“You mean, you have not been able to eradicate all the extremists?” Tarek was shocked, “You are telling me we shall expect further attacks?”
“It’s worse than that, Tarek, just wait a second,” Yaakov switched on a button on his watch, and the camera drone projected a holographic shield around them, making them invisible to bystanders. “The problem is, we have a mole at the Mossad. He, or she, we have no idea who it might be, is working for the terrorists, feeding them precious information, and thwarting our attempts to get rid of them.”
“That explains why you have had relatively little success, so far, but how can we help you identify him?” Tarek asked, “If you are not able to keep your house in order, how can we?”
“We know that the mole feeds the information to the ‘Navibahai’ sect, to their West African headquarter at Yamassoukro, in the former Republic of Ivory Coast, and from there it reaches the extremists in the Tel Aviv Strip. You know that the Navibahais have a temple in Haifa, which they inherited from the previous sect, the Bahais.”
“I know the story,” Tarek cut short, “and I know why you are telling me. You want me to use Ali, my nephew.”
“I know I am asking a lot from you, Tarek,” Yaakov said, “I do not want you to put his life at risk. Yet Ali is in the inner circle of Farlimas, the head of the sect, and he might know something helpful for us.”
“I wonder why we still call it a sect,” Tarek pondered, “After all, with more than three-hundred million believers, it should be considered a religion. It is already much bigger than Judaism, for instance.”
“Well, most religions are born as sects of another religion, until they either disappear or they get big enough to create their own title,” Yaakov did not react to the provocation. “I think we are just in that phase. Do not forget that the Navibahais claim to be the heirs and synthesis of all major world religions, so they have lots of people interested in dismissing them as a sect. Yet they are growing very fast.”
“Let’s leave that aside, Yaakov. The bottom line is, you would like me to show up in Yamassoukro, and ask my nephew Ali if, by chance, he did not talk with Farlimas about plots involving the Mossad. Should that be the case, I will urge him to tell me whatever he knows. A bit too simplistic, isn’t it?” Tarek said, widening his arms in disbelief.
“I know it cannot work that way, Tarek,” Yaakov puffed, “All I can tell you is, we will give you evidence that Farlimas, or someone in his inner circle, is part of the terror plots. Ali may, or may not, know, and you do not have an obligation to do anything, much less put his life in danger. Yet you are our only chance to know more, quickly.”
“Alright, but let me be very clear,” Tarek felt cornered. “If by chance Ali is involved in the plot, he won’t suffer any consequences. Is that clear? Even if he turns out to be the mastermind of all of this.”
“I do not think he is, anyway it is a fair request,” Yaakov thought, “I do not think this will be the biggest problem, though…”
“You are right, Yaakov, this won’t be the biggest problem..” Tarek continued where Yaakov had hesitated, “The biggest problem is, what are we willing to give in exchange, if we have to make a deal.” Tarek stopped, looking at the Pyramids.
“I discussed it with my government,” Yaakov answered immediately, “We can help Farlimas in consolidating his authority over the West African government, and foil the plots of his enemies. From Makkah to Washington, from Delhi to the Vatican, he is on the black list of many people. Our red line is clear, we just cannot handover any information that could jeopardize the security of the JRC. We are, however, prepared to take calculated losses.”
“I know that,” Tarek said, “I am just wondering if a deal can be reached.”
“I think it can,” Yaakov used the most confident tone he could manage. “I believe he is only tactically helping the terrorists in the Strip, just to keep the world tension high and attract more people to his new cult. If we offer him other ways to secure the future of his sect, he might just leave the extremists to their destiny. We just need to help him find a new, more suitable enemy.”
“A more suitable enemy,” Tarek echoed, “are you sure it won’t turn into a more difficult problem, Yaakov?”
“No, I am not,” Yaakov replied, “Yet I do not see any other option, do you? We have to be prepared for some reasonable sacrifice.”
