His forehead creased as if he didn’t understand. “I’ll e-mail the banking details to you.”
“The FBI still has my Blackberry.”
“Then my agent will bring over a copy.”
“Don’t bother,” Masada said. “I’m not stupid. You got caught and now you’re lying to get out of it. Take the heat like a man. Accept responsibility for once, unlike the last time you screwed up.”
“I told you we didn’t bribe him. I’m offering you a good lead!”
“You’re lying.”
“And you’re forcing us to demolish your reputation.”
“And you’re forcing me to tell the public about the hostage situation on Mount Masada, about how you let those Arabs kill my brother while you sat on your hands.”
“Break your oath of silence? That’s high treason!”
“You publicized my conviction. Deal’s off.”
Colonel Ness glared at her from the other side of the world. “You wouldn’t dare.”
Stopped at a red light, Masada leaned over and opened the passenger door. “Out!”
“No!” Ness barked from the screen. “I’m not done with you.”
Masada pulled the cup of ice water from the cardboard tray. “You’re going to experience connectivity problems.”
“One of the Arab who killed your brother might still be alive.”
Her left foot slipped off the clutch, the Corvette lurched, and the water spilled on her lap. Masada ignored the freezing sensation, focusing on Ness’s face. “You’re lying. They both died.”
“The young one, Faddah, you pulled over the cliff. But the other one was his father-Abu Faddah, Father of Faddah in Arabic. Him you stabbed in the eye.”
“I remember.”
“He threw a grenade and used your steel cable to slide down the cliff. We assumed he had died in the desert, but his body was never found, only his bloody mask.”
The light turned green, and Masada drove off, her mind swirling with emotions. Srulie’s killer? Alive?
“Officially,” Ness said, “the report concluded he must have fallen into a ravine and was consumed by animals.”
“But?”
“A year after the disaster, we learned that the PLO had paid for a glass eye in Italy. I sent someone to check, but the trail was already cold. The file was closed and sent to storage.”
“And you waited decades to tell me this?” She stopped in the middle lane, waiting to turn left on Echo Canyon Road.
“I had the file pulled out of storage. There’s some information I can give you. Eye color, age, physical description.”
“The trail was cold back then, why would it yield anything now?”
“We didn’t have the Internet then. You could search medical records electronically, find a match somewhere. You never know.”
“Why don’t you have Israeli agents search for him?”
“If we found Abu Faddah living somewhere, it would end with an anonymous bullet to the head. But you are a journalist. Finding your brother’s killer would be the scoop of your life. You’ll have your revenge, do a book, maybe movie too. A second Pulitzer, who knows?”
She picked a piece of ice from her lap and dropped it on the floor of the car.
“What do you say? It’s a fair trade.”
“Trade for what?”
“The info about the Arab who got a glass eye in Italy and a copy of the FBI file on the money trail from Ramallah. In return, you’ll publish a follow-up article, clarifying that you have no evidence Israel was involved, that Judah’s Fist is likely a front for an Arab plot, financed by the Saudis, like the 9/11 attacks.” Masada had always regretted failing to shove Srulie’s bone all the way through the Arab’s eye into his brain. Could she have a second chance at avenging her brother? “You want me to trade away my ethics? My self-respect? My reputation?”
“Don’t be so dramatic. All I’m asking is that save your homeland.”
The humor wasn’t lost on her, but she wouldn’t reward him, not even with a smirk. “My homeland is the United States.”
“That’s what German Jews said about Germany. Where would you go when America is plagued by the old virus of anti-Semitism? Where would you go when America kicks you out?”
“I’m an American citizen. No one can kick me out of here.”
“You’re a modern-day Josephus!”
Masada made the turn and drove up Echo Canyon. “Josephus didn’t cause the collapse of the Jewish kingdom. He reported its demise as he saw it, caused by the same obsession with Jewish messianic sovereignty. Josephus recorded history accurately. I admire him.”
“The wrong words can change history!”
