The End-Time Foretellers

by Ran Weber

  “My intuition tells me that anyone who lies on the forms that are meant to award him a considerable sum of money, would lie in a few other things, such as his purpose of entry to the United States. For instance, he can try to hide the fact that he is a spy or perhaps a member of a secret organization called...”

  “Forms?” I interjected. “Forms of a private company organizing a video game conference? How do you even have data from the conference? It’s a violation... “

  “My patience is getting exhausted, Mr. Sharff.”

  “Okay, what do you want to know?”

  “How long have you been leading the Foretellers?”

  “Excuse me?!” I nearly choked.

  “Is that yours?” Jim asked, tossing my wide-open laptop on the table.

  “Perhaps.”

  “There’s a message that you wrote here, a real Shakespeare,” Nash said with a smile.

  “Look...”

  “Listen, Bozo,” said Jim, “from this message it’s clear that you’re planning a breach. Besides, you’ve been seen to be in close contact with one of Los Angeles’s biggest arms dealers, a man we’ve been trying to take down for years. If all this is not enough, there is a message in the message board that says that the big eagle has landed and that the operation is taking off. Do you know on what day it was written?”

  “I don’t remember,” I said, rubbing my forehead. “Refresh my memory?”

  “The day you landed in Los Angeles. What do you say, amigo – mere chance?! The big eagle has landed... Mmm...”

  Jim reached into his suit jacket and pulled out a crumpled business card. “We found it on you,” he said, throwing the card at me.

  “Donnie Milstein.” I looked at the card and didn’t say a word.

  “Do you have anything to say?” Jim asked.

  I held the card with both hands, studied him and Jim. “So? I met a guy in the Valley called Donnie Milstein who offered me online accounting services.”

  “The circumstances are working against you, Yoav,” Jim said. “You’re getting around with the wrong people, you appear on the wrong message boards and you’re making all the possible mistakes. You even work for Avi Schetritt, the arms dealer we believe intermediates between the Foretellers and the Iranians.”

  “The big eagle, Jim,” Nash said dramatically, turning to Jim.

  They were silent.

  “Look... I’m...”

  Nash began to laugh loudly and patted me on the back again. “Calm down, calm down, we don’t really think you’re the big eagle.”

  “You don’t?”

  “Absolutely not,” Jim said. “You don’t look smart enough for that.”

  A brief silence.

  “Or crazy enough,” Nash added.

  “But we are sure,” said Jim, “that to save the few years you have left and to avoid rotting in one of the neglected federal facilities in the Nevada desert, among five hundred bored prisoners, you will be tremendously motivated to help us.”

  “I’m listening.”

  Jim got up and sat next to me. “You are deep inside Schetritt’s organization and you know more than you let on.”

  “Go on.”

  “Listen!” Jim said, “I want evidence from you. I want to take down this bastard. You understand me?”

  “Yes.”

  “I want evidence of his corruption. Evidence of arms deals with Iran, with the Chinese. Betrayal of the US government, forgeries, extortion. The whole shebang. Understand?”

  “Completely.”

  “I have a feeling that you already have most of the information. Am I wrong?”

  “Go on,” I kept my eyes forward.

  “Good,” Jim revealed whitened teeth. “Now all you need to do is continue digging there and extract information. And no less importantly, don’t forget to pass it on to us. You see, Nash, when you explain to him slowly, he understands quickly!”

  I got up. I looked at Jim for a moment and then at the Mini Beretta on the table.

  “This?” he asked, picking up the gun. “You don’t need this. First of all, this won’t get the job done, and besides, you don’t want to get into trouble for unlawfully possessing a weapon, do you?”

  46

  Bibi’s Bakery, Pico Boulevard, Los Angeles

  “It’s interesting to see you here. Long time no see,” said Ehud, sipping his coffee. “Shall I order for you?” He seemed amused and not too surprised.

