Avraham Azrieli - The Masada Complex

Masada was in shock. Levy Silver was Abu Faddah? Was this another nightmare? The pain in her lower abdomen was real, and so was the black hole at the tip of his silencer. She was overwhelmed with rage, and it took all her self-control not to lunge at him. Tara had been right, and Masada was determined to reward her with his full confession on video. She stood straight, slightly turned so the tiny lens pointed at his face. “Traitor to your own people,” she said. “You repulse me.”

“Masada!” Rabbi Josh appeared at the heap of blackened rocks. He climbed over, lost his footing, and landed on his behind. “Stay away from him! He’s not-”

“You!” She picked up a pebble and threw it at the rabbi. “Came to witness the climax?”

Rabbi Josh’s breath came in short, wheezing sounds. Blood trickled from his bandaged hands. He held a bulky lantern, no longer needed in the rising sun. His shoes were unlaced, and bandages showed over his ankles.

“You’re quite a sight,” she said. “What’s Ness doing with you now? Biblical reenactments?”

Professor Silver raised the gun, aiming at her. “Stay where you are!”

“Don’t shoot!” Rabbi Josh cleared the hair that hung over his face, which was crusted with blood and dust. “The game is over, Levy!”

Silver turned the barrel toward him. “The game is only starting, Joshua.”

“If you shoot him,” Masada said, “your mutual boss will be upset.”

“My only boss is there.” Rabbi Josh pointed at the sky through the open roof. “And this man is an Arab.”

Masada laughed bitterly. “Ness didn’t tell you?” She saw blood collecting into a small puddle on the dirt floor under his hand. “An American rabbi and a Palestinian terrorist working together for a legless Israeli colonel. It’s like a tagline for a horror movie.” She moved a bit to the right, hoping the tiny lens could capture both of them. “Levy Silver. Or should I call you Abu Faddah? Or just turncoat .”

Professor Silver beckoned with the gun. “Move closer together, both of you.”

Rabbi Josh was startled by Silver’s missing eye. But the empty socket wasn’t bleeding and seemed to cause him no pain. His right eye glistened malevolently, so odd without his usual black-rimmed glasses. It was clear he was preparing to kill Masada, and the rabbi was determined to save her. He got ready to jump. The professor would shoot, but with enough momentum there was a good chance of toppling him, giving her a chance to run for it.

“Turncoat,” Masada mocked Silver. “Double-crosser. Quisling.”

“Shut up!” Silver moved the gun barrel back and forth between them.

Rabbi Josh bent his knees slightly, placing the right foot forward. Five, six steps, and he would be upon Silver. Even with a bullet wound he would be able to hold the elderly professor long enough for her to get away. He waited for the gun to turn to him, so that Silver would not press the trigger while the gun was pointing at her.

But Silver was too angry now, the long silencer shaking, his finger sliding into the trigger ring. “You dimwit Jews. You call me a traitor? Me? The Zionists took away my home, my family, my son. I’d rather die than work for them!”

Rabbi Josh hesitated. He had one chance. He must be certain his attack would save Masada. He inched closer, but she gave him a cautionary glance and said, “Abu Faddah, an Israeli agent.”

“Shut up!” Silver kept the gun on her. “Tell me where is the woman soldier!”

“Okay,” Masada said, oddly calm, “but only after you tell me the truth about the Mahoney bribe.”

Silver tossed his bag to Rabbi Josh. “Open it!”

The rabbi had advanced another step.

“Sit on the ground and open it!”

Rabbi Josh crouched, put down the lantern, and took the heavy package out of the briefcase. He removed three rubber bands that held the documents together. The top cover was blank. The second sheet had only a title in typed letters: Phase Three.

“I studied your history,” Silver said, “to understand how the Germans failed to rid humanity of the Jewish pests. I developed a plan, and you,” he pointed at Masada with the gun barrel, “helped me with the first phase. You wrote so convincingly, with such passion, that no one doubted Israel was behind the bribe.” He laughed. “But the money came from Ramallah!”

“God!” Rabbi Josh almost dropped Silver’s papers. “This is satanic!”

“Wait a minute,” Masada said. “This whole bribe operation was a Palestinian plot?”

“Exactly.” Silver grinned. “The plan, the execution, the funding-all directed by our leadership in Ramallah. You think of us as a bunch of stupid Arabs, capable only of shooting unarmed civilians or detonating explosive belts?” He glanced at his watch. “Within a few minutes, in Washington, the first phase of our operation will be accomplished, ending American support for Israel.”

“You’re lying,” Rabbi Josh said.

“The truth hurts,” Silver said. “But the future will hurt even more.”

“You know the future?” Masada leaned against the wall.

“The future will happen almost by itself. In Phase Two, without America, Israel will stand alone. The Europeans have always hated the Jews, and now they hate Israel. Asia is mostly Muslim. No government will alienate its population for the sake of Israel. The world will treat Israelis like it treated the Afrikaners-the apartheidization of Israel. International sanctions that will choke Israel until it grants Palestinian refugees the right of return and gives them the vote. And so, my dear former friends, from the Mediterranean to the Jordan River, from the Golan Heights to the Sinai Desert,” he smiled, the empty socket of his left eye squinting, “the dawn of a new Israel, ruled by an Arab majority.”

Rabbi Josh flipped the pages. A draft of a future press release was titled: The Burning of the Knesset: Government Declares Emergency Measures. He whispered, “Just like the burning of the Reichstag!”

“The Jews,” Silver declared, “will be very angry after the Arab majority elects a new government. It’s only reasonable to expect them to engage in rebellious sabotage. The world will understand the necessity of tough security measures to fight Jewish terrorism.”

“Heaven’s mercy!” Rabbi Josh turned to Masada. “Do you understand?”

“Like Flavius Silva,” Masada commented, as if this was merely an intellectual discussion. “Tell us the rest, Abu Faddah, and I’ll tell you where to find the woman who catapulted your son.”

The gun shook in Silver’s hand. “Flavius Silva smashed the Jews, but he didn’t finish the job. The Germans wasted resources on fighting Russia and America instead of concentrating on the extermination of the Jews. But we will finish the job. My designs cover information systems, government regulations, architectural blueprints, personnel charts, transportation, and processing-”

“What’s COCA?” Rabbi Josh looked at a map of northern Israel.

“An acronym,” Masada suggested, “for concentration camp?”

“We won’t use that term publicly,” Silver said. “ Retraining Academies would be better. The Jews will be pacified by the educational flair.”

The rabbi turned the page, finding a map of the Dead Sea area.

“Final stage will be here.” Silver pointed through the open end of the room at the still body of water. “From the lowest land in the whole world a new future shall rise.”

“What’s ProPla?” Rabbi Josh asked.

“Processing plant for the bodies,” Masada said. “He’ll use salt.”

“Acid.” Silver smiled. “Less offensive than smoke stacks, wouldn’t you agree?”