“The law gives no discretion here. The standard is clear. If the facts show misrepresentation, the court must revoke the citizenship.”
Silver hoped Elizabeth had a plan. What was the point of trying to revoke Masada’s citizenship? He needed her in jail today!
As if reading his mind, Elizabeth turned and looked at him. He wanted to communicate his frustration to her, but the blonde reporter looked up from her notes and saw them looking at each other.
Masada’s lawyer said, “The court must consider that she was a young immigrant, having lost her parents and little brother. She wanted to avoid the pain of recounting the events while filling out the immigration forms.”
“How original,” Elizabeth said, “to argue that your client lied on her immigration applications because it was too painful to tell the truth. I’m surprised she wrote down the true names of her deceased parents. Wasn’t that painful?”
Silver wanted to cheer her eloquence.
“Imagine,” she continued, “if felons may conceal their criminal past if such truthful disclosure would cause them emotional discomfort.”
“I agree,” the judge said. “Mr. Chadwick, your client has sixty days to respond to the government’s petition.”
Silver’s heart sank. This was the end of the road. With Masada free, even if his green card arrived tomorrow, he was as good as dead going to Israel in direct violation of Rajid’s orders. This was the choice he had feared: death or blindness.
“We would agree to an extension,” Elizabeth said. “But considering the high likelihood of success in these proceeding, Miss El-Tal should be held in detention pending the revocation of her citizenship and deportation.”
Masada said loudly, “Deportation?”
“The court should note,” Chadwick argued, “that my client has been a productive, taxpaying U.S. citizen for decades. Her unfortunate error needs to be corrected, that’s all.”
“The law is clear.” Elizabeth had several open books in front of her, pages marked with yellow stickers. “Once fraud is established, the citizenship must be cancelled, and deportation follows automatically without the need to prove again the same facts. For example, in the
“Comparing me to a Nazi murderer?” Masada pounded a fist into her hand. They were standing on the sixth floor of the glass-and-steel federal court building. The judge had declared a ten-minute break, telling Chadwick to make sure his client understood the severity of her situation. Two U.S. marshals stood nearby, watching her.
“McPherson wasn’t comparing you to the Nazi,” Chadwick said. “She was citing a precedent for the legal interpretation of the language of the act. It happened to be a case involving a concentration camp guard who also lied on his applications.”
“I didn’t lie!”
Professor Silver took her hand. “Meidaleh, I’ll hire the best immigration lawyer in Phoenix. You’ll be out in a day.”
She stepped to the railing and looked down into the cavernous atrium below. “I’m not going to jail.”
“It’s not a jail, it’s a detention center.” Silver turned to Chadwick. “Give me the three top names in immigration law. I want the best. Money’s not an issue!”
Masada went over to a bench and sat down. The professor sat next to her, his face creased with worry.
Chadwick put down his briefcase. “McPherson is top notch. She got the facts lined up beautifully. We have to take the sixty days and agree to detention. Your new lawyer should get you out quickly.”
“Rubbish,” Tara said. “They’ll send you to Eloy, and you’ll be stuck there forever.”
“Why such pessimism?” Silver asked. “A good lawyer will obtain her release immediately.”
“I did a piece for Channel Six on Eloy. Tens of thousands of immigrants in cages. You think they’ll stop everything to roll out the red carpet for Masada El-Tal? You’ll be sucked into the system-a black hole.”
“Who are you to say?” Professor Silver raised his voice. “You’re a vulture, hunting for a story. Shame on you!”
Tara laughed. “Chill out, Lenin. We’re on the same side.”
Silver pushed himself between Masada and Tara. “Listen to your only friend. If your papa was alive today, he would say the same thing. Let me hire a lawyer who knows what he’s doing. You’ll be back here tomorrow for a new hearing and they’ll release you.”
“You’re dreaming,” Tara said. “Hearings are conducted by video from Eloy.”
“Let’s discuss this rationally.” Chadwick sat on the bench. “You must understand that I will not be your lawyer after today, so-”
“Why not?” Tara asked.
“Jab Corporation decided to terminate Masada’s publishing contracts, which creates a conflict of interests for me.”
“Great!” Tara pulled out a mobile phone. “Have you signed up with a new publisher?”
Masada shook her head.
Tara stepped aside, her phone at her ear. A moment later she returned. “It’s all arranged. Channel Six will pay your expenses, including travel, per diem, informers, and so on. You give us exclusivity. But you can’t investigate from jail. Go to Canada, we’ll set you up with a sister station, and the two of us will work together through Internet and phone. When we expose who really bribed Mahoney, you’ll win another Pulitzer Prize and recover everything you’ve lost.”
Rabbi Josh carried the round section of the dais into his house. The wood was heavy with dry blood. He kneeled and placed the piece on the living room floor, leaning it against the wall.
The phone rang. Marti Lefkowitz wanted him to know that Senator Mitchum was making an announcement about Israel. Rabbi Josh turned on the wall-mounted TV in the exercise alcove off his bedroom and got on the elliptical machine, resting his elbows on the display panel.
Senator Mitchum stood against a background of rocky, desert hills with saguaro cacti and sparse bushes. He fixed the angle of his Stetson and smiled broadly. “I am determined to continue the work of my mentor, the late Senator Mahoney, to bring federal dollars to the great state of Arizona, generating development while preserving this beautiful piece of God’s earth.”
There was meek applause in the background.
Rabbi Josh started pedaling the machine. “Go on, beat up on Israel.”
“As soon as I took over chairmanship,” Mitchum announced, his teeth sparkling with whiteness that defied his advanced age, “of the Senate Foreign Relations Committee, I vowed to investigate the plot against America until the guilty pay for what they did.”
“Say it!” Rabbi Josh wiped the sweat off his brow, pumping his legs faster. “The Jews!”
“The committee submitted the Fair Aid Act to the full Senate, so that no foreign nation would ever again dare corrupting our legislative process!”
“Miss El-Tal,” Judge Rashinski said, “the privilege to become a naturalized U.S. citizen depends on moral character and a clean record. Our laws require revocation when fraud is proven.”
Masada stood up. “I had no intention to defraud.”
“You’ll have an opportunity to respond to the motion by bringing your own evidence as to motive. Unfortunately, with the factual admissions you made on the record today, the likelihood of success tips strongly toward the government’s motion to revoke your citizenship. Therefore, this court cannot release you, lest our tax dollars be spent on a game of hide-and-seek.”
