 
## The Last Enemy

### Part 2

### 2011-2023

Luca Luchesini

Edited by Isabel Spinelli

Copyright 2015 by Luca Luchesini

Disclaimer

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, business establishments, events and locations is entirely coincidental.

### Part Two

### Detection and Awareness

Chapter 1

Avi Eitan sat down in the computer room of Tel Aviv Ben Gurion Airport at precisely eight o'clock on October 23rd, 2010, as he had been doing for the past six months. Barely eighteen years old, he was serving his first year in the Israeli Defense Forces and, given his computer study background, he had been assigned to the team that ran the IT systems of the Israel border control.

As he logged into the system, he thought about how dull his job was but decided it was much better than checking endless lines of passengers into the terminal building or standing with an M-16 rifle in his hands at one of the many checkpoints between Israel and the West Bank. Or even worse, at Gaza.

The chances of having to deal with the occasional suicide bomber these days were high enough to make Ben Gurion acceptable.

On top of that, today there were two pleasant surprises to mix up the routine.

The first one was the arrival of new airport security members made up of some Falasha girls - Jews of Ethiopian origin. Their beauty was so stunning that even the unkept border guards could not help giving them attention.

The second surprise was more on the professional side. Avi was asked to start testing a new image match software called "ChronoPic" that had just been installed by the specialists of the Shin Bet, which is the agency with counterespionage and jurisdiction inside Israeli borders.

The origin of the software was hidden. There were rumors circulating that it was joint developed by the CIA and some experts of the web giants, but there were other claims that stated the NSA was responsible, instead.

Avi did not really care. He clicked the new icon on his screen and started running the test. The software would collect all the pictures taken by the security cameras of the airport and search for matches to any particular subject in the photo.

Avi ran the first test on a passenger who had left the day before, choosing one picture taken at the baggage check-in area in the main entrance. After a few seconds, the system returned a set of pictures of the man as he had gone through the security checks. He had spent some time at the coffee shop in the departure hall, loitered a bit in front of a giant chandelier at one of the gift shops, eventually bought a lousy t-shirt and hastily boarded the flight to Paris. The first test had passed.

Avi then went through the menus and launched an extended search over the past ten days, still focused on the airport entrance. This time it took a bit longer, maybe one minute \- Avi thought that from now on he should take note of the amount of time it took to search - then eventually the full set of appearances of the person popped up on the screen. And this person's name was Pierre Malinsky, a French citizen born in 1965 who entered Israel for the first time in 1987 and whose picture records Avi now had in front of him. The software told him that Pierre regularly visited Israel, three to four times a year, and in many of them he was with a woman who was most likely his wife.

For a second, Avi thought about whether to start an investigation on the woman or continue with Pierre. He chose to finish what he had already started, and expanded the search from the airport to the whole Shin Bet database, which basically contained footage from all the surveillance cameras of Israel.

After exactly fourteen minutes and fifty-seven seconds, in which Avi let his thoughts drift again to the Falasha girls, the system returned the full set of images and pictures. There were thousands of them, but it was possible to sort them by time or place, to make it more manageable.

About twenty of them (roughly one percent) were flagged with a yellow tab indicating that either the system was not sure the subject was the same or there were some discrepancies worth checking. And here was where the real work began.

Avi started browsing through what he called the "suspect set", starting from the pictures taken at sensitive locations like border checkpoints, Palestinian authority buildings, military locations, and so on.

The conclusion was that in all cases the system had raised a false alarm. The picture quality was so poor that the software could not gather enough points to call a match and stated it as a false result. This was a function built into the software design, because the consequences of missing a real danger were far worse than stating a false one. Especially in a country like Israel.

Before setting the system in automatic search mode, Avi went to the "Morph Search" menu. The software could match the picture of any given subject against an arbitrary set of creations that a malicious agent trying to enter the land of honey and milk could have adopted, such as changing the color and style of their hair, or undergoing plastic surgery, or simply playing with age.

He ran another test on Pierre, programming the system to look for similar morphs only in the airport area. This time, the search needed ten minutes and seventeen seconds, but Avi noticed that at least at the airport the search did not report any results. He reviewed his options.

The longer the test lasted, the less chances there were that he would be moved to another task, like for example, God forbids, at the Patriarch Tombs in Hebron to protect his ultraorthodox fellow citizens from Palestinian hate. And by that time he might have gotten to know a Falasha girl. So he selected the full morphing mode on more than one thousand members of the Shin Bet's most wanted list and put "moderate morphing" to all the rest, with images going back as far as ten years.

The system started its search, downloading the results into a special file. Avi decided to make a separate file for each image scanned. It was already twelve now, time for the lunch break. He got back to work in the late afternoon.

ChronoPic had already created more than twenty-three files, some of which were large enough to contain hundreds of pictures. He checked if any of the files contained images of members from the most-wanted list. Seeing no results, Avi decided to go home and continue the next day.

The following morning the number of files had grown to fifty-one. He had to start his analysis work, otherwise the backlog would become unmanageable and he did not want to lose this job.

Many logs were inconsistencies due to poor image quality, like the case of Pierre the day before, but there were seven possible crossings with members of the most-wanted list, all under some form of morphing. He checked the dates and the identities. The most recent one had taken place two years ago, and in no case did the declared name matched the one of the suspect.

This deserved more investigation, so he dutifully followed the Shin Bet instructions and he created a report file for each of the cases and sent it to a secure email address. On the receiving side, an officer would take care of the next level of investigation. It was quite a burdensome process, and in the meantime thirty-four new logs had been produced by ChronoPic. Avi nicknamed it 'Crony', considering he was going to spend a lot of time with it.

On the evening of the second day, he was grateful that his Crony friend allowed him to spend the rest of his shift in the comfortable airport security room.

And even better, during the afternoon coffee break he had managed to break the ice with Rachel Terwago, one of the most beautiful girls of the Falasha group.

A few days later, he started analyzing file number 178, which was a strange one. Crony had come upon a morphing correlation between twenty-six different picture sequences, all of which were good quality as they had been taken by the airport security cameras.

The sequences started in 2001 and finished the week before, on October 16th, 2010. The subject had flown back home on the afternoon Delta Air Lines flight to New York. The problem was, the sequences belonged to two different people. One of the first twenty was apparently George McKilroy, a US citizen. The last six instead belonged to Sean Ewals, an American as well.

Avi scrutinized the pictures. Indeed, there was some resemblance. The morphing controller stated that George could have morphed into Sean by applying eye and nose surgery, plus some lifting, as Sean looked significantly younger. Then Avi also checked in the border control file. In both cases, there was nothing suspicious.

Nothing to report during their stay in Israel, and nothing connecting either one to the Shin Bet database of foreign suspects.

Avi launched a search on the whole Israel territory on both subjects. After one hour, he figured out that neither George nor Sean went near any sensitive military site. They both appeared in some parking lot and traffic light footage in the Petah Tikvah area. The hotel videos showed that they stayed at different places, while George's pictures had been taken in the Jerusalem area, Sean always stayed in the surroundings of Tel Aviv. Looking at their customs interview reports, they both declared to be technology entrepreneurs and their whereabouts confirmed that. They were born about thirty years away from each other and this was in line with the images.

There was still a strange resemblance flagged by the system, as if George and Sean could be the same person. But then why did Sean look so much younger than George? The opposite would have made sense.

Avi was about to trash the log as yet another case of false results, then he remembered that his country simply could not afford false outcomes. Besides that, no one could blame him for being too cautious, so he compiled his analysis of file 178 and sent it to the Shin Bet email address.
Chapter 2

Eyal Podhoretz was the man in charge of the office for the analysis of internal intelligence at Shin Bet. His team was collecting and putting together information taken from all sorts of sources, from satellite imagery to words whispered in the streets of the Old City of Jerusalem, with the goal of identifying any internal threat to the Jewish State.

This year was relatively quiet, at least in comparison to the years of the Palestinian revolts of the Intifada, but Eyal knew that peace was a concept with a much different interpretation in this part of the world. It simply meant no imminent danger and therefore more time to focus on preventing the next threat. The officer who had received the report from Avi had reached the same conclusion, something was not adding up and he had done more research.

It turned out that George had died in 2005 and Sean's visits had begun shortly after. They were both technology entrepreneurs. George had started in computers, then mobile phones, and then veered to biotechnology, which is where Sean started.

However, Sean was active with a completely different set of companies.

Eyal had sent two of his guys to politely, yet thoroughly interview the people who had done business with George in Petah Tikvah. Evidently, there were no problems whatsoever.

According to his colleagues, he was a very creative and rich man, well connected in the business community. Politically, he seemed just like the average American, ready to side with Israel no matter what.

Could he have been an industrial spy?

Unlikely, as he was the one that brought the new ideas and techniques, not the other way around.

And how about his death?

Totally unexpected. They noted that at some point he got slightly thinner, but who knew why? Then no news for a few months, and all of the sudden the obituary popped up on the 'San José Mercury'.

So no one attended the funeral?

Apparently not, it was a family-only ceremony. One of the interviewees distinctly remembered the name of George's wife, Sheila.

The colleagues of Sean gave very similar responses, he was very reliable, very open, and a good friend of Israel without any doubt.

What was he working on?

This is where the interviewees hesitated. They were stuck between the security of their home country and the business secrets of their investors. All that the team of Eyal learned was that Sean was working on breakthrough research in aging.

To complete the puzzle, it was necessary to either interview the family of George McKilroy or catch Sean, maybe during his next trip to Israel. He sent instructions to the border agency to alert Shin Bet immediately upon his next arrival, but to let him go undisturbed. This was what had to be done in Israel.

To get the US side of the story, he picked up the phone and called his counterpart at the Mossad.

Yaakov Mayer answered on the fifth ring as usual, after some quick speculation on the reasons behind the call. He knew Eyal when they had served together in the same commando unit during the last Lebanese war of 2005, hunting for the missile launch sites of the Lebanese Shia party and Israel's archenemy, Hizbollah. He knew he would not call without a solid reason.

"Hello Eyal. How can I help you?"

"Hi, Yaakov, we have a potential threat we need your help to fully assess. We are tracking a foreign suspect. We believe he has changed identity over the last few years and he is continuously entering Israel.

