The Last Enemy - A history of the present future - 1934-2084

by Luca Luchesini

  “You always say that, you Farlimasians,” the policeman replied, softly, “I am indeed interested in the guy sitting in the back. Where is he coming from?”

  Zhelko slowly waved his left hand, prompting Tarek to hand over his electronic passport. The policeman grabbed the document from Tarek’s hands, the gun always pointed at the car. He analyzed it with his scanner, then handed it back to Zhelko.

  “It looks Ok, your friend is not on the list of suspected Telomerax smugglers,” he said, “You can go. Watch out for hitchhikers.”

  The policeman dropped the gun and gave a loud laugh. Tarek concealed a smile, enjoying the involuntary irony of the officer. As the car drove off, he asked Zhelko.

  “Why didn’t he ask for your papers?”

  “We are known to the authorities and considered safe. You are not, and you might be exploiting our good faith to try to get Telomerax into the country illegally. There have been cases in the past. As much as the authorities, we do not want our movement to get tainted with the traffic. It is one of the few things that drive Farlimas furious.”

  “And other things does he not like?” Tarek asked, “I am going to meet him soon, so I better be prepared.”

  Volker grumbled something next to Tarek, then his voice got clearer.

  “Well, he does not like all the speculation around who is really behind him, the origins of his fortune, you know, all the conspiracy crap that old religions and atheists of all kinds are spreading around,” he paused for a while, “The story is very clear; he was born in Ethiopia, his father made a fortune with solar farms, he then had to live his life as an immortal billionaire, and when he made the trip to India, was when he got the Revelation.”

  “Well, he was never very detailed about that kind of experience, if you pardon me,” Tarek interrupted, turning towards Ali, “Sorry to tell you, my dear nephew, but we know a lot more of what happened to our Prophet Mohamed, peace be upon him, than to your..um….guru….um, sorry..I am a bit tired for the trip.”

  “It’s not the first time we hear this,” Ali replied, “You will see for yourself. Farlimas made sure that his experience could be replicated and shared. You have to judge by yourself, not by what you hear.”

  “You mean that, before meeting Farlimas,” Tarek jumped to the conclusion, “I will be allowed to take part in the Ritual? I will skip the long initiation course?”

  “It’s not a favor we do just because you are kind of a prestigious tourist, grandpa” Ali commented calmly, “It’s just that Farlimas thinks you need to experience it before your talk. It will give you a better perspective.”

  Tarek looked out of the window. They had left Abidjan and the car was now humming along the three-lane highway toward Yamassoukro. He took the opportunity to enjoy a short nap.

  Chapter 9

  Yaakov was enjoying the view of the Old City of Jerusalem from his new home nearby the Mount of Olives. Right in front of him, the Dome of the Rock was glowing under the early sunlight of the day. It was Friday morning and the valley below was completely still. Yaakov left the porch and went back into the kitchen, setting up the coffee machine to prepare two long, black coffees. As the hot liquid started to flow into the cups, he noticed a large, black Sedan which quietly stopped in front of his gate. A bearded man dressed in a long, black Orthodox suit got out, and walked towards the house door. Yaakov switched it open with the remote control before the visitor could ring the bell and noticed that it was as if he expected this. While his guest entered the living room, he hurried to prepare a tray, adding a few bagels to go with the coffee.

  When Yaakov entered the living room, he found his visitor looking at the Old City in the very same place he was before. He laid the tray on the table and then pointed at his guests’ hair.

  “It looks too real to be a hologram,” he said, “You still trust old-fashioned makeup more than microdrones, Mr. Avi Eitan.”

  The guest took off his black hat, and then a wig, and sat at the table. Yaakov took the seat opposite to him.

  “I will keep the beard on,” Avi said, “It took me half an hour to get it fixed with the help of the hairdresser, and I am afraid I would not be able to repeat the same job here, before I leave.”

  “Why this masquerade?” Yaakov commented, “There are no more Arabs in Jerusalem now, they all went to Galilea and the West Bank. On this side of the city, it’s mostly Jewish remnants from Samaria who have moved in.”

