Avraham Azrieli - The Masada Complex

She grabbed the car keys and her purse. Earlier she had called a Chevrolet dealer to arrange a trade-in of her as-yet-unencumbered Corvette for some cash and the cheapest set of used wheels they had on the lot. On the way to the garage, she stopped at the kitchen to grab a bottle of water from the fridge and noticed something sticking out from under it.

With the tip of her finger she pulled out Silver’s book. She didn’t remember taking it to the kitchen. Noticing a scent, she brought the book to her nose. The sweet, smoky smell reminded her of Silver’s house.

Masada paused. Was her mind playing tricks on her? She sniffed the book again. The smell was real. Why would Silver’s book be under the fridge and smelling like his house? She touched her head, feeling the lumps left by Al. Was she hallucinating?

“Miss El-Tal?” The voice came from the broken front door.

The man wore a waistcoat with orange letters: U.S. Immigration Service . He handed her a piece of paper. “Would you come with us, please?”

Professor Silver peered through his living room window at the mail truck. It stopped at each mailbox along the street. When it reached his, he ran out to meet it.

The mailman, in shorts and a baseball cap, leaned out with a bundle of envelopes and printed catalogues.

“I’m expecting an urgent letter.” Silver sifted through the bundle. “It’s not here.”

“Maybe tomorrow.” The mail truck inched forward.

“Can you check on it?” Silver placed his hand on the side mirror. “I’m leaving for overseas tomorrow morning. It’s very urgent.”

“First class mail?”

“From the U.S. government. Official business.”

“That would be first class, unless they sent it book rate.” He revved the engine. “Nothing I can do. Have a safe trip.”

They allowed Masada to meet with Chadwick in a small room at the federal courthouse downtown. The lawyer was sipping coffee from a Starbucks paper cup.

“They’re trying to shut me up,” she said. “The public won’t condone it.”

“The public?” Chadwick shook his head. “You drove an admired senator to suicide. The public feels no sympathy for you. Neither does my client.” He pulled a sheet of paper from his briefcase and handed it to her. It was a letter from Jab Corporation: Due to unethical, unsavory, and possibly criminal actions that you have engaged in, or failed to disclose heretofore, which constitute material breaches of the Publishing Contracts between us, said contracts are hereby terminated and declared null and void. You must repay all advances previously paid to you within ten (10) days.

Masada looked at Chadwick. “Is this a joke?”

“You need a new lawyer.”

“Aren’t you my lawyer?”

He adjusted his tie. “Jab is my primary client. You knew it.”

“Yes, but-”

“I have to withdraw. It’s a conflict of interests.” Before she could say anything, he added, “After today’s hearing, of course.”

In the courtroom, Masada followed Chadwick to the defense table. He pointed at a well-dressed, short woman at the other table. “Elizabeth McPherson, chief counsel for the immigration office in Phoenix. She’s very capable.”

They stood up when the judge came in.

Elizabeth McPherson said, “Your Honor, this emergency hearing is brought under the following regulations.” She opened a thick book and rattled off section numbers.

The judge, a diminutive man with white hair, said, “Go ahead.”

The woman glanced at Masada. “The government calls Miss El-Tal to the stand.”

“Objection!” Chadwick scrambled to his feet. “We received no pleadings or evidence. We don’t even know what this is about!”

The government’s lawyer opened another book. “Your Honor, the Department of Homeland Security, which now encompasses my agency, is tasked with investigating all immigration irregularities.”

Chadwick said, “This is an attempt to harass my client.”

“This is a limited inquiry,” McPherson said. “We only wish to clarify certain facts.”

“This court is not Lake Powell,” Judge Rashinski said. “I won’t allow a fishing expedition. Get to the point, or I’ll end this hearing with a decision sua sponta .”

Masada was led to the witness stand and took an oath.

The government lawyer approached the stand. She held no papers and looked straight at Masada. “Miss El-Tal, what is your nationality?”

“I am a U.S. citizen. Don’t you know that?”

“I’ll ask the questions.” The woman’s accent emerged with a harshly pronounced L . “How did you become a citizen?”

“I applied for it in the eighties after a couple of years as a permanent resident.”

“Thank you.” The lawyer smiled, but not kindly. Her front teeth, while white and lined-up perfectly, were slightly smudged with red lipstick. She handed papers to the court reporter and to Chadwick. “Copies of the government’s Exhibit Number One.”

The court reporter marked the document, showed it to the judge and handed it to Masada.

“Do you recognize this?”

“My application for citizenship.”

“On page three, the form asked for past residences where you had lived for more than three months. What was your answer?

Masada looked at her old handwriting. “The first was Kibbutz Ben-Yair, where I grew up. The second was the Ramat David Base, where I was stationed as operations specialist during my mandatory service. The third was an apartment I rented near Arizona State University.”

“And the list is inclusive of all residences, correct?”

“Yes.”

“Now let’s move to the last question on page five.”

Masada looked at Chadwick, expecting him to object, but he avoided her eyes.

“You answered No to whether you’ve been convicted of any crime, correct?”

“Correct.”

“And the attestation of truthfulness on the last page is signed by you, correct?”

“Yes.”

The government lawyer followed with another bundle of papers.

“Do you recognize this document?”

“My application for permanent resident status. It’s my handwriting. I signed it. And,” Masada flipped through the pages, “I gave the same answers to the same questions.”

Professor Levy Silver entered the courtroom. He waved at Masada. The government’s lawyer half turned. Her bulging breasts perked up and ebbed with quick breaths. She turned back and handed the court reporter a single page, which made its way to the witness stand.

“Do you recognize this document?”

“Yes.”

“Did you serve the prescribed sentence?”

“Only eight months.”

“In jail?”

“A military camp for women. It had steel doors, barbed wire fences, and guard towers. I was released when the conviction was cancelled.”

“Do you have a copy of the alleged cancellation?”

“I didn’t get a copy. It was all top secret military stuff. They released me, some foundation gave me a scholarship to ASU, and I never looked back.”

The lawyer turned to the judge. She tugged down on her tight, black dress. “No further questions for this witness.” She glanced at Masada victoriously and paced back to her table, her short legs perched on high heels that did little to stretch the stocky figure nature had given her. Masada wondered if female envy was the source of her malice.

The judge looked at Chadwick. “Would you like to question the witness?”

He stood up. “We had no opportunity to review documents, so I’ll have to defer until the next hearing.”