Avraham Azrieli - The Masada Complex

Rajid nodded.

“You know that I devised the plan after years of studying history. The Jews in Germany were very strong-doctors, lawyers, business leaders-just like American Jews, but once the Germans were told that the Jews caused the economic problems of the Fatherland , there was hate wall-to-wall. And the world did not lift a finger to help the Jews. You should read my book about the Evian Conference.”

“I read it.”

“So you understand, yes? In order to destroy the Jews, we must first ensure that the world would not come to help them in Palestine.”

“Yes.”

“My plan is working! First, the bribe, and then the senator’s suicide, which has further inflamed Americans’ anger at Israel.” Silver pretended that this rocking boat was his classroom and that Rajid was one of his students. “Palestine could only be built on the ruins of Israel, and Israel could only be destroyed if America deserted her. And American politicians follow public opinion polls like dogs after the scent of a female in heat.”

Rajid resumed pedaling, turning the boat back toward the service shed. “The woman writer is very clever. If she can trace the money to us, everything you planned for the Jews would happen to us. You must remain here to monitor her.”

“She’s no risk.” Silver chuckled. “Masada tells me everything. I’m like a father to her.”

“And the crazy Jew? He could tell someone that you sent him with the money.”

“Al Zonshine? No chance.” Silver laughed, but his laughter rang hollow even to his own ears. “He’s convinced we are agents of Judah’s Fist, clandestine Jewish warriors, saving Israel by bribing Mahoney. He thinks she followed him and got it on video.”

“The video clip you gave her? That memory stick could prove your involvement.”

“I took it back and destroyed it,” Silver lied, pretending to throw it in the water. “Gone.”

The boat rocked on a shallow swell. “Sorry,” Rajid said, “but we spent a fortune on this operation. These two Jews must be watched carefully. There is too much risk.”

“Risk?” Silver wiped his face with his hands. “I once ran through the desert with blood pouring out of my left eye and tears pouring out of my right eye for my dead son. If not for the Bedouins who saved me, I’d be dead too. But here in Arizona?” He gestured at the park. “There’s no risk.”

The pedals stopped. Rajid looked away. He flexed his fingers.

Fearing Rajid would hit him in the face, Silver raised his left hand between them, feigning a slap at a fly.

Rajid cracked his intertwined fingers. “You are a hero, Abu Faddah. Your courage is inspiring. Your ability to assume a Jewish identity is nothing short of genius.” He resumed pedaling, making enough noise to prevent anyone from picking up their conversation remotely. “But you must prevent exposure by the writer or the crazy Jew.”

“You want me to kill them?” He held his breath, hoping for a nod.

Rajid sped up, his legs pumping rapidly, raising the noise of rushing water.

“I’m not too old to kill Jews!”

The young man glanced at him, his head tilted. “Killing is not a matter of age.”

“Discreet elimination would not draw any attention.”

“Too suspicious, both of them dying. You must monitor them for a few months.”

“I don’t have a few months. And everybody would assume the Israelis killed Masada El-Tal.”

“The Israeli government will never send agents to kill a Jew. If you were a real Jew, you’d know it.” Rajid laughed at his own cleverness.

“How am I to monitor them? Sit in a tree across the street with my monocular?”

“Think of something. You are a professor .”

They were halfway back, and Silver knew he must convince his handler now. “Let me go to Jerusalem. A few days won’t make a difference. Masada has no clue.”

“Don’t underestimate her ability.”

Silver thought of Masada, her green gaze focused with intensity. “I cannot accept blindness!”

“We are Fada’een!” Rajid’s angry words rolled with a strong Arabic accent. “We fight for Palestine until victory or death. Or blindness!”

The boat nudged the concrete at the service shed, which hid them from the rest of the park. Silver’s legs shook as he tried to stand. “How can I fight on if I’m blind?”

Rajid helped him onto the shore and kissed him on both cheeks. “Allah will show you the way.” He jumped back in the boat. “Good luck, Professor.”

Silver watched Rajid pedal off into the lake. “Tell them,” he yelled, “that I wish to discuss Phase Two!”

He sat down on the concrete, his back against the wood planks of the shed, removed his beret, and wiped the sweat from his head.

Al Zonshine appeared around the corner of the shed and asked, “What’s Phase Two?”

Elizabeth McPherson was covered in cold sweat. She leaned forward on the cheap bathroom counter, feeling sick. Was it this morning’s court loss? How could she predict such pregnancy trickery? She should file a supplemental demand for a paternity test!

A cramp sliced through Elizabeth’s abdomen, and she massaged it, feeling the undeniable swelling. Could it be Amebiasis again? The parasites had taken residence in her intestines back in the filthy refugee camp, but Dr. Gould had cured her years ago!

She glanced at her watch. 11:00 a.m. She would leave for the doctor’s office after the staff meeting. A tumor wouldn’t grow much more in a few hours.

Washing her hands in the sink, Elizabeth saw her pale face in the mirror and regretted rushing out of her office without her purse. She didn’t want to run into David in the hallway looking like this. Tilting her head from side to side, she fluffed her hair until it built some body. The black dress she had worn for the morning court hearing made her face look even paler. It felt tight around her chest, and she scooped her breasts in her hands, adjusting their position. She turned, examining her figure in profile. She was too short to carry excess weight, though David didn’t seem to mind.

A secretary entered, and Elizabeth left, hurrying down the hallway to her corner office. Before she could sit down, the phone rang. The director’s secretary said he wanted to see her.

One floor up, Allan Simpson greeted Elizabeth warmly. A career federal administrator with astute political instincts, he had treated her with abundant respect and never interfered with the legal department.

The director led her to the sitting area in the corner of his office, and they settled into two armchairs separated by a coffee table. He stretched his long legs, making himself comfortable. “Some committee in Washington decided to add a deputy director for coordination between us, the Border Patrol and the Customs Service in the southwest region.”

“I understand.” Elizabeth pursed her lips. This was the opportunity she had been waiting for-a chance to move up from legal to management. “The Border Patrol has grown quite imperial with all the quasi-military paraphernalia. We must hold them on a short leash.”

He smiled. “I want to appoint someone who can prevent budgetary shifts at our expense, protect our turf, but appear neutral.”

“You need a good lawyer.” Elizabeth could hardly hold back a cheer. The stars had aligned perfectly. “I’ve dealt with the complexities of the Patriot Act and the regulations setting up the Homeland Security Department. For example-”

“That’s why I called you.”

“I’m flattered.” Elizabeth realized her promotion would open up her current job for David. “My department should be in good shape-”