The Masada Complex

by Avraham Azrieli

  Rabbi Josh bent his knees slightly, placing the right foot forward. Five, six steps, and he would be upon Silver. Even with a bullet wound he would be able to hold the elderly professor long enough for her to get away. He waited for the gun to turn to him, so that Silver would not press the trigger while the gun was pointing at her.

  But Silver was too angry now, the long silencer shaking, his finger sliding into the trigger ring. “You dimwit Jews. You call me a traitor? Me? The Zionists took away my home, my family, my son. I’d rather die than work for them!”

  Rabbi Josh hesitated. He had one chance. He must be certain his attack would save Masada. He inched closer, but she gave him a cautionary glance and said, “Abu Faddah, an Israeli agent.”

  “Shut up!” Silver kept the gun on her. “Tell me where is the woman soldier!”

  “Okay,” Masada said, oddly calm, “but only after you tell me the truth about the Mahoney bribe.”

  Silver tossed his bag to Rabbi Josh. “Open it!”

  The rabbi had advanced another step.

  “Sit on the ground and open it!”

  Rabbi Josh crouched, put down the lantern, and took the heavy package out of the briefcase. He removed three rubber bands that held the documents together. The top cover was blank. The second sheet had only a title in typed letters: Phase Three.

  “I studied your history,” Silver said, “to understand how the Germans failed to rid humanity of the Jewish pests. I developed a plan, and you,” he pointed at Masada with the gun barrel, “helped me with the first phase. You wrote so convincingly, with such passion, that no one doubted Israel was behind the bribe.” He laughed. “But the money came from Ramallah!”

  “God!” Rabbi Josh almost dropped Silver’s papers. “This is satanic!”

  “Wait a minute,” Masada said. “This whole bribe operation was a Palestinian plot?”

  “Exactly.” Silver grinned. “The plan, the execution, the funding-all directed by our leadership in Ramallah. You think of us as a bunch of stupid Arabs, capable only of shooting unarmed civilians or detonating explosive belts?” He glanced at his watch. “Within a few minutes, in Washington, the first phase of our operation will be accomplished, ending American support for Israel.”

  “You’re lying,” Rabbi Josh said.

  “The truth hurts,” Silver said. “But the future will hurt even more.”

  “You know the future?” Masada leaned against the wall.

  “The future will happen almost by itself. In Phase Two, without America, Israel will stand alone. The Europeans have always hated the Jews, and now they hate Israel. Asia is mostly Muslim. No government will alienate its population for the sake of Israel. The world will treat Israelis like it treated the Afrikaners-the apartheidization of Israel. International sanctions that will choke Israel until it grants Palestinian refugees the right of return and gives them the vote. And so, my dear former friends, from the Mediterranean to the Jordan River, from the Golan Heights to the Sinai Desert,” he smiled, the empty socket of his left eye squinting, “the dawn of a new Israel, ruled by an Arab majority.”

  Rabbi Josh flipped the pages. A draft of a future press release was titled: The Burning of the Knesset: Government Declares Emergency Measures. He whispered, “Just like the burning of the Reichstag!”

  “The Jews,” Silver declared, “will be very angry after the Arab majority elects a new government. It’s only reasonable to expect them to engage in rebellious sabotage. The world will understand the necessity of tough security measures to fight Jewish terrorism.”

  “Heaven’s mercy!” Rabbi Josh turned to Masada. “Do you understand?”

  “Like Flavius Silva,” Masada commented, as if this was merely an intellectual discussion. “Tell us the rest, Abu Faddah, and I’ll tell you where to find the woman who catapulted your son.”

  The gun shook in Silver’s hand. “Flavius Silva smashed the Jews, but he didn’t finish the job. The Germans wasted resources on fighting Russia and America instead of concentrating on the extermination of the Jews. But we will finish the job. My designs cover information systems, government regulations, architectural blueprints, personnel charts, transportation, and processing-”

  “What’s COCA?” Rabbi Josh looked at a map of northern Israel.

  “An acronym,” Masada suggested, “for concentration camp?”

  “We won’t use that term publicly,” Silver said. “Retraining Academies would be better. The Jews will be pacified by the educational flair.”

  The rabbi turned the page, finding a map of the Dead Sea area.

