The End-Time Foretellers Page 5

  “Sure.”

  Amos kept looking at me and didn’t say a word. Then he took the keys and removed the steel lock from the outside grille. With his foot, he pushed out the big cardboard figure to attract the attention of passers-by. He straightened his glasses and looked at the lock.

  “So where did you say the conference was?” he asked while fiddling with the key and the steel lock.

  “California.”

  11

  Federal Bureau of Investigation, Los Angeles, California

  “I don’t know,” said the tired agent, rubbing his eyes. “Don’t know.”

  “Jim,” Nash said, “we’ve been working this case for long enough. It’s a ghost organization, we can’t get our hands on it. For a second we seem to be closing in on them and then it’s radio silence. It all disappears and then appears again at a different location. Just forget about it and let’s move on. Justin from district showed me a file about a drug cartel in Beverly Hills that’s waiting for a unit. Let’s get out of this dead end. We’re better off declaring ‘End Time Foretellers’ a dead case,” he said wearily, emphasizing the word dead. “No way!” Jim exclaimed.

  “Okay,” Nash said, “Plan B. We rework the information we got and we cover up the case. It’s time to tie up loose ends and give Harvey something.”

  “Nash!” Jim said, “I’m not going to shut the case down after all the work we’ve put into it, by grabbing a Mexican in East LA and framing him with the establishment of a secret society. What are you going to serve up? Two East LA Mexicans and their three cats? Seriously, Nash, I expected more from you.”

  “It didn’t stop you in the past,” said Nash, lowering his gaze. “This time it’s different,” Jim ignored the sarcastic remark.

  “Why?”

  Jim didn’t answer.

  “Because of Schetritt?”

  Jim looked up at the ceiling. “Maybe.”

  “Jim, enough, let it be. This has been eating you up for years; forget about this scumbag. We don’t have enough evidence to put him in jail. He has powerful lawyers, he’ll be able to get away again and this time he’ll exact even greater revenge,” Nash said, breathing deeply, “it isn’t clear what the link is between him and the End-Time Foretellers.”

  “Maybe it’s not clear to you, but it’s as clear as rain to me, Nash. The guy is going to make the deal of the decade and make a laughing stock of us again, whether he is connected to the organization or is mediating between it and the Iranians. This time it’s not going to happen, Nash. I’m going to do whatever it takes to bring down the scumbag, and everyone else he’s working with.”

  Nash looked at Jim and said dejectedly, “Okay, boss, one last round.”

  Jim closed his eyes and banged nervously on the table. “You remember what happened last time?”

  “Last time? Umm... when you almost caught him?”

  “Almost?” Jim cried. “The net was hermetically sealed. We collected all the evidence, the case was fully prepared, even Harvey praised me for the quick and efficient action.” Jim paused and Nash watched him. “And then we got the phone call from the Senator and Schetritt emerged from the net as clean as my grandmother’s starched laundry. That’s not going to happen this time.”

  “Okay, so what do we do?”

  “Listen to me, Nash, and listen well, we’re going to bust open Schetritt’s circle of lies. I want to get someone into his organization and finish him. I want unequivocal evidence of all the dirt he has on his hands, do you understand?”

  “Who?” Asked Nash. “We’ve tried to insert agents before, they spot them in a blink of an eye.”

  “There has to be a way,” Jim said, leaning back on his chair, “there has to be a way, someone who can infiltrate his way to Schetritt without arousing his suspicion, someone not from the area.”

  “What?” Nash asked, a silly smile on his face.

  “Someone from Israel,” Jim said, nodding. “Someone from Israel, someone fresh from outside the system, who will come from a new direction. Someone Avi Schetritt wouldn’t be expecting.”

  “Israel?!” asked Nash.

  “Get me Ehud,” Jim said, “I need to talk to him.”

  “Ehud?” Asked Nash.

  “Yes. Schlotzky the slippery eel,” said Jim. “I think that under enough pressure he could turn into a very resourceful person. I have a feeling he’s going to be a great deal of help to us.”

