Masada’s head pounded with a dull ache, and a burning sensation followed every bathroom visit. She had declined taking painkillers from the hospital, and now she regretted it. The lukewarm shower calmed her.
Professor Silver was waiting outside the house. She had asked him to give her a ride, not feeling well enough to drive the Corvette.
He kissed her. “Praise the Lord for healing the sick.”
She gave him the address. “You’re not going to fly into another ravine, are you?”
He laughed. “You didn’t like it the first time?”
“I found out who paid the senator.”
“You mean Sheen’s real name?”
“Still working on that, but the actual bagman was Al Zonshine.”
He hit the brakes, rocking the car. “That’s crazy!”
“The video clip shows the hand of a man in a green polyester suit.”
He started driving again. “Is he the only American who owns one?”
“We figured out what Mahoney was saying on the video.”
“How did you do that?” Silver glanced at her, his foot pressing the gas too hard.
“Lip reading. And Al was working with someone at Temple Zion. I made a list of suspects, including you.”
“Me? I hardly knew Zonshine!”
“I’m sure it’s not you, but I have to consider everyone systematically.” She pointed. “Red light.”
The car came to an abrupt stop.
She took a deep breath. “I think it’s the rabbi.”
“Rabbi Josh?” Silver exhaled, shaking his head. Cars honked behind them. He hit the gas, and the car lurched forward.
“The trick,” Masada said, “is to see beyond his good looks and charitable manner. He’s a fanatic Zionist.”
“True, but there are many others.”
“I look for inconsistencies. For example, he can get any woman he wants, so why did he pursue a bitter, aging troublemaker like me? Unless he was ordered to find out what I’m up to!”
Silver laughed. “Don’t you realize how alluring you are?”
“You’re biased. Look around at this town. It’s full of model-quality babes out of Vogue, but this Brad Pit look-alike rabbi kept showing up at my doorstep, offering support, feigning romantic interest, asking repeatedly about my investigation of Judah’s Fist. Why?”
Professor Silver rubbed his goatee with one hand, steering with the other. “He is extreme about Israel, that’s true. But if Al was working with Rabbi Josh, how come the rabbi didn’t know about the poisoned brownies?”
“Maybe it was Al alone, trying to harass me. Or maybe they receive their orders separately.”
“From Sheen, the Canadian?”
“He must be an intermediary for the Israelis. Watch it!”
Silver corrected sharply, the wheels jumping the edge of the median. The Cadillac swayed from side to side like a boat.
She pressed her temples to ease the headache. “Do you want me to drive?”
“I’m fine.” He looked sideways at the road ahead. “Got some dust in my eyes. Nothing to worry about.”
“There’s a lot to worry about if our dashing rabbi is an Israeli agent.”
“Life’s full of surprises.” Silver took advantage of a stop sign and put a few drops in his eyes.
“Every Jewish state in history ended up with Jews killing each other while their enemies rammed the gates. With the Senate preparing to vote on the Fair Aid Act, the Israelis must be desperate.”
“Joshua Frank! Judah’s Fist! Same initials: JF”
“That’s right. And I had such a crush on him!”
Silver chortled. “Love is blind, but the heart isn’t. Your heart saw through the facade of a provincial rabbi in Arizona and fell for a handsome Israeli agent.”
“You should be on Dr. Phil.” Masada laughed. “What would I do without you, Levy?”
“Pay for a taxi?” He stopped at the curb. “I’ll wait for you here.”
Jab Magazine emerged weekly from a downtown Phoenix building that looked like a finger jabbing a human ear. Masada entered the lobby, which was tiled with past covers of the magazine. She took the elevator up to Drexel’s third-floor office. A slab of concrete served as his desk. The red-tinted window behind him was the fingernail on the ear-jabbing finger.
“Hello, sweetheart!” He checked himself in a framed mirror that stood on his desk in lieu of a family photo and smoothed his hair back. “What a nice surprise!”
“Do you have a check for me?”
“Manslaughter in Israel? Deadly trap in your house? This whole thing is embarrassing!”
“I thought Jab likes sensational stories.”
He pulled a nail file from his drawer. “We’d rather report the news than make the news. Are you any closer to Judah’s Fist?”
“I’m closer to bankruptcy. I need an advance. The house is all I have, and I can’t sell it or mortgage it because of the damages and the liens.”
“What a mess you made.”
“I wrote the truth, which you were happy to publish and sell a million new subscriptions.”
