by Jack Gardner
At 8:05 p.m., Zisafel walked into the main hall. He walked directly toward the closet at the side of the stage, opened it with one of the keys on his key ring, and pulled out a plastic bag. It contained colorful balls with numbers between one and forty-five. He climbed up the three stairs to the stage and emptied the bag into the lottery machine. The machine was shining in a bright blue color, intensified by a light that was projected directly on it. In order to make sure that everything functioned, Zisafel turned the machine on and set the air bellow in motion. The balls began floating in the enclosed Perspex space until ball number nine was randomly pushed into the exit tube and blown out onto a special rail, which would have made it—had this been a real lottery—a winning number. Ziso contentedly nodded, turned the machine off, and put ball number nine back in it. He then told the security officer at the entrance to the hall to allow the audience in. Another security officer moved from the hallway to the hall and observed the people as they took their seats.
At 8:55 p.m., the doors to the main hall closed and the television crew was setting up, their monitors on and ready to shoot. At 9:00 p.m. on the dot the lights were turned off and strong projectors were directed to the stage.
The Millionaires’ CEO, wearing a light fitting suit and a conservative dark tie, thanked the guests and the audience in the hall, allowing the television crew to make final adjustments before the show. Quickly, a projector was directed toward the entrance to the stage, welcoming the woman who activated the machine—a beautiful woman in her thirties with shoulder-length golden curls dressed in a casual suit with a short gray topcoat, a black and white plaid shirt, and light leather pants. In the upcoming minutes, she would have to communicate the excitement of the event to the viewers and activate the lottery machine while declaring the winning numbers.
Since the airtime dedicated to the lottery was exactly two minutes, things were done quickly and efficiently. As the lottery machine was working, the woman talked about the benefits of the lottery system and its contribution to society and the economy. Each time a ball was rolling down the rail, she excitedly declared its number. Two minutes later, just as they planned it in advance, the lottery ended with the declaration of the six winning numbers and the extra number.
From his place by the stage, Zisafel looked at the raffle as it was taking place and smiled to himself when ball number nine was declared. He remembered that the same ball came up in the test run he did before the lottery. A few seconds later the television broadcast was over, the lights were on, and the people started making for the exit.
Unlike the Millionaires’ advertisements, showing a happy winner in the audience who was present in the hall, no one in the audience seemed that excited this time around, but that was understandable.
At 9:20 p.m. the building was totally empty and Zisafel ordered the security team to scan the empty hall one more time, followed by the first floor. Once he made sure that everything was in order, Ziso saw his security officers off and locked the doors.
The scene now moved to the Millionaires headquarters in the industrial park, where computers started sorting millions of forms in order to look for the happy winners.
***
Since keeping momentum was crucial, the names of the winners had to be announced as soon as possible. There was no time to waste: even though it was a Saturday night, all lights in the Millionaires’ headquarters were on, and much activity went on there.
At 9:30 p.m., a security guard escorted the accountant from his home to the office. Upon his arrival, he directly went to check on the safe that held the two CDs containing the lottery form information. The CDs were stored there, under his watchful eye, on Thursday around 7:00 p.m., and had been under constant watch by two security officers since. They sat in the control room, just a few feet from the safe, with nothing but a bulletproof glass wall between them.
Notwithstanding the quiet atmosphere of efficient and skilled activity, there was a different, special feeling in the air; the feeling of anticipation combined with excitement. The security looked at the short and stout accountant as he walked past the monitor room and into the control room. Accompanied by a special security officer and watched over by the Head of IT and the Head of Security on closed circuit televisions, the accountant confirmed that the safe was indeed locked, as it was when he left it on Thursday. He then opened the lock using the sequence of numbers that only he knew, and opened the door. The two CDs were on the middle shelf of the safe, just as he had left them. He took them and placed them in a box the security officer held. The box had no lid, allowing the cameras to follow its content as the two walked out of the safe room and crossed the fifty feet that led them to the computer that would sort the forms. They were constantly observed by six watchful eyes and a camera that documented their every move.
The winning numbers were already displayed on the electronic board that took up most of the top part of that room. The trustee took the first CD and inserted it into the computer. He turned the computer on and a green light came on. The large computer made a light murmur as it started to sort through the files. This would take about ten hours. The other CD, an exact replica of the first, was left in the box, which was returned to the safe. Once the steel door was locked, the trustee sighed with relief and, as a person who can recognize the value of a special moment, turned to the security officer and said, “There, we rolled the ball that would change the lives of a number of people…” The sturdy security officer, who did not smile much, answered with a smile and nod of agreement.
The men’s job was done and the computer started running its course. Now, all they had to do was wait.
On the midnight newscast the anchor announced “breaking news” into the Millionaires’ headquarters in order to get a report of the lottery’s progress. In spite of the late hour, the Millionaires’ PR manager was there for an interview as a result of the large public interest this lottery had stirred.
