Forking out lies.
But she hadn’t lied. And further investigation would expose Judah’s Fist and its Israeli sponsors. She would seek the senator’s old buddy, who had borrowed Professor Silver’s car to deliver the bribe money while recording the payoff with a hidden camera, probably to ensure the senator kept his word. The mystery man had forgotten the memory stick in the professor’s car-an error of haste that bore the mark of an amateur.
“I worry about you.” Rabbi Josh pointed back at the Phoenician. “This is bigger than anything you’ve done before, bigger than state governors and their real-estate shenanigans.”
“It’s all the same-corrupt politicians caught dirty handed.”
“But Arizona is still the Wild West, despite all the fancy resorts and corporate headquarters. And you just knocked down their hero.”
“You’re too cynical for a rabbi. Too cute, also.”
Stopping under a lamp, he hugged her. “You’ll see. The bribe didn’t come from Israel.”
“You’re naive.” Masada stepped out of his embrace. “Who else would pay so much dough for a U.S.-Israel Mutual Defense Act?”
“It’s open to speculation.”
“I prefer logical explanation. With its enemies going nuclear, Israel desperately needs an American guarantee to retaliate for an attack on Israel. It’s just like the cold war-Mutual Assured Destruction.”
“Israel needs American protection?” He rested his hands on her shoulders. “It already has God’s protection.”
For a moment, Masada let her shoulders sag under his warm hands. “I have work to do,” she said, turning away. But the roar of an engine made her stop as a motorbike sped toward them, its headlight blinding.
“Hey!” Rabbi Josh stepped forward, waving his arms. “Hey!”
Swerving to avoid him, it passed by Masada-a large, yellow motorbike with a black-clad rider perched high in a straight-up position, tilting the wide handlebar. The helmet nodded at Masada before disappearing into the night.
Professor Silver watched Masada and Rabbi Josh. They approached her Corvette, bent over and examined each tire. He shifted into gear and drove slowly toward them, lowering his window. “What’s going on, kinderlakh?”
Masada said, “Someone slashed my tires.”
“No!” He maneuvered his Cadillac so that the headlights pointed at the front of her car, got out, and made a fuss over each tire, secretly impressed with his handiwork.
“I’ll call the police,” the rabbi said.
“Don’t be ridiculous-the media will be all over us in a second!” Professor Silver patted the roof of his Cadillac. “Get in! I’ll take you home, and tomorrow you can come back to get the tires fixed.” He planned to return later, when the place was deserted, slice the soft top and search the Corvette.
Masada got in the back, the rabbi in the front. Professor Silver strained to see the way out of the parking lot. “This suicide is very bad,” he said, making his voice tremble. “I fear for our people.”
“He wasn’t your run-of-the-mill politician,” the rabbi said. “People loved Mahoney, even if he did accept financial support from an old pal.”
“Financial support,” Masada said, “is the understatement of the year. He collected a bag of cash as payment for specific legislation. That’s called a bribe.”
The rabbi looked over his shoulder. “Didn’t he mention a spy video?”
Silver’s foot landed on the brake pedal, slowing abruptly, and a car honked from behind. “Shush,” he said.
“This video,” Rabbi Josh said, “does it mention Israel?”
Masada shrugged. “The money wasn’t for mutual defense with Iceland.”
“Still, the video is evidence,” Rabbi Josh said, “better than your article, or even his half-hearted confession. Why don’t you release it? It will provide irrefutable proof for your accusations, and once the public saw how he took the money, saw him in the act, all the apologists would fade away and no one would sympathize with him anymore. As the saying goes, seeing is believing.”
Silver considered stopping the car and feigning illness.
“He confessed and killed himself,” Masada said. “That’s enough evidence.”
A light changed to green, and Silver made a turn, heading north on Sixty-fourth Street. The car behind sped up and passed, honking.
“Could be a political opponent,” the rabbi continued, “pretending to be a member of a fictitious Jewish organization.”
“What political opponent has that kind of money to throw in Mahoney’s lap?”
Professor Silver became alarmed. “Kinderlakh, don’t fight.”
“It’s your responsibility.” Rabbi Josh shifted, adjusting his seatbelt. “Your story implied a terrible accusation at Israel, which is already facing existential threats. And Mahoney’s suicide makes it even worse. Israel needs American support. You should hand over the video and any potential witness-”
“Name my sources? If you knew anything about investigative journalism, you wouldn’t suggest it.”
Good girl, Silver thought. “Well, let’s be good Jews and agree to disagree.” He struggled to see the road ahead, which sloped gently. He turned on the high beams, noticed a stop sign, and hit the brakes. “The dry air doesn’t sit well with my old eyes.” He removed his glasses and applied eye drops, blinking rapidly. “That’s better.”
When they reached the rabbi’s house, his redheaded boy ran out, followed by a large dog, which started growling at Silver’s window.
The rabbi got out of the car and pulled back the dog. “Come on, Shanty, be a good girl.”
Masada joined him. She knelt by the dog and spoke to it, rubbing its belly. The animal rolled on its back, 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.