Rabbi Josh sat on a bench. “I must accept His decision.”
“Acceptance first, then a struggle to make sense of the loss, to find meaning in what has happened.”
The rabbi looked away. “It’s hard.”
“I know. My son flew an F-14 in Lebanon.”
“I’m sorry for you. But at least his death served a great purpose.”
“True, but somehow the pride doesn’t diminish the pain.” He passed a hand through his white hair. “You must be angry at the writer.”
“She didn’t press the trigger.” Rabbi Josh sighed.
“Words often stimulate the pressing of triggers.” The man’s blue eyes were unwavering, all-knowing. “Your loss foreshadows our nation’s loss. It’s too late to bring back the dead, but there’s still time to prevent the political disaster she is bringing upon us.”
“She’s not an ordinary writer.” The rabbi forced his eyes away from the man’s penetrating gaze and looked up at the top of the Wailing Wall, where a soldier stood surveying the plaza. “She’s complicated.”
“Look at them.” Masada felt vindicated. “The master spy and his prized agent. Now you believe me?”
Tara peeked over the partition that separated women from men near the Wall. “They do seem chummy.”
“Where’s your cameraman?”
“I told him to look for a scruffy Brad Pit with a ponytail and a yarmulke.”
“Very funny.” Masada searched among the men near Ness and the rabbi. “The Orthodox will crucify him if he pulls out a camera before sunset. It’s still Sabbath.”
Tara moved away from the partition. “He’ll manage unless we blow our own cover.”
“We don’t have a cover.” Masada was already outlining in her mind the portion of the new article describing Rabbi Josh’s clandestine meeting with his Israeli handler, Colonel Dov Ness.
“They must be planning damage control for after the Senate approves the Fair Aid Act.”
“You’re naive. The Israelis will continue to work against it until the senate’s done voting.” Masada followed her, tailing a group of tourists. “Ness doesn’t give up. I mean, a normal amputee would be sitting at home, collecting disability and watching TV. This one’s flying helicopters and asking out blondes.”
Tara leaned closer and whispered, “He must have been a knockout in bed.”
“Hush! We’re at the Wailing Wall!”
They burst out laughing, drawing shocked glances from the tourists.
“I agree,” the man in the wheelchair said. “Masada El-Tal is a complicated woman.”
Rabbi Josh looked away. “She’s very different from the person portrayed by the media.”
“I knew Masada in the army. She was an incredible young woman.”
“You’re no government pensioner, are you?”
“I’m a concerned Zionist, like you.”
“I expected to be approached by someone from the government, but not someone like you.” The rabbi chuckled. “Anyway, Masada El-Tal was a member of my congregation. And a close friend. But I still don’t know whether she was the mastermind behind the bribe or a victim like me. The evidence points in both directions.” He gestured at the Wall. “I came here hoping for divine guidance.”
“If this is your dilemma, I can solve it. Masada is mentally incapable of manipulation or deceit.”
“But you’re capable of both.” Rabbi Josh felt a surge of anger. “Who are you …
“I’m Colonel Dov Ness. Her former commander.”
“Why did you release her conviction to the media?”
“It’s not about me or Masada or you.” Colonel Ness leaned closer. “It’s about saving the Jewish state by finding who’s behind the bribe. You study Talmud, right?”
The rabbi nodded.
“Then you understand Talmudic logic about risk versus benefit. For Masada, the supposed benefit was revenge-if that’s her motivation. But she could achieve the same goal by writing critically of Israel, its policies, even its very existence. The risk of a criminal scheme, which could land her in federal jail forever, was disproportionally greater than the benefit. For the Israeli government, the benefit of a Mutual Defense Act would be miniscule compared with the risk of harming the relationship with the United States. Therefore, it would be illogical for Masada or the State of Israel to take the enormous risk of bribing a U.S. senator.”
“What seems illogical in hindsight may have seemed logical in foresight.”
“None of this has been an accident. There must be a person out there who planned it all, who controlled Al Zonshine, who knows why, how, and when this whole scheme was conceived and launched.”
“Masada?”
“Do you really believe it’s her?”
The rabbi wanted to nod, but he couldn’t. In his heart, he knew she was all good.
“You already know who that person is.”
“No.” Rabbi Josh stood. “I don’t.”
Ness looked up. “But you do, Rabbi. You don’t realize it, but you do.”
“I don’t!” His shout made a praying Hassid nearby pause and glance over.
“You do!” Ness rolled his wheelchair after the departing rabbi. “You just don’t want to see it. It’s too
Masada and Tara waited at a bar for Oscar. He turned out to be a French-born Israeli with dark skin and a buzz cut, who fashioned a Hawaiian shirt. He showed them photos of Colonel Ness and Rabbi Josh-talking, arguing, the rabbi departing in anger. “No audio,” Oscar said, “too much background noise.”
“I didn’t see you at the Wall,” Masada said.
“That’s the whole point,” he answered.
It was almost midnight when she entered the Ramban Hostel. The acne-faced youth was still at the front desk, reading a book.
He handed Masada her room key and a blue sheet of paper. It was an invitation to a memorial service on Mount Masada.
By the time she reached her room, Masada had made up her mind not to go. Srulie’s memory lived with her every waking moment. She didn’t need patriotic songs and empty speeches to soil his memory.
While undressing, she noticed the beige pants had fallen off the hanger in the closet. She looked for the laundry bag, finding it on the bed, not where she’d left it that morning. And the scribbled napkin was crumpled on the floor. Had Ness sent someone to look through her stuff?
Sunday, August 17
They clamped Professor Silver’s head in a steel vise and strapped his arms, legs, and chest until he could only wiggle his toes. Trays of glistening instruments surrounded him. A masked orderly rolled in a cart with electronic equipment.
“Good morning, Professor.” Dr. Asaf put on grotesque goggles that peered at Silver with detached curiosity. “Ready for the big day?”
“Ready for a
The doctor nodded to the nurse, who stuck a needle in Silver’s arm.
“The last pain you’re going to feel today,” Dr. Asaf assured him.
It wasn’t pain Silver was worried about. The blotch had been growing every day, as if it knew its days were