  “No, thank you, I’ve had enough to drink,” Rami replied. He put his packet of cigarettes on the blackened square aluminum table. He looked at the sign above them. “Bibi? You eat at a place called Bibi?”

  Ehud smiled. “There is no connection, it’s another Bibi. Great food. You’ve got to try the sambousak.”

  “Israeli food in Los Angeles? A million restaurants and you miss falafel and sambousak?”

  “Forget posturing, Rami, there’s real food here. The good stuff happens at Bibi’s. Nothing beats this bakery. There are amazing pitas, burekas, sabih, a delicious sambousak. Not all this sushi mushi.”

  Rami pulled out a cigarette.

  “A donut, perhaps?” Ehud tried, pointing to a cardboard box on their table. He had already finished half the box himself.

  “No,” said Rami decisively, staring at Ehud. “I don’t eat this junk. I don’t go anywhere near industrial food.”

  “You? Is this a health thing? Since when?”

  “My wife bought me a book... what difference does it make?”

  “And what’s this?” Ehud asked, pointing to the cigarettes.

  “This calms me,” Rami said, toying with the cigarette without lighting it.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “Your job. You should have calmed Yoav down a little, gotten him to lower his profile, and meanwhile I discover that you are stirring the pot yourself. He who stirs the pot is destined to get burned, Ehud, remember my words.”

  “I don’t really understand cooking,” Ehud said, and ate another donut. “But I try to keep fit, Grandpa. So, you saw Yoav.”

  “Yes, I went over to his place. I thought I’d come by you before flying back. I’m on my way to the airport.”

  “How did you know I was here?”

  Rami glanced at Ehud’s cell phone.

  “Are you following me?” Ehud said, stroking his cell phone. “Not nice, Rami.”

  “You worry me,” Rami interrupted. “You talk too much.” A hired car stopped by the cafe two hundred yards away. Ehud spotted it behind Rami’s back. “Rami, I’m going into the restroom, order something in the meantime. Maybe a Greek salad, if you’re on a diet. They do a great Greek salad,” he hurried away.

  Two agents came into the restaurant and sat down next to Rami. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance,” Jim said.

  Rami looked at him wearily. “How can I help you, guys? Isn’t it a little on the early side for donuts?”

  Jim glanced briefly at the open box and the half-full cup of coffee placed at a distance from Rami. “We believe you have a lot of information that we need.”

  “Oh, really?”

  “Yes,” Jim said with a nervous smile.

  Nash looked around and scanned the cafe area. “Say...

  Where is…?”

  “Ehud? He must have disappeared,” Rami said. “But you’re welcome to pay his check. I didn’t know you liked Israeli food, Jimmy.”

  “Where’s that car?”

  “What car?”

  “The Google vehicle,” Jim retorted. “Stop playing games. The car that Schetritt got explosives for, on your behalf,” he paused. “The vehicle that Ehud stole.”

  Rami narrowed his eyes.

  “I remind you that you are on US soil, if you don’t cooperate...”

  “I hope you’re not making th
reats again, Jimmy,” Rami said quietly. “You caused enough harm at the last meeting, or have you forgotten already.”

  “So, what do we do?” Jim asked ostentatiously. “Really, Nash, what do we do now?”

  Rami took a newspaper out of his bag and opened it. “You can order something to eat if you’re hungry or just get out of here. I believe it’s a felony to harass friendly tourists. I heard they do an awesome sambousak here.”

  “Sam-bo-sack?” Nash asked, bewildered, the hunger apparent in his face.

  Jim grew serious and approached Rami. “Do you know the name Yossi Bergman?”

  Rami didn’t answer.

  “Or maybe by his other name -- Mr. Yoav Sharff?”

  “You want to go through the entire Valley area phone book with me, agent Jim? I don’t think Ehud will come by here soon. Take his donuts and have a party in your car. I hope this is the last time we meet, Jim.”

  Jim nodded for a moment and Rami looked away towards the crowded street.