He is active in biotechnology, and a regular visitor to the Petah Tikvah research area. We cannot get any more information about him from our sources and databases, so if you could just activate your network abroad.."

"Hang on, where is this guy from? Please do not tell me he is.."

"Unfortunately, yes, he is American."

Even without video link, Eyal could imagine Yaakov shaking his head in disappointment. It would have been much easier to ask the Mossad for some services in Iran or Afghanistan, as the United States were one of the hottest places to gather intelligence. Not so much for the inherent difficulty to get to your sources, but rather for the political fallout if anything went wrong.

"Eyal, let me ask you one question first: can't we just do this by simply calling someone at the FBI or Homeland Security? If we suspect this one is a bad guy, maybe he is also conspiring against the US. Our two countries tend to have common enemies, and it would save us a big embarrassment."

"Yaakov, I thought about it and I would rather not get the FBI or HS involved, at least for now. The two guys have bulletproof identities. Their passports are one-hundred percent authentic, as well as work and residential addresses, and their social security codes. When the first guy died, guess what...he asked for his body to be cremated with no relatives or friends at the funeral."

"So you are afraid he might be acting under the cover of one or more federal agencies. This would mean that our friends from across the pond are spying on us and we are just returning the favor. Maybe Bibi Netanyahu, our Prime Minister, could buy this, if we can prove it. I need to ask you a few additional questions though. First of all, are you really sure we are talking about the same person?"

"The double identity pattern has been detected by the new software that you handed over to us a few months ago. I sent one of my team members at Ben Gurion, to check how the border control officer at the airport was using the software. The boy, I think his name is Avi, thought he had made some mistake, but after a full day of examination my team member confirmed that Avi can efficiently operate the ChronoPic application. So, yes, to the very best of our knowledge the two individuals, George and Sean, are the same."

"And why do you think this George-Sean is a bigger threat to us than Hezbollah?"

"I did not say he is a bigger threat than Hezbollah, or Hamas rockets, or the Iranian nuke program. All I'm saying is we have a man who has dealt with the biggest technology breakthroughs for the last twenty-five years, who chose to change lives and who is now playing around with biotech in our backyard, under intense protection.

What if he is in to get some of our secrets for the Americans to reuse? You know that some of the companies he is working with are also engaged in our new bio-drone program.

Or what if he is trying to smuggle biohazardous stuff inside the Tel Aviv metro area? I am not asking to put him in jail or kidnap him in Connecticut, I am just asking your help with a discreet assessment."

"Alright, but I need to tell you, we will do this via our sayanim first, I do not want to expose our teams without more solid evidence. And this means it will take more time than usual."

"No problem, Yaakov. We are ready to help with the analysis of the data as soon as you start getting some news. I am sending you the file right now."

Yaakov had barely put down the phone, when the computer showed the incoming message from Eyal. Yaakov opened it with the intention of putting it at the end of his priorities. Half an hour into reading it, he looked at the clock on the wall. He would have to wait another three hours before he could give an early wake up call to Ben, his resident agent on the US East Coast.

Chapter 3

Ben's main job was to keep good relations with the secret services of the United States and Canada, while exchanging information about common enemies. On the other side, he also gathered information about those very same allies.

Like all other Mossad agents, he had to coordinate the network of the sayanim, the Jewish word for foreign collaborators. They were mostly made of Jews of the Diaspora who were loyally serving both their homeland and the country of Israel, that vowed to act as a last resort shelter for all the Jews of the world. And Jews knew all too well that fleeing your homeland on short notice could never be disregarded.

Ben was constantly trying to get as much information without exposing his sayanim to the threat of espionage charges from their home country. However, the FBI and the Homeland Security Agency were making it increasingly difficult.

The call from Yaakov came through Ben's secure mobile line.

Yaakov explained the full story he had learned from Eyal, except the detail about the biodrone research, as Ben did not need to know about it and there was always the possibility of someone else listening in on the call.

At the end of the briefing, Ben took initiative and sketched out a plan of action.

"Alright, we basically have three concerns.

First, make sure that George and Sean are the same person. Then, if this is confirmed, we have to find out what Sean-George is really doing. And last, who are the guys he is working with.

I would use the sayanim and some light surveillance to resolve the first issue, and depending on what we find out, we work out a strategy for the second and third ones."

"Good idea. Now, do you have some ideas on how to go about the first part?"

"We have several sayanim on the West Coast, some of them are active in Silicon Valley venture capital firms, others in the movie industry in Hollywood. Maybe we are lucky enough that some of them already got in touch with George and might have direct access to his relatives. The idea is to grab some of George's stuff from which we can extract DNA samples.

I do not think it will be an issue to get some bio samples from Sean, just with some basic shadowing. You have thousands going on every day in New York City alone. FBI and Homeland Security won't notice anything at all."

"Sounds reasonable, I want you to report back to me in two weeks or so, as soon as you have some news. We have four weeks to get started."

Once Ben had hung up, he started browsing through his list of contacts on the West Coast, sorting out who to call in the late afternoon.

After just two calls, it turned out that one sayan called Aaron Kahlberg, was a very close friend to one of the partners of George in his mobile phone venture. Aaron was used to giving some advice or answering some questions for Ben. He knew this was helping the cause of Israel and there was nothing wrong with that.

This time the request was strange, though. For some reason which Ben could not disclose, he was searching for any objects that had come in contact with George McKilroy. Aaron asked if they were looking for some DNA samples, but all he got as a response was that they would be returned exactly in the same condition as they were, in no time.

A few days later, Aaron went to his friend's home for a party and he purposely commented on one of the big phones that was sitting on the memorabilia shelf in the lab room. He asked his friend if he could borrow it to show to one of his grandsons that phones without screen really used to exist.

The plan worked and the very next day the hefty car phone was taking off from Los Angeles, headed to Tel Aviv.

Sean was easier to manage since he was still alive, but there were constraints as well. Intruding into Sean's house, even in his absence, was out of the question until they had more evidence on his double life. What if a policeman or a neighbor intercepted the agent?

Ben decided to leverage Sean's on-the-go lifestyle by contacting someone of the sayanim at United Airlines who had access to the global reservation system. With some luck, Sean would pass through an airport in the New York area, since he belonged to the frequent flyer club.

The very same day he received the full list of Sean's past and future reservations, from a private email address. Sean had started flying exactly after George passed away. This confirmed Ben was onto something.

Once he had called the Mossad operative to organize the sample collection on the next flight, he noticed the pattern of his visits to Singapore.

The sample collection was scheduled to be taken on his next flight from New York to Paris. As Sean always booked the same aisle seat, it was easy to assign the agent to the window seat next to him. The mission seemed very simple, but Ben insisted on having an experienced agent carry it out.

It was much better to annoy an expert operative than to risk a small failure and delay the collection of information. Two days later, he chuckled when Shlomo slammed a plastic slip with a small strand of hair down on his desk, shouting threats to move back to Africa where at least there was some action.

The slip flew to Israel that day, in the official packaging of the Israeli ambassador to the United Nations.

By the time the lab analysis report arrived, twenty-four days had passed since the call between Ben and Yaakov. The report stated that the dandruff samples found trapped in the telephone receiver had a ninety-seven percent probability of belonging to the same individual from which the hair had been taken. The holes of the telephone receiver had shielded the dandruff microsamples from the heat and light that would have irremediably damaged the DNA, and luckily not many other people had used this phone.

This meant there was an American agent operating undercover in Israel and dealing with advanced biotechnology research.

Eyal and Yaakov decided to raise the case priority to high.
Chapter 4

Skip Ross received the report of 'FriendWatch' from the NSA like every Monday morning.

A Texan from Dallas, he had graduated in Law at the University of Texas during the aftermath of September 11th and he had chosen to give up a career as a lawyer to join civil service. His first assignment had been to serve as the legal manager of the team that developed 'FaceFinder', the system that took pictures of all foreigners entering the US and compared them in real time with the suspect image databases of all US security agencies. It was a big success and as soon as US allies heard about it, they had made a quiet but very persistent request to get it as well and now several versions were being used in at least half a dozen other countries.

Skip had insisted to use it to scan US citizens too, but the amount of data to be correlated first and the arrival of the Obama administration, put an end to these plans. The software was still checking all foreigners entering the US but required a legal warrant to be applied to US citizens without any criminal record.

He was now serving as deputy director of the Special Investigation Section of the Homeland Security in Washington, D.C.. His job was to lead the cooperation with the NSA for all the electronic intelligence that his colleagues at the Department of Defense were gathering, on matters that may affect US security.

The report he was reading was the reason for his last promotion. Back in 2007, when he was still the head of the New York Border Control Agency, he had persuaded the NSA to develop a software that would automatically scan all calls, mail and internet logs of every individual who worked in sensitive areas regarding border control.

The list initially contained all airport and port authority employees, US immigration and customs officers, and foreign embassy and consulate employees but quickly grew to include all those who were somehow connected to the travel and transportation business, among them airline reservation teams.

By 2009, Skip had identified the sayanim of the Mossad working in the sector but he decided it was not worth disrupting. Although sending information to a foreign secret service was against the law, Skip knew that this was not necessarily against US interests, and after all his system was not completely in line with the rules either.

So, instead, he decided to refine the software to get a better understanding of what and who the sayanim were after.

In many cases, he found they were tracking the same suspects, in other cases the request was a single check that did not allow further follow up. However, the case he had in front this morning was a long, repetitive pattern of queries that identified the target.

For some reason, the Mossad was tracking Sean Ewals, a young US citizen who visited Israel regularly and whose profile did not reveal anything suspicious.

He thought about the alternatives.

Either the Mossad was spying on Ewals or Ewals was working for them. In both cases, Skip should report his finding to FBI, which was in charge of the counterintelligence within the US.

Skip decided to do a full scan of Sean's electronic correspondence, for which the Special Operations section of Homeland Security did not need any legal warrant. The holiday season was around the corner, and he would receive the analysis at the beginning of 2011, the year marking the tenth anniversary of the 9/11 attacks.

He stopped, leaned back in his chair, and looked out of the window; allowing himself a quick appraisal for the last decade. He knew his country was safer now, and he had played an important role in it. He felt proud that he had earned the power to track his fellow citizens' lives for the good of his great nation. There was no reason not to continue in this manner.

