The Masada Complex (19 page)

“So what?” Silver kept at him. “You were still crazy about her. You hoped to win her heart by betraying Judah’s Fist, right?”

“No!”

“You preferred your dick to your duty.” Pleased with the clever wordplay, Silver searched for further inspiration. “You’re a disgrace to the Jewish race!”

“Don’t say that,” Al begged. “On the souls of my comrades, just as I didn’t betray them in Nam, I’ll die before betraying Israel!”

“Then why are you disobeying my orders?”

“Pain, Levy, I’m in pain. Inside. It’s crazy.” Al pounded his head. “Was always a good soldier,
am
a good soldier. Being part of this, it’s great. Not sitting around anymore, playing bingo with folks whose teeth go in a glass every night. Not waiting to die. No more. Being a fighter again. Got to believe me! Won’t fail, not again!” He buried his face in his hands. “Won’t fail!”

Silver rubbed his goatee. The pathetic Jew was sick in the head. It was time to put him out of his misery. “Are you a real soldier?”

Al’s eyes lit with hope. “Tell me what to do! Just tell me!”

“Pull yourself together. We have a traitor to punish.”

Masada heard the news and drove to Temple Zion, finding a police car and a few members of the congregation in the parking lot. The rabbi joined them a moment later. He looked as if he’d cried. “A swastika,” he said. “Can you believe it?”

She took his arm, pulled him away from the group, and told him about the rattler and the yellow fist, spray-painted on the pillowcase.

He was horrified. “Someone’s trying to kill you!”

“Yeah, someone from Israel.”

“Can’t be! Israel would never hurt a Jew for political reasons. It’s contrary to its very ideology. Judah’s Fist is a front for something else!”

His passion was endearing, but he was naïve. And uninformed, because she had told no one about her encounter with Colonel Ness and his agent on Camelback Mountain. But this wasn’t the time. She took a deep breath. “There’s more bad news. I called the vet. Shanty. They couldn’t save her.”

Rabbi Josh groaned and looked away. “My poor Raul. It’ll break his heart.”

When David entered, Elizabeth looked up from her desk. He left the door open and showed her a bundle of phone-message notes. Six were from her, and she was ready to explode. How could he ignore her like that, after all she had done for him?

He dropped into a chair. “Simpson doesn’t leave me alone. He briefed me for two hours, took me to the Border Patrol command, then to lunch with Senator Mitchum—”

“Don’t apologize.” The sight of his boyish smile melted her. “It’s your big day.”

He sheepishly looked at her from under his shock of brown hair. “You’re not angry?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I’m so proud of you!”

“That’s my Ellie.” He grinned. “I knew you’d understand.”

“
Understand?”
She went to the door and closed it. “I was just anxious to congratulate you, my love. This is so wonderful.” She hugged him, which was awkward as he remained seated. “I praised you to Simpson, told him how bright you are, how capable and talented.”

“I know. He truly respects your opinion.” David got up, and she wanted to hug him again, but now the chair separated them. “I owe it all to you, Ellie.” He went to the door. “My phone is ringing off the hook.”

“I’ll see you tonight, my love.”

“Oh, gosh. It’s Wednesday already?” He looked pained. “We’ll have to skip it. My wife invited a few friends to celebrate.”

“So? Tell her the new job requires you to work late.” Elizabeth smiled, touching her ample breasts. “It’ll be fun.”

His eyes dropped to her chest. “I wish, but—”

“I’ll fix us something to eat,” she said, “and we’ll talk about the future. I have a huge surprise for you!”

The bell rang while Professor Silver was making himself a cheese sandwich. As he opened the door, the mailman drove off. A package was left on the doormat. He tore it open and found the manuscript of his second book, which the publisher was returning with a brief letter:

We thank you for submitting your book manuscript, ‘South Africa as a Blueprint for International Sanctions Against Abusive Regimes.’
While we agree that economic sanctions were instrumental in ending apartheid, your book overemphasizes cynical political machinations inside international organizations while understating the genuine devotion to human rights that is essential to such an effort. We thus decline to publish your manuscript.

Silver was disappointed. A published book would have buttressed his credibility when time came to launch Phase Two—the international campaign for imposing sanctions on Israel. On the other hand, Mahoney’s suicide had put Phase One on steroids, instigating an explosion of hostility to Israel, much greater than he had expected to achieve by exposing the bribe.

He put the manuscript aside and bit into his sandwich while reflecting on the challenges ahead. Masada still had the memory stick hidden somewhere in her house, which would be searched again upon her death. Al’s proposed plan must therefore mimic an accident that would eliminate Masada
and
destroy her house.

Elizabeth uncorked the wine and inspected the dinner table one last time, making sure she had not overlooked anything. They would raise a double toast—to David’s promotion and to their baby. Picking up a knife and polishing it with a napkin, she reminded herself there was no reason for disappointment about being passed over. As David’s future wife, she shared his success. Better yet, his promotion ended her supervisory authority over him. She would have to continue to guide him. He was so devoid of political skill, so transparent—a handsome boy in a man’s body.

She replaced the knife by his plate and went to the kitchen to check on the stew. It was simmering, and the apartment filled with the smell of home. The wall clock showed
9:22 p.m.
David must have been delayed by his wife—the tyrant.

Elizabeth settled on the living-room sofa, her feet on a pillow, and closed her eyes. Soon David would move in permanently. She could hear children laugh.

Masada took the remote from Raul’s hand and aimed it at the TV, where Eddie Murphy, as
Dr. Doolittle
, conversed with various animals until he was finally able to communicate with his rebellious-yet-idealistic teenage daughter. Masada shut off the TV, and the sleeping boy stirred, opened his eyes, and said dreamily, “Is it over?”

“Thank God.” Masada patted his hand. “Go back to sleep.” She glanced at her watch. Rabbi Josh had gone to pick up Shanty and buy what he needed to bury her. Masada had volunteered to watch Raul, who didn’t know yet that his dog was gone.

The boy turned on his side, facing her, and took her hand.

As soon as his small fingers touched her palm, she tried to pull away. He held on, his eyes closed.

A few moments passed.

Her leg began to ache. She wanted to lie down on the cot across the room and shut her eyes. But when she tried to dislodge her hand, Raul’s little fingers gripped her with determination. His freckled face remained serene.

Breathing deeply, shifting in the chair, Masada waited. When his sleep deepened, she would free her hand. He must be dreaming of something that required keeping a tight grip.

She watched their interlocked hands. His hand was delicate, pinkish under the translucent fingernails. Hers was almost gaunt, dotted with a few sunspots. She had written often about children, but it had been a lifetime since she had held a child’s hand.

An image came to her. She was holding Srulie’s hand while their parents’ bodies were lowered into the ground at the kibbutz cemetery. The image was followed with another: She was holding his bloodied hand, begging him to live.

Masada tried to pull her hand away, but Raul twitched, and she relented. Pressure rose behind her eyes, and she shut them, throwing her head back. She blinked a few times, looking up at the ceiling. She willed herself to think about the investigation. What would she do if the video clip didn’t produce any clues? Could she set a trap for Ness’s agents?

Raul’s eyelashes flickered, but he kept his grip.

She tried to reclaim her hand. Raul’s left hand emerged from under the covers and rested on top of her already captured hand.

Sweat covered Masada’s forehead. Why was the room so hot? She glanced at Raul, who looked comfortable, breathing slowly, a slight smile on his face. She inhaled deeply and exhaled, looking away from their joined hands.