The Masada Complex

by Avraham Azrieli

  “Long? Your colleague told me it was too wide, so I sawed it in half.” Rabbi Josh raised the two half-moon pieces of the dais, which he had tied back-to-back.

  “I’ll check it in for you.”

  “Please. It’s my only carry-on.”

  “Sorry.” Her voice was firm despite her youthful look.

  “I have a connecting flight in Newark. To Israel. I’m afraid it’ll get lost.”

  The flight attendant pointed to a frame of metal tubes propped up by the gate. “Every piece of carry-on luggage must fit into this.”

  “My friend, Professor Silver, should already be on the plane. Between the two of us, we are entitled to some overhead space, right?”

  She collected a boarding pass from the last passenger, who headed down the gangway to the plane.

  “Look, it’s not heavy.” He lifted it up. “Even narrower than a normal bag. It’ll fit.”

  “Sir, you’re holding up the flight. You have to check it in and board immediately, or we will leave without you.”

  “You can’t! You have my dead son on board!”

  Professor Silver stumbled off the Harley and fell. Someone helped him up. The biker dismounted, untied the bag, dropped it on the sidewalk, and collected his two hundred dollars.

  The Continental ticketing area was completely obstructed by waiting passengers in cordoned-off queues. He begged a young woman to help him print a boarding pass on one of the automated machines and ran to the security-check area.

  8:12 a.m.

  He was late for his flight, which meant he would miss his connection in Newark. Allah, hold them back!

  At security, the lines of unhappy passengers crisscrossed between ropes. He searched for a way around the lines, finding none. A trio of monitors, built into the wall, listed the flights. His flight was blinking. On Time.

  The van sped onto the bridge to Staten Island. The driver cracked open his window. Masada took in the scent of saltwater, ignoring the pain in her cuffed wrists. She looked at the tip of Manhattan, where Wall Street glass towers reflected the sun. She thought of Israel-humidity, heat, relentless insects, Hebrew songs, fresh graves, and a scruffy blanket on a hard bunk bed.

  They reached the highest part of the bridge, and the Statue of Liberty appeared in the blue water to the right. All five lanes were filled with moving cars, the outer lanes smack against concrete barriers.

  Masada said to the driver, “Can I borrow your phone?”

  McPherson’s earth-toned skin darkened. “Who do you want to call?”

  “Professor Silver.”

  “The one who wrote the book?” The lawyer sneered. “Fine. Give her the phone.”

  Masada took the phone from the driver with both hands. She called the professor, reaching his answering machine again. It was after eight in the morning in Arizona. He should have been up already. Was he meeting a lawyer?

  After the beep she left a message: “Canada won’t allow me in. They’re forcing me to go to Israel. We’re on our way to the Continental Airlines terminal in Newark. Tell the lawyer to immediate ask the judge for an urgent injunction against sending me to a place where I’ll be crucified for my writing.”

  A trim man in uniform appeared in the door. The flight attendant motioned at the rabbi. “He’s refusing to check in this package.”

  “Rabbi Frank.” The pilot extended his hand. “I’m Captain Kosinski. Saw your photo on the news the other day. My condolences.”

  The rabbi shook his hand.

  “I wish the circumstances were different. We don’t have first class on this flight, but I called ahead to Newark, and they’ll upgrade you on the flight to Israel.”

  “Thank you.” Rabbi Josh struggled to contain an urge to cry. He knew he was being unreasonable, but handing over the blood-soaked pieces of wood to be stowed in the belly of the plane was unbearable. “It’s part of him. If it got lost-”

  “Understood.” The pilot turned to the flight attendant. “Let it in.”

  “But, Captain, we’re completely full.”

  “We’re also late. Make it happen.”

  “Hey, man! What ya doin’?” The porter looked at Professor Silver, who dropped into the empty wheelchair he was pushing.

  “I need a ride.” Silver put his bag on his lap. He handed the man his boarding pass and a hundred-dollar bill. “Another hundred if we make it to the gate on time.”

