The Masada Complex (5 page)

Professor Silver watched Masada and Rabbi Josh. They approached her Corvette, bent over and examined each tire. He shifted into gear and drove slowly toward them, lowering his window. “What’s going on, kinderlakh?”

Masada said, “Someone slashed my tires.”

“No!” He maneuvered his Cadillac so that the headlights pointed at the front of her car, got out, and made a fuss over each tire, secretly impressed with his handiwork.

“I’ll call the police,” the rabbi said.

“Don’t be ridiculous—the media will be all over us in a second!” Professor Silver patted the roof of his Cadillac. “Get in! I’ll take you home, and tomorrow you can come back to get the tires fixed.” He planned to return later, when the place was deserted, slice the soft top and search the Corvette.

Masada got in the back, the rabbi in the front. Professor Silver strained to see the way out of the parking lot. “This suicide is very bad,” he said, making his voice tremble. “I fear for our people.”

“He wasn’t your run-of-the-mill politician,” the rabbi said. “People loved Mahoney, even if he did accept financial support from an old pal.”

“Financial support,” Masada said, “is the understatement of the year. He collected a bag of cash as payment for specific legislation. That’s called a bribe.”

The rabbi looked over his shoulder. “Didn’t he mention a spy video?”

Silver’s foot landed on the brake pedal, slowing abruptly, and a car honked from behind. “Shush,” he said.

“This video,” Rabbi Josh said, “does it mention Israel?”

Masada shrugged. “The money wasn’t for mutual defense with Iceland.”

“Still, the video is evidence,” Rabbi Josh said, “better than your article, or even his half-hearted confession. Why don’t you release it? It will provide irrefutable proof for your accusations, and once the public saw how he took the money, saw him in the act, all the apologists would fade away and no one would sympathize with him anymore. As the saying goes, seeing is believing.”

Silver considered stopping the car and feigning illness.

“He confessed and killed himself,” Masada said. “That’s enough evidence.”

A light changed to green, and Silver made a turn, heading north on Sixty-fourth Street. The car behind sped up and passed, honking.

“Could be a political opponent,” the rabbi continued, “pretending to be a member of a fictitious Jewish organization.”

“What political opponent has that kind of money to throw in Mahoney’s lap?”

Professor Silver became alarmed. “Kinderlakh, don’t fight.”

“It’s your responsibility.” Rabbi Josh shifted, adjusting his seatbelt. “Your story implied a terrible accusation at Israel, which is already facing existential threats. And Mahoney’s suicide makes it even worse. Israel needs American support. You should hand over the video and any potential witness—”

“Name my sources? If you knew anything about investigative journalism, you wouldn’t suggest it.”

Good girl, Silver thought. “Well, let’s be good Jews and agree to disagree.” He struggled to see the road ahead, which sloped gently. He turned on the high beams, noticed a stop sign, and hit the brakes. “The dry air doesn’t sit well with my old eyes.” He removed his glasses and applied eye drops, blinking rapidly. “That’s better.”

When they reached the rabbi’s house, his redheaded boy ran out, followed by a large dog, which started growling at Silver’s window.

The rabbi got out of the car and pulled back the dog. “Come on, Shanty, be a good girl.”

Masada joined him. She knelt by the dog and spoke to it, rubbing its belly. The animal rolled on its back, wagging its tail. Silver cursed under his breath.

When Masada got back in the car, he said, “Nasty creature.”

“She sensed you didn’t like her.”

He drove through the quiet neighborhood back to Scottsdale Road. The light at the intersection was red. “Have you destroyed the memory stick?”

“Don’t worry, it’s safe.” Masada pointed at the light, which had changed to green.

“Safe?” He had to find out what she had done with it. “I’m too old to survive a scandal. It’s national news now. They’ll dig and dig until they find it and arrest me.”

“They won’t find it. And even if they found and watched the video, you’re not on it.”

“But they’ll find the guy from Judah’s Fist and he’ll tell them he forgot it in my car. What am I going to do?”

“Nothing. No one will ever know about you. I promise.”

“The government has electronic tools to see through walls. A house like yours, with big windows and all that—”

“You’ve nothing to worry about.”

Was it in her house?
He tried to mask his anger. “My fingerprints are on it.”

“I wiped it clean and hid it well. Just forget it.”

“Please indulge a foolish old
Yid
and wipe it again when you get home, just in case.”

She didn’t respond. He was tempted to ask directly where she had hid it, but knew she wouldn’t tell. He glanced at the clock. 8:21 p.m. He would drop her off and drive back to search the Corvette.

Heading west on McDonald Drive, he pressed the gas, speeding up. Camelback Mountain towered over them on the left, a dark mass of barren boulders. There were no street lights in this pricey neighborhood—a throwback to an old Arizona that had cherished stargazing and a rural ambiance. Aging homes on big lots lined the narrow road that rose and sank into dry drainage washes created by millennia of heavy runoff. Masada’s house was farther ahead at the northwest foot of the mountain.