The motorbike reappeared in her rearview mirror. She turned into her driveway and hit the button to open the garage door. “Shalom!”
“You’re making a tragic mistake.”
She took the young woman’s chin in her hand and forced it to face her. “Don’t waste your life on this freak.”
The agent got out of the car. A second later, the motorbike zoomed away.
Inside the garage, Masada turned off the engine and stepped out. Her pants were wet, and she couldn’t wait to change and go for a hike.
With the empty cup she scooped up pieces of ice from the floor. Carrying the bag and the Starbucks tray in her right hand, the paper bag and plastic cup in the left, she used her hip to close the Corvette door.
The garage was hot and a bit pungent. Approaching the door to the house, Masada paused, sniffing. The odor was faint, and she wondered if it was wafting in from the outside through the open garage door. She bent over to see if the Corvette was leaking gasoline but saw no stain underneath the car.
Both her hands occupied, Masada used two fingers on her right hand to turn the knob and nudged the door in with her left foot. But as her weight shifted completely onto the right leg, her bad knee buckled just as the door cracked open. She lost her balance and stumbled backward into the garage. She heard a scratch, as if someone lit a match, followed by a loud whoosh and a loud explosion. Through the crack between the closing door and the frame, a vertical sheet of flames burst out, giving Masada a glancing punch, hurling her to the floor. Her head hit the concrete, and the world went black.
Nothing melts a woman’s heart faster than a man’s tears. Professor Silver could see that Elizabeth was deeply moved. “You see,” he said, “I had planned the perfect hostage situation-no bloodshed, no unreasonable demands, only asking that my teenage son regains our family home. But there I was, Faddah murdered by the Israeli soldier who, not satiated with his blood, put a dagger in my eye. I had to throw my grenade, grab her rope, and jump.”
“Off the mountain?”
“Better the rocks than the Israelis. But Allah preserved me. It was a steel cable, swung me all the way to the other side, where the Romans built a ramp to raise their siege machines.” He showed her the palms of his hands. “It took the skin off my hands, terrible pain, and I could see nothing, hear nothing, think nothing. I felt ground under my feet and ran.”
“But surely they chased you?”
“The explosion kept them busy. I don’t know. I must have fainted in the desert. Days later I woke up in a Bedouin tent, cared for by those hardy desert nomads. If not for them, I’d be dead.”
“Allah was watching over you.”
“I’d rather Allah had watched over my son.” Silver sighed. “When I regained my strength, the Bedouins wrapped me in a carpet and delivered me under the Israelis’ nose to Gaza. My comrades smuggled me on a fishing boat to Sicily, and others drove me to Rome. There my destiny became clear to me, and I began a new life as a Jew named Flavian Silver.”
“Doesn’t faddah mean silver?”
“That’s one connection,” he said, raising a finger, “but the full name is in homage to the Roman General Flavius Silva, who put down the Jewish revolt and ended the last Jewish regime in Palestine two thousand years ago. He defeated the last Zealots at Mount Masada. He is my r
ole model.”
“But how can you tolerate living as a Jew?”
“To beat the Jews we must learn to think like them. I studied their history, moved to Canada for a PhD, wrote articles and a book. I developed a plan to end America’s support of Israel by exposing the Jews as the backstabbing vermin they are.”
“My God,” Elizabeth whispered. “You were behind that bribe! I knew the Israelis aren’t that stupid! It’s brilliant!”
He bowed his head.
“And devious!” Her brown eyes examined him with both respect and apprehension.
“And my best helper is an ex-Israeli named Masada. Talk about symbolism!”
“Seems too good to be a coincidence.”
“Allah’s sense of humor, I tell you.” Silver looked upward in wonder. “My defeat on Mount Masada shall be redeemed through my victory using the journalist Masada. It’s divine justice!”
“Victory is still far off.”