  “Final stage will be here.” Silver pointed through the open end of the room at the still body of water. “From the lowest land in the whole world a new future shall rise.”

  “What’s ProPla?” Rabbi Josh asked.

  “Processing plant for the bodies,” Masada said. “He’ll use salt.”

  “Acid.” Silver smiled. “Less offensive than smoke stacks, wouldn’t you agree?”

  As soon as Elizabeth finished eating, the baby became active, poking her from within until she smiled. It was almost six in the morning, and the kitchen was filling up with men, who gathered around the small TV. The screen showed the podium at the U.S. Senate, where the most junior senator was completing his remarks against Israel.

  Senator Mitchum, in a red tie and fresh makeup, took over the podium. “Let me quote the writer Masada El-Tal,” he declared, “who courageously stepped up to the challenge despite her conflicting loyalties.” He held up a copy of Jab Magazine. “She wrote: Only a country founded on the religious sectarianism would feel justified in manipulating the legislative process of a democracy. And only a country that glorifies its sons’ ultimate sacrifice could justify sacrificing its own integrity. And with these wise words,” the senator declared, “I hereby call for a vote on the Fair Aid Act, which will suspend all military aid to, and cooperation with, the State of Israel, pending a full Senate investigation of the events leading to the tragic suicide of our colleague from Arizona-”

  An aide tapped his shoulder and whispered in his ear.

  Senator Mitchum returned to the microphone. “It seems that new facts have emerged.” He covered the microphone, consulted with someone else, and announced, “We’ll take a brief recess.”

  The anchor’s face appeared on the screen. “We go live now from Mount Masada, near the Dead Sea, in Israel.”

  The picture changed again, and Professor Silver appeared on the screen.

  Elizabeth covered her mouth. The professor was aiming a gun with a silencer at the camera. His glass eye was missing. Behind him was a wall of rough stones. She listened with growing fear as he admitted he had bribed Senator Mahoney as part of a Palestinian plot to take over Israel and exterminate the Jews.

  Professor Silver laughed. The two Jews were stricken by shock, especially Rabbi Josh, who resembled a car wreck survivor. “Don’t try anything funny!” Silver held the gun with both hands, shifting its aim constantly. “Now you tell me where I can find the woman who killed my son.”

  “Yes, the crazy soldier,” Masada said. “What do you remember?”

  “She swung on a steel cable and grabbed my Faddah, then she attacked me.”

  “Tall and stringy, with black hair.”

  “Yes.”

  “Like me?”

  Silver felt a chill.

  Masada pointed at the low wall at the edge. “Your dear Faddah didn’t even fight. Maybe he preferred death to staying with Papa.”

  “No!”

  She pulled up her right pant, exposing a brace. “Did you notice when Ness shot me in the knee? Or was your eye hurting too much?”

  “You!” He realized she was telling the truth. It was like a string of dominos falling in a row. “That’s why the your brother yelled-”

  “Masada!”

  It was the rabbi’s voice, and Silver realized he’d focused on her, forgetting the rabbi. As he turned, his finger starting to press the trigger, Rabbi Josh threw the
lantern, hitting the gun, which flew over the edge into empty air. The lantern shattered on the floor, and the rabbi leaped forward.

  There was one thing Silver was determined to do: Punish Faddah’s killer! He threw himself at Masada. His shoulder rammed her in the chest, propelling her over the edge.

  Elizabeth McPherson could not move. Senator Mitchum’s face reappeared on the TV screen. “Well, considering the new information, we will take this matter under advisement. The Fair Aid Act is withdrawn. This session of the United States Senate is adjourned.”

  The senator disappeared from the TV screen, replaced by the black reporter in Jerusalem, smiling as circles of yellow-clad Jews danced around him. “The atmosphere in this ancient city,” he yelled over the noise, “is ecstatic. People feel vindicated. Not only was Israel proven innocent of the bribery charges, but a terrible Palestinian plot to destroy the Jewish people has been exposed. Someone here just told me that God has intervened to prevent a second Holocaust. But that, of course, is a matter of faith. Reporting from Jerusalem, this is-”

  Someone turned off the TV. Elizabeth saw her father being carried in. Aunt Hamida helped her kneel before him. Father’s hand rested on the scarf covering her shaved head. He mumbled a blessing.