He reported, not without joy, that up until that moment three winners who guessed all six numbers right were already found and they will split the prize, but since it has only been three hours and the computer examined less than a third of the forms as of yet, the PR manager optimistically said that he believes they will find at least six more winners. “In that case,” he said, “we’d be happy to announce nine new millionaires, each of whom will earn more than a million dollars: a reasonable sum by all standards.”
The spokesmen did not mention what they already knew: that after deducting the sum of the prize, the Millionaires’ profit was more than three million dollars.
At about the same time, in the safe apartment whose existence was only known to a few, another computer was working on examining a much smaller number of forms: legal forms that were filled using an efficient reduction method. Even though this computer’s abilities were much smaller than those of the computer in the Millionaires’ headquarters it managed to discover six full matches between the numbers that were fed into it and the numbers of the lottery within minutes. It sent the form numbers to the printer connected to it. The computer’s operator picked up the piece of paper, looked at it quickly and then picked up his phone and dialed. He counted six rings, hung up, and examined his watch. Exactly thirty seconds later he pressed the redial button, and the call was picked up immediately. There was no sound on the other end.
“Six invitees cancelled their participation,” he said, in a slow and clear voice. The conversation was ended immediately.
7
The following day, the morning news anchor announced the final number of winners in the lottery. Six people will share the grand prize, each receiving about one million, five hundred thousand dollars. In a morning talk show that aired right after the news, the host interviewed the Millionaires’ General Manager.
“Good morning, Sir, and congratulations to six new millionaires.”
“Yes, congratulations, and we extend our gratitude to all those who participated in the raffle. Their money will be used to benefit our society.�
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“Can you tell us something about the winners?” asked the host.
“Well, at this point, I can’t give any identifying information about them,” the manager was trying to seem in good spirit, and maybe he was, “but I can say that the three who have contacted us thus far come from different regions in the country—which proves that it is always worthwhile to participate in the lottery, no matter where you’re from.”
“Can you tell us where the three who have not contacted you are from? I understand that there are still three winners who did not collect their prizes.”
“Well, at this point I will say that two of the winners are from small towns in the south and the center of the country. And about those who have not yet come to collect—this situation is quite common in the days following the results; people wait a while until the media buzz fades and then they come.”
“Can you tell us how much money they lose every week that they do not collect the money?”
The manager hesitated, thinking. “I would presume about three thousand dollars…”
“Three thousand dollars every week?” The host was astounded.
“Yes indeed. It is a large fund.” Answered the manager.
“Could you at least tell us something about the occupations of those who did come to collect their prize?”
“Well, it is one businessman, one man who has a full-time job, and one winner who is not working at the moment.”
“Unemployed?” The host quickly imagined the morning’s headline.
“Unemployed, with one million, five hundred thousand dollars in the bank, if you will,” said the manager.
***
As soon as the results of the lottery were announced, I fed them into my computer and started my program. While the program examined my thousands of columns against the winning numbers, I could feel the tension building up in me. It fused with a good feeling; I believed that I acted right, and it was time to reap the results.
I stood by the window, looking out on the road. My ears were attuned to hear the printer, which would produce a list of the winning forms, including the number of right guesses in each form. Suddenly I heard the printer’s head moving as it prepared to begin printing. I turned around and waited. The more lines printed meant more columns with right guesses. The system was planned so that only forms with more than three right guesses will be shown, anything below that meant no win, so there was no reason to print it.
The printer printed two lines and stopped. ‘A problem, now of all times,’ I thought in frustration. I leaned toward the printed and could not believe my eyes: the paper had only one form number, and underneath it a line saying “no more matches.”
I looked at the form identification line and saw that it was a form with three right guesses. That is the minimum win, granting the gambler the sum he or she invested in the form. I haven’t seen a poor result like this in over a year, since my models stabilized. ‘The odds of this kind of result,’ I thought, ‘cannot be more than one or two percent.’ Something made no sense. I typed a command to print out all the forms with one or two guesses. The printer stopped after eight lines.
‘Only eight columns with one or two right guesses!’ I gasped. I expected more than a hundred. It seemed that my models collapsed. The good feeling disappeared instantaneously, and I was left with a sense of bitter frustration.
I thought I’d be better off taking some time before I start researching what seemed to be an error in the search program, the printing program, or something else. I was still not ready to face the worst. I felt like my mind was paralyzed, and I had to come to terms with the situation before I could examine the problem and so I decided to leave the house in order to calm down for a quick moment and then run the program again as soon as I got back. ‘This has to be a bad dream,’ I thought.
The forced attempt to calm down, to detach myself, if only for a short while, was not successful. Even though I went to my favorite bistro and ordered my favorite dishes on the menu, I quickly saw that my heart was not in it. It wasn’t only the fact that I did not win the lottery; it was mainly a disappointment from many years of activity, which I had really begun to like. Could it be the idea that I had become an expert was nothing but an illusion?