  “Coming through!” The porter shoved the chair and sped around the lines, waving over a uniformed man, who sent Silver’s bag through the X-ray machine and made a cursory pass over him with a handheld metal detector.

  The wheelchair had no springs, and the mad rush through the airport jolted Silver’s joints, already sore from the Harley ride. The unusual narrowness of the chair required the young porter to use his own weight to counterbalance the wheelchair during high-speed turns.

  The waiting area by Gate C-14, all the way at the end, was deserted, the door shut. Checking through the glass wall, Silver saw the plane still attached to the gangway.

  The porter tapped the closed door. “You just missed it.”

  Silver got out of the chair, stuffed another hundred-dollar bill in the guy’s hand, and snatched the man’s security ID card from the neck string, waving it in front of the card sensor. The door unlocked, and he ran down the enclosed gangway.

  Rabbi Josh looked up from the book of Psalms and saw Professor Silver drop into the next seat. He was struggling to catch his breath. The rabbi flagged down a flight attendant and asked for water.

  The professor’s hands shook as he dipped his fingers in the ice water and patted his face. “Almost missed the flight.”

  “What happened?”

  “Don’t ask. I ruined another Cadillac.”

  “God is watching over you.”

  “He must be. The plane waited for me.”

  “I was God’s delaying instrument.”

  Silver glanced out the small window as the plane began to retreat from the terminal. He patted the rabbi’s knee. “Thank you, my dear friend.”

  “The Master of the Universe works in strange ways.”

  “He does!” Silver laughed “That’s for sure.”

  Elizabeth McPherson followed behind Masada and the female U.S. marshal. Passengers stepped aside, gawking at the writer, whose photo headlined every news service with reports of her immigration fraud and dramatic consent to a voluntary deportation. There were speculations about her destination, and no reporter had yet been able to uncover details about her mysterious manslaughter conviction in Israel decades ago. Elizabeth was pleased with the attention. Let them see the conniving Jew, the Israeli felon, the immigration fraudster. Everyone had a reason to hate her now.

  Masada glanced back, her green eyes creased with a smile that contrasted with her pallor. “Enjoy it while it lasts, Counselor. You’re going to lose your job when I publish an article about your abuse of government power for ethnic retaliation.”

  “Who’s going to believe you?” Her eyes lingered on the handcuffs, the crumpled clothes, and the small bag that hung from the gaunt shoulder. Elizabeth pointed forward, where a section of the terminal was barricaded off. “Your fellow Israelis will shut you up for good.”

  Masada’s eyes followed the direction Elizabeth was pointing.

  “They’ll probably make a big bonfire for you and everything you’ve written.”

  Plexiglas walls surrounded a large area abutting the gate, where the next flight would depart for Tel Aviv in a couple of hours. A sparse crowd of waiting passengers already waited inside the enclosed area, many wearing yellow T-shirts.

  Elizabeth approached the security counter with Masada.

  “Shalom!” The Israeli attendant could not be older than twenty-five. His head was buzzed, and a strap across his white shirt held a short-barrel Uzi.

  She handed him their boarding passes, her own American passport, and Masada’s temporary travel papers, which replaced her confiscated U.S. passport. “I’m Eliz
abeth McPherson, chief counsel at the Immigration Service in Phoenix. She’s my prisoner.”

  “I’m Chief Ron.” He examined the papers and looked at Masada. “You speak Hebrew?”

  “I prefer English.”

  “No problemo. I’m bipolar. Are you carrying any weapons?”

  “My pen,” Masada said.

  “Right on.” He laughed. “How long since you left Israel?”

  “Before you were born.”

  “Happy birthday.” He handed Masada her travel papers and boarding pass. “Welcome home.”

  “I’ll take those,” Elizabeth said, reaching over.

  “Ah!” He moved it out of her reach. “To each her own.” When Masada collected the documents, he noticed the handcuffs.

  “What’s this?”

  “She’s in custody,” Elizabeth said.

  “Was in custody. Everyone must have complete freedom of movement here, in case we have an emergency. That’s the rule.”