“It’s like a chain reaction,” he explained. “One thing must lead to the next. Her expose ignited the process, and Mahoney’s suicide caused rage among his Senate colleagues. The Fair Aid Act will break the spell of the Israeli lobby in Washington and destroy the foundation of Israel’s political power in America-the Jews’ only international ally. In Phase Two, we will launch a campaign to brand Israel an apartheid state and impose appropriate sanctions.”
“Apartheid?” Elizabeth crinkled her face. “From a legal standpoint you’re incorrect. Apartheid is defined as political discrimination based on race. Israelis are from all races.”
“But only Jews are entitled to automatic citizenship, right?”
“Jews are not a race. They are people of many races who share a religion.”
“And keep everyone else out!”
“But every country in the world has limitations on immigration. I’m no friend of Israel, but even the one-and-a-half million Arabs living within the Green Line are regular Israeli citizens, with equal rights to the Jews. My father regretted leaving Acre and losing the right to become a full citizen of Israel. And I remember those Israeli soldiers-Caucasians, Africans, Asians, Slavs, even Druze and Bedouin soldiers. I think that’s why Americans love Israel-a fellow nation of immigrants.”
Professor Silver was shocked. “Whose side are you on? Have you forgotten what the Israelis have done to you and our people?”
“I’m saying, from a technical standpoint, apartheid is the wrong term.”
“Is Jimmy Carter wrong? You should read his book. A magnificent indictment of Israeli apartheid. He opened the floodgates for us, so we can drown the Jews.”
“Carter has no credibility. Polls show that Americans rate him as the worst president in history. And I’ve read his book. It’s about the occupation, not about any racism within-”
“Doesn’t Israel require immigrants to prove they’re Jews? Isn’t that racism?”
Elizabeth shrugged. “Saudi Arabia has similar laws. Iran too. Even the Anglican Church is part of the British government structure.”
“Don’t get technical! Apartheid is a catchy word-it’s a known term, familiar to all those naive bleeding-heart liberals in the universities and churches. Political warfare is won by simple, catchy, incessant propaganda, and by forming alliances while sticking a wedge between your opponent and her allies. Without a U.S. veto, the U.N. will impose sanctions on Israel, just like South Africa, cut it off-no exports, no imports, no credit, no energy supplies, no flight privileges, no shipping, no military cooperation. They will have to allow the return of all the Palestinian refugees to Haifa and Jaffa, to the Galilee and Jerusalem. See the irony? They refused Faddah’s return to our home, now they’ll get hundreds of thousands of us. And when Israel is forced to give us the vote, the Arab majority will rule.”
“Fantasies,” Elizabeth said. “Pure fantasies. The Israelis will never allow a non-Jewish majority.”
“You think the Afrikaners ever expected to give blacks the vote? You should read my new book. The international sanctions that brought down apartheid South Africa will bring down Israel without a single explosive belt.”
“You wrote a book about it?” She was impressed.
He nodded modestly. “We will yell it from every podium in the world. Apartheid! I have already set the wheels in motion by sending an anonymous letter to three hundred university professors, inviting them to participate in an annual Israel Apartheid Week.”
“And?”
“Forty universities will hold it next March!”
“Really?”
“Just like South Africa,” he waved his finger, “Israel will kneel under an international boycott. It will be easier, in fact, because most of the world already hates Jews to begin with, even if they deny it. And once Israel caves in, every descendent of Palestinian refugees will become an Israeli citizen and get a vote. It’s a shoo-in.”
“But even then, you’ll still have millions of Jews in Israel.”
“Learn your history. After the Nazis won a democratic election in Germany, they burned down the Reichstag, blamed the Jews, and imposed so-called security measures. They cleansed the government, business, and academia of Jews. We’ll do the same in Israel.”
“In the end, the Nazis didn’t do so well,” she said.
“I assure you that we won’t attack Russia.” He chuckled and glanced at his watch, wondering if Masada’s house had already exploded. It was time to focus Elizabeth’s attention on the carrot he was dangling. “Just imagine: Hero of Palestine! The parade through Camp Kalandria. Your father at your side. And when Israel is transformed into Palestine, you’ll be minister of justice, or chief of the Supreme Court. Think of the possibilities!”