I was so distracted that even Henry, the usual evening shift waiter who knew me well, noticed it and tried to understand what I was going through. I gently pushed him away and even so, I couldn’t help but notice the worried looks he sent my way. He went out of his way to recommend today’s amazing specials, but there was no chance that I’d be able to enjoy the food. After about fifteen minutes of failed attempts at distraction, I pulled out my wallet, left an almost full plate behind me claiming that I was not feeling very well, and went back home.
It took me thirty minutes to acknowledge the fact that nothing was wrong with my program. My failure became a fact.
***
That week in January was the three-month anniversary of my separation from my wife and my living away from home. I realized as early as the rehabilitation months, which I spent in the hospital and then at a convalescent home, that my marriage had come to an end. It started off as a certain distance that I noticed during my second week at the hospital, and built up until we were total strangers.
At the end, we could no longer ignore it and had to talk about the situation in simple, clear words. At first, I was surprised not to see any sign of doubt in my wife concerning the decision she wanted to make. I remembered what I felt when I had to make that decision. But she may have considered these things for a long time and I, too busy with work, did not notice what was happening.
When I asked her if she wanted to separate, she seemed like a great burden had been lifted off her shoulders. She did not appear to hesitate when she said, quite directly, that yes, she wanted to separate now and divorce as soon as possible. When my condition allows it, she said, meaning she was willing to wait until I was discharged from the hospital, but not much past that.
I asked her if there was anyone else. She was hurt and said that our separation is only happening because our relationship had been exhausted and not because of any other man in her life. I believed her. Not that it changed the lousy situation I was in. I was upset, maybe unjustifiably so, but I still asked her not to visit me at the hospital any longer. She was hurt again, but at this point she had already accepted the situation and did not let anything divert her from the path she chose. She said she would keep her visits to a minimum but will not stop coming until she knows someone is able to help me with my needs.
I decided not to argue with her any further and from that moment on my recuperation was a fusion of thoughts about the future waiting for me outside of the hospital.
The Bureau took good care of me. It was one of the advantages of working for them. They had a welfare officer who came every other day and brought me anything I needed. They also financially cared for me, ensuring that my payments were wired directly into my bank account and that I received the insurance money I deserved for my injury. It was a considerable sum, so I could be calm, at least on the financial level.
Six months of idleness are a long time to think about life. It was clear to me that the course of mine had been disrupted, but being an optimistic survivor I preferred to think about the future rather than the past. With that, my reflection did not allow me to ignore the past, and I had to consider it in order to draw conclusions about the future.
As my body grew stronger, so did my spirit. I thought about the kind of friendship I wanted to achieve in my relationships. I thought about the disadvantages that I brought into my relationship. My infidelity was the main one, without a doubt. On the other hand, I thought about other values, like total commitment to the marriage, and meant to make it my first and foremost priority over any other relationship. I thought a lot about my affair. I remembered very well how torn I felt between what seemed to be the love of a lifetime and my familial commitment. Some people would see true love as a decre
e of fate that cannot be undermined. I can understand the reason behind this. Those people would have walked away from their families. I was committed to mine and was willing to self-sacrifice for that commitment. I knew that my behavior generated incomparable suffering for my wife, but I was hoping I could make it up to her. She seemed to have forgiven me, but apparently her forgiveness was conditional. I had a hard time accepting it, because I knew how committed I was to my promises. You have to stand behind your words. Every person who knew me knew that, even the manager at my bank.
Apparently, I did not achieve the friendship I was hoping for. As soon as I understood that, I began to feel a growing sense of relief. Without a true friendship there was no point in the relationship. If you are not convinced that your partner would be there for you in any situation—as bad as it may be—there is no point in sustaining the relationship. But I surely had to try and reexamine the love I had left behind.
I decided that before I went back to work, I had to go and see whether love is truly eternal. I wanted to believe that it is.
8
My day-to-day life in the periods between missions, usually four to nine months, was used to keep in shape, to refresh my shooting skills, and practice the martial arts I specialized in. I was an expert marksman on rifles and master marksman on a pistol. I also had a 4th Dan black belt in karate. My office time was mainly dedicated to keeping up with technological innovations, as the technology department of the Bureau was keen on distributing those among the officers.
All in all, my routine was comfortable and I was able to plan it according to my needs, while leaving some time for personal errands. I was not booked for any kind of operational activity in the next three months, and so this routine took over my daily life.
Of course, there always was the possibility of things changing abruptly. That was, after all, the nature of the job. But in the meantime, things were quite calm. I started my days at the office at 9:00 a.m. Around 12:30 p.m., I was usually hungry. The dining hall was a good option to meet colleagues with whom I had shared missions or courses in the past. I stood by the counter and surveyed the hall. I noticed Yehuda Kirsch, who was in my year in the course for field intelligence officers. He sat there with someone I did not know. I concentrated and sent him a thought message to look up toward me. It seemed to work, because he noticed me and waved his hand signaling me to join them.
