Silver was disappointed. A published book would have buttressed his credibility when time came to launch Phase Two-the international campaign for imposing sanctions on Israel. On the other hand, Mahoney’s suicide had put Phase One on steroids, instigating an explosion of hostility to Israel, much greater than he had expected to achieve by exposing the bribe.
He put the manuscript aside and bit into his sandwich while reflecting on the challenges ahead. Masada still had the memory stick hidden somewhere in her house, which would be searched again upon her death. Al’s proposed plan must therefore mimic an accident that would eliminate Masada and destroy her house.
Elizabeth uncorked the wine and inspected the dinner table one last time, making sure she had not overlooked anything. They would raise a double toast-to David’s promotion and to their baby. Picking up a knife and polishing it with a napkin, she reminded herself there was no reason for disappointment about being passed over. As David’s future wife, she shared his success. Better yet, his promotion ended her supervisory authority over him. She would have to continue to guide him. He was so devoid of political skill, so transparent-a handsome boy in a man’s body.
She replaced the knife by his plate and went to the kitchen to check on the stew. It was simmering, and the apartment filled with the smell of home. The wall clock showed 9:22 p.m. David must have been delayed by his wife-the tyrant.
Elizabeth settled on the living-room sofa, her feet on a pillow, and closed her eyes. Soon David would move in permanently. She could hear children laugh.
Masada took the remote from Raul’s hand and aimed it at the TV, where Eddie Murphy, as Dr. Doolittle, conversed with various animals until he was finally able to communicate with his rebellious-yet-idealistic teenage daughter. Masada shut off the TV, and the sleeping boy stirred, opened his eyes, and said dreamily, “Is it over?”
“Thank God.” Masada patted his hand. “Go back to sleep.” She glanced at her watch. Rabbi Josh had gone to pick up Shanty and buy what he needed to bury her. Masada had volunteered to watch Raul, who didn’t know yet that his dog was gone.
The boy turned on his side, facing her, and took her hand.
As soon as his small fingers touched her palm, she tried to pull away. He held on, his eyes closed.
A few moments passed.
Her leg began to ache. She wanted to lie down on the cot across the room and shut her eyes. But when she tried to dislodge her hand, Raul’s little fingers gripped her with determination. His freckled face remained serene.
Breathing deeply, shifting in the chair, Masada waited. When his sleep deepened, she would free her hand. He must be dreaming of something that required keeping a tight grip.
She watched their interlocked hands. His hand was delicate, pinkish under the translucent fingernails. Hers was almost gaunt, dotted with a few sunspots. She had written often about children, but it had been a lifetime since she had held a child’s hand.
An image came to her. She was holding Srulie’s hand while their parents’ bodies were lowered into the ground at the kibbutz cemetery. The image was followed with another: She was holding his bloodied hand, begging him to live.
Masada tried to pull her hand away, but Raul twitched, and she relented. Pressure rose behind her eyes, and she shut them, throwing her head back. She blinked a few times, looking up at the ceiling. She willed herself to think about the investigation. What would she do if the video clip didn’t produce any clues? Could she set a trap for Ness’s agents?
Raul’s eyelashes flickered, but he kept his grip.
She tried to reclaim her hand. Raul’s left hand emerged from under the covers and rested on top of her already captured hand.
Sweat covered Masada’s forehead. Why was the room so hot? She glanced at Raul, who looked comfortable, breathing slowly, a slight smile on his face. She inhaled deeply and exhaled, looking away from their joined hands.
She realized her right eyelash was weighed down by a tear. She jerked her hand from Raul’s and stood up, wiping her eyes on her shirtsleeve.
“Dad?”
Masada turned away from him. “Go back to sleep.”
He sat up in bed. “Why are you crying?”
“I’m not crying. I’m coming down with a cold or something.”
He lowered his legs to the floor. “I think I need to go.”
“Go where? It’s nighttime.”
“Pee-pee.”
“Oh!” She held his elbow and guided him to the bathroom.
Raul pulled down his pajama pants and sat on the toilet. “You can close the door.”
She stood outside the door and listened as he did his business noisily.
“I’m better now,” he said.
“Good.”
“Are you better?”
“I’m fine.”
The boy was silent for a moment. “Why did you cry?”
“I wasn’t crying.”
He passed gas. “Sorry.”
Masada lowered herself to the floor, sitting with her back to the wall next to the bathroom door. “I’m just very tired. It’s been a rough week.”
“Dad says it’s good to cry.”
“How come?”
He gassed again. “Sorry.”
Despite herself, she laughed.
“It’s like, when your belly hurts? So if you let the stinky air out, then you feel better? Same when you have pain in your feelings. If you cry, the pain goes out with the tears.”
“Your dad said that?”
“Kind of.” Raul hesitated. “Dad said that if you cry it means you are brave enough to feel your feelings.” He flushed the toilet and washed his hands. Then there was silence.
“You can come out,” Masada said. “I’m not brave enough yet.”
The ringing alarm woke Elizabeth up. She rolled off the sofa onto the carpet. Smoke was everywhere. She crawled toward the door, certain that the building was on fire.
The putrid odor made her pause. It didn’t smell like a fire.
In the kitchen, the pot of stew was emitting white smoke. She snatched it from the stovetop, crossed the living room to the balcony, and put it outside. Then she opened all the windows and turned off the smoke alarm.
A glance at the time shocked her. She had slept for more than two hours. Had David rung the bell while she slept? Impossible! She would have heard it!
A sense of doom flooded her. David had an accident! She tried his mobile. No answer. She grabbed her car keys and ran.
Indian School Road was deserted, its six lanes dimly lit by store signs and street lamps. She pushed the old Camry as fast as it would go. In Arcadia, a family neighborhood of citrus trees and large lawns, she turned left, racing up Fifty-fifth Street.
The curb at David’s house was lined with cars. The windows were alight. People stood on the front lawn, chatting.
She entered a cozy foyer. Country music played loudly. She saw her reflection in a full-body mirror. The knitted red dress clung to her, the cleavage deep. She had never stepped out of her apartment in this dress.
“Ellie!” David came toward her, touching the wall for support. He gulped down a glass of urine-colored liquid. “You look hot, boobs!”
She took the glass from his hand, pushed him into a den off the foyer, and closed the door.
“What’s this smell?” He sniffed her. “Phew!”
“It’s our dinner.” She wanted to hit him. “I fell asleep and it burned.”
“Oops.” He collapsed into a chair. “I completely forgot. Anyway, it’s a great party. Go mingle!”
“I was expecting to mingle with you.” She wasn’t going to make it easy for him. It was time he took responsibility. And the drinking would have to stop-she would make sure of that. “And share some wonderful news.”