The End-Time Foretellers

by Ran Weber

  I introduced myself as the owner of a marketing and advertising company and explained that I am mediating between them and the business owners themselves. The coupons company did not care. They had an automatic process that worked with PayPal and a few other credit card clearing companies. Whenever anyone used my app, they were offered coupons in the Los Angeles area. I paid 12,000 dollars in coupons in one day. More than 9,000 people downloaded the app until I sabotaged it and it stopped working. I had achieved what I needed.

  As a result of the ad, four junior reporters at the Los Angeles Times also downloaded the app. What they did not know was that, in the background, the app was searching for connected communications networks and was copying passwords and sensitive data. There was a disclaimer when downloading the app but they didn’t suspect that “such a famous” app (after all, it received prominent coverage in the Times!) could be malicious. I now got a few journalists’ passwords to the Times network. In addition, I also managed to obtain, via the computer of the editor-in-chief, the main password of the computer center, allowing me to directly authorize the articles.

  58

  The Valley, Los Angeles

  I went out for a morning run. It was early. A black Lincoln with tinted windows was parked across the street. I wasn’t in the mood for another encounter with law enforcement and thought that ignoring them would be the best tactic. I was wrong. The car started moving slowly alongside me. I picked up the pace. It was pathetic, of course a Lincoln would be able to match my speed. After a few hundred feet, I stopped and looked through the tinted windows, trying to figure out who was sitting in there. The window rolled down and a young man with a middle eastern appearance looked at me.

  “Good morning,” he said in a foreign accent. For a moment, I wasn’t sure what the accent was and then I recognized it, Iranian.

  “Don’t you have anything better to do with your morning than tailing people who are trying to get a little exercise?”

  “On the contrary,” he said and got out of the car wearing running clothes. That was a surprise.

  He held out his hand.

  “Ali,” he said and smiled.

  I reluctantly extended my hand in return and said, “Yoav.”

  “I know,” he smiled. Then he added “Do you mind if I join you for a run?”

  “How exactly...?”

  “We have been following you for a while. You always go out for a run at the same time and I like to exercise.”

  We started running. The car tailed us, keeping a little ways back. I picked up the pace to make it harder for him but he managed to keep an impressive pace. Every time he started talking I picked up the pace. At some point, I saw that he was out of breath. He pointed to a bench and said: “Perhaps we could stop for a moment?”

  “I thought that you wanted to run,” I said, smiling.

  He panted, put his hand on my shoulder and said, “We have things that are a bit more important to talk about.”

  “Do we?” I asked doubtfully.

  We sat on a bench. The Lincoln stopped on the side of the road beside us. It was clear to me that we were being recorded.

  “Listen, I am on your side.”

  Sure. I didn’t answer. I looked at him. He was decked out in the best brands. Fluorescent running pants, a high-end heart rate monitor on his wrist, luxury sunglasses and a moisture wicking shirt. He was the farthest thing I could imagine from an Iranian extremist.

  “You should work with us, you will see that it will pay off in the long run.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said while tying my shoelaces. “I’m just a tourist, here to enjoy a bit of the Californian sun.” I leaned my head back.

  “Don’t give me that nonsense,” Ali said. “Stop with the games, Yoav.”

  I ignored him.

  The door to the Lincoln opened. Someone yelled something in Persian and Ali answered curtly. Judging by the next comment that was yelled back from the car it was evident that Ali’s response wasn’t wholly appreciated. I looked at Ali, he looked annoyed. “He wants to talk to you,” he pointed at the car. “You should. Perhaps he will give you new information. “

  I got on my feet and walked to the car. I had a feeling that Ali was low ranking. I prefer to deal directly with whomever has the information and the ability to get things done. I approached the Lincoln. The door was open and the person sitting in there moved over to make room for me. I gestured to him to come out but he didn’t budge.

