The Masada Complex
Page 20
Do it!
He stole another glance at her. A thought crossed his mind. Was Masada’s peacefulness due to her trust in him? Old Levy will watch over you.
Enough!
He pressed the piston all the way, emptying the air into her IV line.
Shaking badly, he watched her face for the first sign of shock, of sudden pain and fatal terror.
Masada continued to breathe.
He searched for a sign of distress, of her body responding to its imminent death with a jerk, a convulsion, something!
He bent over to look closely at the syringe and the IV tube. It was hard to see. He lifted the line close to the dimmed light and saw the point of the needle sticking out the other side of the tube. He had pushed it through the tube, injecting air into the air!
No longer able to breathe, his hands trembling beyond control, Professor Silver pulled out the syringe, shoved it in his pocket, and ran out of Masada’s room.
Monday, August 11
The custodian at the Heavenly Pines Cemetery demanded an early-bird premium. Professor Silver paid without haggling. An hour later, he watched the two Mexican laborers dig Al’s grave while the groggy mourners sipped coffee from Styrofoam cups. He had called a bunch of Temple Zion members, explaining that Al’s funeral would be held early to beat the heat and the media. But his real reason was to bury Al before someone asked for an autopsy.
When the coffin was placed over the grave, everyone came closer, two of the women supporting Hilda. In the rabbi’s absence, Silver took the lead. “We have gathered here today,” he said, “to say farewell to an old friend. Alfred Zonshine showed his courage as a young man in the United States Marine Corps, fighting bravely to bring democracy to Vietnam. He returned from captivity an impaired man, physically and mentally, and had struggled for a normal life, fencing with the demons of war and captivity. His private quest for internal peace was won day by day with the support of his soul mate.”
Hilda sniffled behind the black lace that hung from the brim of her hat.
“Al was a mensch,” Silver declared, “who fought for ideas, argued for just causes, and sometimes made mistakes. But today we remember only his virtues and his long effort to remain upstanding despite the rushing current of the river we call life.”
He paused, glancing at the men and women around the grave, suppressing a grin. If they only knew how comical all this really was-a Palestinian agent eulogizing the Jewish schmuck he had killed only hours earlier.
“And we remember with fondness Al’s devotion to Jewish causes, to Israel, and to his wife.”
At that, Hilda turned and gave him a look through the black lace.
Silver sighed, smacked his lips, and looked down at the cheap coffin. “As our friend is passing on to greener pastures, we find solace in the words of the prophet: And God shall comfort Zion, console her ruins, turn her desert into paradise and her wasteland into heavenly garden, bestow her with joy and relief, sounds of praise and chanting.” He paused for dramatic effect. “Dear Alfred longed for Zion. May his unfulfilled aspirations serve as his heavenly redemption. And we say, amen.”
He stepped forward, touched the coffin with a solemn expression, and for a moment expected Al to leap out with a mouthful of obscenities. But Al remained dead, and Silver stepped back from the coffin and said haltingly, “Shalom, friend.”
The lever was pulled and the coffin descended in dignified slowness into the hole in the ground. Silver shoveled a load of dirt onto the departed. Hilda went next, then the others.
An hour later, back at his basement, Professor Silver put his feet up on the desk and blew circles of smoke-little bagels, as a Yid would call them. Al was finally covered in dirt, but Masada was going to leave the hospital and resume her investigation. He had to admit there was something to Ramallah’s concerns-Masada was the most tenacious woman he’d ever met. If anyone could crack the wall of deceit he had built, it was her.
He reduced the joint to ashes until it burned his fingers. He stubbed it and went upstairs to check the mail.
Nothing.
He called Elizabeth. “My flight leaves on Thursday morning!”
“I’d rather you not phone me in the office,” she said.
“I’d rather not cancel your award ceremony,” he snapped.
She was silent except for the sound of her breathing.
“You have power. Influence. Use it!”
“I could ask, but it might draw attention.”
