The Masada Complex

the video. Under a floor tile? In the toilet tank? In the freezer? The FBI wouldn’t miss those. The car. Must be in the car.

On the screen, a Reuters report quoted an anonymous source in the Israeli Defense Ministry: A prominent American-Israeli writer was once convicted and jailed for manslaughter.

Professor Silver read it again, shocked. He realized he knew nothing of Masada’s past. Then a thought came to him: Wasn’t Israel a leader in medical innovation?

He Googled key words: macular degeneration experimental treatment success

After browsing several pages of unhelpful results, he saw one that seemed promising and clicked on the link.

It was a Jerusalem Post news piece titled: Hadassah Surgeon Claims 68 % Success Rate with Experimental Stem-Cell Treatment for Macular Degeneration. At the bottom was a contact e-mail, which Silver used to send a short note describing his condition and requesting to be considered for treatment.

Running down the hill, Masada tried to calculate how long it would take for the tow truck to deliver the Corvette to the shop and for the tire repairs to be completed. She had to stop Rabbi Josh! Colonel Ness’s parting shot made it clear that he knew more than he was letting on. She had to get to a phone!

Masada took the shortcut through the crevice and down to the fork in the trail, where she followed Echo Canyon toward her house. What a cruel irony it would be if, instead of getting her, they would kill such a fierce supporter of Israel as Rabbi Josh.

Professor Silver parked the Cadillac behind the news van. Masada’s garage was open, the chrome bumper on her Corvette glistening in the sun. Entering the garage, he could hear voices through the connecting door to the house. He popped open the trunk and felt around the fading blue lining for the memory stick. He peeked in the spare-tire compartment and the tool box.

Giving up on the trunk, Silver opened the driver’s door, which was lined with blue vinyl. The hot air inside smelled of lemon and grease. To enter the Corvette, he had to bow down as in praying. He wondered, Why would anybody pass on a Cadillac to drive this tiny can of sardines?

Under the driver’s seat he found a box of tissues. The glove compartment, decorated with checkered-flag insignias, held the car manual in a blue plastic cover. He slipped his hand under the passenger seat, wincing as the gear shift bore into his ribs. Nothing.

Voices sounded from the house. He ignored the risk, determined to find the memory stick-the only physical evidence linking him to the affair. He turned around, his knees on the seat, his head against the soft top, and reached all the way down behind the backrest.

The door to the house opened, and the rabbi’s son asked, “Who’s there?”

Silver gritted his teeth and yelled jovially, “Hello!”

“Hi, Professor!” The boy stepped closer. “Are you stuck?”

Faking laughter, Silver tried to back out of the car. “Isn’t this a gorgeous machine?”

“Levy?” The rabbi appeared. “Are you all right?”

“This car is a work of art.” Silver finally made it out of the Corvette. “Oh, and you had the tires fixed already!”

“It was a quick thing,” the rabbi said. His son got behind the wheel and pretended to drive.

“It’s like a Ferrari I once drove in Rome,” Silver boasted. “Breathtaking.”

The rabbi gave him an odd look. “A Ferrari?”

Silver decided it was time to quote from the Torah. “Of the blue, purple and crimson yarns they molded vestments for officiating in the Sanctuary, and Aaron’s sacral vestments-”

“-as the Lord had given Moses the designs.” Rabbi Josh laughed.

The professor patted the soft top. “I didn’t know they made power tops in the fifties.”

“Fifties? This is an eighty-six model.”

“So much for my knowledge of cars.” Silver looked at the rabbi’s shorts and T-shirt, exposing his muscular arms and legs. “If you dressed like this for services, we’d have a crowd of young ladies sign up for temple membership.”

“You’re here!” Masada stood at the open garage door, outlined by the glaring sunlight. She bent over, panting. Below her shorts, an old-fashioned brace was strapped to her right leg from the shin to the middle of her thigh. Her skin was the color of mocha, making her teeth even whiter as she smiled at Rabbi Josh. “Am I glad to see you!”

“We were admiring your car.” Silver closed the passenger door. “Beautiful!”

“The quintessential American car.” Masada lowered her head to peck his cheek. “I’m sorry about last night. I don’t know what came over me, running off like that.”

“You suffered a shock, meidaleh.” He squeezed her arm. “My fault completely. I should sign up for pilot training.”

Rabbi Josh said, “Have you had your eyes checked?”

“What do you think?” Professor Silver touched his thick glasses. “The doctor was very impressed with my vision, especially considering my age. It was probably a speck of dust.” He watched their faces-they seemed to accept his lies without a question.

A car horn sounded in front of the house. The boy ran outside and yelled, “Taxi is here!”

“Got to go,” the rabbi said, touching Masada’s arm, “fetch my car from the tire place. Don’t forget you’re leading the Torah discussion on Friday night.”

“Look!” Masada pointed to the hood. “They keyed my car!”

“Oy vey!” Silver put a hand on her shoulder. “Such desecration!”

Rabbi Josh leaned closer. “What’s this supposed to be?”

Masada followed the pattern with her finger. “A hand holding a stick?”

“A tree branch,” the rabbi said. “Or a weapon.”

Silver was offended. He thought it was quite clear. “It looks like a letter.”

“A fist holding the letter J!” Masada traced it.

The rabbi stepped back. “Judah’s Fist.”

“Bastards!” Masada hit the hood with an open hand.

In a mild voice intoned to dispensing wisdom, Professor Silver said, “Listen to an old Jew. You hurt the criminals by exposing the bribe. Whoever they are, here they got a little revenge. Time to call it even.”

The taxi honked again.

“I disagree.” Rabbi Josh stepped out into the sun, his honey-colored hair sparkling. “You must investigate further, seek the truth.”

“But you know the truth already!” Professor Silver struggled to hide his anger. “Why put yourself at risk? Remember what Hillel said? If I am not for myself, who is for me?”

As the rabbi’s taxi drove off, the blonde reporter got out of the news van and approached the open garage door with a cameraman. “Masada, can you comment on the senator’s suicide?”

“You want it on camera?”

“Of course.”

“Then give me fifteen minutes to change.”

Inside, Silver feigned shock at the empty shelves. “Dear God!”

“FBI’s looking for the video clip.”

He followed her into a large walk-in closet. “I’ll give them a clip on the nose.”

Masada laughed at his bravado. She collected clean underwear, a bra, and a dark blue pantsuit on a hanger. “They won’t find it.”

“You sure? I’m taking Valium like there’s no tomorrow. We must get rid of it.”

“Not yet. I may be able to find more clues on it.”