  The men carried Hajj Mahfizie from the kitchen. Aunt Hamida helped Elizabeth to her feet and hugged her tightly. “Ah-Salaam, Elzirah.”

  “See you soon,” Elizabeth said.

  Aunt Hamida started crying and ran from the kitchen.

  This was it. She was free to go. Surely the Israelis at the checkpoint could call a taxi for her. She went to the door.

  Three men in white coats blocked her way. They grabbed her arms, turned her around, and blindfolded her. She felt her yellow robe being lifted up to her armpits. A heavy pouch was tied around her waist, and the robe was pulled down over it.

  Rabbi Josh sprinted forward, but Professor Silver was faster, shoving Masada over the cliff’s edge. The rabbi dropped forward and grabbed her arm just as she went over. At the same time, his body collided with Silver, who stumbled and rolled over the low wall behind Masada.

  His chest hit hard against the stones at the edge, but Rabbi Josh managed to hold on to Masada, who quickly grabbed the low wall. The rest of her body hung over the cliff, and Silver somehow stuck his arm into the lower part of the shoulder strap of her backpack, just above her left hip. The top of his head showed behind the small of her back. Far below, the professor’s white cap descended through the air to the distant, rocky bottom.

  Rabbi Josh yelled, “Hold on! I’ll pull you up!”

  Silver craned his head. “Quick!”

  “Get a rock,” Masada said, “and hit this murderer on the head.”

  Rabbi Josh wasn’t going to do such a thing. “Come on! Help me pull you up!”

  “My hands are slipping.” Masada’s right foot found a small protrusion in the rock. “Cut the plastic cuffs.”

  He kept his grip on Masada’s arm with one hand and reached for a shard of glass from the shattered lantern. He cut through the plastic strap, blood from his lacerated palm dripping on Masada’s wrists. Her hands free, she spread them apart, improving her grip on the stones. Her other foot found a toehold.

  “Let’s pull you up!”

  “Not with this dead weight.” Masada shook her hips against the cliff in brief, jerky motions.

  “Stop it!” Silver’s voice was filled with panic. “Don’t!”

  Rabbi Josh leaned over the edge, looking down. The emptiness under them made him dizzy. His grip on her arm was getting slippery from the blood. He let go and wiped his hand in the dirt. “Pull! We can do it!”

  “My backpack has to come off.”

  “No!” Silver yelled from below. “Save us!”

  Rabbi Josh held her arms. “Now, Masada. Just pull!”

  The men led the blindfolded Elizabeth out of the kitchen, through the hallway to the main door, and out of the mosque. They lifted her into a vehicle and made her lie on her back. The pouch they had tied around her hips was thick, and it bore into her spine, lifting her midriff.

  “Enough of this!” She tore off the blindfold and found herself on a stretcher in an ambulance. The yellow robe covered her down to her ankles. The three men were joined by Imam Abdul, who also wore a white coat, a stethoscope around his neck.

  They put a pillow on her belly and covered her with a white sheet. One of them got behind the wheel, fired up the engine, turned on the siren, and eased away from the mosque.

  “What are you doing?” Elizabeth tried to sit up.

  The Imam made her lie down. “The Jews are waiting for you in Jerusalem.”

  The ambulance drove slowly down the hill, its siren whining.

  “You can’t treat me like this! I’m not one of your chattel women!”

  “You’re a martyr! Be proud!”

  “What?” She pushed aside the sheet and pulled up the yellow robe. A strange corset, wide enough to cover her from pelvis to just under her breasts, was tied snugly with three copper buckles. Electric wires run around the whole thing. She felt with her hand behind her back, where several cylindrical containers were attached.

  “Too heavy. I can’t pull up.” Masada glanced down, remembering Srulie’s broken body. The backpack, with Silver hanging from the strap just over her hip, was cutting into her shoulders. She let go of the low wall with her left hand, now only her right hand and toes carrying the weight, and reached down to poke at Silver’s face.

  He yelled something in Arabic and pressed his face to her back.

  “Murderer!” She clenched a fist and pounded his head. “You’ll die today, I swear!”

  “I will not,” Silver shouted, “die alone!”