“Yes, that’s the magic word; reasonable.” Tarek replied abruptly, closing the discussion, “We will discuss at length about how reasonable the requests of Farlimas might be, but we will never put into question the sacrifice.”
Tarek turned back towards the Museum halls, leaving the hallway. Yaakov turned off the electronic shield of the drone. They materialized out of thin air, next to one of the tables of the cafeteria of the terrace, unnoticed by most of the tourists, except for a three-year old toddler, who saw them from his stroller and started crying.
Chapter 7
Helena parked her electrical scooter on the panoramic lot overlooking the gulf of Pollara in Salina, and started descending the stairs to the rock pier that, roughly one-hundred yards below, led directly to the sea. Louis followed her, enjoying the warm morning sunlight of early June.
“It will soon be too hot on the beach, we will have to swim to the boat,” he said, as he rushed to keep up with Helena’s pace.
Helena slowed down, she took him by his arm and whispered in his ears.
“How awful! How will you ever survive? Forced to use your boat to escape the heat of the beach!”
“Um, now that it comes to my mind, this rocky pathway is quite uncomfortable, too..” Louis continued, “Be careful not to step on sea urchins. They are everywhere around here, I never quite got used to them.”
Helena leaned an Louis, making sure he could feel her entire body pressed on his.
“Oh, poor Louis, I think I will inflict on you another burden, you won’t be allowed to swim until you have rubbed sunbathing cream on me.”
Louis kissed her, and as soon as they reached the pier he threw his backpack on the ground and plunged into the crystal-clear waters of the Pollara gulf.
He heard Helena diving behind him, so he kept swimming until they were far from the shore. He turned back towards Helena, who threw her arms around his neck, pretending to be angry.
“You bad boy, I believe I told you to do something, I am now thinking of what horrible punishment you deserve…” She swam closer to him and they kissed. They kept playing, enjoying the warm waters and the mild sea breeze that was blowing towards the coast.
Eventually, they reached the boat moored about two-hundred yards from the pier. Louis climbed the stairs to get on board, and turned back to help Helena but quickly realized she would not appreciate the gesture. Her pride did not allow her to accept help in moments like these. He moved to the surveillance display, as Helena jumped on board.
“Anything wrong on the reports from the bots?” Helena asked, as she squeezed the water out of her hair.
“No, everything is Ok and under control…” Louis answered, “No threats whatsoever, apart from the island’s volcanoes , and…”
He stopped for a second, enough for Helena to detect his hesitation.
“Don’t start checking emails now!” she hissed, “You promised to be disconnected today, remember!”
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry..” Louis admitted his fault, “I just could not resist looking at this message…it’s from Dorian…”
“Is it? Let me have a look, then!” Helena moved close to him to read the screen, letting seawater drip from her hair onto the monitor.
The title confirmed Louis was not lying, as it read “The bill has passed!”.
Helena looked at Louis and asked, “The vote planned for tomorrow, wasn’t it? Wasn’t there supposed to be the parliamentary debate today?”
“You mean that you would stay home to watch the vote and not come with me?” Louis rebuked, as they read through the email. Unfortunately, Dorian had not added
much detail, just a link to the official site of the Swedish parliament, that announced the approval of the laws to discipline coexistence between mortals and immortals, the first country on the planet to achieve this.
“That’s the goal Dorian was hoping for,” Louis added, visibly proud of his son, “There is now no difference in front of the law. Same rights, same duties. If mortals make the decision to withdraw from Telomerax, and age and decay till death, they accumulate extra rights until they die. So, for instance, they get the right to stop working after their body reaches the biological equivalent of age seventy, they have free medical care and obviously, all terminal illness and burial charges covered by the government.”
“What if they get back to Telomerax after they retire? They keep getting money from the state?” Helena asked. She already knew the answer, yet she liked to allow Louis to continue his lecture.
