The Masada Complex (73 page)

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 blackened 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.”