  “Give me your hand!” Rabbi Josh pressed his chest to her right hand, but it was slipping. Masada returned her left hand to hold the low wall. She felt Rabbi Josh’s bandaged hands under her armpits. He groaned and lifted her enough for her elbows to clear the stones. The toes of her shoes slipped, but quickly found other tiny outcroppings in the sheer cliff. With her forearms flat on the line of stones, Masada flexed her fingers, breathing hard.

  “Now let’s get you up and over.” Rabbi Josh grabbed her shoulders.

  “Wait!” Her right shoe lost the protrusion, and the backpack pulled her backward with great force. She needed to reach her brace, but her muscles starved for oxygen. Pain bore inside her chest where Silver had rammed her, and her lower abdomen ached in a seething way. Wetness was spreading between her thighs.

  Rabbi Josh leaned over, his cheek against hers. “Pull! We can do it together!”

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “You’re a good man.”

  “No!” He lowered himself farther, his chest resting on her forearms to stop them from slipping off. His own hands, bandaged and bleeding, held her upper arms. “I’m going to-”

  “Put the shard in my right hand,” Masada said.

  Rabbi Josh kept the pressure on her forearms, picked up the shard he had used to cut the plastic handcuffs, and placed it in her hand. Masada began to saw the backpack strap. The back-and-forth movement of the shard against the strap, which had sunk into her shoulder, also cut her shirt, then her skin, and her flesh.

  “Hey!” Silver’s voice had an unfamiliar high pitch to it. “What are you doing?”

  Masada kept working through the strap, ignoring the pain, her eyes turned up, watching Rabbi Josh’s tearful eyes, taking in every crevice of his face. The stubble on his jaws was golden, and his hair hung down over her, caressing her forehead.

  Imam Abdul pushed Elizabeth down. “Shut up!” The ambulance made the turn toward the Israeli checkpoint, its siren changing tune to a fast beeping.

  “Please! I don’t want to die!”

  He hooked his finger in a metal ring that dangled from the side of the explosive belt. “If I pull this, you’ll blow up in two minutes.”

  “No!” Elizabeth tried to unbuckle the belt. “My baby!”

  “If you unbuc
kle it, the fuse will blow immediately.” He used his free hand to throw the sheet back over her, keeping his finger in the ring. “You have to die. Would you rather die alone, or take a hundred Jews with you?”

  “I’d rather live! I beg you!”

  “It will be a great victory. A senior American official dying for Palestine. You’ll go straight to Allah!”

  The ambulance stopped at the checkpoint. She heard the driver yell something. The vehicle jerked forward. The driver yelled again. The Imam glanced nervously. She heard the Israelis shouting. The driver cursed and turned off the engine.

  The rear doors of the ambulance opened. Two uniformed Israelis peeked in. The Imam at the soldiers, “I’m Doctor Abdul. She’s in delivery! The umbilical cord is around the baby’s neck! Let us through, or the baby will die!”

  The soldiers cocked their weapons.

  “Please,” he begged, “where is your humanity?”

  An officer appeared, and Elizabeth recognized the young reservist officer who had let her through. Their eyes met, and he understood what was going on. He aimed his machine gun and yelled at them to step out of the ambulance. Imam Abdul smiled at Elizabeth and pulled out the ring. She felt a slight buzzing at her hip, a quick vibration that made her blood cold.

  The men jumped down from the ambulance, their hands over their heads.

  Elizabeth kicked off the sheet.

  The Israeli officer saw the belt and froze.

  She said, “Get out!”

  He kneeled at the stretcher. “Let me take it off.”

  “No!” She pushed his hand away. “It’ll blow.”

  “Our guys can defuse it.” He yelled out the open door in Hebrew.

  “Too late.” She got off the stretcher. “It’s about to blow. Get out!”

  “Wait!” He was pale, his face looking even younger. “We can save you!”

  “Don’t forget,” Elizabeth yelled as she slipped into the driver’s seat, “human rights!”

  He hesitated.

  “Go!”

  He jumped off.

  Professor Silver’s arm went numb. It was hooked in the backpack strap almost to his armpit, the blood flow cut off. His eye was too teary to see clearly, yet when he glanced downward, the awful distance below his dangling feet made him yell, “Joshua! Help us!” There was no response, but he registered the faint sound of scratching, and a certain tremor in the strap against his arm.