“You picked up the gun and what did you say to me? Too bad it has to end like this. You were going to shoot me, right? And when the police rushed in, you put on such a great show of affection. You’re a great actor, Levy. You belong on the stage.”
“Oy! What am I going to do with you? Are you on drugs or something?”
“And guess who’s in Al’s hospital room when he croaks.”
“But I was in the bathroom! Is it my fault Al had a bad heart?” Silver’s indignation sounded hollow even to him.
“A coincidence, right?” Masada poked his chest. “Let me tell you what happened here, so you really understand Colonel Ness-the man you’ve been serving so diligently with your friend, the rabbi.”
“But-”
“Here.” She led the way to the entrance. “This is where the hostages were held.”
Silver leaned on a pile of rocks that was left from the barricade he had built with Faddah back then.
“Then, when you failed to kill me, you tried to convince me to let that Palestinian lawyer lock me up while you were about to hop on a plane to Israel with him.”
Silver cradled his face in his hands. “God help me, where did my sweet Masada go?”
“And you promised to hire a lawyer, while-”
“But I did hire a lawyer,” he protested. “We have a conference call in the morning. You saw the letter! I even mortgaged my house!”
“A mortgage on a house you don’t even own?”
Silver felt a pang of panic. She must have called someone in Arizona to check whether he owned the house. That could draw suspicion to him after she was killed. Who had she called? Silver lifted his hands in mock desperation. “How did you find out?”
“I guessed,” she said. “But you just confirmed it.”
“Ah. You’re a clever girl.”
“And the reason for your sudden aliyah was the eye operation, not compassion for Rabbi Josh. But Ness suspended the operation to pressure you to finish the job, right?” Masada gestured at the cliff’s edge. “Is Rabbi Josh already composing the eulogy, bemoaning my unbearable mental pain? And Ness is having a forgery made of a suicide note in my handwriting, where I retract my accusations against Israel and take responsibility for the bribe? The news of my self-inflicted demise would arrive in Washington just in time to stop the vote. How dramatic!”
He lifted the white visor of his cap and looked up at her, shifting sideways to move the blotch away from her lovely face. It would be impossible to surprise her with a shove. He might have to shoot her with Rajid’s gun. The silencer would prevent immediate exposure, but when her body was ultimately found, a bullet hole would complicate things greatly. Perhaps he would cover the corpse with rocks? But first, he must milk her for information about the woman who had killed Faddah. “I’m so hurt,” he said, “that you’d even think me capable of these crimes.”
“I don’t think. I know. As soon as I suspended my affection for you, I saw the logic. It’s like the three musketeers-a crippled colonel, a widowed rabbi, and a lonely professor.”
With that, Silver decided to change tactics. “Blessed be He for helping you figure out the truth. I’m filled with regrets. I made a terrible mistake. As Rabbi Hillel said-”
“Hillel again?”
“He said, Better be a tail to the lions than a head to the foxes. But your silly old Levy tried to follow the lions and instead ended up becoming a tail to the foxes. Could you ever forgive me?”
The Snake Path slithered up in tight turns, each section as steep as a rung in a treacherous stepladder. The Dead Sea slowly emerged from darkness, and a slight breeze came from it, tinged with dust and sulfur. Rabbi Josh grabbed on to boulders and pulled up higher and higher toward the top of the mountain. His hands bled in the loose bandages. He pushed away the thought of resting as he imagined Masada at the cliff’s edge, her face lit by the red dawn, Professor Silver behind her, his hands poised for a deadly shove while his lips whispered the name of Allah. The image so frightened the rabbi that he craned his head, looking up the sheer face of the rock, expecting to see her fall to her death.
He placed one burning foot ahead of the other, heaving his body upward. Each step was a shot of pain, God testing his resolve. “No,” he gritted his teeth, “you’re not getting Masada.”
Voices sounded from above. He kept going.
A woman yelped in surprise.
“Let me through!” He squeezed by her.
She flattened herself against a boulder. “Watch it!”