  “The head of the Mossad is not supposed to visit Jerusalem every so often,” Avi lectured, “It’s a frontline, a fortress, the point from which we want to rebuild our nation. I am supposed to stay in Larnaca, and lay low. Suspicion would arise if someone noticed.”

  “Well, for that matter, you just need to ask me in Cyprus.” Yaakov countered, “I have just got my license and I love flying my small plane.”

  “The same applies to you. Someone would notice and ask why the former head of Mossad and notorious Jerusalem remnant is visiting his old office.”

  “Nostalgia, maybe?” Yaakov grinned. Avi did not appreciate the humour.

  “We have no room for that.” Avi managed to keep his tone away from sounding rude. He then grabbed a cup of coffee, without waiting for Yaakov’s offer, started sipping nervously and asked.

  “Any news from Farlimas?” Avi sipped again. “It’s about time they speak up.”

  “I thought you would ask for news about Tarek,” Yaakov replied, openly showing his disappointment, “He is the agent in the field, after all.”

  “He is the messenger,” Avi corrected, “He has to bring the news about the mole, hopefully.”

  “Why are you bullshitting me, Avi,” Yaakov whispered into his cup, “You found the mole a few days back. A guy called Shlomo Bakran, if my informants at the headquarter are right. This makes me think you were already closing the circle around him, when you sent me to Cairo to beg for Tarek’s help.”

  Avi stayed silent for a while, looking at Yaakov, who seemed focused on eating one of the bagels.

  “What are you implying, Yaakov?” Avi asked. “You think I deliberately lied to you?”

  “It would not be a scandal,” Yaakov was looking at the ceiling, openly enjoying his bagel, “You have the right to withhold information. It’s just that I am curious. Was Tarek’s trip to West Africa just another attempt at finding the mole, a parallel track, or was it part of a deal you struck with Farlimas?”

  “You said it, Yaakov,” Avi felt suddenly relaxed, “I have the right to hide things, and even the right to lie, at times. I wonder if you care more about Tarek’s fate or the potential damage to your credibility.”

  “Look, Avi, my credibility has not mattered for a long time. I sacrificed the position you have now a long time ago, when you were still a computer security geek working in the basement of Ben Gurion airport. In a world without Telomerax, I would not have lived enough to see your career, and it would be a good thing for me, good enough to maybe give up this immortality.” Yaakov stopped to take another bite at his bagel, and continued, with his mouth half full, “I cannot make up any answer from you, yet there is one thing I need to tell you. If you have made a deal with Farlimas, it’s a big mistake and you should fix it right away, if you can.”

  “There are no deals, Yaakov,” Avi put his cup of coffee, still half full, back down on the tray. “There are just common interests. Farlimas is one of the few forces that is challenging the new order, and we need to leverage that, if one day we want to restore the State of Israel to its pre-war status. As for Telomerax, it has big drawbacks for me, too.”

  Yaakov looked puzzled, Avi seized the moment.

  “You might agree that it is a bit frustrating to live up to age eighty-two, achieve something in life, with all the mistakes that come along with it, and still risk facing at any time the criticism of somebody older than you. Somebody that, unable to provide a bad example any longer, can only resort to provide good advice, all the while, deep down in his soul he thinks you are a moron.”
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br />   Yaakov smiled.

  “I agree with you except for the last statement. I do not think you are a moron, Avi. Not at all. You are taking your own risks, and you might have good reason to do so. I took mine as well, some paid off, many others didn’t. It’s just my gut feeling, that Farlimas is just too big of a danger for us, to ever consider making a deal.”

  “Why would he be such a big threat?” Avi was genuinely surprised, “After all, he is only ranting against the JRC, like any other state that tolerates Telomerax. It’s nowhere close to the level of his fury against Europe, Russsia or America. Also, thanks to the Orthodox Jews, by the way whose dress I am using, we are one of the nations with the highest percentages of people that refuse Telomerax.”

  “He is the founder of a new religion, Avi, remember?” Yaakov looked outside the window and pointed at the Dome of the Rock, “and every new religion invariably turns itself against its fathers. Nobody knows this better than us.”