  12

  Tel Aviv, Israel

  I consulted the clock - time barely moved. I felt the pressure surging within me. Soon my life in Tel Aviv would be distant, and I would be stranded in Los Angeles, who knows where and for how long. My room was steaming, the sticky, disgusting humidity of Tel Aviv. I wanted to get on the web, but I didn’t wish to waste my time on nonsense.

  On the wall rested the surfboard that belonged to Amos’ brother. He had left it here and taken a key, stipulating that I used the surfboard as much as I like. As far as I was concerned he was welcome to come and go as he pleased. I thought back to the days when I spent hours at sea on my surfboard, before it crashed and shattered, and before I metamorphosed into a florescent computer worm. It’s not that I couldn’t get a new surfboard, but I somehow sank into a motionless world. I looked at the surfboard and it reminded me of speed, waves, turns, ocean spray on my face, a cool breeze, drinking beer by beach bonfires on moonlit nights. How my life has stagnated, I’ve aged.

  I got up and examined the surfboard. I recalled why he had stopped surfing on it – the leash. He said he had to replace the leash because the string connecting the leash to the surfboard was threadbare. I went closer and saw that it was true, it was almost completely torn.

  I remembered the days when I’d call to find out the state of the sea on Topsea’s answering machine, hearing Orian’s update as to what’s going on at sea. I called, he said there were uncharacteristically remarkable waves.

  I decided it was time to go back to real surfing, the sort I hadn’t done for a long time. I put on my wetsuit, grabbed the board, and hurried to Dolphinarium Beach. There was still some time before the flight, at least I’ll while it away surfing before a spectacular sunset.

  I went into the sea, what a pleasure. I had almost forgotten what it was like to surf, having been absorbed in the grievances of kids with frozen PlayStation consoles. I paddled in, it was a high sea, towering walls of water. It was just me and the sea, the city’s agitation left far behind.

  I paddled further in, I couldn’t find a channel going in, and the waves spat me out. After a quarter of an hour of straining and duck diving, I paddled in quickly. I’m almost getting past the waves of the shore, I thought, soon I’ll make it beyond point break.

  Just before I made it, a 7-foot monster rose from the sea, and I discerned that it would break ten yards ahead of me. I realized it was now or never. I paddled towards it as fast as I could. A tremendous wall of water rose above me, I saw the foam on the edge, it was about to break. Three strong paddles, a dive, a second of quiet and I came out on the other side of the wave. Behind me I heard the tremendous drone of the breaking wave. I did it! I was beyond the waves.

  It began to be fun. I caught long, open waves. These were the kind of waves that suited me, long corners. Each wave had me doing several off the lip maneuvers – coming out over the edge of the wave – I couldn’t stop. When the sun went down most of the surfers cut home, I was enjoying myself so much that I didn’t want to get out. I forgot about the mission, forgot about Rami and the fat man, I was wholly invested in the moment. Until something else happened.

  At the tail end of an amazing wave, I leapt over it without the surfboard. The wave took the surfboard and left me in the deep water. The leash had torn. I didn’t have time to think, I remembered the training that Rami had forced me to go through for the previous mission – body-surfing in 7-foot waves to the shores of Lebanon. I
cut quickly from the rip, the part of the current that draws the water in. Instead of paddling out - the instinctive thing to do - I swam to the left towards point break, where the waves break and the water is pushed out in the desired direction. I remembered the instructors shouting, I hated every minute, but it turns out that it ultimately served me well. The automatic search for point break and swimming directly to it without trying to get out, has proven its worth. It was primarily the body-surfing training that helped me. I caught waves without the surfboard and reached the beach safely. I found the surfboard on the beach about a hundred yards away from me. The string had torn.