  “Whose rule?”

  “Off with the cuffs, Chief.”

  Masada held forth her cuffed wrists. “I’m expecting a court order from Phoenix any moment, stopping my deportation.”

  “I’ll watch for it,” he said. “You have plenty of time until boarding.” He put an open hand before Elizabeth. “The keys, please.”

  Her face burning, Elizabeth handed the keys and watched him release the handcuffs. “My government will hold you responsible if she escapes.”

  “I’ll notify our prime minister immediately.” He removed the cuffs from Masada’s wrists and beckon her through into the secure gate area. A dozen men and women congregated around her. The front of their yellow T-shirts was printed with Fair Aid in blue letters covered by a black X. The back said: Take Your Aid and Shove It!

  They would soon discover who she was, Elizabeth thought. “I need her alive,” she said and tried to follow into the enclosed area.

  Ron stopped her with his hand. “She’s fine.”

  Masada bent down to let an elderly woman hug her. Others began arguing. The circle around her widened, more circles formed, people talking to each other, pointing at her.

  Elizabeth asked, “Do they know who she is?”

  “We know. The question is, who are you?” He browsed her passport.

  “But why aren’t they angry at her?”

  “What for?” He looked up. “You want us to kill the messenger because we don’t like the news?” His fingers danced on the computer keyboard. “She’s a brave woman.” He punched a few more keys and looked at his computer screen. “Aha!” He hit another key. “Aha! Aha! Aha!”

  Elizabeth craned her head, trying to see the screen. “What’s all the Aha?”

  “Elizabeth McPherson. Has a nice ring to it. Catchy.”

  “If you don’t mind.” She glanced at her watch. “I have important phone calls to make.”

  “You’re not a frequent traveler,” he commented, putting aside her passport.

  “My position doesn’t leave much time for travel.”

  “Neither does mine.”

  “Are we done?” She extended her hand for the passport.

  “Almost.” He motioned at a young woman in uniform. “Shiri will take care of you over there.” He pointed to a curtain in the corner, where a sign in English, Hebrew, and Arabic read: BODY SEARCH

  Friday, August 15

  Despite the comforts of first-class travel, Professor Silver had slept little during the long flight over the Atlantic Ocean and Europe. He was unable to relax after a whirlwind week ending with the mad rush across Newark Airport to catch the flight to Israel, which had already boarded to capacity when the two of them arrived at the secure gate area. He sat back in the wide chair, stretching his legs, and watched through the window as the plane began its descent over the Mediterranean.

  The Tel Aviv coast appeared in the window, hotels lining the golden beach, the vast metropolis stretching as far as he could see. The plane tilted its wings in a wide turn over the suburbs, a mix of apartment buildings, private homes, and green parks, interconnected by wide highways flowing with cars. It looked like Los Angeles.

  After a smooth landing at Ben Gurion Airport, the pilot announced that, due to the need to unload special cargo, the plane would park away from the main terminal. He asked the passengers to remain seated, but they paid no attention, swarming into the aisles, heaving bags, and chattering in Hebrew.

  The professor unbuckled his seatbelt and forced a smile onto his face. “Home sweet home.”

  The rabbi shut his eyes and recited: “Blessed be He, Master of the Universe, for giving us life and sustenance to bring us here.”

  “Amen.” Silver rubbed his hands together to hide the tremor. He needn’t worry. The Israelis had conducted security checks back in Newark. His papers had not drawn any attention.

  The plane shuddered to a stop.

  The rabbi got up and squeezed into the crowded aisle. He lowered a large package from the overhead compartment. “Come, Levy.”

  Silver hugged his travel bag to his chest and glanced out through the window. The plane had parked away from the main terminal. A white car arrived, and four armed men in blue uniforms came out.

  They were expecting him!

  One of the uniformed men looked up, meeting his gaze. Silver retreated from the window, barely able to breathe. Idiot!No one fools the Israelis!

  The door of the plane opened with a whish of released pressure. Rabbi Josh, who was blocking the aisle, said, “Let’s go.”