The report about Sean landed on his desk in mid-January. The graph highlighted his personal and business connections with different color codes. The man was a complete workaholic, without a private life except for his girlfriend in Singapore whom he regularly visited once a month. None of the connections belonged to any suspect, and this was a good sign, although more than a third of them were abroad and could be hiding secrets.

All the companies Sean was involved with looked spotless, also. A couple of them had some open litigations with the IRS, but after a quick look Skip saw it was only the Californian way of trying to hide income behind complex stock compensation schemes; just normal business.

The field of activity was much more interesting. All the companies Sean was investing in, were active in anti-aging drug research. Skip could hardly understand the report, however the summary was clear enough; all of these companies were working on a new generation of drugs that could extend average life span up to one hundred and twenty years.

The complete list counted twelve companies with a direct investment from Sean that, together with their subcontractors and business partners, added up to a total of fifty-two enterprises. Eighteen were located overseas, spread out between Europe, the Middle East, and Asia.

There were only two Israeli companies, and according to the relationship graph they provided key components to the two core companies.

The Israelis had probably figured out what the whole deal was about and were now trying to get more information to launch a third company. The winner of this race was in to get huge financial rewards and political clout. And Skip knew that his job was to now make sure the winner would be a US company.

That was enough to push him to take action, so he immediately setup a meeting with the head of the operations service. He needed a detailed secret inspection of Sean's house to make sure it was not already under surveillance. He did not go through the seven-hundred page appendix, missing the fact that there was no document dating before 2005.

The inspection was carried out in February, during one of Sean's frequent trips abroad and it did not reveal anything abnormal. The house had not been bugged and it did not contain anything unusual except a set of unmarked drugs, in all likelihood the samples being produced at one of the companies. One box, with some pills inside and a T stamped over it, was kept in the bathroom and it looked like Sean was testing it on himself.

Meanwhile, 'FriendWatch' reports showed that the sayanim had been tracking every movement of Sean for the past three months and Skip was about to call him for a formal warning when he discovered that one of the known Mossad agents on the East Coast flew with him to Paris.

This completely threw Skip off track.

Maybe Sean was a spy or, worse, a traitor selling industrial secrets to Israel. He needed more time and information to come to a decision. For the moment he reclassified Sean's case as a potential threat and put him on the highest level possible of electronic surveillance.

From now on, all his calls and mail would be recorded, analyzed, and stored, and his home discreetly searched at least once a month.
Chapter 5

September 4th, 2011 was a glorious late summer day in Tel Aviv, as Eyal drove to work.

He had scheduled the periodic review and alignment meeting with the Mossad in the morning and he was happy to see that after many months of procrastination, Yaakov had gotten around to the Sean Ewals case.

This, mixed with the memory of the last Shabbat spent at the beach with his girlfriend Ruth, made for a very good start of the week.

When Yaakov finished the slides about the second point, the excitement had turned into disappointment. Since it was a face to face meeting, Yaakov understood immediately.

They knew that George and Sean were the same person.

They had managed to find out that he also had a girlfriend in Singapore, as they could see from the picture of the two taken on the poolside of the Raffles hotel by the Mossad operative. She was a Spanish woman named Rosa who was working as a financial analyst in a hedge fund and Eyal could not help noticing she looked a bit like Ruth.

Another interesting fact was that George/Sean was at the center of an extensive network of global connections, logging countless airline miles. Beyond a regular monthly trip to Singapore to visit Rosa, he visited Europe at least twice a month, Middle East (including Israel) twice every three months, and occasionally the Far East - mostly in South Korea and Japan. Yaakov had not been able to send an operative to every country, but in the countries he had managed to get a team member into, like France and England, all they had reported was the typical venture capitalist lifestyle. There were no suspicious associates found and Yaakov did not have enough resources to evaluate everyone George/Sean had met during these past months of surveillance.

Eyal had not much more information to offer. During his missions in Israel, they had tracked every number that Sean had called and everything he had brought along in his suitcase - including a full scan of his hard disk which was copied during the airport security checks - but again, nothing suspicious showed up.

In any case, the Israeli people known to George and connected to the biodrone project, had been moved to other companies. The business partners of George reported that he asked about their new jobs, but he did not try to contact them again.

"So, at the end of the day," sighed Eyal, "the only suspicious activity here is that we have a former Silicon Valley billionaire that likes to live a second life and appears to be barely thirty when he is actually sixty-something...nothing that you could not reach with the help of a good plastic surgeon up in Beirut and nothing that poses an immediate threat to Eretz Yisrael.."

"Correct," chimed in Yaakov, "the only other strange thing we can add to the list is that the man is going to spread out into Hollywood. One sayan in Los Angeles is active in the movie production industry and told us that Sean is helping to finance a new sci-fi movie about a future where part of mankind has become immortal while the vast majority is condemned to live in the slums. The plot looks quite plain, but they are going to hire big actors like Matt Damon or Tom Cruise to make it sell. The movie name has not yet been decided. It could be 'Olympus' or 'Elysium', some fancy mythological Greek name."

"Alright, how do we move forward then?" Eyal continued, "We know we have an extremely well-crafted identity change, we know it has to do with advanced biological research and all the big money associated to that, we know that - although we have no evidence - it was intentional, and it has got into contact with one of our most secret research programs. The big media might soon be involved. I think we need to fire a warning signal, Yaakov, even though we do not want to..."

Yaakov knew where Eyal was going with this proposal. A warning signal meant officially asking the CIA if they knew something about it, watching Sean undercover, and questioning foreign secret services. This was tricky business from here on out. Not to mention that if you were proved wrong, you would owe the CIA a favor.

"Alright," Yaakov gave in, "we will take all the necessary steps with our friends in Foggy Bottom, but I won't bring this about on an urgent basis, rather I will mention it verbally as an off-agenda topic in the monthly interexchange meeting we have in Cyprus, two weeks from now. Then, as I understand, you plan to question our man next time he sets foot in Israel so please let me ask you one favor: do not arrest him or take any action that could create an issue for us."

Eyal noted that Yaakov had used the nickname Foggy Bottom to refer to the CIA headquarters in Langley, Virginia. He usually did this when he wanted to be particularly cautious. So he tried to reassure his colleague as much as he could.

"Come on, Yaakov, we are not in the US where they send to Guantanamo everything that moves. Worst case, we get yet another complaint call from the US Embassy about our tight security procedures at Ben Gurion airport. And as usual our answer will be that, according to the latest survey we took, ninety-nine percent of US citizens approve of it," he added with a laugh.
Chapter 6

George landed in Tel Aviv in the late evening of October 14th, 2011, this time coming from Zurich. He found himself lined up at the passport check with a much more diverse crowd than the one made of Orthodox Jews, Christian pilgrims, and Wall Street executives that used to pack the direct flights from New York.

George noticed that the young woman at the control station was taking more time than usual inspecting his passport and then she politely but firmly asked him to leave the line and go to a waiting room in the arrival hall.

With relief, George found he was not alone. There were four other passengers coming from Zurich and another five from previous flights. It was a bit like a dentist waiting room, except there were some vending machines.

He asked a few questions around, and it turned out that the wait was about an hour, then they were called in one by one for some questioning, and sent on their way after an hour or so. Some of the travelers that pretended to be more experienced, said this was the standard procedure for those who were entering Israel for the first time or that otherwise had visas from countries like Saudi Arabia or Pakistan.

George began to feel uneasy as he did not belong to either category. What did they want from him?

George began to mentally repeat the story of Sean, his childhood in Boston, the loss of his parents in a car accident fourteen years ago, his years in college in Harvard. At the same time he started studying the others in the room. There were three Italians, one of them actually looked like an Arab, all with their eyes fixed on their phones.

There were also two Frenchmen, who instead were talking on their phones to complain about the situation with their loved ones at home. All the others stayed silent, and from their looks they seemed to be from Eastern Europe.

From time to time, someone would be allowed to pass the border and someone else entered the waiting room. However, there was no clear pattern on how people were called into questioning. George's turn came towards midnight, after about two hours of waiting.

The first questioning took place in a nearby office, which was large enough to fit a desk and a cabinet along the wall. The officer was again a young woman, not even twenty-five years old, but experienced enough to show off flashy badges on her otherwise sloppy uniform.

The questioning was relatively easy: lots of questions on the motive of his visit, where George told the simple truth, the request for the phone numbers of his contacts in Israel for a possible check – again, no problem - and a number of questions about him and his past. But George was ready, even though he was a bit surprised of being asked the name, place and date of birth of his grandparents. He could not remember much, since the last one to pass away, who was his grandmother, had died when he was four. Yes, he remembered playing with her in the courtyard of her house back in New England, he could not recall exact dates. He only knew he had Irish roots.

He was sent back to the waiting room. It had lasted forty minutes and George was not sure what to do next. He realized it was now too late to call his business contacts in Israel, it would only scare them. And in any case it would be better not to give the impression he was calling for help. He could have called Helena, but again, what could she do? It would just get her worried. His phone was without a doubt being tracked by now. He called his office in Stamford, Connecticut to tell his assistant about this small inconvenience.

She had to be ready to reschedule the calls and meetings of the following day in case this lasted much longer.

Just before two in the morning, a screaming man burst into the waiting room, where George and four other people were patiently sitting. He was shouting in French, but George clearly understood the "fascistes" that popped up here and there in his sentences. He looked up at the arrival screen. The man had most likely disembarked from the last flight from Rome.

After a few minutes, the man sat down next to a vending machine, and after another ten minutes of complaining he started asking around how long each one of them had been waiting. One of the Italians sitting nearby him, engaged in conversation and the newcomer introduced himself as Mustapha Dakka, a Belgian citizen with Moroccan ancestors who worked in the music industry. He was there for an interview with a woman with an unpronounceable name - at least for an American - who was the biggest trans-sexual singer in Israel and a rising star in the Mediterranean pop culture.

Of course the fascist policemen of this most fascist State had discriminated against him based off on his looks and origin. The guards at the Belgian embassy were all sleeping now, but it was just a few hours until he would make sure to create a big scene.