Suddenly, at the top of an incline, Silver realized he could not see the road ahead. He panicked and tried to press the brakes, but his foot slipped and hit the gas pedal, making the car lurch forward. He looked down, trying to see the pedals, but it was too dark. The car began to rattle as its tires hit gravel, veering off the pavement.

Masada shouted, “Stop!”

The Cadillac broke though shallow brush, crossed a walkway, and raised a storm of pebbles that drummed the undercarriage like machine-gun bullets. Masada yelled again, and Silver’s foot finally found the brakes. But the tires couldn’t get a grip, and the car broke through a wall of cacti where the lot bordered a deep ravine. The racket was cut short, replaced by an eerie silence, as the Cadillac sailed through the air.

Monday, August 4

R
abbi Josh Frank glanced at the heart-rate monitor on his elliptical exercise machine and quickened his pace. The morning sun shone through the open window, warming his shoulders, and Raul’s squealing came through as he chased Shanty in the backyard. The wall-mounted TV was turned to the Channel Six news. A report from Tel Aviv showed the burnt shell of a blue bus, body bags lined up on a blood-stained pavement. A bearded medic pulled a severed arm from a scorched tree.

The rabbi’s legs pumped faster. “
Master of the Universe!
”

On the screen, a departing ambulance marked with a red Star of David gave way to a Palestinian official, who refused to condemn the suicide bomber, blaming Israeli aggression for provoking the “freedom fighter’s justifiable resistance.” He was followed by a Knesset member, who accused the government of endangering its citizens’ lives with its reckless policies. And an old rabbi in Jerusalem said tremulously, “God is punishing the Zionists for their violations of the Torah!”

Rabbi Josh snatched the remote and changed channels.

Masada’s grimed face appeared on the TV.

He ceased pedaling, lost his balance, and stumbled off the machine.

The camera followed Masada to her door. Her shirt was torn, and she was limping badly. A man in a blue FBI jacket blocked the camera while Masada disappeared into the house. The camera returned to a blonde reporter standing against the background of a dark sky, who said something about a car accident. The rabbi realized it had been filmed last night.

There was no answer on Masada’s home phone. Her mobile went immediately to voice mail. He ran outside, yelled for Raul, and they drove to Masada’s house.

She lived in an older neighborhood of established homes on large desert lots. Her street had only three homes, separated from each other with cacti, mesquite trees, and brick walls.

He knocked on her door. When no answer came, he tried it, and realized that the lock was broken. He poked his head in. “Masada?”

No answer.

The great room was dominated by a wall of glass facing the giant boulders of Camelback Mountain. The opposite wall was lined with empty shelves. All of Masada’s books were gone, and the floor was littered with pieces of paper and cardboard.

“Hello?”

No response.

“Stay here,” he said to Raul.

In her bedroom, the floor was strewn with clothing and papers. Her mattress was gone. In the kitchen, adjacent to the great room in a single, contiguous open space, all the cabinet doors were open, dishes and pots piled on the counters.

Crossing the great room, he pushed aside the sliding glass door and exited to the patio, finding Masada curled up on a mattress, partly covered by a white comforter.

“Masada?”

She twisted and moaned, still asleep.

He sat on the mattress and caressed her hair.

She kicked off the covers and sat up, her eyes wide.

“I saw you on the news. What happened?” He helped her stand.

Masada’s nightgown ended well above the white bandage on her right knee. She stepped off the mattress, leaning on him. “Levy lost control of the car.”

“I noticed he was having trouble seeing the road.”

“I ran home, messed up my bad knee.”

He wanted to ask her how she had injured her knee in the first place, but it wasn’t the time to bring it up. “What happened?”

“FBI got here before I did, broke in, searched everything.”

“They’re quick. It’s the video they want.”

She nodded.

“Would you come and stay with us?”

She entered the house, moving slowly. “Kids aren’t my thing.”

That wasn’t what he hoped to hear. He motioned at the empty shelves. “They took your books?”

“The warrant allowed them to take every paper and electronic gadget. Even my Blackberry—I’m going to have a million e-mails by the time I get it back.”

While she used the bathroom, he made coffee. Raul went out to the backyard, keeping himself busy throwing pebbles over the back fence.

They called Professor Silver. He described his trip to the hospital last night, where they found nothing wrong with him. The police were holding his driver’s license until he had his eyes checked.

Rabbi Josh was struck by Masada’s fragility. The green of her eyes was almost gray against her olive skin. She moved haltingly, as if dreading a jolt of pain, but her slanted cheekbones and full lips were set in stubborn determination.

She noticed him staring and said, “Don’t worry. I’ve lived through much worse.”

He motioned at the debris. “You need a cleaning service.”

“Not in my budget. I’ll clean it myself.”

“If you need money—”

The look on her face stopped him. He collected her car keys from the kitchen counter. “At least let me get your tires fixed. I already told Raul. He loves sports cars.”

Masada looked at his soaked T-shirt. “I didn’t know morning prayers were so intense.”

He felt his face flush. “I was exercising when I saw the news.” He caught a whiff of Masada’s body, reminding him of Linda’s morning scent, the joy they had taken in each other during the first moments of each day. “We’ll be back with your car in a couple of hours.”