“Ramallah has scheduled your award ceremony for August twentieth.”
He heard her flipping through a calendar. “That’s next week!”
“They decided on Wednesday for security reasons,” he lied, “especially with the Senate vote against Israel coming up. I’m planning to attend, of course, assuming I can travel.”
“I’ll call the Washington office right now.”
Masada took a taxi from the hospital to Channel 6. Priest had worked overnight with a lip-reader to transcribe Senator Mahoney’s words. The silent video played on the screen. Mahoney was sitting in the van. He smiled and said something.
Priest read from scribbled notes: “I promised you I’ll stand by Israel. I kept my promise, didn’t I?” Mahoney listened to Al Zonshine, and his lips moved again as Priest spoke for him, “Promise is a promise, but politics is worse than the jungle, and my opponents are worse than the Vietcong.” Mahoney shifted in the seat, listening to Al, and shook his head. “I don’t know. I gave a speech last month saying the Israelis should allow U.N. peacekeepers along their borders and turn their swords into shovels.”
Mahoney paused, listened, and said, “Right. Spades.” He listened and shook his head. “Stand down, soldier. The Foreign Relations Committee isn’t a rubber stamp. It’ll cost me every political chip to push through the Mutual Defense Act.” Mahoney counted on his fingers. “One, automatic obligation to defend Israel takes away the president’s freedom of decision. Two, all those congressmen who live on money from the oil companies aren’t going to be happy. Three, commitment to send American boys to defend Israel will be unpopular. Four, it’s going to be expensive. Pushing this through would be a lot harder than plowing through a village with a flame thrower.” Mahoney leaned his head back and laughed in the same manner Masada remembered from the TIR Prize ceremony.
A black gym bag landed in the senator’s lap. He unzipped the bag and drew out a bundle of bills. “Mother of water!” Mahoney curled his lips, and Priest whistled. “That’s more than thirty coins of silver!” He listened, and his eyes widened. “That much?” He fished out another bundle. “Who gave it to you?” Another pause. “A friend from Temple?” A doubtful tilt of the head. “Really?” Mahoney listened, nodding thoughtfully. “He’s a man of faith? I like faith. You can trust the faithful to lie only when necessary.” The senator’s large hand landed on the black bag. “I’m not saying that, soldier. You, I trust. You’re no snake.”
“Snitch,” Masada corrected Priest.
In the video, Mahoney appeared to listen intently and said, “You kept quiet for decades. You’re solid.” The senator took more cash out of the bag and looked at the money, shaking his head. “With this much dough I can pull off a comeback, no question.” He zipped up the bag, hugging it to his chest. “Next year in Jerusalem.” He laughed and grabbed the door handle.
“Jerusalem!” Tara leaned closer to the screen. “He implies that the money came from there!”
Masada’s mind was already running down the list of Temple Zion members. Who was close to Al? She sat on the edge of the desk, taking the weight off her aching leg. “Al threatened him implicitly: Take the bribe and pass the legislation for Israel, or I’ll tell what really happened in Vietnam. But who is Al’s friend from Temple Zion? Who is the man of faith?”
Tara said, “The hot rabbi. Who else?”
“Impossible,” Masada said, but the idea took hold. Who else knew Al’s secrets? Who else was a devout Zionist willing to serve Israel? Who else felt such gui
lt about not making aliyah?
They stepped outside Priest’s lab, and Masada told Tara how a lawyer had waited in front of the hospital this morning to serve her with a civil lawsuit, filed by Hilda Zonshine. The court had already placed preliminary liens on all her assets to secure any judgment.
Tara asked, “What are you going to do?”
“My publisher’s lawyer is handling it.”
Professor Silver was waiting for Elizabeth McPherson when she left the office. She got into his Cadillac and placed her briefcase on the floor between her legs. He gave her a piece of paper. “This is Masada El-Tal’s old conviction. The Israelis released it.”
“What do you want me to do with this?”