  “Okay,” Jim said, looking at Nash, “hold him for questioning. I’m tired of these games.”

  “Jim, we’ll follow the rules. He’s right about tourists, perhaps we’d better not get into trouble again.”

  “Tourists?! When tourists threaten national security, they are no longer classified as tourists,” Jim muttered.

  Rami put down the paper, looked at Jim, and nodded to himself. He then took out his cell phone and sent a short text message.

  After a moment, Jim’s cell phone began to vibrate in his pocket. He ignored it. It continued to vibrate for a few moments longer, stopped and then began again.

  “Do you intend to start talking?” Jim asked.

  Nash’s phone rang. He answered and turned aside.

  “Yes, boss,” Nash said to the phone in an official tone. “Yes, yes, I’ll hand you over right away.” He put the phone into Jim’s hand and whispered, “It’s Harvey. He says he needs to talk to you urgently.”

  Jim’s face dropped and he stood up to answer the call.

  Rami smiled and continued reading the paper serenely, “There are some things that just don’t change.”

  Nash looked at him.

  Rami lifted his eyes and said, “Scorpio. Its nature is to sting.”

  47

  Schetritt Industries, Downtown Los Angeles

  “This will be your office,” said Ben, opening a door to a spacious office boasting large windows. The room was clean and bare, containing a small desk with a computer monitor and an executive chair beside it. “Thank you,” I said. He nodded and left.

  I remained alone in the room. I looked at the walls, there was nothing on there. I knew that every move I made here, every Internet search, every outgoing phone message or e-mail would be monitored. There is no way that I could ever get away with the smallest thing going unrecorded, everything will be registered and reported to Schetritt immediately. There isn’t even any point in testing it. Or perhaps there is...

  I turned on the computer and connected to the wireless network. I downloaded hacking software and started fishing around the net. I found some minor security flaws, nothing major, but sufficiently significant so that I could do as I wanted on the regional network. I installed tools for network monitoring. Now I had the opportunity to learn the structure of data flow in the company.

  Within a few minutes I found my way through the network. Accounts, a good place to visit. A few clicks and I was in Excel sheets and encrypted databases. I heard a knock at the door, as was to be expected. I quickly switched off the monitor.

  “Yes?”

  The door opened and Schetritt stood at the entrance. He smiled broadly. “Settling in okay?”

  “Yes,” I replied.

  He approached me and put a hand on my shoulder. “Nothing here is as it seems.” His smile grew bigger and he left.

  I turned on the monitor again and looked at the screen, blinked for a second and looked again. It turned out that I had not broken into their accounts but into the computer of the pizzeria next door. I was on a non-secure wireless network.

  I looked at the screen, intrigued. I’m sure I was in Schetritt’s accounts. Very strange, unless, of course, I’ve hit upon what must be the remote access software. While Schetritt came in, Ben must have taken over the screen, disconnected me from their own network, connected me to the pizzeria and put up a fake Excel sheet. I wrote a note on the desktop -”1 – 0, Ben.”

  I waited a little and looked out the window. I saw Schetritt leave in his car. I went back to my desk and downloaded more software.

  The first piece of software enabled me to record my screen and my clicks, and then reactivate them. Like a closed-circuit TV stuck on a loop. I go in, search for something meaningless on Google, go into Word - write something, delete, close Word. Go into Excel - makes a few notes. Go over to a browser, go into a website. The whole sequence is saved in the software, and I can give a command to run this script once or more. I created several scripts and duplicated them randomly. Now I had several hours of different actions. As long as Ben doesn’t look too closely into what’s going on, it’ll go unnoticed. If Ben does a close inspection he will find out that the scripts repeat themselves.

  The second piece of software I downloaded allowed me to evade remote access by disrupting the access. Using this software was riskier. As soon as I activated the software, the other party, Ben, in this instance, will see that he doesn’t have access to my computer. He might walk in here to check what’s going on. If there are disruptions for too long he’ll understand that something is wrong.