“Well, in theory, yes. The assumption is that someone that decides to let aging proceed, won’t change idea afterwards. Only time will tell, though, Dorian made sure the law can be revised. In a nutshell, he understood that the only way to get immortals accepted, was to make mortals privileged in the last part of their life.”
“Dorian is starting a new chapter in the history of mankind. Just like you did, Louis.” Helena looked straight into Louis’ eyes, smiling.
“I hope he is more successful than me,” Louis turned his eyes away from the display. He then embraced Helena and took her on the deck with him, jumping into the sea.
As they emerged from water, Helena tried to pretend to be angry.
“Don’t do that again, you asshole!” she shouted, splashing Louis, “I was warming up, and you throw me into the cold water!”
They climbed up the boat ladder and stretched out next to each other, on the boat deck at the bow side. Louis started pinching at Helena’s arms, ignoring all her warnings.
“What if I do it again? Will you leave me?”
Helena did not answer, she grabbed Louis’ hand with a swift and firm grip and moved it gently over her womb.
“I won’t, yet you have to be more careful with me from now on. You have to know, I discovered I am pregnant last week. It’s our new child, Louis.”
Louis stood up, the news did not come unexpected. He looked at the young body of Helena.
“How do you feel, to be a mom again at age….one-hundred and ten years old?”
“I guess a bit like you, dad again at one-hundred-thirty-seven. Oh, sorry, you are twenty-seven years older than me, I forgot. The looks always fool me.” She laughed, then turned more serious. “You know what, Louis, it’s a bit weird. At times, I feel I am thinking like a great-grand mother, yet I have the chance to start over again.”
“You are going through the list of the mistakes you made in raising Aurora, if any, and vowing not to repeat them again, aren’t you?” Louis enquired, “If you wonder, that’s what I am doing…there are so many things Dora and I got wrong with Dorian.”
“Not really, Louis.” Helena replied, “I told you, I would love to repeat the mistakes every parent makes….what I am afraid, is that I will be more like a grandmother. Memories and experiences have accumulated, and Telomerax deprived us of experimentation.”
“I see your point, Helena,” Louis replied, “But I won’t be so scared. After all, Telomerax did not prevent us from falling in love again, our new beginning.” He hugged her as he finished the sentence.
“You are right, Louis,” Helena kissed him, “I am just growing too cynical with time….you need to cure me.”
Chapter 8
Tarek left the customs area of Abidjan Intercontinental Airport, in the West African Federation, followed by the self-driving trolley that was carrying his luggage. The customs’ doors opened on the huge arrival hall, whose semi-transparent vault was sustained by glass and stone, palm-shaped pillars, that built intricate patterns, glowing with the late afternoon sunlight.
He spent a few seconds looking in amusement and awe at the ceiling, then he turned his eyes to the colorful crowd that was welcoming travelers, looking for Ali, his nephew.
He moved through the crowd, and then spotted three men wearing the unmistakable attire of the navibahais near the exit gate. He started walking towards them.
They were dressed in white, wearing sandals, a skirt to their knees, and a short waistcoat that made the Farlimasians, so they were popularly called, look like a bizarre cross between an ancient Egyptian and a Wild West cowboy. On their biceps, midway between the elbows and their shoulders, they wore two thick bronze bracelets, the one on the left arm carved with the symbol of their old religion, while that on the right invariably bore a theory of asatyas, the symbol of the navibahai faith.
While the dressing code was extremely strict, the new belief left its followers completely free with hairstyle. As he approached the trio, Tarek noted that Ali had the typical Arabic goatee, while the second man, around six-foot tall and very stout, had short, dark hair, without any beard. In contrast, the last member of the group showed off long, curly blond hair, a flowing beard and a remarkable seven-foot height, that made him tower over the other two like a Barbaric warrior.
“Grandpa, this is Zhelko and Volker. They are from Serbia and Germany, and will make sure we are safe on our journey to Yamassoukro.”
They all shook hands with Tarek, never losing sight of what was going on around them.
“Bodyguards,” Tarek thought, “Who else could they be?”