“Big dreams,” she said, but ambition sparkled in her eyes.
“Imagine coming home with honors-a parade, a band, dignitaries lined up to shake your hand.”
Elizabeth smiled. “My father won’t believe his eyes.”
When Professor Silver got home after the meeting at Elizabeth’s office, Al was waiting for him. “Mission accomplished!” Al held up a fist. “You can say Kaddish for the traitor.”
Overwhelmed with mixed emotions, Silver recited, “Blessed be He, judge of the truth.”
“Amen,” Al said.
“Go downstairs,” Silver ordered, “and wait in the basement until I return.” Unable to resist the urge to see with his own eyes, he got back in the Cadillac and drove over to her house.
Masada’s street was blocked off by police. He walked the rest of the way. The air smelled of smoke. He counted two fire engines, a TV van, three more police cars, and a Ford sedan with a forest of antennas on the roof. An ambulance waited at the curb by the house, which had lost all its windows.
Joining a small group of spectators, Silver wondered whether her body had already been removed. It could still be inside, police taking photos, marking the floor. He hoped she hadn’t suffered, that the initial explosion had knocked her out instantly.
He closed his eyes to have a break from the blotch in the middle of his vision. With Masada out of the way and Elizabeth working on his green card, he only needed to get rid of Al, and the road to Hadassah Hospital would be open.
A murmur in the small crowd made him open his eyes.
Two firemen in yellow coveralls helped Masada out of the ambulance.
“Shittan!” Silver’s utterance drew glances from several people. He cringed, realizing they mistook his Arabic reference to Satan for the English word for excrement. He retreated from the group. “Allah’s mercy,” he whispered, “she is indestructible!”
Masada seemed dazed, her blouse torn, her beige pants stained.
You can say Kaddish for her. Silver clenched his fists. Allah’s curses on you, idiot!
“Levy!” She beckoned him.
He followed her around the side of the house to the backyard and sat on a bench facing Camelback Mountain. He glanced over his shoulder into the living room, where police officers milled about. The walls were blacke
ned, and glass shards covered everything. His voice quivered when he said, “This is terrible!”
“What brought you to the neighborhood?”
He had not planned on having a conversation with her. “A dead cat,” he lied. “I opened my door to get the mail and found the carcass on the doormat.”
“Unnatural cause of death, I presume?”
“Is it natural for a cat to lose its head before visiting an old Jew?” Silver sighed. “I came to tell you about my dead cat, and I find you like this!”
“Professional hazards.”
“It’s my fault,” he said. “Why did I give you the video? I should have remembered Rabbi Hillel’s rule: Silence is a sign of wisdom.”
“Rabbi Hillel did a lot of talking for someone preaching silence.” Masada sat at the edge of the bench. “I think I know why they secretly filmed the meeting.”
“Yes?” He had feared she would figure things out before she was eliminated.
“To hold over the senator’s head should he try to cross them. But in the excitement after the meeting, Sheen packed the video camera, but forgot the memory stick in your car.” She banged her fist against her knee brace, making a popping sound. “The insurance policy ended up causing a disaster.”
“And now they’re coming after me.”
Masada stretched her long legs, leaning back, her eyes shut under the bright sun. “Not likely.”
“Not likely?” His hurtful tone was sincere. Didn’t she care about him? “I’m a retired Yid who wants to enjoy his last chapter-a bit of travel, good friends, maybe publish another book. I’d like a few more years. Tell me, meidaleh, is that too much to ask?”
“They won’t hurt you.”
He pointed to the house. “They tried to kill you!”
“To scare me. If the Israelis wanted me dead, I’d be dead.”
She was right, of course. The reason she was alive was Al Zonshine’s incompetence.
Masada smiled, and the dimples by her mouth deepened. She examined him so intently that he turned his face away, fearing she would notice the glass eye despite the thick glasses.
“Don’t worry,” she said. “I’ve never lost a source.”
The Masada Complex Page 14