George was getting a good laugh from the whole situation, when he was called in for the second round of questioning - again a young female officer, again barely above twenty, again the shoddy uniform, except this time the style was much more assertive. Apparently, it was her job to play the bad cop. At two-thirty in the morning, George figured he would be allowed to take his time in answering and again stuck to the truth, like before. All the truth he knew about Sean.

When he came back to the room, it was around three fifteen in the morning and he found that the place had morphed from the dentist waiting room into something like an Alcoholic Anonymous meeting, with Mustapha playing the facilitator.

There were only six people left in the room, including Mustapha and himself, and he thought it would be a bit suspicious not to join the conversation. But he had to be careful with his words. He exaggerated a yawn, he took a coke from the vending machine, and he sat three seats away from Mustapha.

Mustapha was speaking with the only Italian left in the room, about two pop singers of the seventies, with Mustapha claiming that a song called 'Gloria' was the work of a certain singer - with yet another unpronounceable name - and the Italian arguing it was owned by another singer. No one seemed to give in. Then all of the sudden the Italian started singing the tune and Mustapha immediately shut up. He turned his attention over to George, who in the meantime was reviewing his two interviews for the third time, in search for any omissions. So far, he had not found any.

"Hello, we have not yet introduced ourselves. I am Mustapha, music critic, as you can see. Where are you from?"

"Nice to meet you, I'm Sean, from the US. I work in the technology sector."

"Ah, I am sorry you are going through this, but I am also a bit happy you can see for yourself how your allies behave! They make the life of foreign guests miserable, and let's not get into how they treat Palestinians. But you Americans always side with them blindly. What state are you from?"

"Stamford, Connecticut. Which is located roughly halfway between New York and Boston, but I grew up in Boston."

"Boston! Oh what a great place! Really civilized. I have always wondered how they can get along with Texans. The music scene is great there, too! The Aerosmith! The Pixies! A city of rock! I would love to go there again."

"Well, I guess so, but I am not into that stuff. I used to listen to the radio and that's about it."

"Of course, but so many great musicians are out there. Donna Summer, I am sure you know her. I was talking with our Italian friend here, about the sound of the seventies. Amazing productions come from that era! Boston had nothing to envy California over, their artists were on a par with the Eagles and Joan Baez. And then there was that one song..," Mustapha started humming an old tune...."I love it, but I do not remember the group.."

"Wow, you really are an expert" laughed George sarcastically. "I do happen to know that song, it is from the Buckinghams. They were from Chicago. I know, because my father always sang it."

At six in the morning, he was the only one left, along with Mustapha. When he was called again, this time he was led through a longer corridor, to a larger office, where a man in casual clothes was waiting for him.

The desk was completely empty except for an iPod connected to a wireless speaker, playing in the background at very low volume.

George had decided to be aggressive this time, threatening to call the US embassy, but the change of environment led him to relax a little. The man was wearing a badge. George tried to read the name but it was in Hebrew. The man noticed and immediately introduced himself.

"Mr. Ewals, you can call me Eyal. First of all let me apologize for the huge inconvenience you have experienced tonight. You have visited Israel several times so you must understand that we take our country's safety seriously. I have to tell you that today we have received some information which required verification on our side, including this nasty round of interviews.

I cannot disclose the source, nor the content, however I can tell you that you have come out of it with a clean record. We will let you go right away and you can continue to engage with your Israeli business partners without any restrictions. In case you are wondering, yes, we have verified with some of your partners the information you have provided for us tonight and it matched. Now, we can both relax ourselves," he said, as he turned up the volume. It was "Blowing in the Wind" by Bob Dylan, except that it was played by a woman.

"Do you recognize her?" asked the man.

"She sounds like Joan Baez, but I tell you I am no music expert."

"Correct, Mr. Ewals! She grew up in Boston, just like you told our agents you are from."
Chapter 7

The oppressive humid heat of the summer had given way to the warm winds of late October that Tarek was enjoying, on his brand new Riva motorboat, in front of the mangroves, not far from Abu Dhabi.

His business focus had now shifted to brokering deals between the government of the Emirates and a score of technology companies, which were selling advanced surveillance and control systems.

The Arab Emirates were a booming, open, and diverse country, yet the ruling families needed to make sure that the Emirati nationals, now a tiny minority of less than ten percent of the total population, had all the means to detect any threat from inside and keep control of the country.

Tarek had managed to delegate to his company's management the daily chores of running the business and he had kept for himself the high-level relations that were nonetheless essential in getting deals. This gave him plenty of free time to enjoy the lavish lifestyle of the Gulf upper class with his family.

This day had to be devoted to fishing, while Jailane, his wife, was sunbathing on the deck.

He was patiently awaiting a Giant Trevally fish for more than two hours when he received a call from Jean-Pierre Bezas, the French secret service head agent in Abu Dhabi. He was furious and asked Tarek to immediately meet him at the Rotana Beach Hotel pool bar.

Tarek realized that the fishing day was over. He started the engine, muttered a few words of disappointment to his wife, and headed to Abu Dhabi.

Jean-Pierre was waiting on the pier of the marina and did not wait for him to reach the secure bungalow at the Rotana seaside, before starting his rants.

It was about those CIA identities handed over a few years ago. The bad news was that the one of Sean Ewals, was being used to cover up an illegal spy in Israel.

The Mossad had found out and asked Langley, the CIA headquarters, if they knew something or - God forbids - they were involved in any way. The allegations had been initially dismissed, but the CIA would certainly take a good look and get back to their allies with any news.

The CIA's internal investigation had clarified that these identities had been handed over to the French Foreign Service, the DGSE, in exchange for other favors so the ball was now back in France's court, and Jean Paul had to make sure this identity did not end up in the wrong hands.

"Tarek, please tell me you are not bothering the Iranians. Who did you give it to?"

"I can assure you, to none of the folks around here. You know I would have told you. I can only tell you he was a US gentleman who had good reasons to change his life, but I never met him again. I do not know why he is messing with Israel. How did the Israelis find out?"

Jean Paul stopped. The fact that Tarek had never betrayed him meant he could take his word that the identity was being used by a US citizen, but never meeting him again? This sounded like bullshit.

Jean-Paul answered, "According to what my CIA contact told me, the Mossad is nervous because they have classified Sean as a US intelligence initiative, so they are proceeding very cautiously. Now, the CIA does not want them to know they have lost control, but they are taking care because it might be us, from France, and they do not want to put us in trouble either, at least not immediately. In any case, it's time to call game over, that's the point. We have exactly two weeks left. If you happen to get in touch with this gentleman, please tell him he has to stop interacting with the Israelis. It looks like he has been heading too close to one of their secret security programs. All he has to do is report to the Boston FBI section. He might be able to retain his secure identity if he has not done anything horribly wrong and maybe continue his new life undisturbed, as long as he agrees to never visit Israel again."

Tarek weighed the information. It could have been an overreaction by the Israelis, but the identity of Sean was now unusable. What's next? If Sean reported to the FBI, he would be under constant surveillance. Would he be able to resist all the pressure? Or would he give up? Tarek needed to re-evaluate the scenario with someone who had a more practical outlook on things and knew Sean better.

"Understood, Jean-Paul. Now, if you excuse me, I have to place a few calls to start getting this fixed."

When Helena saw the "Emirates" caller i.d. on her office phone she let it rang and started counting. It stopped after the third ring. This was the code she had agreed with Tarek to have a secure communication on short notice. She then reached into her bag and took out a pre-paid mobile phone, which had been purchased by the teenage son of a friend of her Indonesian housekeeper. She had asked him to buy two, and let him keep the second one as a reward, along with a one hundred dollar bill.

She then dialed the Emirates number.

"Hi Tarek, it looks like poor Sean is in trouble with Mossad and Homeland Security..."

"And I am bringing the CIA and champagne to the party," added Tarek with a chuckle.

Helena briefed Tarek about the Israeli questioning at the airport. The good news was that George had not panicked and behaved as if nothing serious happened, allowing him to finish the business trip as planned. The only exception had been Helena but she was his girlfriend, after all, and he had purposely delayed the call to Helena, waiting to call her when he was back in the US. However there was an unexpected change in plans. As soon as he had landed in New York, he had been approached by two FBI agents led by an officer of the Homeland Security named Skip Ross, who had taken him in a windowless room just past the passport checks and had briefed him about a potential threat from the Mossad.

They explained how they had been watching over him for several months and had finally come to the conclusion that the Israelis wanted to steal the secrets of the new drug he was working on. The agency had asked some experts about the nature of the drug and everyone had agreed this could mean billions for his ventures and therefore, for the entire US pharmaceutical industry. The matter deserved US government protection.

They went on and assured George that Homeland Security would not disclose any information to third parties. Then they expressed their concerns for Sean's tendency to work with foreigners, and why he was letting a Swiss company manufacture the drug prototypes. In the end they made it clear that it was time to act now, and with his cooperation they would have the Mossad framed in no time.There would be no headlines, all that Homeland Security wanted was to show the Obama administration that they were able to detect and block all the threats against US interests, even the most elusive ones coming from trusted allies.

George cooperated and did not mention his adventure with Shin Bet. His safest bet was playing fellow American patriot. In fact, just about six months ago, his business partners had become more cautious and some layoffs happened, with good researchers leaving the companies and worse ones joining. He got his PC searched many times, but he knew Israelis were obsessed with security and he had always used one with the minimal amount of information stored. He would not be going back to Israel, better not to risk the money of his venture partners. But how long would this last? He did not want to become a secret agent. When was Homeland security planning to end the operation?

As he listened to Helena, Tarek went from worry to amazement. George had been able to face two consecutive major threats without breaking down and had also managed to set up the Mossad against a good part of the US security. It could not last long though, that was clear. They needed to meet all together in a safe place and decide on a new way to move forward.

"Well, Helena, it seems like I will be hosting you for a tea in the middle of the desert. Do not forget your heavy sweaters at home, it gets extremely cold at night."
Chapter 8

Louis, the inventor of Telomerax, had not yet gotten used to his new identity of biotech entrepreneur that he had to face the first serious emergency, occurred more than ten years after the group had been formed.

They landed in Abu Dhabi coming from different places of Europe between the 8th and 9th of November, 2011. They had booked different hotels and different desert tours with four separate agencies. In each group someone knew that there were special guests that would not join the main tour but rather leave on an armored Land Cruiser with tinted windows, and infrared wind shields.