  13

  Los Angeles, California

  Binyamin parked in the laundromat parking lot. When there’s a lot of laundry, the adjacent parking lot is a real advantage. The laundromat on Resida Street wasn’t very close to their house, but it was a convenient set up. Next to the laundromat there was a games store that Aharon liked to check out. Aharon also said that he prefers this laundromat because it says that it is earth-friendly, which is important. Sometimes he would help Binyamin load the laundry into the big machines and sometimes Binyamin would let him wander around the games store. The owner of the store always welcomed him pleasantly, although the number of times they bought anything there had not been great. Binyamin didn’t like to leave Aharon alone at home for a long time, and so he brought him along this time too.

  “Do you want to come and help me, Aharon?” Asked Binyamin, turning off the engine.

  “Yes. Is there a lot of laundry?”

  The laundromat was empty of people. It was afternoon and traffic was sparse. Aharon put the clothes into one of the huge machines with his back to the entrance and Binyamin was busy getting the bags of laundry from the car.

  The laundromat was relatively long and narrow, its owners apparently wanted to squeeze as many washing machines as possible into the little space allocated to them and had arranged them one on top of the other in two rows. The air smelled of detergents and softeners. Binyamin had a small box of laundry detergent and two dryer sheets.

  The laundromat’s fluorescent light flickered. Binyamin looked up and saw that one of the bulbs was off while the other flickered. They don’t maintain this place, he thought. Minimum investment - maximum profit, the American system in all its glory.

  Binyamin and Aharon finished loading their laundry.

  “Do you want to come to the store with me, Aharon?” asked Binyamin.

  Aharon looked with interest at the washing machine, which trembled slightly as it went on mixing the laundry. “I want to keep an eye on the laundry,” he said.

  “There’s no need for that.”

  “But...”

  “Come on, Aharon, I don’t want you to stay here alone. There are all sorts of…”

  “Dad, it’s okay. Leave the door open and if anyone comes I’ll shout out to you.”

  After several minutes, Binyamin was convinced and smiled. “Well, I’ll be right back. I’m just getting something and returning.”

  He gave Aharon a plastic bag and some coins. “There are dryer sheets inside the bag, to make our clothes smell nice, and the coins…”

  “I know, Dad,” said Aharon, “as if I haven’t done this a thousand times.” Binyamin patted his head and hurried to the nearby store.

  ***

  Aharon was left alone in the laundromat. It scared him a bit to be alone there. He hoped his father would be back soon. He heard a noise coming from the direction of the entrance and tensed up. He looked toward the entrance. Probably nothing, he convinced himself, maybe a cat. He took a deep breath and held on tightly to the plastic bag.

  When the washing machine had finished its cycle, Aharon got the dryer sheets from the bag that Binyamin had left, and swiftly transferred the wet laundry to the dryer. He took out the coins his father had left for him and put them in the clothes dryer. He suddenly heard noises coming from the direction of the entrance. Two Mexican men in their twenties swaggered into the laundromat, holding sticks. One of them began to drum on one of the machines and the other kicked the open door of a washing machine. Aharon looked at them.

  “Look at what we’s got here,” said one of the Mexicans.

  Aharon looked away. His father once told him not to make eye contact with dogs, policemen and criminals. The rotation of the dryer was slower than that of the washing machine, and also louder, thought Aharon. He hoped they would leave.

  “What you doin’ in here alone like that?” Asked one of them.

  He wanted to shout out but he couldn’t, he felt paralyzed.

  “Answer, kid,” said the other Mexican.

  Aharon trembled.

  The first Mexican raised his stick in the air. “Cat got your tongue, kid?”

  ***

  Binyamin studied the apples in the vegetable store. “Nice apples,” he finally said, putting some of them in the paper bag he held in his hand.

  “Thanks,” the shopkeeper said, looking back at the newspaper on the counter. He was tall and thin and appeared to be of Indian descent.

  Binyamin also collected some pears in another bag. He handed them to the shopkeeper along with a $10 bill. A finger dug into his back. He froze for a moment, leaned forward, grabbed the arm of the man behind him and almost knocked him to the ground.

