The Masada Complex (42 page)

“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

D
espite 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.

Masada?

She stepped onto the small landing at the top of the staircase. Her gaze dropped, she saw him, and her lips mouthed,
Levy?

Rabbi Josh filled his chest with Israel’s air and recited from memory, “
And God shall bring them to the domain of His Holiness.
He shall drive off the gentiles. And settle Israel in their tents.
”

There was great joy around him, fellow Jewish men and women singing, their voices strong, defiant of America and its shifting political winds. Masada’s exposé had been a blessing in disguise. The wave of anti-Semitic attacks was causing thousands of American Jews to move to Israel. Rabbi Josh sighed. If only he had not waited, foolishly believing his son was safer in Arizona than in the land of his ancestors.

The first two buses departed for the terminal, and new ones arrived to pick up more passengers. He searched the faces around him. “Levy?” The rabbi stood on his toes. “Levy Silver!” He picked up the tied-up wood sections of the dais and approached the police officers leaning against their vehicle. “Did you see a little man in a black beret?”

One of them pointed, and the rabbi saw Silver sitting on the ground. He walked over and kneeled by the professor. “What’s wrong?”

A shadow fell over them. A familiar voice demanded, “What are you doing here?”