There would be just one trusted driver and an escort, who would receive the coordinates to insert into the GPS navigator via text message, just after leaving Abu Dhabi on the way to Al Ain.

Tarek requested armed escorts because the tour guides were used to serving important guests who provided their own form of security – usually an AK-47 rifle. Asking for armed escort made them think they were not dangerous enough to afford their own weapons.

The Land Cruisers all drove their guests to the middle of the desert region of Al Quo'a, close to the Omani border, making sure no one was following them.

As soon as the caravan arrived at the meeting point, the eight escorts mounted one large desert tent for their guests. There were six people in total, two of which were women. The guest tent had been woven with thin metallic wires to deflect remote electronic surveillance. They would be the perfect drone target and they would show up on surveillance satellites, but as long as the purpose was to have a quiet conversation away from any undue curiosity that was the perfect solution.

The attendants set up their own tent one hundred yards away and then they stationed themselves at the top of the dunes surrounding the camp. Their infrared goggles and binoculars made sure there was no one within at least ten miles. Tarek had made sure they could understand only Arabic, Urdu, and English so Louis could hold the meeting in French.

Despite the urgency, they stuck to the typical meeting agenda, with updates on the disclosure preparation plan given by Valerio and news about Telomerax from Louis. George's situation was saved for last.

Louis had two major news, possibly the biggest since the invention of Telomerax. He started with a long introduction,

"George, before we get to your situation, have you noticed anything in particular while you have been learning French, these last couple of years?"

Surprised and relieved not to have received a question about his mishaps, George was quick to respond.

"It certainly was a great surprise. Somehow I felt like I was learning twice as fast as normal. No need to go back to the dictionary to check a word, no pronunciation exercises. It was significantly easier than my Spanish class in high school, and I do not need to mention how my Spanish has improved afterwards!"

He finished the sentence and reached out to Helena who sat next to him on the carpet, to pull her closer.

"And how about your everyday skills?" Louis continued, "Does that apply only to George and languages? What is everyone else feeling?"

"Now that you mention it", added Valerio, "I also saw something similar with my English, and not just because I live in London most of the time now. It also goes beyond that. For the past few months I have dropped the Outlook agenda. I can mentally keep track of my schedule for the next two weeks."

"Maybe this is thanks to our Arabic habit of long introductions before getting to the point," jumped in Tarek, "but I also feel as if our meetings happen in slow motion and I am always three steps ahead of the group."

Helena noticed Dora was smiling, with her eyes fixed on Louis, and she already knew what he was about to announce. So as soon as Tarek finished the sentence, she cut in.

"Louis, let's stop with the suspense. To answer your question, I will tell you that I do my math faster than Excel, but I do not think we need to waste any more time. This has to do with Telomerax, so please tell us. The good news and the bad news."

"There is no bad news..at least not yet," Louis said slowly. "As you know, Telomerax is blocking the aging of all cells, including neurons, which in a normal body tend to decrease with age. Typically the average human does not suddenly lose all brain capability, because the neurons compensate their reduction by developing more connections between the remaining ones.

Telomerax not only blocks aging, but also prevents neurons from decreasing, therefore increasing the number of connections that eventually form. Basically, as time goes on, the performance of our minds improve."

"Do you think this could lead to other side effects? Maybe negative ones?" asked Tarek.

"I do not know", Louis replied, "I realized this a couple of years ago, then went on studying all I could in neurophysiology. Everything I have just disclosed is pretty much certain, but it is too early to say if and what additional effects Telomerax might have on our brain beyond this....this superintelligence."

"And how about the second piece of information?" Helena interrupted. She was anxious to get on to the case of George.

Louis took a deep breath,

"Alright, so during the analysis of the effects of Telomerax on the neural system I also created a new variant of Telomerax that interferes with the dopamine cycle, amplifying the effects of cocaine while greatly reducing the collateral damage.

Basically, thanks to the extra connections built over time by the neurons, much smaller amounts of cocaine are needed to get the rush and Telomerax also cleans up the metabolites of cocaine that create addiction and long term damage."

Silence followed, forcing Louis to continue.

"If used with pure cocaine, addiction will develop but Telomerax removes all the nasty effects, and leaves sniffers with immortality as a byproduct of exhilaration. I guess the old friends of Helena would be fairly interested in this feature."

"The bad news about this is pretty obvious," Valerio noted plainly. "Now Telomerax is not only creating a huge gap between those who age and those who do not, now it is also creating an evolution in mankind. It could be that in a very short timeframe, say fifty years, the difference in intellectual ability between Telomerax users and others could be like the one we see today between man and apes.

On top of that, you have created a way to legalize drug consumption. If I worked for the government, I would classify all of this as extremely dangerous to world order. Better wiping us out quietly than facing the risks of spreading this invention. And even our safety network might be of little assistance...our enemies can be delayed, but they would not give up. And we would give them plenty of time to come up with a good strategy, by the way, since we are immortal."

"Maybe this is why George had the brilliant idea to get caught up in between two of the most paranoid governments on the planet...what do we do about that?" Helena asked the audience.

Tarek was the first to answer.

"I think we need to look at the worst case scenario, that is the US and Israeli governments finding out the full story and over-reacting. All the other countries will eventually find out too. Maybe there will be some miscommunication that gives us an advantage, but we cannot bank on it.

We have to assume that we are or soon will be on the bad guys list and will be chased by every government on the planet. Basically, we have to find a way to save our asses. And as much as I do not like it, the only way out is to expedite the diffusion of Telomerax."

The conclusion was drawn by George,

"So from now on we can trust only non-government organizations, powerful enough to help shield us from any threat and interested enough to understand why we must be kept alive. Louis, you know what that means."

"Yes, George, I know. To start, I have to think how to increase Telomerax production on an industrial scale."

Silence fell as everybody contemplated the consequences. After a few minutes, Dora - who had stayed silent next to Louis throughout the entire meeting - stood up.

"It's chilly outside, but I need to see the stars now."

She then walked outside, followed by all the others.

Once outside the tent, they automatically split into three pairs of two, and started descending down the dune in different directions. The moon was flooding the desert with a cold, white light, making only the brightest stars visible.

Dora pressed herself close to Louis.

"Louis, do you realize the implications? We are going to side with criminals; we are going to give immortality to rich addicts and all sort of crooks. This is not what we wanted. They are the last to deserve it."

"We have no choice, darling. If we want to keep our chance of improving mankind, we have to find some temporary corrupted allies. Do you really believe any normal government would let us live? True, Telomerax may become public anyway but I do not want this to happen without me or you."

Dora stopped. She knew Louis was right, given the circumstances. As right as her mother had been when she chose to marry her father and as right as both of them had been when they decided not to tell her about her ancestry. Now it was up to her to be reasonable and right, and to make a decision that was best for her future.

She pulled Louis to her and started kissing him furiously.

From the dune in front of them, Helena noticed them. She was, once again, listening to the monologue of George who was re-analyzing all he had done in the past several months to try to figure out where he had been detected and how much they exactly knew about them. She suddenly got fed up with George, and envied Dora.

Unlike George, Louis had understood the situation and took responsibility without any hesitations. She waited for his next pause, then took control.

"Stop it, now! We have to assume the worst case scenario, like you said. All the rest of what you say is a waste of time. Now, you come to Singapore with me and I will introduce you to a few clients of mine. You have to change sectors, from biotechnology to logistics and transport. I know it is less glamorous, but that's life."

George tried to reach for her but was pushed away with force.

"We have no time for fun, listen to me very carefully. You have to memorize the story of your new life. We can't afford any more mistakes."

Tarek and Valerio had stayed in silence on the entrance of the tent. After a while, Tarek sat on the sand, followed by Valerio. Tarek's eyes moved across the horizon, making sure the patrols were still at their places on the dunes near their tent.

"What can we do?" asked Valerio in the darkness.

"They did not listen to us three years ago. Now it is starting to snowball and this new strategy is flawed, too..there is an Arabic quote that describes our situation. It says 'do not climb up the palm tree from which you are no longer able to descend'. I fear we are heading towards situations that we will not be able to get ourselves out of...and we have no choice."

"And we are starting to invite more and more people up the tree. It's going to get pretty crowded and soon people will start to fall out," added Valerio.

"Valerio, I do not know how nor with whom, but I think we have to start preparing for this fall."

They re-entered the tent and tried to savor the rich Arabic coffee. As soon as the others arrived, Louis asked if there were any objections to the new strategy. After ten seconds of silence, he moved on to the third point on the agenda and they started to discuss the details of the new lives they would have to lead, starting the next day.
Chapter 9

"Marhaba, habibi. How come you no longer want to have lunch with me?"

Tarek had been waiting for the call from Rasim Al-Manna for a few days.

"Marhaba, Rasim. You know I am always at your service. What if we meet at the Intercontinental Dubai tomorrow? That way we can use your private suite for protection."

Rasim Al-Manna was a Palestinian with a Jordanian passport, in his mid-forties. He had survived the Lebanese war of 1982 while most of his family had been killed in the Sabra refugee camp, during the massacres carried out by the Lebanese Christian militias. To take care of his only remaining older sister, he had volunteered for the Fatah security service, which served as the bodyguards of Yasser Arafat, the late Palestinian leader.

He owed to Fatah his education, his career, and the well-being of what little family he had left. For this, he stayed loyal to Yasser Arafat up until his death in 2004. He was one of the few allowed to stay with the controversial leader during his last days in the military hospital of Clamart, France.

After, he spent some time in Paris and was approached by the emissaries of the Al-Nahyan family, the rulers of Abu Dhabi, who needed a professional from outside the country to join their counterintelligence team.

The Emiratis were looking for a secular Arab, who was impassive to the radical Islam beliefs, able to move internationally, and had a proven track record of loyalty to his employer. Rasim was their guy, and like many other fellow Palestinian nationals who were rebuilding their lives after moving to the Gulf monarchies, he accepted the proposal.

Beyond the generous salary and the security of the Arab Emirates, he felt the Al-Nahyans were creating a new image for the Arab world - crafting a new model of society beyond those of failed dictatorships or rogue theocracies.