  “Calm down, man,” Donnie Milstein exclaimed. “I’m kidding around and you almost break my arm.”

  “That’s not funny, Donnie.”

  “This isn’t either,” Donnie said, readjusting his suit. “What are you doing here?”

  “Laundry.”

  Donnie nodded. “I wanted to talk to you about a realty investment.”

  “I can’t, Donnie. My son is waiting for me in the laundromat.”

  “Wait a minute,” Donnie said, “he’ll manage. Listen…” “Donnie, let it go, man. Talk to me on the phone.“

  “I finally get a hold of you. This is a once in a lifetime opportunity.“

  “Every week you come to me with something like this,” Binyamin said, took the shopping bags and the change, and thanked the shopkeeper.

  “You have no idea what you’re missing out on, Binyamin,” Donnie said. “Don’t complain to me later that I do all the good deals leaving nothing for you.“

  Binyamin left the shop. He approached the laundromat and heard voices inside.

  ***

  “Aharon, get into the car!” Ordered Binyamin. He secured Aharon’s way out, and shielded him from the Mexicans. Aharon looked at him with fear. “Dad?” he asked.

  “Everything’s just fine, Aharon,” Binyamin said. “Wait for me in the car, buddy, Dad will be out soon.” Aharon hurried out of the laundromat.

  Binyamin directed his attention to the two Mexican guys. His back muscles tightened, and he felt the adrenaline flood him.

  “Dad will be out soon”,” one of the guys mimicked him and burst out laughing. He beat his stick on one of the washing machines.

  “That’s somebody’s property,” Binyamin said.

  “Really, Grandpa?” The young man asked, gaping. “You hear that, Raoul?“ He said to his friend in amusement. ”It’s somebody’s property. Oops, I had no idea,” he beat the stick on the glass of the industrial washing machine. The noise was terrible, but the glass remained intact. Armored glass. The owner of the laundromat clearly spent a little more to keep his machines in operation over time.

  Binyamin closed his eyes for a moment and then opened them. “What did I tell you, kid?“

  “Alejandro, I think Grandpa, ain’t going to make it to his car. That’s a shame,” Raoul said, and approached him. He joined his friend and they both stood 3 feet from Binyamin.

  “So, what you think, Grandpa?” Alejandro asked. “You think we better be good boys and go home?”

  Binyamin was silent.

  “Cat got
your tongue?” Raul asked, then turned to Alejandro: “I think we should teach him a little lesson, so he learns not to butt into other people’s business.“

  “Yes,” Alejandro said. “You know it ain’t wise to butt into other people’s business. You can get into big trouble like that.”

  “It appears as though I have no choice,”, said Binyamin.

  “Wha?” Raoul asked.

  “Butting into other people’s business,” said Binyamin. “You destroy private property. I saw it and now it’s my business, too.“ He spoke calmly and confidently, weighing his words carefully.

  Binyamin scanned the two guys, trying to gauge which of them would crack first, even though in such situations it didn’t matter much. He knew they had gotten in a tangle and were looking for a way to get out of it and he was there to help. He chose.

  He fixed his stare into Raoul’s eyes, his jaws tightened and he clenched his fists.

  Alejandro looked at Raul. “Man, I think he’s crazy this… grandpa... maybe…”

  “Maybe what?“ Raul asked, putting his right hand in his pocket. He let go of the stick he had in his left hand and took his right hand out of his pocket, wearing brass knuckles. He smiled, revealing missing teeth. “I think Grandpa only understands simple talk,” he said, throwing a punch straight into Binyamin’s face. Binyamin moved aside quickly and let the punch shoot past him.

  He grabbed Raoul’s arm with both hands, bent it, dropped the brass knuckles, and with his right leg kicked it back. The brass knuckles slipped out of the laundromat. He pushed Raoul far away from him and said, “You have the option of calling it quits, admitting that you made a mistake and walking away, or getting to a point where you’re unable to walk away. The choice is yours.“