  “That may be a concern in the long run,” Avi admitted, “Right now, however, he has helped us stabilize the Strip and he has put a wedge between the Africans and the Arabian Union.”

  “Let’s stop here, I won’t lecture you anymore, nor you will give me more details about why you think Farlimas is a good bloke,” Yaakov sipped the remaining coffee left in his cup. “Back to the reason of your trip, I have not received a message from Tarek since he left Cairo. Do you know something else about this?”

  “He arrived in New Abidjan, and our agents there confirmed he was picked up by Ali and two other Farlimasians, unknown to us.” Avi answered, relieved that the conversation was taking a more conventional path. “The group then went to Yamassoukro and there we lost all contact, for about three days.”

  “You mean, you have no agents in Yamassoukro?” Yaakov was surprised.

  “We do, but very few, and not in the inner circle. It’s a black hole for us, literally.”

  “And….” Yaakov hesitated for a while, “…do you expect our messenger to send back a signal from the black hole? Or was this a mission without return?”

  “I have no idea.” Avi wondered whether it was a good idea to go further into the disclosure, then said “All that Farlimas asked for, was to send him Tarek on a mission of ours, and he assured that he did not have any hostile intentions against him. He pretended that Tarek was the only go-between he could trust.”

  “Fuck!” Yaakov stood up, hissing at Avi, “then you made up the mole story to make it more credible, so that I could sell it to Tarek. I hope you got an amazing deal in exchange, Avi.”

  “It was not a light-hearted decision,” Avi was firm, “That’s why I am here, to tell you the background story. I need you to know the entire truth if the situation takes a wrong turn. Otherwise, I could have asked you by email or phone.”

  “Thanks for your trust, Avi. What if nothing happens?” Yaakov took the tray off the table, and went back to the kitchen.

  “Well, it was a wrong track, where we might have lost an expendable goy.”

  Avi waited for an answer from Yaakov, but all he could hear were the sounds of dishes being loaded into a dishwasher. He stood up from the chair and went to the exit, fixing his beard and putting his hat and wig back on. As Avi walked past the kitchen door, he peeked his head inside, and said,

  “Thanks once again for you help, Yaakov. Have a nice Shabbat.”

  He did not wait for an answer he was not expecting, so he left the house and hurried to the car.

  Chapter 10

  Ali knocked at the door of Tarek’s room at 6:15 in the morning, just before the morning prayers. Tarek left the small apartment assigned to him and started walking down the hallway, on the third floor of the residential block. He headed to the stairway that led to the spacious main courtyard.

  The courtyard was about the size of a football field, and was covered with a glass structure that stemmed from the top of the five-story building, like the one Tarek had seen at the airport. It served to shelter the interior from the heat of the sun.

  The prayer started immediately after Ali and Tarek reached the ground floor. The crowd started to chant the hymns, and Tarek stayed silent but followed the script through his smart glasses. The psalms were written in a mixture of languages, reading aids made it possible for the faithful to recite in unison, while soft background music, incense and other scents flooded the space. Tarek could recognize the tenets of the new faith, interleaved from quotes of all the holy books. He recognized some verses of the Quran among them, he was about to join the recitals, when the script suddenly switched language to an Italian hymn of the Middle Ages. He stumbled on the pronounciation, and, at that point, got so frustrated that he disconnected his glasses. He noticed that all the others, including Ali, were following through with the rythm.

  When the prayer ended, Ali took Tarek to one of the corners of the hall.

  “Farlimas will meet you at noon, in the Meditation Building, the one close to the Temple.” Ali stated.

  Tarek looked at his watch, and could not contain his impatience. What the heck was he going to do for the next five hours? Observe another session of prayer?

  “In the meantime,” Ali said, “there is a friend of yours who heard you’re visiting, and asked to meet you. We will go to see him now, if you wish.”

  “A friend of mine?” Tarek was puzzled, “Aside from you, I do not know anybody here, Ali. I mean, anyone I can consider a friend.” Tarek started scanning through the list of people he had met who had joined the new religion, while following Ali.

