“And?”
“Hauled off loads of her stuff, those guys.”
“And Masada?”
Al rubbed his bald head, pleased with himself. “Stayed up for a while, spent lots of time in the bathroom, and went to sleep on the patio.”
“Outside?”
“Wore a really short nightgown.” Al touched his crotch. “Dragged her mattress out, white sheets, fluffy comforter.”
“And you?”
“Got in with her almost, show her what a real man can do between those long legs.”
Silver fought to control his anger. “You went near her while she was sleeping?”
Another snort. “Easy.”
“What if she woke up?”
“Nah.” Al laughed. “I’m like a VC in the jungle. Zero sound. A killing machine.” He pounded a fist into his palm. “Can’t believe Mahoney’s gone.”
“Right.” Silver turned on his computer, using the time to think about the next step. Al was easy to manipulate, but difficult to contain, an emotional seesaw. “I received our new orders from the National Council,” he lied. “Judah’s Fist will take revenge.”
Al folded his arms across his belly. “Teach her a lesson.”
The Yahoo homepage appeared on the screen. Silver clicked on Middle East News.
“Punish the rabbi too. He’s like a dog in heat!”
“Don’t be vulgar.” Silver read an Associated Press report about Senator Mitchum’s proposed Fair Aid Act and the meek opposition mounted by the pro-Israel lobby on Capitol Hill. Silver could not stop smiling. His plan was working faster than he’d ever expected. But this success could turn into tragedy if the FBI found the memory stick he had given Masada.
“Laughing at me?”
The professor turned away from the screen. “Do I have a reason to laugh?”
“Guess not.” Al snorted. “Tell me, what’s that Mahoney said about a spy video? Did the bitch follow me when I went to give him the cash?”
“Impossible.” It amused Silver how being a member of the phantom Judah’s Fist organization had intoxicated Al with self-worth. “You’re too good for her.”
Al nodded. “No way she kept up with me. I used top-notch avoidance techniques.”
“I’m sure you did,” Silver said, struggling not to laugh. He had installed the miniature video camera in Al’s van, a job made simple by the abundance of junk in it. “There’s no spy video,” he lied. “She was bluffing, and Mahoney bought it. It’s a textbook trick-journalists always claim they have evidence in order to dupe a subject into confessing.”
“Makes sense.” Al rolled and lit another cigarette. He inserted the burning end into his mouth, closing his lips. He blew, emitting smoke through the exposed filter, and took it out, pleased with himself.
While browsing the news, Silver considered Masada’s optional hiding places for the memory stick containing the video. Under a floor tile? In the toilet tank? In the freezer? The FBI wouldn’t miss those. The car. Must be in the car.
On the screen, a Reuters report quoted an anonymous source in the Israeli Defense Ministry: A prominent American-Israeli writer was once convicted and jailed for manslaughter.
Professor Silver read it again, shocked. He realized he knew nothing of Masada’s past. Then a thought came to him: Wasn’t Israel a leader in medical innovation?
He Googled key words: macular degeneration experimental treatment success
After browsing several pages of unhelpful results, he saw one that seemed promising and clicked on the link.
It was a Jerusalem Post news piece titled: Hadassah Surgeon Claims 68 % Success Rate with Experimental Stem-Cell Treatment for Macular Degeneration. At the bottom was a contact e-mail, which Silver used to send a short note describing his condition and requesting to be considered for treatment.
Running down the hill, Masada tried to calculate how long it would take for the tow truck to deliver the Corvette to the shop and for the tire repairs to be completed. She had to stop Rabbi Josh! Colonel Ness’s parting shot made it clear that he knew more than he was letting on. She had to get to a phone!
Masada took the shortcut through the crevice and down to the fork in the trail, where she followed Echo Canyon toward her house. What a cruel irony it would be if, instead of getting her, they would kill such a fierce supporter of Israel as Rabbi Josh.
Professor Silver parked the Cadillac behind the news van. Masada’s garage was open, the chrome bumper on her Corvette glistening in the sun. Entering the garage, he could hear voices through the connecting door to the house. He popped open the trunk and felt around the fading blue lining for the memory stick. He peeked in the spare-tire compartment and the tool box.
Giving up on the trunk, Silver opened the driver’s door, which was lined with blue vinyl. The hot air inside smelled of lemon and grease. To enter the Corvette, he had to bow down as in praying. He wondered, Why would anybody pass on a Cadillac to drive this tiny can of sardines?
Under the driver’s seat he found a box of tissues. The glove compartment, decorated with checkered-flag insignias, held the car manual in a blue plastic cover. He slipped his hand under the passenger seat, wincing as the gear shift bore into his ribs. Nothing.
Voices sounded from the house. He ignored the risk, determined to find the memory stick-the only physical evidence linking him to the affair. He turned around, his knees on the seat, his head against the soft top, and reached all the way down behind the backrest.
The door to the house opened, and the rabbi’s son asked, “Who’s there?”
Silver gritted his teeth and yelled jovially, “Hello!”
“Hi, Professor!” The boy stepped closer. “Are you stuck?”
Faking laughter, Silver tried to back out of the car. “Isn’t this a gorgeous machine?”
“Levy?” The rabbi appeared. “Are you all right?”
“This car is a work of art.” Silver finally made it out of the Corvette. “Oh, and you had the tires fixed already!”
“It was a quick thing,” the rabbi said. His son got behind the wheel and pretended to drive.
“It’s like a Ferrari I once drove in Rome,” Silver boasted. “Breathtaking.”
The rabbi gave him an odd look. “A Ferrari?”
Silver decided it was time to quote from the Torah. “Of the blue, purple and crimson yarns they molded vestments for officiating in the Sanctuary, and Aaron’s sacral vestments-”
“-as the Lord had given Moses the designs.” Rabbi Josh laughed.
The professor patted the soft top. “I didn’t know they made power tops in the fifties.”
“Fifties? This is an eighty-six model.”
“So much for my knowledge of cars.” Silver looked at the rabbi’s shorts and T-shirt, exposing his muscular arms and legs. “If you dressed like this for services, we’d have a crowd of young ladies sign up for temple membership.”
“You’re here!” Masada stood at the open garage door, outlined by the glaring sunlight. She bent over, panting. Below her shorts, an old-fashioned brace was strapped to her right leg from the shin to the middle of her thigh. Her skin was the color of mocha, making her teeth even whiter as she smiled at Rabbi Josh. “Am I glad to see you!”
“We were admiring your car.” Silver closed the passenger door. “Beautiful!”
“The quintessential American car.” Masada lowered her head to peck his cheek. “I’m sorry about last night. I don’t know what came over me, running off like that.”
“You suffered a shock, meidaleh.” He squeezed her arm. “My fault completely. I should sign up for pilot training.”
Rabbi Josh said, “Have you had your eyes checked?”
“What do you think?” Professor Silver touched his thick glasses. “The doctor was very impressed with my vision, especially considering my age. It was probably a speck of dust.” He watched their faces-they seemed to accept his lies without a question.