  I started walking away. He slammed the door and opened the window. The Lincoln began driving beside me. How naive were they to believe that I’d enter an Iranian car with no weapon or backup?

  “I know what you were led to believe and believe me – it is all lies.”

  “Lies?”

  “Yes, son, rancid lies. Really… Hold on,” he called out to the driver in Persian and got out of the car. “Okay, let’s sit down.”

  We sat on a bench. I looked back and saw Ali watching us from afar.

  “Farhan,” he said formally.

  “So, there’s no End -Time Foretellers, you don’t have a nuclear missile and you really had nothing better to do, so you came to bother Los Angeles joggers,” I said and crossed my arms. The morning sun was warming us.

  “You are clever, my friend,” Farhan laughed and wiped his forehead with a little handkerchief that he took out of his pocket. “I didn’t say that. All I said was that you have been fooled, lied to, Yoav. I know we were depicted as the bad guys, but we aren’t the problem. The Americans, they are.”

  “You aren’t the problem?!” I turned to face him. “You are aiming a nuclear weapon at Israel, wanting to cause the death of hundreds of thousands if not millions and you aren’t the problem?!”

  “Do you really believe all this nonsense in the media?” he said, leaning back slightly. “It’s a bluff orchestrated by the Americans and the Saudis.” Farhan looked at me and smiled. “You don’t really understand much about the history of Islam, do you?”

  I didn’t answer.

  “Look, there is no way that Iran will shoot a missile on Israel.”

  “No?”

  “No way. If we do shoot a missile it will be on the Saudis, may Allah take them to their grave of fire. Understand, in the beginning we were united under Mohammad ,but then the problems and divisions began and we became enemies. The first ones to be eliminated will be the Saudis and other infidels, we have no issues with Israel. Our main issue is with the Sunnis. In the year 2010 a study was published – do you know how many Jews were harmed in terrorist attacks that year?

  “No.”

  “Fifteen. And how many in total, over the entire world? Over ten thousand, most – if not all – Muslims. The real war is between the Sunnis and Shiites and not between Jews and Muslims. With all due respect, you are just a tiny speck on our map.”

  He looked down. “They humiliated us, the Sunnis. All generations. But we will rise from the ashes and burn the world, we will bring the truth. All the infidels will have fire inflicted upon their heads. The Mahdi is coming Yoav,” said Farhan, his eyes ablaze.

  “Mahdi?”

  “Yes, the 12th Imam. The hidden Imam. Mohammad ,Al Mahdi. Allah is hiding him but he will come and save the world. It’s the end of the end, Yoav, a new era will come. An era without corruption, without materialism and all the constant flattery of the Americans and the infidels. Without a Sunni takeover, without humiliation.“ He closed his eyes for a moment, nodded, and opened them, “inshallah.”

  I looked away from him.

  “The first missile goes to Saudi Arabia, and the Americans know it,” he said enthusiastically, his eyes sparkling. “That is why they are so worried. That is why they gave the system to Israel only.”

  “Why?” I looked at him once more.

  “So that the Saudis too will be worrie
d. The Saudis know that the first missile will be sent their way and they are doing everything they can so we won’t get the codes to the Pillar of Fire system.”

  “That’s completely crazy. What’s that got to do with it?”

  “Because if Israel will feel too self-confident, then when Iran fires the missile at Saudi Arabia, Israel will take advantage of the situation and fire missiles at Iran. Once the codes will be in our possession, Israel will not dare to attack Iran directly and we will be able to attack Saudi Arabia. That would be a better, more balanced situation, both for you and for us. But the Americans, with them it’s more complicated. On the one hand, they are afraid that we will attack Saudi Arabia, and so they are afraid that we will get the codes and attack Saudi Arabia, followed by Israel, or so they claim. On the other hand, they don’t want Israel to feel over-confident and so they have a backdoor in the system.“

  “Well, that I already know,” I said pensively.