After almost eight years of service, Rasim had moved up the ranks and now was the head counterintelligence, with direct access to the ruling family members. He respected Tarek, because they both had similar backgrounds and, most importantly, because Tarek had never failed him in many years of business. At least up until now. As soon as Tarek entered the privy suite, they greeted each other, as close friends.

"Happy new year 2012, by the way, even if it may be January 9th," said Tarek.

They sat in the living room. The waiter served appetizers of Falafel balls, labneh salad, and hommous, and then swiftly walked away.

"I guess you want to hear something about a certain gentleman named Sean Ewals, who entered the country last November 8th, and has seemingly disappeared into thin air after not returning to his hotel in Abu Dhabi...but before getting to that, just tell me...did you receive a request from the Americans or was it your initiative, maybe with local French persuasion?"

Rasim appreciated people who never got caught off guard because they were so rare, even in their world of spies, and Tarek was always expecting the unexpected.

"Let's put it this way, you know that since we got the Mossad raid in February of 2010 where they killed Mahmoud Al-Mahbeh, the Hamas officer, right in the center of Dubai, I am more and more nervous about having unknown foreigners in the country. At the time, the ruling family of Dubai assumed I let the Israeli do their job because the target belonged to the Islamists of Hamas while I used to belong to the opposite party, the secular Fatah.

I risked my place, and maybe a bit more, and I was put through a few miserable weeks before it was clear I was not involved at all and the plan could only be the work of that devil, Meir Dagan, at that time the big boss of Mossad - may he burn in hell for eternity.

Anyway, from that moment on I urge foreign residents to tell me everything. Our friend Jean-Paul, in particular, is very cooperative and told me about the American probe in our December meeting, as well as the chat he had with you. You can imagine my reaction when I saw the name of Sean Ewals in the passenger list of the Etihad flight from Heathrow, and then finding out he missed the outbound flight to Istanbul. Where and why are you hiding him, Tarek? Was he part of the brigade you took on the desert tourist trip two months ago? I was told they all spoke French fluently, so this makes me think it was not a place for the average American, but in our business you never know."

Tarek felt relieved. They still had an edge on the CIA, so he had more time to get Rasim and the rulers on his side.

"He is out of the country now. He took a flight to Singapore from Dubai the day after Christmas, with a different name and nationality. It is far more interesting to know who he really is and what he can offer to you. Both the Americans and the Mossad are after him because he has found the recipe of a new drug that can block aging and they want to control it. I do not know if it is his invention or he has stolen it somewhere - the point is it works. I have been using it on myself for several years. Now the man has two of the nastiest secret services on his back and is looking for protection.

Maybe out of desperation, he asked me to take care of him a few years ago, but I can no longer do it alone against both the CIA and the Mossad. I need your help, Rasim. I need to talk to the rulers. This country can become far more than an airline hub or a bunch of oilfields. It can become the beacon of a new era. However we need the support of the ruling families, at least the most important ones. And in case you have doubts, ask one of your experts to try to analyze one of these."

Tarek placed four white pills next to the plate of shrimp cocktails. They were about the same size as an aspirin, with a small T carved on the top. He took the fifth one and drank a glass of water.

"Now I beg your pardon, but I have to go. It has been more than two months since I have had a decent fishing day."

Two days later Tarek received an anonymous text message with just an address and time, 11:30 PM. The address was one of the gates of Zayed, a military base in Abu Dhabi. There was no need to specify the day, these messages always referred to the same day. The time suggested that he would most likely be the last person to be received. He took this as a good sign, considering the ruler would have had more time to make immediate decisions without having the distraction of future appointments.

Which ruler, by the way? Like all Arabic ruling dynasties, the Al-Nahyans were a large family, with hundreds of members. For sure, it would not be Khalifa, the President. There was a high chance it would be one of his sons, born between the late sixties and seventies, who were helping to manage the country.

Tarek parked his Audi right in front of the gate at eleven and twenty-seven, and after the security check, he was shortly admitted into the rulers room in Building A of the military base.

The room was furnished in luxurious Arabian style, covered by carpets and tapestries, with a rectangular mahogany table at the center of the room, surrounded by cushions. The table was about one yard wide and two yards long, a sign that few guests were expected to attend meetings there. There were no windows on the walls, but with the room size, the bright lighting, and the rich arabesques engraved on the walls it was warm and inviting. Tea, coffee, and dates had already been served - removing the need for the server.

As Tarek expected, Rasim was in the room sitting at the head of the table. On the right side, to the surprise of Tarek, there was not one, but two rulers - Hamdan and Mansour, respectively the Deputy Prime Minister and the Minister of Foreign Affairs. With a calm, gesture they invited him to sit on the side of the table opposite to them and poured him tea.

Tarek performed the ceremonial greeting and took a sip of it. Then Hamdan turned his head toward Rasim, who started to brief the Al Nahyans on the conversation he and Tarek held in Dubai, and finally added the results he had received this morning from the brand new pharmaceutical lab at the University of Abu Dhabi.

The lab director, a Pakistani citizen with a PhD in Pharmacology at Harvard, reported that the pills were of an unknown strain, and engineered by a pharmacological genius, after seeing the active molecule break down while going through the deformulation process. The scientist also ruled out that the pills were some sort of synthetic drug, like ecstasy, as none of the typical hallucinogen compounds were present.

The two Sheikhs looked at each other. Then Mansour, the younger, started to speak.

"Dear Tarek, we appreciate your loyalty and we know you have never done anything against the interest of our country. You have to realize, though, that with this request you are asking us to cross a border."

He stopped and his brother continued.

"Even if you lead a secular lifestyle - and we do not have anything against it because it is only up to God to judge men - you must realize that this new invention clashes with Islam and the teachings of our Prophet, may peace be upon him. Many in our community will protest."

Tarek waited for the sheikh to finish, then waited another few seconds until Mansour gave a small nod and stared at him, to signal he could answer.

"Your Highnesses, I fully share your concerns and that is precisely why I am asking for your help. Like the Prophet - may peace be upon him - I come as a messenger. I am certainly not the messenger of the Almighty, but of a more mundane and possibly evil force. The inventor of this drug has set up things in such a way that if he dies, the formula will be spread all across the world, and the consequences would be dire.

He also understands the risks and wants to keep it hidden, but now there is the imminent danger that it falls in the wrong hands. He believes that your approach to modernity, open, yet very respectful of tradition, is the best guarantee to keep the risk of contagion under control.

We know we are asking you alot, to become the guardians against chaos, but we also know how well you have watched over your country and therefore we are convinced your family can take up this challenge."

The Sheikhs stayed silent for a while, then Mansour replied.

"Indeed, we know when we must accept a responsibility...you can ask Rasim from now on about anything you need. There are conditions, though, so listen very carefully.

First, we do not want this drug to be produced or sold in our country. Not even nearby us.

Second, we want to know on a regular basis the progress of its diffusion and any other relevant development, especially here in the region.

Third, if you break any of the above conditions we will consider you to have betrayed our trust and that will have serious consequences."

Tarek repeated each rule, whispering them to himself loud enough for the others could hear. He then raised his eyes to Mansour, and then to Hamdan.

"It is clear, your Highnesses. I just have one final question; can we leverage the country logistics? For example, the Jebel Ali free trade zone?"

Mansour looked at Hamdan. They spoke by exchanging half winks, and then Mansour turned back to Tarek and nodded.

"Yes, this is allowed. For all other needs, please refer to Rasim. He has heard the conditions and will be the guardian of our pact."

Before standing up, Hamdan made the final comment.

"I want to make it clear that we believe this drug is extremely dangerous and we accept your help request out of our sense of responsibility toward our country, our people, the community of Muslims, and first and foremost, God the Almighty. I think you are right when you say this is an evil matter and has to be controlled with firm hands. And as for us, personally, we will never make use of it."

But Tarek got the feeling that this was exactly what the two Sheikhs desired most.
Chapter 10

Greg Russo Jr. was once again controlling fear and anger, funneling the extra amount of adrenaline in his brain to find a way to get out of the deadlock.

He belonged to a family that became part of the so-called CIA aristocracy as both his father and grandfather had served in the agency.

He enjoyed boasting that his grandfather had been the first Italian American operative of the OSS - as the agency was called during World War II - and he had collected intelligence in Sicily prior to the Allied landing of 1943. His enemies would add that that was how the revered grandfather had managed to get cleared of the allegations he was dealing with in the New York City mafia, but nobody bothered to check.

Less than forty years old, Greg had reached the respectable position of Assistant to the Deputy Director of Operations, the highest operative officer at the agency. He was now responsible for the CIA activities over the Mediterranean and the Middle East, which meant managing loyal but sometimes troublesome allies like the French, the Italians and, first and foremost, the Israelis.

He had been informed of the problem with the Mossad the very same day of the Cyprus meeting and he had immediately found that the cover was indeed belonging to the CIA. As he was waiting for an answer from those snail-eating French, he had ordered a quiet check on Sean's house in Connecticut.

As soon as the search revealed that the house was bugged by those typically used by the Homeland Security, Greg knew he was in a big mess.

He could always blame his predecessor for recklessly giving away cover, but that was a very weak excuse. He might save his position, but there certainly would not be any promotions in his future.

In addition to Sean, there were seven other identities that had been activated. His only chance was to set up Mossad against Homeland Security and jump in at the last minute to save the day.

He mentally recapped the points.

Yaakov Mayer had stated that they were sure, and could even prove, that Sean Ewals did not exist and someone else, maybe American or maybe not, was using him as a cover. The cover was extremely well done. It was obviously made with interference of the CIA in mind.

Skip Ross, from Homeland Security, said that they suspected Mossad was spying on Sean, the perfect model of the American entrepreneur, but had no conclusive evidence. In any case, they warned Sean of the risks and Sean provided some useful information about a new Israeli bioresearch program.

Then Sean left to London and did not show up on the return flight that was supposed to take him back home before Christmas, after a long tour of Europe and the Middle East. Greg had been avoiding Skip's requests to know exactly where Sean had disappeared for five consecutive days. Sean was taking non-US airlines the whole trip and it was not easy for Homeland Security to get access to foreign airline records, so they needed the CIA's assistance. Or were people in Langley – the CIA headquarters in Virginia - covering something?

