Avraham Azrieli - The Masada Complex

“That’s right. Allah knows we’ve paid President Carter enough millions for his,” Rajid feigned quotation marks, “ Peace Institute .”

“And the U.N. Anti-Racism Conference in Durban? We’ve got momentum against Israel. Phase Two is the apartheidization of Israel!”

“It’s a tricky argument. Israel has almost two million Muslim and Christian citizens with full rights, just like Jews.”

“No, no,” Silver raised a finger, “I’m talking about their immigration policies. Only Jews are entitled to become new, voting Israeli citizens. That’s racial discrimination.”

“Good point.” Rajid held a thumb up, which seemed almost humorous.

“Without an American veto, the international bodies will go ahead with it-the United Nations, European Union, NATO, Organization of African Countries, the Asian bloc-they’ll impose an economic boycott of Israel like they did with South Africa.” Silver rubbed his hands. “Just imagine-no trade, no raw materials, no access to financial markets, no new weapons, no tourism. Israel will choke! And for the world to release its chokehold, just like with South Africa, Israel will have to end its apartheid, grant Palestinian refugees the right of return, make them full citizens, and give them the vote.”

“You think they’ll allow Fatah and Hamas to run for the Knesset?”

The professor smiled, though he really wanted to smack him across the face. “We will form a new political organization-The Palestinian National Congress.”

“Like the African National Congress.”

“Exactly. Israel would have no choice. Then, with all the new Arab citizens going to the polls, Jewish rule will end. Just like the white Afrikaners in South Africa, the Israeli Jews will become a minority overnight. After the elections, we’ll control their Knesset and form a government. Without a single bullet we will own the State of Israel-Jerusalem, Jaffa, Haifa, Acre, Nazareth- even Dimona! We’ll unify the land with the West Bank and Gaza, and take over Jordan, finally winning back all of Palestine. As Mohammed said, You shall inherit the infidels. ”

For the first time in the two decades Silver had known Rajid, the Palestinian handler was speechless. He nodded thoughtfully. He looked up at the ceiling. He checked his sunglasses against the window. Finally he said, “I admire your creativity, Abu Faddah, of which Allah has blessed you aplenty. But we are soldiers in an army, yes?”

“As Allah is my witness, my intentions are pure.”

“Then you must obey the orders.” Rajid turned his briefcase around. It was empty. “Bring all the copies of your book manuscript and all other documents you have.”

Seething, Silver went to the basement and brought up a box. He sat down, watching Rajid arrange the papers in his briefcase.

“That’s all?”

“Phases One and Two,” Silver said.

“Is there a Phase Three?”

“No disrespect to you,” Silver said, standing up, “but Phase Three I shall only discuss face-to-face in Ramallah.”

“I’ll trust you to erase your computer memory.” Rajid closed his briefcase. “Now tell me what happened with the writer.”

Silver sat down. There was no way for them to know the truth, especially with Al Zonshine unconscious in the hospital. “The Jew, whom you have selected as a conduit to the senator,” he paused to let the implication sink in, “is a petulant and vindictive man, completely primal in his obsessions. He pretended to heed my unambiguous orders to leave the writer alone but persevered in his private vendetta nevertheless.”

“You had no hand in the attacks?”

“If I had,” Silver attempted a chuckle, “would she be alive?”

“We hold you responsible,” Rajid said, “that the writer is not harmed again. If she is, the Senate might delay its vote pending an investigation.”

“Have you told Ramallah that I must be at Hadassah Hospital on Friday?” Silver removed his glasses and wiped the lenses on his shirt. “The writer is hospitalized, out of commission.”

“You will monitor her and the other Jew to prevent any interference with the vote in Washington.” Rajid looked at him, not blinking. “That’s an order.”

Silver felt cornered. “If I go blind, how shall I continue my work?”

Rajid smiled. “An intellectual wins battles with his mind, not with his eyes.”

Masada thanked the nurse for bringing Jell-O and toast. While she ate, Drexel appeared at the door with a large bouquet of flowers in a pink vase. “You look terrible,” he said, pecking her cheek.

“You, on the other hand.” She motioned at his purple jacket and matching tie. “What’s this style? Meticulously casual.”

“You have a good eye.” He smoothed down his hair. “You must feel like you’re back in the army, with all the gunfire going on around you.”

“And no money.”

He cleared his throat. “Darling, I called corporate several times, but they’re slow.”

“I need to fix my house and,” she patted the bed, “pay medical bills. I can’t do any work while starving.”

“The fate of a freelancer.” Drexel clicked his tongue. “Feast or famine. I’m doing my best, but the next payment is not due until you submit a draft.”

“Don’t be technical, especially with all your new subscriptions.” Her head began to throb. She rested back on the pillows.

“Masada darling, I’m on your side, but perhaps you could take a mortgage on your house in the meantime. Nobody owns a house debt-free in this country.”

“I don’t like debt.”

He punched a number on his iPhone. “Campbell Chadwick wants to talk to you.”

“Quite a night you had,” the lawyer said cheerfully, as if Masada had gone barhopping.

“Just trying to stay alive.”

“Dropping a bucket of concrete on an old veteran’s head?” Chadwick chuckled. “What can I say?”

“It was paint, not concrete. And it dropped when he invaded my bedroom in the middle of the night.”

“Police says you set a trap and lured him in through the window.”

“He broke in.”

“Without waking you up?” The lawyer sighed. “The jury isn’t going to buy it.”

“Jury?” Masada raised her voice. “What jury?”

“D.A. announced possible indictment against you for first-degree assault.”

Masada couldn’t believe it. “Al Zonshine tried to shoot me at Temple Zion!”

“He threatened you, that’s true, but according to his wife the gun discharged accidentally when she bumped into him. She says that you’ve seduced and manipulated him and caused him to dump his medication.”

“That’s nonsense. I have a restraining order against him! And he broke into my house, beat my head in, abused me, and shot at me again!”

“Technically,” Chadwick interrupted her, “he couldn’t break into an open house.”

“Because he blew out my windows on his previous attempt to kill me!”

“There’s no evidence he was behind the gas explosion. According to the D.A., the explosion seemed like an inside job. There was no evidence of break in. There is evidence, however, that after the shooting in the synagogue you declined an invitation to stay the night with friends. As your legal counsel, I strongly recommend that you do not dismiss the risk of a criminal indictment.”

“You must be joking.”

“Also,” the lawyer continued, “please refrain from discussing with anyone facts or allegations related in any way to the incident or the previous incident that resulted in manslaughter-the one in Israel.”

“This is right out of Kafka,” Masada said.