  Ali stopped in front of apartment 193, and rang the bell. A long minute passed, then the electric door slid open. Tarek looked at the man in front of him, leaning on his stick, the face crowned in long, grey hair but without a beard, and a series of scars on his torso visible through his white waistcoat.

  “It’s not possible..” Tarek muttered, “You died a long time ago…we never heard anything about you since the incidents of Rome..”

  “I am not a ghost, Tarek,” the figure replied, “It’s really me, I’m Valerio. When I heard that you were coming, I knew this was a sign from the Lord.”

  Valerio welcomed Tarek inside, while Ali smiled and politely closed the door, leaving the two old friends alone to catch up.

  The apartment was a simple one-room studio. The walls were covered in books and Navibahai symbols. Tarek and Valerio sat at the table in the living room.

  “You died in Rome, we all saw your last video. You were soaked in blood.” Tarek said, still in disbelief, looking at Valerio’s scars.

  “Didn’t you wonder why my body was not found?” Valerio asked back.

  “The riots in Rome were a total mess, there were thousands who died, so when your corpse did not turn up we thought it was just one of the hundreds gone missing….” Tarek recalled those frantic days, looking back once again to see if he had overlooked something, “…you were not even reported in the wounded list that we checked so many times, either.”

  “You do not have to apologize, Tarek,” Valerio smiled cheerfully at his old friend, “After the farewell call I fainted, but then I was rescued by the Vatican team that collected the body of the Pope. When I woke up in the emergency ward of the Vatican’s first aid clinic, I asked them to remove my name from the register of casualties. You could not find me in any of the lists because I was not there.”

  “You were very quick to seize the opportunity to disappear...” Tarek’s thought was trying to rush to conclusions “But why didn’t you ever check back? Were things so bad among us? I mean, why not reach out to me at least? I would have kept the secret from the others, if you had asked to.”

  “Don’t be jealous, Tarek,” Valerio continued, “I seized the opportunity, and initially I thought I would soon return to the team, to you, Louis, and Helena, after a short pause for reflection.”

  “And then?” Tarek was pushing Valerio to continue, “It looks as if, the more you thought about it, the lesser you wanted to return. You got old in
the meantime….is Telomerax no longer working with you?”

  Tarek was overwhelmed.

  “You remember how quickly the world went crazy. Then I knew we had made a huge mistake with the whole Telomerax story. Coming back to you, it would mean helping you continue along that way. Yet I did not want to betray you, in any case the war was going to settle lots of issues, the hard way.” Valerio voice got softer and softer, then he paused and raised it again, “I spent a few months in Italy in the aftermath of the riots, then I made the decision that I would self-exile myself to a remote place, waiting for my fate. In 2029, I moved to Ethiopia, where I bought a small farm about a hundred miles to the southwest of Addis Abeba, and I soon became the leader of the local community. When the Indian Army invaded the Horn of Africa in 2045 to try to outflank the resistance in the Arabian Peninsula, they flooded the region with millions of toxine-carrying microdrones. People and animals usually died or were severely injured when hit by the drone, but in my case I managed to survive its sting with a kind of degenerative disease that made my body age at an accelerated rate. I was kind of put back to normal. I was the only survivor of my farm. My Ethiopian wife, my two children and our servants, all died in the attacks. I had to start over again and moved to Addis Abeba.”

  “That’s where you met Farlimas?” Tarek kept jumping from Valerio’s hints to conclusions, eager to complete the picture, “When was that? If he is really 64 as he pretends to be, you should have met him as a boy”

  “I met him shortly after the war ended, in 2057, when I was trying to help rebuild the country, ravaged by the war and the pest epidemics.” Valerio answered. “He was the son of a prominent landlord from Northern Ethiopia, he struck a deal with the Chinese to build solar farms. The rest is well known.”

  “So….this was before he started preaching…how did he come up with the new religion? Why did you convert? Because you did convert, didn’t you?”

  Tarek felt time was running out, so he kept flooding Valerio with questions.