"Yes", thought Greg, "we are trying to avoid headlines like 'Middle Eastern agents spy Israel under a CIA cover and under Homeland Security protection.'"

He needed to know more. He called Skip and asked him to come to his office in Langley.

"The thing is, our man seemingly disappeared in Israel. If you look at this record, he was regularly booked on the outbound Turkish flight from Abu Dhabi to Tel Aviv, with a layover in Istanbul. But he never landed in Amsterdam on the return leg to the US. It does not necessarily mean he has been detained or kidnapped. He might have gone for a swim in the Red Sea and decided it was worth an extra week of holiday and then just came back with a different airline. I need to find out more to help you."

Skip did not fully believe Greg's side of the story, but he could not prove it wrong. And after all Sean was a US citizen he had vowed to protect, so he revealed the latest findings: they had placed the pictures of all Israeli contacts of Sean in FaceFinder and it turned out that two of the researchers that had left the companies, had already been in the US under a different name. They were visiting various biotech laboratories and agencies, including Homeland Security's own National Biodefense Analysis and Countermeasures Center. Why send researchers abroad under cover? Or was the name used in Israel the real cover?

Skip and Greg came to the conclusion that they were not harmless researchers and ordered a full enquiry on the background of the two Israeli researchers.

As soon as Skip left the office, Greg called Yaakov. Yes, the CIA had found something, but there were a few pieces of the puzzle where they needed the help of their loyal allies in the Middle East to make sense of it all.

Greg admitted that Sean was a cover but it was not from the CIA, he bluffed, hoping Yaakov had not gathered enough information from his sayanim. They were now checking with the FBI, the Homeland Security, and a few other foreign services where they had better connections than Mossad. There was not much to expect from the other US agencies. If it was their work, these covers would have been meant to protect witnesses and it would have taken some time to pan out.

The same applied to the foreign services. It would take even longer, and in any case, they would not come up with complete details. Yaakov got to the point.

"Greg, I get the message. Someone has stolen the honey but you have not found any sticky fingers yet, and are in desperate need of help."

"I have always liked your practical approach. I think it is in the interest of both of us to sort this out quickly. By the way, also Homeland Security was investigating about Sean. He was dealing with two of your military researchers....I am going to send you the file. I think we have to find out who Sean really is."

"We can help you here, Greg. I did not tell your agent in Cyprus because I did not want to accidentally disclose some information to a lower ranking officer. Fact is, our image identification software - well, our modified version of yours - is telling us beyond doubt, that this Sean Ewals is no one else than George McKilroy, a venture capital billionaire well known in his neighborhood. Now, just try to google his name and see what you get..."

Yaakov paused and hoped he could stop there, without further questions about how they managed to get the DNA crosschecks or, worse, about the two researchers. He heard Greg typing on the keyboard.

"Yaakov, George McKilroy passed away seven years ago and Sean looks considerably younger than the sixty plus years he should have, if he were George incognito."

"Greg, you know in our business you cannot always show the evidence. All I can tell you is, we are absolutely sure that this man is George McKilroy. We had enough reason to hesitate putting him under intense surveillance, because we were fully aware this meant raising eyebrows from your side."

Greg felt the pressure lifting. There was time to assess the threat to the United States, if there was any. For sure, the Mossad felt there was a very real one to Israel, and this had maybe to do with the two researchers that deserved alot more scrutiny. But now it was time to play loyal ally.

"Yaakov, I have known you long enough to trust you. So if one of our citizens starts to play suspiciously with one of our allies, the very least we can do is accept the responsibility to find out. If you agree, I will organize a project for all relevant US security agencies to work with you, to figure this out as soon as possible. It will be done under CIA leadership, obviously, as this involves other foreign services and we have just experienced how our domestic services are somehow, unsuitable for this."

"You are always the same motherfucking bastard, Greg. I am happy to have you on board," laughed Yaakov on the other line.

Greg sighed, relieved to have made it past one obstacle. Many more were to come.
Chapter 11

It was a hot and rainy July day. The view of the Hong Kong harbour, from the 67th floor of the International Commerce Center in West Kowloon, was breathtaking and it made Helena and George press themselves against the glass windows of the waiting room in the office of Lee Shing Chen.

The headquarters of "Prosperity", the conglomerate holding company of the Chen family, took over half of the floor and it was where Lee oversaw the operation of an empire with interests in real estate, logistics, food retail, pharmaceutical manufacturing, and leisure. All the operating companies had their nameplate on the main entrance, and spacious offices that also served as meeting rooms. All companies of Lee's empire were officially represented, except the most important and profitable one, which had no plate in the main hall and was run exclusively from Lee's office.

Helena and George had arrived, as requested, half an hour before the meeting time to allow enough time to go through the security procedures. All their electronics had been taken and stored in a safe. They were only allowed to bring a few printouts, a paper notebook, and pencils that were given to them with the "Prosperity" logo on top. They were admitted into Lee's office at exactly 4 PM.

Lee welcomed them warmly, showed them to the tea table next to the window, and then sat down at his desk. The office was a simple room with two large glass windows overlooking the harbor and two massive screens on one wall. There was just one decoration in the entire room, a painting of an impressionist view of a bougainvillea tree and landscape. "Maybe Monet or an early Cezanne," thought George.

"Before we start, let me introduce you to the two gentlemen with whom I share my desk today. On my left you have Paolo, from London, and here on my right is Guillermo, who just arrived from Los Angeles."

The two men stood up in their flawless Armani suits and offered their hands, with just the trace of a smile on their faces.

"I hope you will excuse them if they look tired. I am afraid that despite all the recent improvements, Cathay First Class still cannot match a Gulfstream VI private flight. But we did not want to risk any undue attention from our....competition in the pharmaceutical retail business, if we want to call it that."

"Good," thought Helena. With Europe's organized crime and Latin America's narcos at the table, their proposal had raised interest.

"We can start by reviewing the results from the experiments we have run on your samples."

Lee clapped his hand and the lights dimmed, as one of the screens on the wall switched on. George looked out of the window, staring at the International Finance Center skyscraper opposite to them that towered over Hong Kong island.

"Do not worry, Mr. Virenque, they cannot see us from outside. The windows are tinted. And also armored," chuckled Lee.

The video started. An Asian lab researcher, wearing mask and goggles, confirmed that joint usage of cocaine and Telomerax greatly increased the effects of cocaine while reducing the body damage linked to the cocaine metabolites. The experiments also confirmed that it was possible to keep the patient addicted, with the subjects only seeking the new buzz, as coming back to standard cocaine would be a downgrade. As for the claimed rejuvenating effect, the conclusion was that it was too early to say, but it could not be ruled out.

"One thing they do not mention," thought Helena, "is if they have been able to reverse engineer the drug or not." Most likely the answer was no, as they were still sitting there. But Lee was known for his love of special effects and surprises.

At the end of the video, Lee stared at them, and suddenly the smile he had kept so far fell into a frown.

"Who are you exactly and why are you offering this to us? Having a great product is not necessarily a guarantee for success. And your name; I do not if it is destiny or not, but Richard Virenque was a cyclist that got disqualified for doping. Or do you happen to be relatives?"

Cover blown. Clearly the identities they were getting from the Emiratis were not at the level of the CIA's, that had resisted for months before being broken by the Mossad. Helena exchanged a glance with George. It was up to him. He took a deep breath and started explaining.

"Mr. Lee, we are part of a small team of extremely brilliant researchers and extremely innovative entrepreneurs, to the extent that we have invented something so revolutionary that it cannot be brought to the market in the usual way. We tried, and faced stiff opposition, even risking our lives. So we had only two options, either trash Telomerax and return to our normal lives, or double our work and figure out how to get this to the market."

George paused and moved his eyes from Lee to Paolo, Guillermo, and eventually to Helena, who took over.

"However, it is not the last resort. We are so committed to taking this public that the whole package would make its way out through multiple media outlets if anything serious happens to any of us. But I think we can all agree it is better to have an orderly diffusion and enough remuneration to make up for the risks we all would be taking."

Guillermo kept his eyes fixed on Helena. Paolo exchanged a glance with Lee, understanding they were on the same page, and then spoke.

"If we were drug dealers, we would actually be very afraid of this product. It could remove addiction from cocaine and make it acceptable, to the extent that it could be legalized and sold like aspirin in pharmacies, provided that you take this Telomerax strand together with it. On the other hand, if I look at it from the perspective of our pharmaceutical industries, I acknowledge this could become the next Viagra - actually ten times bigger than that. But it would then be copied, and after twenty-five years the patent would be lifted, with profits gone forever. And unlike Viagra, it would bring a lot of hot political debate, making the investment a lot riskier. Maybe it would make more sense to handle it in an illegal way, in which case we are obviously not interested. And the price you propose is more suitable for the deep pockets of organized crime, rather than for a respectable corporation like ours."

Paolo stopped, and Guillermo picked up immediately. He had followed every word, even if he had kept his eyes on Helena for most of the time.

"However, Madame Virenque – if that is in fact, your name - we are still not sure if we can fully trust you. In the pharmaceutical industry it is not unusual to try to sell botched products to your competitors, dressing it up like a promising startup, in the hope to restore part of the investment. That is why we tend to favor in-house research. Origin matters a lot."

As he moved his eyes back to Lee with the content grin of rejecting the proposal, Helena crossed his glance and shouted,

"Guillermo, todavia no te recuerdas de mi? Soy Helena!"

Guillermo froze for a long second, with his eyes and mouth wide open, until Lee stood up from the table. "Maybe Paolo has understood thanks to his Latin background, but I need an explanation from my team. Can the two of you excuse us for a few minutes?"

After George closed the door behind them, he collapsed into the nearest chair, bewildered, and looked up at Helena for clarification.

"It's OK, Guillermo has recognized me. He was one of the bodyguards of Emiliano. Since he was also a clever boy, they decided to send him to high school. I was not the only beneficiary of narco scholarships. He saw me for the last time around thirty-five years ago, when I left to attend college in the US. He must have made a very good career if they send him to negotiate global deals like this. He now knows two things; that I am from the clan, and there is some truth in the rejuvenating power of Telomerax."

They were called back in after about a half an hour. Lee addressed George.