“Not a million.” He looked at his computer screen. “We’re up seven-”
“Whatever. You’re my publisher. I need help.”
“It’s out of our hands.” Drexel slid a bunch of stapled papers across the desk. “Your legal troubles are spilling over into our lap.”
It was a lien, issued by the court, ordering Jab Magazine and all its affiliated entities to deposit all money coming to Masada El-Tal into a trust account set up by the court to await resolution of the litigation in the case known as The Estate of Alfred Zonshine v. Masada El-Tal.
Rabbi Josh washed his face and put on a clean shirt. Professor Silver picked him up outside the house. As they were driving, Silver spoke of meeting Masada earlier and of how pale and sickly she had seemed.
At Target, they found the luggage display in the back of the store.
“This one looks sturdy.” Silver removed a black suitcase from the rack, pulled out the handle, and walked up and down the aisle, the suitcase trailing behind. “You want to try it?”
“It’s fine.” Rabbi Josh didn’t care. He would use it only once for the trip to Israel, where he would stay until the end of his days. He grabbed an identical suitcase. “I faxed the letter to the Israeli consulate. They called back to confirm.”
“Do you think they’ll approve me?”
Rabbi Josh loaded the suitcases into a cart. “If you don’t qualify as a Jew, who does?”
As they were waiting in line to pay, the rabbi said, “I keep thinking how random it was, how so many things could have happened differently, little coincidences that followed each other until that bullet found Raul.”
“It’s written,” Silver said. “By God’s word the skies were formed, by His breath the earth was created.”
The rabbi nodded. It took a good friend to remind him. “I must accept His judgment, as incomprehensible as it is.”
“I know your pain from when my own son died. But, may the Lord forgive me, I have to cause you even more pain.” He blinked behind the thick glasses and bit his lips, his gray goatee trembling. “I think Masada is involved.”
“Involved?”
“I think she’s part of that Judah group.”
Rabbi Josh’s chest constricted, as if a hand had reached inside and put a vise on his heart. “What are you talking about?”
“She controlled Al. She gave him the money to deliver to the senator. Then he faked attacks on her because she told him to.”
“What?”
“I heard them.”
“It can’t be!” Rabbi Josh lifted the suitcases and landed them on the cashier’s counter. “The bribe was paid by Judah’s Fist!”
“But Rabbi, that’s what I’m telling you! Masada is Judah’s Fist!”
Masada used a computer in Drexel’s office to check her e-mails as the FBI had not returned her laptop or Blackberry. She had hundreds of e-mails from readers, mostly hateful. There was a recent one from the rabbi. Dear members of Temple Zion,
In a perfect world, I would wait until you found a new spiritual leader to step into my humble shoes. But obviously this isn’t a perfect world, and I’m leaving you to bury my son in Israel, where I shall remain. My only request is that you fight against the Fair Aid Act. Write, call, and send e-mails to your congressmen, the newspapers, and Internet blogs to protest against this attack on our Jewish state. Next year in Jerusalem.
Rabbi Joshua Frank.
Whatever doubts Masada had, his e-mail was as good as a confession. The bribe had been exposed, the senator had committed suicide, and Raul had died in her stead. Colonel Ness was pulling his failed agent back to the nest.
Following the rabbi into his house, Professor Silver was determined to bring the conversation back to Masada’s purported involvement with Al. Having failed to kill Masada, his next best option was to isolate her. Rabbi Josh’s infatuation with her had to be snuffed out to ensure that he wouldn’t try to interfere when Elizabeth threw the legal net over her.
“Here is a copy of the letter I sent on your behalf.” Rabbi Josh picked up a sheet from the kitchen counter and gave it to Silver.
“Thank you.” Silver folded the letter. “I’m sorry for upsetting you with my discovery of Masada’s involvement.”
The rabbi drank a glass of water, placed it on the counter and stared at it, as if he forgot Silver was there.
He sighed, “I wish I didn’t go to her house. Better I didn’t know.”
The rabbi looked up.
“I was worried sick about her that night.” Silver kept eye contact with the rabbi to bolster his credibility. “I had a premonition that Al was so meshugge that he would go to her house to try again. Masada is like a daughter to me.” He nodded sadly. “I’m a foolish old Yid.”
“Go on.”
“They were doing it. Like animals. Yelling and laughing.”
“Who?”
“She and Al.”
Rabbi Josh’s face paled.
“I just stood there, afraid to move, until they finished. Then Masada said to Al: Wait, big guy-”
“Big guy?”
“That’s what she said. Wait, big guy, come back and give me a kiss.”