  Farhan got up for a moment and answered a brief phone call that afforded me a breather to contemplate things. How things change from day to day.

  “Anyway,” Farhan said, “it’s better that you give us the codes.” He stopped for a moment. “After all, we will get them anyway, so it’s a shame for you not to make a profit, you seem like a good guy.” He got up, walked towards the Lincoln that was parked beside us, opened the door and produced an envelope.

  He approached me, put down the brown envelope next to me, winked and said -- “a small payment for your precious time and for cancelling your run.” I looked inside the envelope, there were over twenty thousand dollars in there and his business card. I looked at the card and thought to myself that I needed to report this money to Rami. But ultimately, I forgot to inform him.

  “Come and visit, you have the address. You will receive a warm welcome, I promise.”

  59

  The Valley, Los Angeles

  Binyamin instructed me to wait in the studio, saying he’d be right there. The studio had an exterior entrance and an entrance from within the house. The exterior door was open so I went in. There were a number of worktops, on one of them were placed many frames and tools. On the wall hung old framed photographs and ancient manuscripts. Binyamin and his wife Lily appeared in one of the pictures, smiling. The photo was taken against the backdrop of the Cave of the Patriarchs.

  I recalled the first time that I went into the cave, off duty. It was on an evening off from the army. Yossi and I were in a car on the way out of Hebron when Yossi jumped up and said, “We have to visit our parents.” I looked at him with a puzzled look. “Our parents?”

  “Yes!” He announced. “The Cave of the Patriarchs. Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, Sarah, Rebecca, Leah. Come on, let’s go.” We got out of the car and headed for the cave. Yossi was not a religious person, at least not in the usual definition of the word, but he had a deeply mystical side, as well as a profoundly rooted connection to Israel.

  When we entered, he said to me, “It doesn’t matter what you believe. What goes on in here is beyond your views, allow your heart to feel. Hebron is derived from the word Hibur, meaning connection, let yourself be without filters here.” I couldn’t refuse.

  I remember there was something very deep there. For years, I tried to ignore it, but something touched my heart over there, something irrational, a frequency that connected with me deep down. I couldn’t handle it so I left the cave. Half an hour later, Yossi came out and declared happily, “That’s it. Now we can go home.”

  I heard the door slam, it was Binyamin. I spun around to him. “Hello.”

  “You’re interested in the picture of Hebron?”

  “Something like that,” I said. “Reminiscent of times gone by.”

  “Yes,” he said thoughtfully, “reminiscent of times gone by.”

  We were silent.

  “Beautiful picture,” I said finally.

  “Thank you,” he replied. “Tell me, how is the new job with Schetritt the eel going?”

  “All right,” I smiled. “I’m learning to get along with him.”

  “That’s a mistake. You can’t get along with him, don’t fool yourself. Stay away from him. You’re too good for that, Yoav, they deal in terrible things.”

  It was hard for me to believe. Does he really care? If he knew what I was really doing at Schetritt’s, all that was happening with Schetritt and the Iranians... Everything was so nice and simple in the Wolf family home. No international espionage, no codes and world-conquering plans. Simply work, eat, live. In that moment, I felt nothing but envy for such a life.

  “You’re always playing the game on someone’s behalf. The question is whose,” he said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’ve got to know who you’re working for, don’t forget who you’re working for.”

  I shuddered slightly. “What do you mean, Binyamin? You’re very mysterious today.”

  He smiled, a half smile. “There are two options; working for the good guys or working for the bad guys. Many people think they are working the good, but slowly find out that they are actually working the bad... That’s what it all boils down to at the end of the day.”

  Everything is very simple, black and white. Go tell him that there are people whose world is a little more complex. As I see it now, my possibilities are to work for the bad guys or to work for the slightly less bad guys, and it’s not always so clear to me who is who.

  Binyamin looked at me intently. “Did something happen?”

  “No,” I blurted and sat down on a chair. “Oh... Schetritt invited me to the Passover Seder. I don’t feel like it, but I don’t think I can get out of it.”

