The Medusa Stone

Masada, Israel

In a land where nearly every building and hillock and cave has significance, few sites are as awe-inspiring or sacred as King Herod’s fortress at Masada. It sits atop a diamond-shaped mountain, commanding a view unlike any other in the world. The Dead Sea — earth’s deepest spot — lies in its shadow, over a thousand feet below sea level, the salty haze reflecting off the lifeless waters making it impossible to distinguish the Jordanian coast just seven miles away.

Masada had been built as an unassailable defensive fort but became a favorite retreat to King Herod, who’d spared nothing in making its opulence legendary. It had two separate palaces and a swimming pool that was kept full year-round despite the brutal Judean summers. However, it’s not the architecture that makes Masada so significant, it’s what happened there during the Great Revolt in the first century A.D. when Jewish Zealots battled with their Roman masters.

During the revolt, Masada was captured by Menachen Ben Yehuda and became a retreat for the Zealots. And after four years of warfare and another three of siege, it also became their last stand. Using Jewish slaves, the Romans constructed a huge ramp to the top of the mountain, an impressive engineering feat for the time, and when they finally broached the fortress walls, they discovered a funeral pyre. Surrounded by the Roman Tenth Legion under the command of Procurator Flavius Silva, 967 Jews chose suicide rather than submit to the army who’d besieged them.

Like the Western Wall, Masada has become a tangible link to Jewish history, a site of pilgrimage and reverence. Today, every soldier inducted into the Israeli Defense Force has his swearing-in ceremony on the windswept thirty-acre shrine, a reminder of the heroism and strength of his people.

That was why Prime Minister David Litvinoff was so angry as his Aerospatiale helicopter descended through the night, its landing lights shining brightly on the sandy hill top. How dare Levine soil this spot by agreeing to his surrender here? His brazenness knew no bounds.

Levine had disappeared shortly after Harry White had been taken back to the United States. He’d narrowly missed an arrest, and since then, Shin Bet had been unable to locate him. Litvinoff was assured it would only be a matter of time, but after two weeks, it seemed the Defense Minister would never resurface, even as he continued to work to his goal of recovering the Ark of the Covenant. Levine had even managed to get fighter jets scrambled on his orders and a cargo helicopter sent to Eritrea to rescue his team there. The fighter pilots hadn’t known their mission wasn’t government sanctioned but they had still been dismissed from active duty pending a further investigation.

Litvinoff’s chopper settled lightly and two soldiers sprang out, night-vision goggles scanning the parade ground south of Herod’s principal palace, weapons at the ready. The engine spooled to silence, the rotor blades beating the air slower and slower until they sagged like limp palm fronds.

Litvinoff unhooked his seat belt and stepped to the ground. “If Levine wanted me dead,” he reassured one of his personal guards, “he wouldn’t have let us land.”

Levine had called that morning, acting like he hadn’t a care in the world and told Litvinoff that he would surrender himself, but only if the Prime Minister met him at Masada.

“Wait here.” Litvinoff ignored the expression on his guard’s face. “He wants to meet me alone at the upper terrace of Herod’s villa. I’ll be back shortly.”

He was quickly swallowed by the night, the beam of his flashlight jerking as he walked north. Litvinoff tried to keep his mind blank as he rounded the walls of the ancient store-rooms and the crumbling foundations of the Roman administration building. The night was warm, but the salty breeze was cooling. His sparse hair blew around his eyes and the wind whipped dust from the ground.

Passing the stairs that led to the lower terraces of the villa, Litvinoff continued through a stone maze until he came to a semicircular wall that hung over the northern tip of Masada like the prow of a great ship. It was too dark to see anything below him, but Litvinoff could feel the emptiness reaching out from just a few feet away.

“I knew you’d come,” a voice called from the darkness.

Litvinoff turned to face the voice, his back to the starless void. “How dare you desecrate this place by coming here. You almost destroyed everything Masada stands for.” He didn’t want to get into this with Levine, but his emotions were too much. His hate. His outrage.

“Destroyed, David? No, I almost made everything worthwhile. I almost succeeded returning to Israel its most coveted artifact.” Levine stepped into the flashlight’s beam. Nothing about his posture looked like he was sorry about what he’d done. He even wore his uniform. In comparison to his striking figure, Litvinoff was short and gray, a tired old man who looked out of place anywhere other than an office.

“Well, it’s over.”

Levine laughed. “Do you really think it’s over? Are you that naive? This wasn’t all my doing, you know. There are others working with me, powerful men and women, many of them in your own government. We failed this time, but that doesn’t mean we won’t continue. We will find the Ark and restore the Temple and then we will do away with the Palestinians. You can’t stop us.”

“Maybe I can’t, but that doesn’t matter,” Litvinoff said and saw that his words confused his Defense Minister. “Symbols can be powerful, Chaim, but only if people give them power. Even if you had found the Ark, do you think you would’ve been able to do all the other things you wanted? The excitement about its discovery would last only as long as the next scandal or the next war. No one cares anymore. They don’t want symbols.”

“You’re wrong,” Levine snapped. “Symbols are needed more than ever. The world is falling apart. America is turning our planet into a homogenized strip mall. We need to maintain our differences. We need something to remind us all that we are Jews first and foremost, then Israelis or Americans or Europeans. It’s all we have left.”

“I won’t disagree with you, but this isn’t the way.”

“David, we’ve been friends for a long time—”

“We’ve never been friends,” Livtinoff said evenly. “You were nothing but a political necessity to me, a way to keep a coalition government going. Don’t mistake that for friendship.”

Levine nodded slowly, surprised by the frank declaration. “Very well, we have worked together for many years. You know I would do nothing to harm Israel. That is why we are out here tonight. I failed at my quest and I know that my continued involvement in politics will only harm your government.”

“How kind.”

“Don’t think it’s for your sake. I told you before, the people working with me will continue. I’ve been exposed and I can’t let that jeopardize their efforts.” A gun appeared in Levine’s hand. He’d kept it in a holster behind his back. “This is the only way.”

The shot was brutally loud, a crashing explosion of light and sound that assaulted Litvinoff’s ears like thunder. He hadn’t fired a pistol since the Six Day War and his hand stung.

He’d fired his own weapon, pulling it from his pocket in front of Levine, but the Defense Minister hadn’t seen the action because of the flashlight beaming in his face. Chaim Levine looked at the wound in his chest even as he struggled to raise his own pistol to his temple. Litvinoff fired again and Levine fell back, hitting the stone wall and slumping to the ground, his automatic slipping from his fingers.

“You won’t become a symbol, Chaim,” Litvinoff said to the corpse. “I won’t let you martyr yourself and add your ghost to the spirits that haunt Masada. You don’t deserve it, and despite what you thought, you never did.”