The Masada Complex (56 page)

Tired of waiting by the phone, Elizabeth had decided to visit the camp, break the ice with Father, and meet the old neighbors. The taxi dropped her off at the checkpoint. An Israeli soldier approached her while three others stood at a distance watching. A concrete wall extended in both directions, gray and ugly.

She gave her U.S. passport to a soldier, and a moment later an officer appeared. “Sorry. Tourists must first obtain a travel permit.”

“My name is Elizabeth McPherson. I’m senior counsel for the United States Immigration Service. We’re now part of the Homeland Security Department, so you can rest assured—”

“Sorry.” He handed her the passport. “Even if you were senior counsel to God, I don’t have the authority to let you through.”

His English was good and his tone was friendly, so she decided to take a different tack. “But I’m here to visit relatives.”

“Who?”

“The Mahfizie family.” She motioned at the camp, a short distance behind the wall.

“You’re related to Hajj Mahfizie?”

“He’s my father.”

“Wait.” He disappeared into a tent.

Elizabeth climbed the embankment to get a better look over the wall. Camp Kalandria had swelled since she had left, its block houses covering most of the hillside east of the separation wall the Israelis had built along the 1967 border. She tried to breathe only through her mouth, as the air stank of sewage and smoke. Not for long, she thought. Abu Faddah’s plan would end Palestinian humiliation. They would move into the Jews’ houses, excrete into the Jews’ underground sewage system, and cook on the Jews’ gas stoves.

“Miss McPherson?” The officer approached her. “Thing is, if I let you in, you’ll be stuck there. We can’t let anyone out because they blow up people in Jerusalem and Tel Aviv.”

“Do I look like a suicide bomber to you?”

The young officer laughed. “I’m not a politician. I just want to go home in one piece.”

“I’ll call the consulate.” Elizabeth unzipped her purse, though she knew there was no phone in it. “Your superior won’t be happy hearing from the consulate.”

“Do you think the consul general wants his kids blown up?”

She fumbled in her purse.

“Wait here,” he said. “I’ll try again.”

The curtains were drawn. A thin line of light marked the edge of the window. Professor Silver heard a heart monitor beep near the bed. He touched his face, traced the lids of his right eye. He shut his eyes and opened them several times.

“Hello, Professor.” Dr. Asaf came in.

Shaking his hand, Silver decided he would make sure Dr. Asaf would keep working even after Israel was finished. An exception would be made for such a talented physician.

“How are you feeling?”

“Perfect!” Silver tried to make out the doctor’s face in the darkened room.

“You’ll probably have a bruise where the line was put in.” Dr. Asaf touched Silver’s forearm. “But the anesthetics are still in your system, so you don’t feel it yet.”

“Did you give me a black eye too?” Silver laughed.

“In fact,” the doctor hesitated, “we had to abort the procedure.”

“
What?
”

Dr. Asaf launched into a long explanation about fluid pressure, tiny blood vessels, aging cornea, and diminished nerve conductivity.

But all Silver could hear was the voice in his head:
Blind.
Blind. Blind.

A moment after Dr. Asaf left, the nurse appeared and opened the curtains as if a theater play had reached its tragic ending. She unhooked the heart monitor and helped him get dressed.

Dr. Asaf reappeared, handing the professor a small, opaque glass bottle. “These eye drops are the next stage in our experiment, designed to stop the growth of the affected macular area without an invasive procedure.”

The nurse glanced at the doctor and left the room.

“Apply twice a day, and don’t lose the bottle.” The doctor shook a finger. “Cost us a fortune to develop, and I won’t have more for several months.”

Silver held the little bottle in both hands.

“I shouldn’t even give it to you, but I feel terrible about this, with your one eye and so on. We’ll add you to our study. Come see me in a week, will you.”

“Yes. Of course!”

Masada and Tara spent more than two hours at the Veterans Affairs office at the Ministry of Defense, trying to obtain her service records. The archivists could not find her file.

They drove down to Hebrew Union College near the King David Hotel, where the Alumni coordinator told them that Rabbi Joshua Frank had been ordained in New York without ever attending the reform movement’s Jerusalem campus. In fact, he had never been to Israel until now. “You can ask him,” the coordinator said. “He’s in the library, waiting to meet our career advisor.”

