yellow T-shirts.
Elizabeth approached the security counter with Masada.
“Shalom!” The Israeli attendant could not be older than twenty-five. His head was buzzed, and a strap across his white shirt held a short-barrel Uzi.
She handed him their boarding passes, her own American passport, and Masada’s temporary travel papers, which replaced her confiscated U.S. passport. “I’m Elizabeth McPherson, chief counsel at the Immigration Service in Phoenix. She’s my prisoner.”
“I’m Chief Ron.” He examined the papers and looked at Masada. “You speak Hebrew?”
“I prefer English.”
“
“My pen,” Masada said.
“Right on.” He laughed. “How long since you left Israel?”
“Before you were born.”
“Happy birthday.” He handed Masada her travel papers and boarding pass. “Welcome home.”
“I’ll take those,” Elizabeth said, reaching over.
“Ah!” He moved it out of her reach. “To each her own.” When Masada collected the documents, he noticed the handcuffs.
“What’s this?”
“She’s in custody,” Elizabeth said.
“
“Whose rule?”
“Off with the cuffs, Chief.”
Masada held forth her cuffed wrists. “I’m expecting a court order from Phoenix any moment, stopping my deportation.”
“I’ll watch for it,” he said. “You have plenty of time until boarding.” He put an open hand before Elizabeth. “The keys, please.”
Her face burning, Elizabeth handed the keys and watched him release the handcuffs. “My government will hold you responsible if she escapes.”
“I’ll notify our prime minister immediately.” He removed the cuffs from Masada’s wrists and beckon her through into the secure gate area. A dozen men and women congregated around her. The front of their yellow T- shirts was printed with
They would soon discover who she was, Elizabeth thought. “I need her alive,” she said and tried to follow into the enclosed area.
Ron stopped her with his hand. “She’s fine.”
Masada bent down to let an elderly woman hug her. Others began arguing. The circle around her widened, more circles formed, people talking to each other, pointing at her.
Elizabeth asked, “Do they know who she is?”
“We know. The question is, who are you?” He browsed her passport.
“But why aren’t they angry at her?”
“What for?” He looked up. “You want us to kill the messenger because we don’t like the news?” His fingers danced on the computer keyboard. “She’s a brave woman.” He punched a few more keys and looked at his computer screen. “Aha!” He hit another key. “Aha! Aha! Aha!”
Elizabeth craned her head, trying to see the screen. “What’s all the
“Elizabeth McPherson. Has a nice ring to it. Catchy.”
“If you don’t mind.” She glanced at her watch. “I have important phone calls to make.”
“You’re not a frequent traveler,” he commented, putting aside her passport.
“My position doesn’t leave much time for travel.”
“Neither does mine.”
“Are we done?” She extended her hand for the passport.
“Almost.” He motioned at a young woman in uniform. “Shiri will take care of you over there.” He pointed to a curtain in the corner, where a sign in English, Hebrew, and Arabic read:
Friday, August 15
Despite the comforts of first-class travel, Professor Silver had slept little during the long flight over the Atlantic Ocean and Europe. He was unable to relax after a whirlwind week ending with the mad rush across Newark Airport to catch the flight to Israel, which had already boarded to capacity when the two of them arrived at the secure gate area. He sat back in the wide chair, stretching his legs, and watched through the window as the plane began its descent over the Mediterranean.
The Tel Aviv coast appeared in the window, hotels lining the golden beach, the vast metropolis stretching as far as he could see. The plane tilted its wings in a wide turn over the suburbs, a mix of apartment buildings, private homes, and green parks, interconnected by wide highways flowing with cars. It looked like Los Angeles.
After a smooth landing at Ben Gurion Airport, the pilot announced that, due to the need to unload special cargo, the plane would park away from the main terminal. He asked the passengers to remain seated, but they paid no attention, swarming into the aisles, heaving bags, and chattering in Hebrew.
The professor unbuckled his seatbelt and forced a smile onto his face. “Home sweet home.”
The rabbi shut his eyes and recited: “
“Amen.” Silver rubbed his hands together to hide the tremor. He needn’t worry. The Israelis had conducted security checks back in Newark. His papers had not drawn any attention.
The plane shuddered to a stop.
The rabbi got up and squeezed into the crowded aisle. He lowered a large package from the overhead compartment. “Come, Levy.”
Silver hugged his travel bag to his chest and glanced out through the window. The plane had parked away from the main terminal. A white car arrived, and four armed men in blue uniforms came out.
One of the uniformed men looked up, meeting his gaze. Silver retreated from the window, barely able to breathe.
The door of the plane opened with a whish of released pressure. Rabbi Josh, who was blocking the aisle, said, “Let’s go.”
Standing with difficulty, Silver would have fallen back into the chair had the rabbi not caught his arm and ushered him into the aisle and toward the sun-lit doorway. He tried to think, but the noise was too loud. Had the Israelis watched him all those years? Had they lurked in the shadows as he conspired against them? Had their spies mused at his plans while luring him to Israel with tales of revolutionary eye treatment? He could see it now. They would use him to manipulate the world’s sympathy, just as he had tried to do to them. There was probably a camera ready to capture his arrest at the foot of the stairs.
Outside the plane, the sun was blinding and the air as hot as in Phoenix, only humid and suffused with jet- fuel vapors. One hand on the railing, the other on Rabbi Josh’s arm, Silver descended the metal staircase like a sheep to slaughter. His view was blocked by the other passengers, who were singing in English-accented Hebrew. The air reverberated with the roar of a plane taking off nearby.
His last moments of freedom.
He stepped off the staircase and onto the solid land of his youth.
