The Masada Complex

Of what?

Mahoney? Ness? Rabbi Josh? Raul?

No!

He slurped her ear. “Show you. A real man.” His hand forced its way into her underpants.

She tried to push him off. “It won’t work.”

“Works already.” He folded her legs, her knees forming opposite triangles with her bound ankles, and tore off her underpants. “Oh, yes. It works.”

She felt him nibbled her left breast. His stubble burned her skin. She gasped when his hardness pressed against her.

“Told you it works.” He was panting now, his smell engulfed her.

“Don’t.” Her voice betrayed her. “It won’t go in.”

“Will go,” he boasted, rubbing against her, “all the way to your evil brain.”

She tried to close her legs, but his girth was keeping her apart, open, exposed.

He stabbed into her, and pain exploded. She cried, clenching her teeth. Tears flowed from her eyes.

His movements became frantic, fueling the fire that spread up through her abdomen to her chest and head. His breathing turned to panting. Acid rushed through her body, her skin rubbed by sandpaper. She retched, but nothing came up. He thrust his hips against her parted thighs again and again in rising intensity, his breath shrieking, whizzing, as if he was starved for air.

Suddenly he released a throaty grunt and pushed into her one last time, as deep as he could.

When his belabored breathing slowed, Al rolled off and lay on his back beside her. “See how a real man does it!” He coughed hard and spat a mouthful of phlegm.

Masada pulled the comforter up to cover her body. She began shaking.

Al stood, pulled up his pants, and buckled his belt. He picked up the gun and aimed it at her. “Shalom, traitor,” he said. “Enjoy the fires of hell.”

“Hey there!” A voice yelled from somewhere in the house.

Levy! Masada tried to think. She had to warn him! “Don’t come in!”

“Surprise, surprise,” Al said. Keeping his gun on her, he crossed the room and pulled the door open.

The paint container landed on his head with the sickening sound of a cracked egg. His gun-holding hand jerked up, and a shot pounded her ears like a hammer. The bullet hit the pillow by her head, sending up a flurry of feathers.

Through the cloud, in the dim light from the window, Masada saw Al collapse.

A figure appeared at the door.

“Levy!” Masada sat up and brushed feathers off her face with a trembling hand.

Professor Silver kneeled next to Al and lifted his limp hand, still clasping the gun. He sighed. “After all we’ve been through, too bad it has come to this.” He looked at the gun. “Oy, meidaleh, what an unfortunate ending.”

“Police!” The voice came through the open door. A female officer appeared, both arms forward, pointing a gun at Professor Silver. “Drop it!”

He obeyed.

“Raise your hands!” The officer flipped the light switch on.

“That’s the intruder.” Silver pointed at Al. “He’s out cold. Thank God.”

The officer lowered her gun. “You’re the guy in the car. How did you get here?”

“I saw his van in the back. I was just in time.” He bent over Masada, caressing her head. “My poor girl. It’s really too bad it had to come to this. If only Al sought some mental help, all this wouldn’t have happened.”

Professor Silver went with Masada in the ambulance, holding her hand while inside he was fuming. If you want to shoot, shoot; don’t talk. All he had to do was to press Al’s finger on the trigger and drop the idiot’s hand. Masada would be dead, and Rajid’s order to monitor her would die with her. But his hesitation took away a singular opportunity, and now she and Al were going to the hospital and needing even more monitoring than before.

He sat by Masada’s bed in the ER. The sun was rising outside when a young doctor came to examine the bruises on her head. While they took her for a scan, Silver went to look for Al.

He found Hilda in the ICU, standing at the foot of Al’s bed. A blood-stained bandage covered most of his head. His eyes were closed, and he breathed laboriously. Several IV bags hung from hooks over the bed, the lines joined to a single tube that entered the side of his neck. A sack of urine hung low, just above the floor.

Silver said, “Blessed be He, Master of the Universe, healer of the sick and infirm.”

“Amen,” Hilda said, wiping her eyes. “Thank you for coming, Levy.”

“What did the doctor say?”

“He’s a mess. Concussion, trauma to his vertebra, a heart attack. Don’t ask!”

“Masada isn’t doing so well either.”

“Don’t get me started! That woman drove him over the edge. She played him like a puppet.”

“I agree. It’s outrageous!”

“She should go to jail.”

“Absolutely,” Silver said. “For life.”

When he arrived back home, Silver locked himself in the basement, rolled a joint, and sat at the computer to check the Israeli embassy web site. To become eligible as a new citizens, he would need evidence that he was Jewish, such as a signed letter from a rabbi.

At noon, he went outside to check the mailbox and found a large envelope from the U.S. government. Standing by his mailbox, Silver ripped it, eager to hold his green card. But inside was a thick booklet. Internal Revenue Service-Information for New Permanent Residents.

Silver tore it up, cursing in Arabic.

Next to him, a man said, “Your Arabic is quite good for a Jewish professor.”

Stumbling back, Silver lost his balance. Rajid grabbed him before he fell.

“Salaam aleikum.” Silver regained his composure and kissed Rajid on both cheeks. He beckoned the younger man into the living room.

“Shukran.” Rajid put aside his briefcase and sat down. “Ramallah sends regards.”

Knowing that the handler observed the fast of Ramadan, Silver didn’t offer refreshments. He assumed Rajid had come for an explanation about last night’s events, which had become national news. Fortunately, his presence at Masada’s house hadn’t been mentioned anywhere.

“Those Jews,” Silver said, shaking his head, “are emotional basket cases. I had no idea Al was going to make an attempt on her life at temple, let alone try again later.”

“We got word about another book you have written.”

“Excuse me?” Silver felt fear. How had they found out? He made a dismissive gesture. “A preliminary draft merely, some ideas about international sanctions.”

“You’ve submitted the manuscript to a publisher.”

He didn’t respond.

“Are you free from the chain of command?”

“It’s part of the plan.” Silver made himself chuckle lightly. “I was hoping to brief our brothers in person when I visit Jerusalem.”

“Taking action without prior approval?”

“Never.” Silver was starting to hate the cologne the agent was wearing-an imitation of budding citrus.

“The United States Senate moved up the vote against Israel to August nineteen. The White House announced that the president will sign the bill as submitted, saying that Congress has the administration’s support in its autonomous authority to take punitive actions over attempts to corrupt it. The next ten days are crucial. We don’t want any interference.”

Silver rubbed his goatee. “My plan is working even faster than expected. There is no problem.”

Rajid opened his briefcase. “There is a problem. You sent a manuscript to a publisher, drawing dangerous