
“Burn the bitch,” Al said, “with her house.”
The doorbell rang.
“Did I wake you up?” Masada walked in. She was wearing a gray jumpsuit, running shoes, and a baseball cap over hair collected in a bun.
Silver glanced at his watch. 6:05 a.m. “Old men rise with the sun.”
He led her to the kitchen, and she sat at the table. “Cute house.”
“I don’t need much.” The house was a rental, arranged by Rajid through a Canadian straw company. Silver poured coffee, placing a mug in front of her. She seemed tired. Surviving the rattlesnake attack must have kept her awake for the rest of the night, just as her survival had kept him and Al up. He sat across the table, facing Masada and the only door.
She took a sip. “This is good.”
“I make real coffee.” He chuckled loudly to hide the squeaks from the basement stairs.
She took another sip and licked her upper lip. Even in her current state, tired and anxious, Masada was still gorgeous. Pity she had to die.
Al appeared in the doorway behind her, the hunting knife in his hand. He raised it over her head. Unaware of his presence, Masada brought the mug to her lips for another sip. Silver glared at Al, shaking his head.
Al smiled, showing his yellow teeth, and grasped the long knife with both hands, ready to stab downward.
Putting down her coffee, Masada said, “I found a rattler in my bed last night.”
“A snake!” Silver assumed an expression of outrage and glanced up at Al to indicate that h
is anger was directed at him. Al shrugged, rolling his eyes.
“I never knew rattlesnakes grew so big,” she said.
“How did you kill it?” Silver had heard from Al that she had tossed the dead snake over the back fence.
She gave him a surprised look. “How did you know I killed it?”
Behind her, Al tilted forward, looking at Silver for a go-ahead.
“It was either you or the snake, and here you are.”
“I was lucky.” She sipped coffee.
“Oy vey! What a thing to experience!”
“The Israelis crossed the line. I’m going to expose-”
“But meidaleh, we’re in Arizona. I had a rattlesnake in my backyard one time.”
“Not in your bed.”
“But your bed was outside. The snake must have slipped under the covers.”
“Inside a spray-painted a pillowcase?”
“God in heaven!” Silver snatched the morning paper from the end of the table and put it in front of her. “Look at this,” he pointed vaguely at the front page. “The world’s gone mad.” He walked around the table. “I’ll be right back.” He closed the door, coughing to mask the noise, and pushed Al down the stairs to the basement.
Masada skimmed the front page of the Arizona Republic. A piece about Mahoney’s funeral regurgitated the high points of his life-fighting in Vietnam, Purple Heart for surviving three years in captivity and torture without betraying secrets, recovering from his injuries, running for the Senate as a straight-talk rancher, riding into Washington on his horse to clean things up, his tough foreign-policy legislative record, presidential run, and the tragic-yet-heroic end of his life, sparing the nation a scandalous trial. Tough to the bitter end!
Since watching the short video clip, Masada had wondered: Why would a shrewd politician take a bribe from an unknown Jewish organization? Why had he ignored the risk of a setup, especially after the recent lobbying scandals in Washington? Unfortunately, the clip had been filmed from an angle that only showed Mahoney, and without sound.
The Masada Complex Page 10