“They are not only bodyguards,” Ali said suddenly, as if he had read into Tarek’s thoughts, “They belong to my fraternity group. Our families live in the same compound on the outskirts of Yamassoukro, and as they work in security they volunteered to come with me.”
They left the building and got into a car that was waiting for them. Strangely enough, Tarek noticed that there was a driver, this time an African navibahai.
The car left the airport complex and sped down the Expressway, crossing the lagoon which Abidjan was built around.
Tarek watched the flashy condos pass by, built in the new Ivorian style, like giant huts gleaming in glass and synthetic wood, and the posh marinas that were punctuating the coastline. Ali looked at him and asked,
“How long has it been since you last traveled here? It’s changed a lot over the last ten years.”
“I was here about fifteen years ago, a few months after the end of the war. It was clear that the city would develop quickly, but, my God, who could have imagined this…” Tarek replied, admiring the malls and office blocks along the road.
“It’s one of the places to be of Africa, now, thanks to the abundant energy supply from the solar farms up in the desert, and its proximity to the space elevator of Guinea,” Ali continued, proud to describe the country that Farlimas, his leader, had chosen as seat for the new religion’s headquarters, “Prosperity allowed to wipe out tropical illnesses like malaria and yellow fever, and this in turn led to more immigration from Europe. Everybody now wants to come to the lively sunshine of West Africa, leaving behind the gloomy cities of Northern Europe or the overcrowded and expensive Mediterranean shores.”
“Expensive and increasingly hostile to your new religion,” Tarek jumped in, “While here your leader managed to make good friends with the government, one way or another, hahaha.”
“Don’t be so mean, Tarek,” Volker calmly interrupted him, “Farlimas came here from Ethiopia with a vision, and he was able to mobilize the best people to transform the country and attract the brightest people from outside. It’s normal that the government shows some gratitude. On one thing you are right, though, he also has a lot of enemies.”
“For instance,” Tarek commented, “the Roman Catholic Church, which had to surrender the great cathedral of Notre Dame at Yamassoukro to the new cult…I see riots continue to this day.”
“Why keep an empty cathedral when all your flock has jumped ship?” Ali retorted, “By the way, it was legally purchased. In addition to the money, the Pope got fift
y years of free electricity for the Vatican in Rome, not a bad deal at all. As for the riots, there are always violent fringes that love to live with the nostalgia for the bygone days. We will see more of the same also in Abu Dhabi, now that the Great Mosque is being converted to our cult. Time will show who is on the right side.”
Tarek shook his head, feeling he did not want to continue the conversation, when he noticed that the urban landscape had changed. The car was now driving in an area of rather run-down large apartment blocks. He took the opportunity to switch subjects.
“I thought the suburbs of Abidjan were made of small homes? What is this?”
Zhelko, who was sitting in front of the car next to the driver, provided the answer.
“Indeed, this is the new area for the immigrants, the wave of arrivals has been quite large and real-estate developers sacrificed space and convenience to the speed of building, not to mention the money.” He paused, to make sure Tarek was taking a good look around, “I also spent several months here before moving to Yamassoukro, and I can tell you it is not fun at all. It is mostly a white-people area, with a lot of illegal Telomerax smuggling. That’s why you see a lot of police checkpoints. They pretend to keep the situation under control.”
Zhelko had barely finished the sentence, when one of the officers at the checkpoint in front of them pulled them over, ordering their car to stop by the roadside. The policeman then walked to the right side, where Zhelko was sitting, ignoring the driver. The Serbian did not lose his posture, just before opening the window he turned to Tarek and said,
“Just let me handle this, and do not talk unless I tell you to do so.” He then addressed the officer in French, ignoring the assault rifle pointed at their car.
“Autorité, autorité, what is the problem? We are going to Yamassoukro, the brothers and I. The one in civilian clothes is our guest.”
The Last Enemy - A history of the present future - 1934-2084 Page 40