The rabbi leaned on the counter.
“I was shocked and made a noise, like this.” Silver groaned. “And Al heard me. What could I do? He rushed to the door, and that bucket fell on his head. He must have forgotten it was there, or maybe she had planned to get rid of him by then. I don’t know.”
“Why didn’t you tell the police?”
Silver looked at him incredulously. “I didn’t believe it myself! Why would the police believe me?”
“True. It makes no sense. You must have misheard them.”
He shook his head sadly. “I understand it now. She seduced Al from the beginning, got him under her spell, used him to bribe Mahoney, and then she exposed it.”
“Why would she do that?”
“Because she hates Israel. First, her parents and little brother died-what happened to them, I don’t know, but she blames Israel. Then the Israelis put her in jail for something she didn’t do. The bribe was her revenge!”
“Where did she get the money?”
“Ah!” Silver had an answer prepared. “Is Israel short on enemies?”
“True.” Rabbi Josh redid the rubber band on his ponytail. “If that’s the case, why did Al try to hurt her-the snake, the poisoned brownies, the explosion?”
“Was she ever really hurt?” He chuckled. “It’s textbook diversion. Who would ever suspect the victim?”
The rabbi rubbed his cheeks with both hands. “And the temple shooting?”
Silver hesitated. Putting a spin on the event that killed the rabbi’s son required a delicate touch. “I believe Al was supposed to shoot over Masada’s head and run off, disappear into the desert, while the public, having witnessed the assassination attempt, would be even angrier with the Israelis. Think of the headlines: Writer Escapes Zionist Assassin’s Bullet! Think how her books would fly off the shelves.” He paused, sighing again. “Tragically, Hilda jumped on him and the headlines said: Writer’s Spurned Lover Misses, Shoots Boy Instead.”
The rabbi looked away. “That’s a tall house of cards built on something you thought you heard in the middle of the night.”
Silver adjusted his glasses. “I heard her clearly. Wait, big guy-”
“I heard it the first time.” Rabbi Josh led him to the door. “You should confront her. There must be another explanation.”
Elizabeth McPherson looked at the insignia of the Israeli army on the document. It sent a shiver down her spine, even now, decades after the Israelis no longer controlled her fate. The bottom of the page provided an English summary of Masada El-Tal’s conviction and sentencing for manslaughter.
Elizabeth stepped outside her office and told her secretary, “Get me a copy of the decision in the Schellong case. It’s a Seventh Circuit appeal by a Nazi guard in eighty-five or eighty-six.”
Back in her office, she reviewed the writer’s immigration file, which had come up from the basement archive earlier. It was all here: An applications for student visa in 1983, for permanent resident in 1985 and for naturalization in 1988. She checked the responses to the standard questions on the forms and sat back, satisfied. The professor would be pleased.
Professor Silver’s hands shook as he carried a bundle of mail into the house and dumped it on the dining room table. For the first time since his childhood, he was observing the fast of Ramadan, and the supermarket coupons whetted his appetite with photos of meats and desserts. He glanced at his watch. Another hour to sunset.
There was a letter from Hadassah, sent by Express Mail, asking him to bring all medical records to the pre-op checkup at the Michener Eye Center on Friday. He looked through the dining room at the framed photo on the living room wall. The blotch covered part of the Dome of the Rock, but when he shifted his head slightly, the blotch descended to hide what the Jews called The Wailing Wall at the bottom of the photo. “That’s better,” he said.
The phone rang. He went to the kitchen to pick it up.
“Let’s assume you’re right.” Masada’s voice was edgy. “But if Rabbi Josh is Ness’s agent, why did Sheen stay with you and not the rabbi?”
Silver tried to think of a reason. “What does an old Yid like me know about these things? Maybe they were ordered to stay away from each other?” He held his breath, waiting.
“It’s called compartmentalization.”
“No matter what you think of him,” Silver said, changing the focus of discussion, “the rabbi lost the most precious thing in his life. I know how it feels to lose your only son. It’s worse than dying.”
After a brief silence, she asked, “What happened to your son?”
“An accident.” He choked, thinking of Faddah. “A terrible, needless accident. I can’t talk about it.”
“I understand. I can’t talk about my family either. I’m too angry, even after so many years.” She cleared her throat. “Maybe one day we’ll compare notes.”
“I’d like that,” Silver lied. “You know how I feel about you.”
“The daughter you never had?” Masada laughed, but there was a quiver in her voice.
“You read me like an open book.”