Avraham Azrieli - The Masada Complex

“I’m grieving too!”

The rabbi watched the professor follow Masada up the stairs and into the Ramban Hostel. Resting against a parked car, he sighed. Could he tell good from evil? Whoever bribed Mahoney was evil. But was Masada evil? His gut told him she was good. She was also angry. And sad. But her intentions were noble, he was certain. And Al? He had not been evil either. Mentally ill, yes, and delusional, easy to manipulate, but merely as a pawn, not a general. That left Professor Levy Silver. But could such a wise Jewish man, so learned and warm, be wrapped around a core of evil?

Across the street, a mother walked with a boy about Raul’s age, with reddish hair and springy feet. Rabbi Josh searched the boy’s face for Raul’s features, as he had been doing every time a child reminded him of his son.

Stop it! Raul is gone! Free of this world. He’s sitting with God.

The rabbi suddenly remembered Silver’s dramatic declaration after Raul’s death, that the disaster had moved him to make aliyah . He had not mentioned the scheduled procedure to save his vision. Another small lie. But was it an indication of a propensity for bigger and worse lies? Could Levy be the one who had sent Al to bribe Mahoney, to stalk Masada, to shoot a gun in the temple? Had Levy told Al to rape her?

No! It’s too monstrous! Impossible!

Rabbi Josh pressed his temples until his head hurt. Levy Silver had no reason to do these things. He was a retired academic with an affinity for unnecessary secrets and silly inconsistencies, but he wasn’t evil. Could he be a true believer in Armageddon? Fanaticism could hide behind the most civilized facade.

Rabbi Josh stepped toward the hostel, his shoes rubbing the raw blisters. He recalled something that had made no sense at the time. What had Colonel Ness said at the Wailing Wall? You just don’t want to see it. It’s too inconvenient.

Masada led Professor Silver into the hostel. “Okay, Levy! I have some tough questions for you!”

“Really?” He approached the front desk, and the clerk handed him some papers. He browsed the papers and handed them to Masada. “Take a look.”

The first page was a letter from a Phoenix law firm confirming that Monte Loeb, Esq., would represent Miss El-Tal subject to receipt of the professor’s $10,000 retainer check, as well as his signature on the enclosed agreement to place a lien on his house to guarantee payment of all her legal fees and expenses.

“So?” Silver beamed. “What do you think now of your old friend?”

Masada looked again at the letter and the guarantee. “Thank you, but I can’t let you do this. You could be on the hook for a lot of money. You could lose your home!”

“It’s just walls and a roof. And this lawyer is worth every penny.” Silver chortled. “I spoke to seven lawyers in Phoenix early this morning. They all said the same thing: Get Monte Loeb. He’s the best immigration lawyer in Arizona.”

Masada looked at the letter again. “Ten thousand in advance?”

“Loeb read about you in the newspapers. He’ll play hardball.” Silver looked at his watch. “We’re having a telephone conference with him tomorrow, after we return from Mount Masada. Now, what’s your tough question?”

She shrugged. How stupid she’d been to suspect him. “Did you search my Corvette for the memory stick?”

“Yes. I had to look for it because I had a terrible feeling.” He pounded his chest with a fist. “Dreadful, just like before my son was killed. A premonition. Something terrible was going to happen to me, but instead-”

“It happened to Raul.”

He nodded.

“The memory stick is in a safe place.” She bent her leg, the brace pressing her knee.

“I should have told you.” He sighed. “Please forgive me.”

She hugged him. “I’m going to pay you back the legal fees as soon as I can.”

“Nonsense.” Levy planted a kiss on her cheek. “I’m arranging a taxi to take us to the memorial service. You’ll see familiar faces, experience nostalgia.”

“I doubt it.”

“A memorial service for your brother is an opportunity to reflect, to reconnect with people. Do it for me.” Silver touched her cheek. “Confront the past, meidaleh. How else will you heal?”

“What did he say? How long?” Elizabeth watched her aunt shut the door.

“There was no answer.” Aunt Hamida pushed Bob’s card into Elizabeth’s hand. “You must change! Where’s the robe?”

“But I called him at this number yesterday! Did you put in the area code?”

Aunt Hamida found the robe on the floor. “The number is no longer in service.”

Elizabeth pushed away the robe. “Then call the main number for the American Consulate in Jerusalem.”

“You must-”

“Ask for Bob Emises and tell him Elizabeth McPherson, the chief counsel from Arizona, will be waiting for him at the checkpoint. And tell him to bring food because-”

“Elzirah!” Aunt Hamida held Elizabeth’s chin as if she were a young girl. “I called the American consulate. They never heard of this man!”

“It’s a mistake. He is in charge of VIP visitors. He picked me up from the airport!”

“You must escape. Cover yourself and come with me.” She bunched up the robe to slide it over Elizabeth’s head. “Quick!”

Elizabeth stepped back. “I’m not running away from him again.”

“But-”

“I’m a successful professional, not a frightened teenager. I deserve Father’s respect.”

“Allah’s mercy!” Aunt Hamida’s hands fell, and the robe dropped to the floor. “Stubborn, like my brother. I beg you, child, please!”

Men’s voices sounded from down the hallway.

“Thank you.” Elizabeth kissed her aunt. “Now go and call the U.S. consulate again.”

The handgun was a modern version of the old Beretta he had carried in Amman in the seventies. Professor Silver checked the magazine, which was full, and reset the safety. The silencer could be useful on Mount Masada in case things got out of hand.

He placed the gun under the pillow and lay down on the bed, closing his eyes. The possibility that he would have to actually shoot Masada was remote. Her tragic end must pass for a suicide. He would surprise her with a shove, sending her plummeting to her sad, untimely death at the foot of the mountain.

He thought about her question. Did you search my Corvette? The TV reporter must have told her. The fax from the lawyer had arrived with perfect timing. Masada’s transparency of emotions was endearing, the absence of a calculated facade was almost juvenile. The truth was, Masada was a tortured soul. Death would be a relief for her, a favor.

Too irritable to sleep, he removed his glasses and tested the blotch on the palm of his hand. It seemed smaller. Excited, he picked up the plastic bottle with Dr. Asaf’s experimental drops and held it over his eye. His hand shook, and the bottle let out more than he intended, some trickling to his lips.

“ Schlemiel! ”

He hurried to the bathroom, expecting a foul medicinal taste to spread inside his mouth. He opened the cold-water tap, filling his joined hands, leaning forward to slurp a mouthful.

He paused.

There was no unpleasant taste in his mouth, only mild saltiness.

Holding the bottle upside down, he plugged it with his thumb, which he then sucked. The liquid tasted like tears, a bit salty, melting away in his palate. He held the plastic bottle up against the vanity lights. The liquid was clear.