In the library, Rabbi Josh was standing among the bookshelves.

Tara shook his hand.

Masada folded her arms on her chest. “We’re looking for evidence of your past connections with Israel and its secret services.”

He rolled his eyes. “My name is Bond. Joshua Bond.”

Tara grabbed each by the arm and pulled them through the library to the courtyard, where a fountain gushed over rocks. “Instead of suspecting each other, why don’t you cooperate to find out who really was behind the bribe?”

“Judah’s Fist is him,” Masada pointed at the rabbi, “and Colonel Ness. How convenient that Al Zonshine expired. I can’t make him talk.”

“Convenient?” Rabbi Josh pulled back his hair, tying it in a knot. “You manipulated him—”

“
I
manipulated him? To do what? To hide a rattlesnake in my bed? Booby-trap my house? Shoot at me in the synagogue?
Rape me?
”

His face turned white. “Dear God!”

Tara’s hand covered her mouth.

Masada groaned and walked over to the fountain, where the sound of falling water drowned everything else. She was simultaneously relieved at unloading the secret and shocked at her indiscretion.

Tara followed her. “Talk to him!”

Masada made a dismissive gesture. “Crocodile tears.”

“Don’t be a cruel bitch.”

Rabbi Josh came over. “I swear to you!” He knelt at her feet. “In the name of God! I didn’t tell Al to harm you in any way! On the memory of my Linda and my Raul!”

Masada turned her back to him.

“May they both never rise from the dead on the Messiah’s arrival if I’m lying! I was never involved with that bribe! Or the attempts to hurt you!”

“I don’t believe you.” Her voice contained much more certainty than her heart. “I don’t!”

He circled around to face her. Tears streamed down the stubble on his cheeks. “How could I?” He tried to take her hand. “I love you!”

Masada tore away from him and run off. “Liar,” she muttered between clenched teeth, “bloody liar!”

The Israeli officer beckoned Elizabeth into the tent. They sat on plastic chairs. “Listen,” he said, “I don’t need problems. This is my reserve service. In three days I’m back to school.”

“What do you study?”

“Law.”

“Have you taken human rights yet?”

“I’m still fighting for freedom from my mom.”

“Your English is very good.”

“Will you give me a job in Arizona?” He smiled. “I’m only joking.”

“So, will you let me through?”

He flexed his fingers. “How long are you planning to stay?”

“A few hours. And I’ll be here again on Wednesday.” It occurred to her the Israelis might not know about the ceremony.

“I must inform you that whatever happens there,” he pointed in the direction of the camp, “is the Palestinians’ business. I don’t have to tell you what’s going on. The Palestinian police and the criminals are the same people, Hamas and Fatah killing each other, and so on. Once you cross over, we can’t protect you.”

She laughed. “It would be a sad day when I need protection from the Israeli
Gestapo
.”

His lips curled to form a response, but he changed his mind and beckoned her toward the gate. “Shalom.”

She crossed over and found no guards on the Palestinian side. She walked down the road to the entrance to the camp, which was strewn with burnt tires, stones, and debris. A group of kids ran to her, begging for change. Women in robes and headdresses glanced at her from a distance. Despite the heat, she felt underdressed in her short-sleeve shirt and loose pants. She shooed the kids and quickened her steps.

Old men’s eyes followed her as she walked by an outdoor café, their hands lingering over the backgammon boards. She turned left into the alley, where she had played as a little girl, and approached the only true home she had ever known. Like a missing tooth, a gap appeared in the row of houses. A leg of a table stuck out from the rubble like a human arm pleading for help. She could tell it had been in ruins for a long time.

A boy not older than ten yelled from a terrace, “
Itbach el Yahood!
”

She understood his call to kill the Jews to mean that the Israelis had destroyed her father’s home. He would be in the mosque, she guessed, and turned back. Near the main strip, a group of men in jeans and green headbands blocked her way.

She smiled.
“Salaam Aleikum.”

They circled her, so close that she felt the warmth of their bodies.

“
Salaam Aleikum,
” she repeated.

A man in a black hood approached her. He flashed a curved, shining blade, and Elizabeth suddenly realized that the boy’s call to kill the Jews had been aimed at her.