“Can you find a way to lock her up for a couple of weeks?”
“But this is old stuff that happened in another country. No one will prosecute her for this in the United States.”
“Have you ever considered what it would feel like to be blind?”
She shook her head.
“I do. All the time. A world of darkness. Can you imagine?”
Her eyes glistened with tears.
“They’re closing the clinic at Hadassah next week to build a new facility. You know how much vision I’ll have left in six months?” He formed a circle with his finger and thumb. “Zero.”
“What if the Israelis found out who you are? They’ll stick another dagger in your eye.”
“They think I died in the desert in eighty-two. For them I’ll be a new citizen-they roll out the red carpet for Jewish immigrants.”
“They’re not easily fooled.”
“Neither am I,” he said. “You must find a way to lock her up.”
Elizabeth looked away. “Maybe it’s better to cancel my award ceremony.”
“Absolutely not. You’ve earned it.” Silver knew he must keep the carrot dangling in front of her. “Reuniting with family is Allah’s blessing.”
“I have an idea.” Elizabeth took the paper, got out of the car, and walked back to the building.
Tuesday, August 12
Masada’s head pounded with a dull ache, and a burning sensation followed every bathroom visit. She had declined taking painkillers from the hospital, and now she regretted it. The lukewarm shower calmed her.
Professor Silver was waiting outside the house. She had asked him to give her a ride, not feeling well enough to drive the Corvette.
He kissed her. “Praise the Lord for healing the sick.”
She gave him the address. “You’re not going to fly into another ravine, are you?”
He laughed. “You didn’t like it the first time?”
“I found out who paid the senator.”
“You mean Sheen’s real name?”
“Still working on that, but the actual bagman was Al Zonshine.”
He hit the brakes, rocking the car. “That’s crazy!”
“The video clip shows the hand of a man in a green polyester suit.”
He started driving again. “Is he the only American who owns one?”
“We figured out what Mahoney was saying on the video.”
“How did you do that?” Silver glanced at her, his foot pressing the gas too hard.
“Lip reading. And Al was working with someone at Temple Zion. I made a list of suspects, including you.”
“Me? I hardly knew Zonshine!”
“I’m sure it’s not you, but I have to consider everyone systematically.” She pointed. “Red light.”
The car came to an abrupt stop.
She took a deep breath. “I think it’s the rabbi.”
“Rabbi Josh?” Silver exhaled, shaking his head. Cars honked behind them. He hit the gas, and the car lurched forward.
“The trick,” Masada said, “is to see beyond his good looks and charitable manner. He’s a fanatic Zionist.”
“True, but there are many others.”
“I look for inconsistencies. For example, he can get any woman he wants, so why did he pursue a bitter, aging troublemaker like me? Unless he was ordered to find out what I’m up to!”
Silver laughed. “Don’t you realize how alluring you are?”
“You’re biased. Look around at this town. It’s full of model-quality babes out of Vogue, but this Brad Pit look-alike rabbi kept showing up at my doorstep, offering support, feigning romantic interest, asking repeatedly about my investigation of Judah’s Fist. Why?”
Professor Silver rubbed his goatee with one hand, steering with the other. “He is extreme about Israel, that’s true. But if Al was working with Rabbi Josh, how come the rabbi didn’t know about the poisoned brownies?”
“Maybe it was Al alone, trying to harass me. Or maybe they receive their orders separately.”
“From Sheen, the Canadian?”
“He must be an intermediary for the Israelis. Watch it!”
Silver corrected sharply, the wheels jumping the edge of the median. The Cadillac swayed from side to side like a boat.
She pressed her temples to ease the headache. “Do you want me to drive?”
“I’m fine.” He looked sideways at the road ahead. “Got some dust in my eyes. Nothing to worry about.”
“There’s a lot to worry about if our dashing rabbi is an Israeli agent.”
“Life’s full of surprises.” Silver took advantage of a stop sign and put a few drops in his eyes.