  “Don’t worry, the Seder at Schetritt’s house is a very brief social affair.”

  I looked at pictures and writings that had not been framed yet. One of them was written on a napkin that was wedged between two glass panes. I picked it up, a handwritten poem appeared on it.

  “Did you want something?”

  “I did, but perhaps this is not the right time.” He took the glass containing the napkin off me. “This is something very precious and private, belonging to a client. I’m sorry.”

  I shrugged. “Sorry.”

  “Want something to drink? A coke?” he asked.

  “What?” I asked absentmindedly. “Yes. Thanks.”

  “Could you get it from the pantry? It’s right next to the kitchen.”

  I crossed from the studio to the house and walked towards the kitchen. Just before the kitchen I saw a door on the right. I remembered that once I tried to open it and it was locked. I couldn’t resist it, a matter of habit, apparently, and I tried to open it. It wasn’t locked. I popped my head in and saw a flight of stairs going down towards another door. I debated whether to go down to the basement, Binyamin will surely soon wonder where I am.

  I heard Binyamin approaching from behind. I took my head out and closed the door quickly. He pointed to the cupboard besides it.

  “That’s the pantry, have you forgotten? This door is the cellar.”

  “You’ve got secrets from days gone by locked in there?” I asked, smiling.

  Binyamin did not smile back. “Something like that. Yoav, please respect my privacy and don’t open doors that you were not asked to open.”

  ***

  I left the house for a walk. I needed air. I needed time to think about things. I felt as though I was chasing my own tail.

  The cool evening air filled my lungs. I work for Schetritt, I thought, and I have to help him help the Iranians. How did I come to this? I was supposed to find out who was trying to help the Iranians and stop them, not get the code to them myself.

  Someone ran beside me with a formidable Rottweiler, I moved aside. She smiled a perfect smile and said excuse me. I missed my previous life, despite the pressure of life in Israel. I missed the kids who’d come into
the store looking for the new computer games, a spark in their eyes. I missed the scheme-less routine, a life devoid of contrivance.

  I put my hands in the pockets of my pants and trembled slightly. It was a bit cold, but pleasant nonetheless. The evening air was good for me. Walking reminded me of unburdened times when I felt free, and believed that anything was possible, when Yossi and I thought we were going to be discharged from the army and take the world by storm. And now, I told myself, everything feels sealed and impossible. I couldn’t get Rami what he needed, so he’d finally leave me alone, and I had no idea what would be of me.

  I took a deep breath. There was something else, Binyamin’s world. It was a new and unfamiliar world, it intrigued me. Little Aharon was a sweet and amazing boy. The moments I spent with them made me forget the mess I was in. I asked myself whether I was beginning to feel anything. I convinced myself that I wasn’t. I was there for a clear and precise mission. This was a world I will have visited for a moment, before I fly back to my nest in south Tel Aviv.

  60

  Brentwood, Los Angeles

  Schetritt’s house was bright and festive. A huge table stood in the middle of a vast living room, set with silverware. On it was placed expensive china and spectacular flower arrangements. The guests, who were undoubtedly the Valley’s wealthier inhabitants, stood in a cluster on one end of the room, and waiters passed among them, offering hors-d’oeuvres and flutes of fizzing champagne. The men, gray-haired, in black suits. And the women, dressed in Prada and Gucci, wearing prominent diamond jewelry. It was more like a cocktail party than a Seder meal. At one point, Schetritt stood up and called, “Welcome to our Seder,” urging Ben to distribute Haggadah books.

  Ben got up and grabbed the Haggadahs from a small side table, and distributed them among the guests. They were bound in ivory with gold embossing,

  When I shook his hand when I first arrived, Ben informed me that of the Valley’s inhabitants, anyone who’s anyone comes through Schetritt’s Seder.

  “Here is where the huge deals get made.”