The Masada Complex

wagging its tail. Silver cursed under his breath.

When Masada got back in the car, he said, “Nasty creature.”

“She sensed you didn’t like her.”

He drove through the quiet neighborhood back to Scottsdale Road. The light at the intersection was red. “Have you destroyed the memory stick?”

“Don’t worry, it’s safe.” Masada pointed at the light, which had changed to green.

“Safe?” He had to find out what she had done with it. “I’m too old to survive a scandal. It’s national news now. They’ll dig and dig until they find it and arrest me.”

“They won’t find it. And even if they found and watched the video, you’re not on it.”

“But they’ll find the guy from Judah’s Fist and he’ll tell them he forgot it in my car. What am I going to do?”

“Nothing. No one will ever know about you. I promise.”

“The government has electronic tools to see through walls. A house like yours, with big windows and all that-”

“You’ve nothing to worry about.”

Was it in her house? He tried to mask his anger. “My fingerprints are on it.”

“I wiped it clean and hid it well. Just forget it.”

“Please indulge a foolish old Yid and wipe it again when you get home, just in case.”

She didn’t respond. He was tempted to ask directly where she had hid it, but knew she wouldn’t tell. He glanced at the clock. 8:21 p.m. He would drop her off and drive back to search the Corvette.

Heading west on McDonald Drive, he pressed the gas, speeding up. Camelback Mountain towered over them on the left, a dark mass of barren boulders. There were no street lights in this pricey neighborhood-a throwback to an old Arizona that had cherished stargazing and a rural ambiance. Aging homes on big lots lined the narrow road that rose and sank into dry drainage washes created by millennia of heavy runoff. Masada’s house was farther ahead at the northwest foot of the mountain.

Suddenly, at the top of an incline, Silver realized he could not see the road ahead. He panicked and tried to press the brakes, but his foot slipped and hit the gas pedal, making the car lurch forward. He looked down, trying to see the pedals, but it was too dark. The car began to rattle as its tires hit gravel, veering off the pavement.

Masada shouted, “Stop!”

The Cadillac broke though shallow brush, crossed a walkway, and raised a storm of pebbles that drummed the undercarriage like machine-gun bullets. Masada yelled again, and Silver’s foot finally found the brakes. But the tires couldn’t get a grip, and the car broke through a wall of cacti where the lot bordered a deep ravine. The racket was cut short, replaced by an eerie silence, as the Cadillac sailed through the air.

Monday, August 4

Rabbi Josh Frank glanced at the heart-rate monitor on his elliptical exercise machine and quickened his pace. The morning sun shone through the open window, warming his shoulders, and Raul’s squealing came through as he chased Shanty in the backyard. The wall-mounted TV was turned to the Channel Six news. A report from Tel Aviv showed the burnt shell of a blue bus, body bags lined up on a blood-stained pavement. A bearded medic pulled a severed arm from a scorched tree.

The rabbi’s legs pumped faster. “Master of the Universe!”

On the screen, a departing ambulance marked with a red Star of David gave way to a Palestinian official, who refused to condemn the suicide bomber, blaming Israeli aggression for provoking the “freedom fighter’s justifiable resistance.” He was followed by a Knesset member, who accused the government of endangering its citizens’ lives with its reckless policies. And an old rabbi in Jerusalem said tremulously, “God is punishing the Zionists for their violations of the Torah!”

Rabbi Josh snatched the remote and changed channels.

Masada’s grimed face appeared on the TV.

He ceased pedaling, lost his balance, and stumbled off the machine.

The camera followed Masada to her door. Her shirt was torn, and she was limping badly. A man in a blue FBI jacket blocked the camera while Masada disappeared into the house. The camera returned to a blonde reporter standing against the background of a dark sky, who said something about a car accident. The rabbi realized it had been filmed last night.

There was no answer on Masada’s home phone. Her mobile went immediately to voice mail. He ran outside, yelled for Raul, and they drove to Masada’s house.

She lived in an older neighborhood of established homes on large desert lots. Her street had only three homes, separated from each other with cacti, mesquite trees, and brick walls.

He knocked on her door. When no answer came, he tried it, and realized that the lock was broken. He poked his head in. “Masada?”

No answer.

The great room was dominated by a wall of glass facing the giant boulders of Camelback Mountain. The opposite wall was lined with empty shelves. All of Masada’s books were gone, and the floor was littered with pieces of paper and cardboard.

“Hello?”

No response.

“Stay here,” he said to Raul.

In her bedroom, the floor was strewn with clothing and papers. Her mattress was gone. In the kitchen, adjacent to the great room in a single, contiguous open space, all the cabinet doors were open, dishes and pots piled on the counters.

Crossing the great room, he pushed aside the sliding glass door and exited to the patio, finding Masada curled up on a mattress, partly covered by a white comforter.

“Masada?”

She twisted and moaned, still asleep.

He sat on the mattress and caressed her hair.

She kicked off the covers and sat up, her eyes wide.

“I saw you on the news. What happened?” He helped her stand.

Masada’s nightgown ended well above the white bandage on her right knee. She stepped off the mattress, leaning on him. “Levy lost control of the car.”

“I noticed he was having trouble seeing the road.”

“I ran home, messed up my bad knee.”

He wanted to ask her how she had injured her knee in the first place, but it wasn’t the time to bring it up. “What happened?”

“FBI got here before I did, broke in, searched everything.”

“They’re quick. It’s the video they want.”

She nodded.

“Would you come and stay with us?”

She entered the house, moving slowly. “Kids aren’t my thing.”

That wasn’t what he hoped to hear. He motioned at the empty shelves. “They took your books?”

“The warrant allowed them to take every paper and electronic gadget. Even my Blackberry-I’m going to have a million e-mails by the time I get it back.”

While she used the bathroom, he made coffee. Raul went out to the backyard, keeping himself busy throwing pebbles over the back fence.

They called Professor Silver. He described his trip to the hospital last night, where they found nothing wrong with him. The police were holding his driver’s license until he had his eyes checked.

Rabbi Josh was struck by Masada’s fragility. The green of her eyes was almost gray against her olive skin.