“Damned cable car,” a man complained, “why did it have to break down today?”
Fighting for air, Rabbi Josh asked, “Did you see Masada?”
The woman laughed, pointing up. “This is Masada.”
Another woman said, “Srulie’s sister? She took her friend for a walk.”
He bent over, feeling faint.
“They went to the north rim,” someone said.
Rabbi Josh forced his way up past the others.
“He’s too old to walk down,” a short woman said. “They’ll probably wait for the cable car to be fixed.”
“Watch your steps,” Masada said as they climbed over the heap of rocks at the entrance to the room. The stones were still black from the grenade explosion, preserved by the desert air all these years. There was no roof. At the opposite end of the room, only remnants of an outer wall marked the cliff’s edge.
Silver approached the edge.
“This is where my brother was pushed over. He died on the rocks below.” Masada tried to keep the images at bay, but she could hear Srulie yell, Masada!
“So awful. Wasteful.” Silver peeked over the low wall at the distant bottom.
Masada joined him, their elbows touching. “Srulie was wonderful. Full of promise. I miss him every day.”
“Oh,” Silver sighed, “how could it happen? I still don’t understand. I don’t.”
She waited for him to continue, but he began to sob.
“Levy?”
He covered his face, crying.
She was shocked by his sudden emotional outburst. Despite her anger at his involvement with Ness and his crimes, Masada realized that Silver also cared deeply for her. “It’s been a long time,” she said. “I’m okay. Really.”
Silver shook his head, continuing to sob into his hands.
She began to regret her accusations. His breaking down like this revealed real feelings for her. He shared her grief as a true, caring friend. It made no sense, but it was a fact. “Enough, Levy. Please.”
He kept crying, hunched over, his back to her.
Suddenly it dawned on Masada: He was putting on another one of his sympathy-generating acts. Soon he would hug her, tell her how her suffering broke his heart. Blah. Blah. Blah.
“You’re so full of shit!” She forced Silver around, grabbed his wrists, and tore his hands from his face, expecting to see his eyes dry.
But the professor wasn’t faking it. His face contorted with sorrow, his lips trembled with his sobs, and heavy tears rolled down his right cheek.
Only his right cheek.
The tip of the red sun cleared the mountains across the Dead Sea, illuminating his face. Masada peered at his left cheek. It was completely dry. “What’s this?” She let go of his wrists and took his jaw in her hands, twisting his head left and right, alternating the reflection of the sun in his eyes.
The answer was coming to her, too bewildering to accept. In his right eye, moist and tearful, the rising sun reflected as a red ball, glistening and angry. But in his left eye there was little moisture, and the sun reflected as a sharp point of red, as it would in a curved glass mirror. “No!” She forced his face left and right again. “It can’t be!”
“Ah.” Silver pulled something from his pocket and wrapped it around her wrists. “Please step back, dear.”
Masada looked at her wrists, cuffed with a plastic strap locked in a one-directional slit.
“As I once said,” Silver mused, “too bad
it has to end like this.”
“You!” Masada lifted her cuffed wrists over his head.
He pushed at her. “Let go!”
With her wrists locked behind his neck, Masada pulled him to her.
“Stop it!” He pushed harder, trying to wriggle out of her grip.
She pressed on the back of his neck, forcing him closer. She planted her lips on his left eye, pressed his head to her, and sucked violently. The bulb of his eye popped into her mouth. It felt smooth, cold, and hard.
The wail of the muezzin woke Elizabeth up from a dream in which she held a smiling baby girl in her arms. She sat up. “It’s okay, sweetie.” She rubbed her belly. “I love you whether you’re a boy or a girl.”
The scarf had slipped off her head. She touched the cool skin of her scalp and reassured herself the hair would grow back. She covered her head, smoothed the front of the yellow robe, and went to the bathroom. After washing her face in the leaky sink, she joined the women in the kitchen to clean up from the pre-dawn meal the men had eaten before morning prayers. The women glanced at her while scrubbing the pots and plates.