  Standing with difficulty, Silver would have fallen back into the chair had the rabbi not caught his arm and ushered him into the aisle and toward the sun-lit doorway. He tried to think, but the noise was too loud. Had the Israelis watched him all those years? Had they lurked in the shadows as he conspired against them? Had their spies mused at his plans while luring him to Israel with tales of revolutionary eye treatment? He could see it now. They would use him to manipulate the world’s sympathy, just as he had tried to do to them. There was probably a camera ready to capture his arrest at the foot of the stairs. We got Abu Faddah! They would reveal his secret plans to the world and make a spectacle out of him-a public trial, a monkey in a glass cage, like that German who had failed to finish the job.

  Outside the plane, the sun was blinding and the air as hot as in Phoenix, only humid and suffused with jet-fuel vapors. One hand on the railing, the other on Rabbi Josh’s arm, Silver descended the metal staircase like a sheep to slaughter. His view was blocked by the other passengers, who were singing in English-accented Hebrew. The air reverberated with the roar of a plane taking off nearby.

  His last moments of freedom.

  He stepped off the staircase and onto the solid land of his youth.

  Palestine!

  Forcing his head up, he detached from the rabbi and pushed through the crowd, showing himself to the Israeli policemen. He would not bow to them, even in captivity!

  They ignored him.

  A dozen steps to the side, Silver looked back, expecting them to follow.

  Nothing.

  He chuckled at his self-induced panic. He had tricked them after all!

  Shaking his face with his hand, he took in the view. Beyond the airport’s fences, fields stretched afar, their green turning to hazy blue as they faded into the distant hills. “Praise Allah,” he whispered, “and Mohammed his prophet.” He dropped to his knees, leaning forward, laying his open hands on the hot tarmac. “Filasteen!”

  His lips touched the asphalt, and Faddah’s lovable face came to him with all the sweetness and hope of their last day together, crossing the Dead Sea, climbing Mount Masada. “I’m back, Faddah,” he whispered, fighting off tears. “I’ll avenge you, my son.” He kissed the ground again, dust clinging to his moist lips, and rested his forehead on the ground.

  Loud singing drew his attention. He turned to see more Jews in yellow shirts emerging from the door of the plane and descending the staircase, singing at the top of their voices, �
��We bring peace upon you.” They repeated the line, clapping rhythmically. He smiled, wiping his tears. The Jews had no idea they were lying prone in front of a speeding train-the train that he had set in motion!

  Two blue-and-white buses arrived, and passengers boarded them for the short ride to the terminal while more emerged from the plane. He shut his eyes, weary of seeing joyous Jews around the blotch.

  Without words, he thanked Allah again for clearing all the barriers from his path. Soon, he would meet the team at the Michener Eye Center at Hadassah Hospital, and on Sunday morning they would save his eyesight. And by Wednesday afternoon, Washington time, Phase One of his plan would be realized by the Senate’s vote, tearing the Jewish leech off America’s veins. He would return to the United States to begin the political campaign for the apartheidization of Israel and the imposition of international sanctions. He might relocate from Phoenix to New York to be near the center of diplomatic activity at the United Nations. Elzirah could become the legal director for the campaign-a reputable American lawyer who would lend credibility to their efforts and draft necessary petitions and resolutions. That thought reminded him that he must reach Elizabeth through her office to let her know about the “unexpected postponement” of her award ceremony. Otherwise she would be travelling to Israel in the next few days, complicating matters.

  For a moment, he worried that Rajid was looking for him in Arizona. But if Rajid ever complained of searching for him in vain, Silver would respond: “I was in Canada, monitoring Masada per your command!” He laughed. Everything was working out for the faithful. He congratulated himself on the decision to observe Ramadan. Allah hu Akbar!

  Up above, where the mobile staircase connected to the plane, a lull in the stream of yellow-shirted, singing Jews caused Silver to look up. He blinked a few times to moisten his eye. The doorway remained empty for a long moment until a tall figure appeared. He felt sudden pressure in his chest. He shielded his eye from the sun and looked again.