  Here, as always, the solution was ‘everything in moderation.’ Most of the time Ben would be able to see what I was doing, which meant that most of the time I was busy with what they wanted me to do. At times when I had to extract data that I did not want them to see, I would disconnect my monitor and utilize the first piece of software that recorded the previous movements, or I’d initiate complete disconnection. I hoped that the combination of allowing Ben real viewing of my actions, at least some of the time, and pre-recorded sequences that concealed my real actions combined with disconnections that would make him surmise that the network is slightly unstable, would bring about the desired effect.

  I connected to the company’s databases once more. I was searching for a link to the Iranians. I opened a few folders and found astronomical money transfers. Rami had said that it was important for me to collect evidence, which we may need to mobilize the Feds against Schetritt. For now, we had to be weary of them, but we may need this avenue at some point. I had the feeling that Rami wanted to only blackmail him, but at this point I tried to collect as much evidence as possible. I copied it all to a USB stick and hid it in my right shoe.

  I searched the net and found merchandise movements, delivery notes, credits. I decided to check for movements to the warehouse on 15th Street, the warehouse that drew my attention and piqued the suspicion that Schetritt was involved. I saw a lot of arms movements, heavy artillery delivery notes and credit notes. What’s going on there? I checked who the equipment was being delivered to. Who is the signatory, who is the client... David White. I again pulled out the USB stick and copied the information. By now I was sure that this was the place and that the time had come to relay the data to Rami and to operations.

  48

  The Valley, Los Angeles

  “Sorry, Yoav,” Rami said. “I can’t.”

  “Excuse me?” I thought I was going crazy. “I just told you that I have all the data regarding the warehouse that...”

  “It’s impossible,” Rami said. “I can’t involve additional forces just because you’re under the impression that the Foretellers headquarters are located there. You’ve gotten me nothing so far.”

  “Nothing?!” I protested. “As I explained to you, Rami, I’ve got details of arms shipments and David White’s signature on the
order.”

  “So?”

  “Ehud said David was linked to...”

  “That’s not enough,” he said firmly. “That’s my decision. Carry on obtaining material. You’re doing a good job.”

  “Don’t sweet-talk me, Rami,” I said angrily. “Is it something Ehud said to you?”

  “What’s Ehud got to do with it?” He was beginning to lose his patience. “What are you talking about? As I’ve explained to you already, I can’t assign forces on a whim, certainly if you don’t have proof. Can you imagine how complex it is for me to activate forces during such an operation? I need names, Yoav, not addresses. I want the names of the two senior members of the organization, whom we can take down. I can’t attack a warehouse in Los Angeles. What do you think I am, the US Army? The FBI?” He hung up the phone. He had inspired hope in me. His last sentence echoed in my mind: ‘What do you think I am, the US Army? The FBI?’ I toyed with the thought.

  “Jim, I need to see you urgently,” I said.

  “Get to the office,” Jim said wearily. “I hope it’s something serious.”

  “Don’t worry,” I said. “It’s the jackpot.”

  “We’ll see, we’ll see,” he said. “Come down.”

  “Why don’t we meet somewhere else?”

  “Okay. Wait for us on the corner of Santa Monica and 17th.”

  Jim Clark –- one of a growing number of people who I really didn’t feel like meeting. I waited for him on the bench beside the bus stop at Santa Monica Boulevard and 17th Street, next to Enterprise car rental. What a spot. The traffic was sparse but still I couldn’t make out his car. In fact, he could be arriving in any vehicle -- by taxi or even by bus.

  He insisted he’d arrive on time -- apparently our clocks were not synchronized. I looked at my watch and then at the endless blue skies of California. The two-story buildings facing me, which were typical of the area, contributed to a great deal of blue sky in view. As much as I didn’t feel like seeing Jim, I had to give him something just to get him off my back. Of course, he’ll be very happy for anything that might help him bring down Schetritt. He didn’t know that I had put some extra stuff onto my USB.