The Masada Complex

Elizabeth got in early and tried to work on court briefs, but her mind kept wandering to the new life growing inside her, a child, a wonderful fusion of David and her. It was a far cry from the four pregnancies that afflicted her youth, the products of a loveless imposition. She cringed, recalling the dread of each evening when her husband returned from his butcher shop with mocking laughter and grabbing hands, his heavy bulk smothering her against the hard floor, his bloody apron in her face, pain searing between her legs.

She brushed off the memories. David was the opposite, gentle from the start, taking his time, courting her so subtly that it had not occurred to her that this young lawyer, new to the department, harbored more than a yearning to learn the craft from a senior lawyer. With tentative gestures and sincere interest in her feelings, he had wooed her out of an emotional shell and gave her physical and emotional joy that ended her loneliness and snuffed out her distrust of men. And now, she was no longer barren!

She called David.

His secretary answered. “He’s gone to up to see the director before the senior staff meeting.”

“Of course.” Elizabeth hung up. Director Simpson was probably telling David he was the new chief counsel due to her promotion to deputy director. She smiled into the small mirror, freshening up her lipstick.

Her line rang.

“Good morning.” The professor’s voice was soothing. “How are you, Elzirah?

She swallowed her anger. There was no point in provoking him. “Unfortunately, I’m about to be assigned to a position outside the legal department and will no longer have the ability to assist you. I’m sorry.”

“I’m also sorry. Is this reassignment due to your Wednesday night trysts?”

She bit her lips. “If you really must know, I’ve been promoted.”

“Wonderful! Greater bureaucratic powers mean greater ability to assist me.”

Elizabeth realized he had tricked her. “It would only hurt your cause if I interfered. In any event, you must apply through the regular channels.”

“You really don’t want me to go through the regular channels.”

“I can’t help you. Please believe me.”

“You have misconstrued my good manners as weakness. I’ll fix that. Good day and Goodyear.”

Elizabeth put down the phone, her hand shaking. She stood and inhaled as deeply as she could, smoothed her dress, fluffed her hair, and marched to the door. She would not be intimidated by the oddball professor on this happy day, even if he had somehow befriended Father.

The senior staff was all there, sitting at the conference table. Director Simpson stood by the window with David, laughing at a private joke. He waved at her and led David to a vacant chair near the head of the table. “Now that we’re all here,” he said, “it is my pleasure to announce my choice for the new position of deputy director for interagency coordination. We’ll have someone right here in the building to blame for any problems with the Border Patrol.”

Everybody laughed.

“That’s right,” the director announced, “we’ve got to keep Washington happy, keep our sister agencies at bay, and keep all these aliens in Mexico. In that, I owe special gratitude to Elizabeth McPherson who, as you know, has served the agency longer than any of us, rising to chief legal counsel three years ago.”

Her face warm, Elizabeth smiled.

“What I admire most about Elizabeth,” the director continued, “is her ability to train young lawyers, not only in law, but also as practical, creative administrators, just like her. This kind of approach is commendable. It is therefore credit to Elizabeth that we are able to fill this new position internally, without having to accept an outside appointee from Washington or from another agency.”

Elizabeth said, “Thank you, Mr. Simpson. Your confidence in me is the greatest reward, and I will not disappoint you.” She clasped the armrests, ready to rise for a formal handshake.

“As a team,” Director Simpson said, “we’ll make this new position a success, and make the DHS agencies work better together.”

Elizabeth stood up, extending her hand, but the director turned the other way and announced, “Congratulations, Deputy Director David Goodyear!”

Professor Silver opened the basement door, letting out a cloud of smoke. “If you’re going to disobey my orders again,” he said to Al, “the National Council will hear about it.” He filled his voice with anger. “You play around with snakes and cookies, making me look like a fool. Then you take my knife without permission and attempt an unauthorized execution inside my home? And you call yourself a soldier?”

The stocky Jew shot to his feet, red in the face. “Better soldier than you!”

Struggling not to laugh, Silver thought, Who said Jews were smart?

“Way better!”

“Better at what? Dereliction of duty?”

Al clenched his fists, his head bowed like a raging bull. “Did not der-lee-cate my duty!”

“Then how did Masada El-Tal find out about Mahoney and the cash?” This was a spur-of-the-moment idea, to make Al so defensive he would not even think of suspecting Silver. “Did you betray us? Did you give Masada a video clip of the cash delivery to curry favor with her?”

“No!”

Silver pointed at the stairs leading up from the basement. “Were you going to kill her so she wouldn’t tell me that you were her source?”

The accusation, which Silver uttered while a grin was fighting its way to his lips, deflated Al’s belligerence. He sat down and pressed his fisted paws to his temples.

Silver stood over him, enjoying the irony of the situation. “You know what happens to traitors?”

Al groaned. “Got a temper, I do, but I’m no traitor. She rejected me before you even told me about the Mahoney operation. Called the cops on me!”

“So what?” Silver kept at him. “You were still crazy about her. You hoped to win her heart by betraying Judah’s Fist, right?”

“No!”

“You preferred your dick to your duty.” Pleased with the clever wordplay, Silver searched for further inspiration. “You’re a disgrace to the Jewish race!”

“Don’t say that,” Al begged. “On the souls of my comrades, just as I didn’t betray them in Nam, I’ll die before betraying Israel!”

“Then why are you disobeying my orders?”

“Pain, Levy, I’m in pain. Inside. It’s crazy.” Al pounded his head. “Was always a good soldier, am a good soldier. Being part of this, it’s great. Not sitting around anymore, playing bingo with folks whose teeth go in a glass every night. Not waiting to die. No more. Being a fighter again. Got to believe me! Won’t fail, not again!” He buried his face in his hands. “Won’t fail!”

Silver rubbed his goatee. The pathetic Jew was sick in the head. It was time to put him out of his misery. “Are you a real soldier?”

Al’s eyes lit with hope. “Tell me what to do! Just tell me!”

“Pull yourself together. We have a traitor to punish.”

Masada heard the news and drove to Temple Zion, finding a police car and a few members of the congregation in the parking lot. The rabbi joined them a moment later. He looked as if he’d cried. “A swastika,” he said. “Can you believe it?”

She took his arm, pulled him away from the group, and told him about the rattler and the yellow fist, spray- painted on the pillowcase.

He was horrified. “Someone’s trying to kill you!”

“Yeah, someone from Israel.”