The Masada Complex

“I wasn’t born yesterday.” He kept looking out the window, his back to her. “And I didn’t get to the eighth floor by being dumb.”

“There’s nothing inappropriate.”

“Of course there is.” He turned to face her. “Listen, McPherson. I know how these things work. Someone in Washington told you to pounce on her. Maybe they want to help the Israelis. I don’t want to know. But you’re playing with fire. El-Tal started an avalanche with her expose, and every politician in Washington is scrambling to criticize Israel. Don’t drag us into this mess!”

“We’re doing our job.”

“That woman,” his voice went up a notch, “has been harassed by the media, searched by the FBI, firebombed, shot at, and got sued for all she has. I won’t have my agency join this spectacle of lynching!”

“Under the regulations, we are required to investigate immigration crimes.”

“Again with the regulations? We’re a pawn in someone else’s game!”

“I’m happy to step back if you wish to take over.” She motioned at his cluttered desk. “Should I sent up the file?”

He frowned. “I don’t need to be personally involved. But I’m warning you formally that you’re pissing into the wind!”

It was hard not to laugh at how easy he was to manipulate. “I’ll make sure you don’t get wet, Simpson.”

Masada made a list. She would investigate Rabbi Josh’s college days, rabbinical education, close friends, visits to Israel, bank accounts, houseguests, and his writings. She would cast a wide net over every aspect of his life to find the link to his Israeli handlers. Her follow-up expose would tell the whole story, from the day he had been recruited as an Israeli agent, through his training, setting up the cell in Phoenix, selecting Senator Mahoney as a target, enlisting Al Zonshine, communicating with the mysterious Sheen, and executing the bribe operation, which only failed because Sheen forgot the incriminating memory stick in Professor Silver’s Cadillac. She would give the professor a fictitious name, of course, but her readers would learn everything that had happened. She would have to be methodical, trace all the evidence, and substantiate every allegation before publishing the story. Colonel Ness and Rabbi Josh Frank would go up in flames together.

She grabbed the car keys and her purse. Earlier she had called a Chevrolet dealer to arrange a trade-in of her as-yet-unencumbered Corvette for some cash and the cheapest set of used wheels they had on the lot. On the way to the garage, she stopped at the kitchen to grab a bottle of water from the fridge and noticed something sticking out from under it.

With the tip of her finger she pulled out Silver’s book. She didn’t remember taking it to the kitchen. Noticing a scent, she brought the book to her nose. The sweet, smoky smell reminded her of Silver’s house.

Masada paused. Was her mind playing tricks on her? She sniffed the book again. The smell was real. Why would Silver’s book be under the fridge and smelling like his house? She touched her head, feeling the lumps left by Al. Was she hallucinating?

“Miss El-Tal?” The voice came from the broken front door.

The man wore a waistcoat with orange letters: U.S. Immigration Service. He handed her a piece of paper. “Would you come with us, please?”

Professor Silver peered through his living room window at the mail truck. It stopped at each mailbox along the street. When it reached his, he ran out to meet it.

The mailman, in shorts and a baseball cap, leaned out with a bundle of envelopes and printed catalogues.

“I’m expecting an urgent letter.” Silver sifted through the bundle. “It’s not here.”

“Maybe tomorrow.” The mail truck inched forward.

“Can you check on it?” Silver placed his hand on the side mirror. “I’m leaving for overseas tomorrow morning. It’s very urgent.”

“First class mail?”

“From the U.S. government. Official business.”

“That would be first class, unless they sent it book rate.” He revved the engine. “Nothing I can do. Have a safe trip.”

They allowed Masada to meet with Chadwick in a small room at the federal courthouse downtown. The lawyer was sipping coffee from a Starbucks paper cup.

“They’re trying to shut me up,” she said. “The public won’t condone it.”

“The public?” Chadwick shook his head. “You drove an admired senator to suicide. The public feels no sympathy for you. Neither does my client.” He pulled a sheet of paper from his briefcase and handed it to her. It was a letter from Jab Corporation: Due to unethical, unsavory, and possibly criminal actions that you have engaged in, or failed to disclose heretofore, which constitute material breaches of the Publishing Contracts between us, said contracts are hereby terminated and declared null and void. You must repay all advances previously paid to you within ten (10) days.

Masada looked at Chadwick. “Is this a joke?”

“You need a new lawyer.”

“Aren’t you my lawyer?”

He adjusted his tie. “Jab is my primary client. You knew it.”

“Yes, but-”

“I have to withdraw. It’s a conflict of interests.” Before she could say anything, he added, “After today’s hearing, of course.”

In the courtroom, Masada followed Chadwick to the defense table. He pointed at a well-dressed, short woman at the other table. “Elizabeth McPherson, chief counsel for the immigration office in Phoenix. She’s very capable.”

They stood up when the judge came in.

Elizabeth McPherson said, “Your Honor, this emergency hearing is brought under the following regulations.” She opened a thick book and rattled off section numbers.

The judge, a diminutive man with white hair, said, “Go ahead.”

The woman glanced at Masada. “The government calls Miss El-Tal to the stand.”

“Objection!” Chadwick scrambled to his feet. “We received no pleadings or evidence. We don’t even know what this is about!”

The government’s lawyer opened another book. “Your Honor, the Department of Homeland Security, which now encompasses my agency, is tasked with investigating all immigration irregularities.”

Chadwick said, “This is an attempt to harass my client.”

“This is a limited inquiry,” McPherson said. “We only wish to clarify certain facts.”

“This court is not Lake Powell,” Judge Rashinski said. “I won’t allow a fishing expedition. Get to the point, or I’ll end this hearing with a decision sua sponta.”

Masada was led to the witness stand and took an oath.

The government lawyer approached the stand. She held no papers and looked straight at Masada. “Miss El- Tal, what is your nationality?”

“I am a U.S. citizen. Don’t you know that?”

“I’ll ask the questions.” The woman’s accent emerged with a harshly pronounced L. “How did you become a citizen?”

“I applied for it in the eighties after a couple of years as a permanent resident.”

“Thank you.” The lawyer smiled, but not kindly. Her front teeth, while white and lined-up perfectly, were