On a small TV, set on a chair in the corner of the kitchen, a reporter appeared against the background of the Senate rotunda in Washington, where it was nighttime. He explained that a final vote on the Fair Aid Act would take place within minutes. Based on the positions expressed by the senators during the long debate, there was a clear majority for the anti-Israel legislation. After a brief transition by the anchorwoman in Atlanta, they cut to a black reporter in Jerusalem, shown against the background of Jews in yellow shirts, who had been dancing all night. “While the Israeli government has remained silent,” the reporter said, “the Israeli public has closed ranks in a rare show of unity, expressed in wearing yellow and exhibiting high spirits. But only few here expect the optimism to last, considering that the long friendship with America is about to suffer a devastating setback, and an uncertain future awaits this nation.”
One of the women approached Elizabeth and pressed a piece of paper into her hand. “My son, Salim,” the woman whispered, “is very ill. He’s only eleven. Pray for him.”
Elizabeth looked at the note, bewildered.
“Please,” the woman begged, closing Elizabeth’s fingers over the note, “tell Allah he’s a good boy, my Salim.”
Aunt Hamida led away the woman, who said over her shoulder, “Please! Allah will listen to you!”
Sharp pain shot through Silver’s empty eye socket. He bowed his head, slipped out of Masada’s locked arms, and shoved her as hard as he could. She stumbled backwards and landed on the dirt floor, her backpack hitting the opposite wall.
“Give back my eye!” He drew Rajid’s handgun.
The white porcelain eyeball appeared in Masada’s mouth. She turned her head and spat it over the edge.
Silver aimed the gun at Masada. “You shouldn’t have done that.”
She looked up at him, her mouth still gaping.
“Yes, I am Abu Faddah.” He found a rock to sit on, aiming the long silencer at her.
“You!”
“Listen!” He had to somehow control Masada until she told him about the woman soldier. “Your brother fell accidentally. I had no intention of killing any of them.”
“Murderer!” he began to get up.
“Your brother started fighting with-”
“Shut up!” She stood, wincing in pain, and took a step in his direction.
“Do you want to know how he died?”
Masada hesitated. She leaned back against the wall, staring at him.
“I came here in order to succeed where my fellow PLO fighters, with all their deadly attacks on Jewish kibbutzim, had failed miserably.” It was strange to tell her the truth, liberating in a way that made him feel young again. “It was a brilliant plan. I was sure it would work. I meant no harm to those kids. And I didn’t ask the Israelis to release any prisoners.”
“Save your lies.” Masada seemed ready to leap at him, no matter what happened to her. “You killed my brother. You!”
“I’m not the same person I was! For God’s sake, Masada, it’s almost three decades ago!”
“For me, it’s like yesterday.”
“Okay,” he said, raising his free hand to stall her, “I caused his death, I admit. I did a horrible thing. God has made me pay for it.” He waited, letting his expression of regret sink in. “For what it’s worth, I would like to tell you about your brother’s last moments. He was a brave boy-I swear, it’s the truth.” He put a hand to his chest. “Allah’s honor.”
Masada flinched, as if she could not yet comprehend the name of Allah coming from someone whom, until seconds before, she had known as an elderly Jewish professor.
“All I ask in return,” he said, “is that you tell me about the woman who killed my son.”
Her eyes widened. “Your son?”
“I knew the Israeli army would show up by helicopter.” He motioned at the open roof. “I tied up a sheet and placed the tallest hostage at the open side over the cliff, so they wouldn’t shoot in. It worked, but your brother attacked my son and got hold of the gun. Faddah wasn’t a fighter-that’s why I tried to recover our family home for him. I rushed to separate them. Faddah fell here,” Silver pointed at the dirt floor, “and your brother fell over there.” He pointed at the open end. “Allah is my witness, I tried to catch your brother, but he went down.”
“Liar!”
“Why are you always butting heads with reality? We both lost our dearest, but I was here, I saw what happened, you didn’t. And I accept responsibility for starting it, for causing the situation, but it should have ended without bloodshed. The disaster was solely due to the Israelis’ arrogance, the games they always play. You begrudge them too!”