“Every Jewish state in history ended up with Jews killing each other while their enemies rammed the gates. With the Senate preparing to vote on the Fair Aid Act, the Israelis must be desperate.”
“Joshua Frank! Judah’s Fist! Same initials: JF”
“That’s right. And I had such a crush on him!”
Silver chortled. “Love is blind, but the heart isn’t. Your heart saw through the facade of a provincial rabbi in Arizona and fell for a handsome Israeli agent.”
“You should be on Dr. Phil.” Masada laughed. “What would I do without you, Levy?”
“Pay for a taxi?” He stopped at the curb. “I’ll wait for you here.”
Jab Magazine emerged weekly from a downtown Phoenix building that looked like a finger jabbing a human ear. Masada entered the lobby, which was tiled with past covers of the magazine. She took the elevator up to Drexel’s third-floor office. A slab of concrete served as his desk. The red-tinted window behind him was the fingernail on the ear-jabbing finger.
“Hello, sweetheart!” He checked himself in a framed mirror that stood on his desk in lieu of a family photo and smoothed his hair back. “What a nice surprise!”
“Do you have a check for me?”
“Manslaughter in Israel? Deadly trap in your house? This whole thing is embarrassing!”
“I thought Jab likes sensational stories.”
He pulled a nail file from his drawer. “We’d rather report the news than make the news. Are you any closer to Judah’s Fist?”
“I’m closer to bankruptcy. I need an advance. The house is all I have, and I can’t sell it or mortgage it because of the damages and the liens.”
“What a mess you made.”
“I wrote the truth, which you were happy to publish and sell a million new subscriptions.”
“Not a million.” He looked at his computer screen. “We’re up seven-”
“Whatever. You’re my publisher. I need help.”
“It’s out of our hands.” Drexel slid a bunch of stapled papers across the desk. “Your legal troubles are spilling over into our lap.”
It was a lien, issued by the court, ordering Jab Magazine and all its affiliated entities to deposit all money coming to Masada El-Tal into a trust account set up by the court to await resolution of the litigation in the case known as The Estate of Alfred Zonshine v. Masada El-Tal.
Rabbi Josh washed his face and put on a clean shirt. Professor Silver picked him up outside the house. As they were driving, Silver spoke of meeting Masada earlier and of how pale and sickly she had seemed.
At Target, they found the luggage displa
y in the back of the store.
“This one looks sturdy.” Silver removed a black suitcase from the rack, pulled out the handle, and walked up and down the aisle, the suitcase trailing behind. “You want to try it?”
“It’s fine.” Rabbi Josh didn’t care. He would use it only once for the trip to Israel, where he would stay until the end of his days. He grabbed an identical suitcase. “I faxed the letter to the Israeli consulate. They called back to confirm.”
“Do you think they’ll approve me?”
Rabbi Josh loaded the suitcases into a cart. “If you don’t qualify as a Jew, who does?”
As they were waiting in line to pay, the rabbi said, “I keep thinking how random it was, how so many things could have happened differently, little coincidences that followed each other until that bullet found Raul.”
“It’s written,” Silver said. “By God’s word the skies were formed, by His breath the earth was created.”
The rabbi nodded. It took a good friend to remind him. “I must accept His judgment, as incomprehensible as it is.”
“I know your pain from when my own son died. But, may the Lord forgive me, I have to cause you even more pain.” He blinked behind the thick glasses and bit his lips, his gray goatee trembling. “I think Masada is involved.”
“Involved?”
“I think she’s part of that Judah group.”
Rabbi Josh’s chest constricted, as if a hand had reached inside and put a vise on his heart. “What are you talking about?”
“She controlled Al. She gave him the money to deliver to the senator. Then he faked attacks on her because she told him to.”
“What?”
“I heard them.”
“It can’t be!” Rabbi Josh lifted the suitcases and landed them on the cashier’s counter. “The bribe was paid by Judah’s Fist!”