“They didn’t push Srulie. Or throw a grenade.”
“It was an accident! I swear on Faddah’s grave!”
“You threatened to kill a hostage, and you acted on your ultimatum.”
Silver was surprised she knew about his ultimatum. The authorities must have told her after that night. “Empty threats, I assure you. I was an intellectual, not a man of action.”
“You killed him. You!”
“Enough!” Silver aimed the gun. “Your brother was arrogant, like you. It was his fault!”
Masada’s face was taut with hate.
“If you move, I’ll shoot you through the heart.”
“You won’t. You need information.”
He pointed at the open end. “The woman soldier who-”
“Who threw your precious Faddah after my brother and then stabbed your eye?”
“You know her!” He moved his face left and right, making sure the blotch wasn’t hiding Masada’s hands. “Where is she?”
“I’ll tell you. But first, explain how could a Palestinian, who lost a son to the Israelis, become their agent? How much are they paying you to betray your people?”
Within a few steps on the flat mountaintop, Rabbi Josh tripped on a castoff ballista and fell, landing on his hands and knees. He rose with difficulty, leaving bloody marks. He looked around to orient himself. The fort was much larger than he had imagined, at least three or four football fields put together side-by-side. He saw wooden scaffolds around half-ruined buildings and scattered pergolas for shade. Brass plaques marked different points of interest in Hebrew, English, and Arabic.
With the sunrise at his back, he figured north must be to his right. He ran.
Masada was in shock. Levy Silver was Abu Faddah? Was this another nightmare? The pain in her lower abdomen was real, and so was the black hole at the tip of his silencer. She was overwhelmed with rage, and it took all her self-control not to lunge at him. Tara had been right, and Masada was determined to reward her with his full confession on video. She stood straight, slightly turned so the tiny lens pointed at his face. “Traitor to your own people,” she said. “You repulse me.”
“Masada!” Rabbi Josh appeared at the heap of blackene
d rocks. He climbed over, lost his footing, and landed on his behind. “Stay away from him! He’s not-”
“You!” She picked up a pebble and threw it at the rabbi. “Came to witness the climax?”
Rabbi Josh’s breath came in short, wheezing sounds. Blood trickled from his bandaged hands. He held a bulky lantern, no longer needed in the rising sun. His shoes were unlaced, and bandages showed over his ankles.
“You’re quite a sight,” she said. “What’s Ness doing with you now? Biblical reenactments?”
Professor Silver raised the gun, aiming at her. “Stay where you are!”
“Don’t shoot!” Rabbi Josh cleared the hair that hung over his face, which was crusted with blood and dust. “The game is over, Levy!”
Silver turned the barrel toward him. “The game is only starting, Joshua.”
“If you shoot him,” Masada said, “your mutual boss will be upset.”
“My only boss is there.” Rabbi Josh pointed at the sky through the open roof. “And this man is an Arab.”
Masada laughed bitterly. “Ness didn’t tell you?” She saw blood collecting into a small puddle on the dirt floor under his hand. “An American rabbi and a Palestinian terrorist working together for a legless Israeli colonel. It’s like a tagline for a horror movie.” She moved a bit to the right, hoping the tiny lens could capture both of them. “Levy Silver. Or should I call you Abu Faddah? Or just turncoat.”
Professor Silver beckoned with the gun. “Move closer together, both of you.”
Rabbi Josh was startled by Silver’s missing eye. But the empty socket wasn’t bleeding and seemed to cause him no pain. His right eye glistened malevolently, so odd without his usual black-rimmed glasses. It was clear he was preparing to kill Masada, and the rabbi was determined to save her. He got ready to jump. The professor would shoot, but with enough momentum there was a good chance of toppling him, giving her a chance to run for it.
“Turncoat,” Masada mocked Silver. “Double-crosser. Quisling.”
“Shut up!” Silver moved the gun barrel back and forth between them.
The Masada Complex Page 41