"Mr. Virenque, we have come to the conclusion that you do not have a solid business case for cocaine. Maybe we should explore more in detail the anti-aging effects of Telomerax. Trading cosmetics is a fully legitimate business. I am sure you have already developed a plan to set up a robust and secure supply chain for the product that you want to show us."

"Absolutely, Mr. Lee. It is just like distributing fine chocolates, you make it in a Swiss factory and send it all over the globe via Dubai and Hong Kong."
Chapter 12

Valerio was driving his rented Alfa Romeo along the Grand Junction Ring of Rome, or GRA as it was universally known, the three lane highway that encloses the city.

Like the walls of Emperor Aurelianus in the third century AD, its purpose was to contain and protect the city. This time not from barbaric invasions, but from traffic congestions. And just like the walls, it had failed miserably.

Luckily, traffic was very rare at 5 PM on a late August Sunday, as most Romans were soaking in the last rays of sunshine on the beaches or trekking along the lakes and hills surrounding the Capital. Valerio accelerated as soon as he went past the last speed radar and got off the GRA at the Via Ardeatina exit, heading south into the countryside.

He arrived at the Shrine of Our Lady of Divine Love in Castel di Leva at 5:30 PM, just one hour before the beginning of the evening Mass. He went straight to the church rectory and pushed on the intercom.

As he anticipated, nobody answered on the first ring. He waited three minutes and rang again, and again. On the fourth attempt, the voice of an aged woman answered. She started by apologizing for the delay, but she had to make sure it was not a prank from the local teenagers. What was the reason for the call?

Valerio spoke softly, asking if it was possible to see Father Giacomo Bontardini. He asked for her to announce the arrival of Valerio Orsini.

Two minutes later the door opened and the woman led Valerio through the cool shade of the entrance and up the stairs, to the first floor. There was a simple hallway with five doors, that were left open to let the evening air refresh the rooms. The parish secretary pointed towards the last door and then walked back downstairs.

Valerio stepped into the small living room and was greeted by a very old man, with a big smile on his round face, in which two dark eyes were full of surprise and joy.

"Valerio, my dear son, it seems to have been ages since the last time we saw each other."

He hugged him, and Valerio realized he was using him to stay upright. They sat on the couch next to the tea table and Valerio pondered an answer. He could recap every minute of their last meeting.

They had last talked on May 17th, 1985, exactly twenty-seven years and three months ago. Valerio had already left the Vatican and broken up with Anna, while Father Giacomo was a powerful Monsignor in his mid-fifties at the peak of his career, working with the Cardinal Secretary of State, for whom he kept the relations with the Roman political world.

Unlike many of his peers in the Curia, Father Giacomo had asked to take care of a small parish in the outskirts of Rome. Many within the Vatican walls disapproved of Father Giacomo managing both the Palace and the parrochial affairs at the same time.

Normally it would not have lasted long, but his brilliant intelligence and shrewdness made him very respected and sometimes feared in the Curia. Plus, the unconditional love he showed for his herd of working-class parishioners had deterred more than one attempt to get him removed.

Father Giacomo was aware of the reasons that had driven Valerio away from what he called "the pulsing and bleeding heart of the Church" and one day he had managed to invite him to lunch with a good friend of his, Father Ivano Zaccardo, who had dedicated his life to the assistance of troubled teenagers by setting up a public school near Venice. Valerio had accepted the invitation more out of courtesy and curiosity than anything else. He had heard several times about "Father Zac", as Father Giacomo called him, and he had no important meetings scheduled that day.

Father Giacomo remembered that day, too, even if his memory was fading at the age of eighty-one.

"You are right. It was a great day. I remember Father Zac also had to organize the summer trip of his pupils to Rome and was seeking some help with the accomodation. He was furious with the Jesuits," Fr. Giacomo chuckled, "he insulted them in Venetian dialect claiming that lodging in a brothel would have been less of a ripoff and much less of a moral inconvenience. How humorous he could be in his wrath! Do you know that he passed away six years ago? Just after the election of Pope Benedict XVI."

"I read the article in the local newspapers. It said he had grown his small school to a landmark educational institution in the Northeast of Italy, and he was opening up in Latin America. Yes, it was a great day. The two of you were talking about very ordinary things: the organization of the trip, the political gossip of the day, I was expecting some spiritual advice and questioning about my life but you were deeply conversing with each other...not that you were cutting me off from the conversation...then at some point the two of you started recalling the Gospel where John and Andrew met Jesus for the first time...and I can still tell every word of your dialogue. It was like...the two of you..."

Valerio started stumbling with his words. The speech he had prepared for the meeting started to fall apart, despite the help of the superintelligence of Telomerax.

"By the way, Valerio, you look absolutely great - as if time has not passed at all. I will have to review my homilies about the dangers of secular life habits. You are disproving them all! Please do not show up to Mass now or my herd will never trust me any more."

Father Giacomo was getting to the point.

"Father, do not get me wrong. I do not consider myself much of a believer now, if I ever been that. However, I have come back to you, because you showed me the possibility of....I do not know exactly. I would say grace, but you are the theologian here."

"Grace...." Father Giacomo repeated slowly, his eyes wandering to the shelves, where books and photos covered the whole wall.

"....yes, grace....but Mass time is approaching, and I have to prepare myself in ten minutes."

"There is another reason I came to you today, Father. I need your help to meet the Pope, alone. I see in the press that leakages do indeed happen also in the Vatican, and I must avoid that."

"How can I do that, Valerio? Who would listen to a dying priest in a sleepy countryside parish, who all of the sudden is seeking to arrange a private meeting between a media tycoon and the Holy Father about an unknown topic?"

Valerio saw a flash in Father Giacomo eyes. Maybe that was also grace. He thought a few seconds and replied.

"You know how to handle the Curia. As for my sould, Father Giacomo, please hear my confession."

Three weeks later, Valerio was preparing the weekly meeting of his public relations team in the East End offices of his company at Canary Wharf. It was rainy and cool, making Valerio think that the wet London fall was arriving in advance. The phone rang at five o'clock. It was a landline number from Rome. He picked up the call, on the other side there was the voice of Father Giacomo.

"I think you may want to be in Rome tomorrow for a special meeting that you requested. It will last fifteen minutes only, so be prepared."

"Tomorrow?! How can I....it is five o'clock here! I live in London, I told you!"

"I know you will find a way. See you tomorrow, at the online reservations line of the Vatican Museum. Eleven o'clock sharp."

Valerio hung up, looked around at his team, and called the meeting off. He had to leave for urgent personal issues and would be back in a couple of days. He asked Sarah, his assistant, to book a place on the first available flight to Italy and got on the road.

At that time of day in the East End, the only possibility to get to Italy was the last evening flight directly from London City to Milan, so he had to hurry. At the duty free shop, he bought a suit and change of clothes for the day after.

He then called Caroline, his girlfriend of one year, to cancel the evening dinner. She wanted to know why he was rushing to Italy. He thought shortly, and then replied with the plainest tone he could manag.

"Caroline, I cannot tell you now and I do not want to make up a lie. Maybe one day..."

"Oh, Tony, maybe one day you will stop playing secret agent! It's not the first time you hide your whereabouts from me. I am looking for a decent relationship, not to play the Bond girl."

She hung up. Gone. Valerio started thinking he was sacrificing too much for this meeting.

When he arrived in Milan at 10:30 PM, a black Mercedes was already waiting for him. The car took the highway and began the five hour trip to Rome. Sarah had managed to book a room in one of the many, small hotels surrounding the Vatican. At least he would enjoy some sleep.

He showed up at the online reservations line at precisely eleven o'clock, skipping the long snake of tourists that lining the Vatican walls, under the warm September sun. Father Giacomo was there, and he smiled, while he handed the entry ticket over to Valerio.

"I know you would make it," he said, as he patted Valerio on the back. "From here, I will take care of things. When was the last time you visited the Museum?"

Valerio was puzzled, why didn't they go through the Saint Anne Gate, the main entry point for non-tourist visitors? Father Giacomo read his face and explained, "that is the official entry point and everybody is recorded. I understood you wanted a reserved meeting, or did I get it wrong?"

They strolled through the courts and the Belvedere palace, following the tourist flow into the Museum. Just before the Room of the Maps, a door opened on what, according to the Latin inscriptions, was a new wing of the Vatican Library rennovated by Pope Benedict XVI in 2005. A young priest appeared in the doorway, his eyes scrutinizing the tourist crowd. Father Giacomo took Valerio's right arm and with energy unexpected from an eighty-year-old, he veered into the door, which was then quickly closed behind them by the young priest.

They walked along corridors and upstairs for about twenty minutes. Valerio noticed that Father Giacomo did not seem to mind the long walk at all. On the contrary, he looked more and more childish, like a toddler strolling in a grass field. Then they entered a wide passageway from which he could see St. Peter's Square, and Valerio realized they had entered the Pope's apartment. The trio stopped in front of a white door and the young priest knocked. The door opened, and one of the nuns that assisted Pope Benedict XVI appeared.

Valerio turned to Father Giacomo, who smiled, reassuring him.

"It's up to you now. Be concise, you have only fifteen minutes. And do not forget to ask for the blessing at the end."

Valerio left the room exactly fifteen minutes after the door had opened to welcome him. Father Giacomo had been waiting for him, praying with his rosary, while staring out of the window towards St. Peter's Square.

The young priest led them back to the Vatican Museum. They all stayed silent and entered the Sistine Chapel. The priest quickly shook hands and disappeared, leaving Father Giacomo and Valerio in the midst of the crowd of tourists swirling about the Chapel, with the saints and devils looming on the walls above.

Father Giacomo spoke just after they left the Museum, "How did it go?"

"Well, I briefed him with the ten-minute speech I had put together on my way to Rome and..."

"That is not what I meant. How was the Pope? What was your impression of him?"

"He listened carefully. I have the impression he suffers from the pressure of the recent leaks. One thing that surprised me, was that I expected him to get more nervous as I continued, but instead it was the opposite. At the end, he was almost relieved. He did not take any notes, he just thanked me and asked if he could help me in any way. I answered I had come to him because I felt he and the Church, in general, could help in this transition, so they better know in advance."

"He added that this meeting was the sign he needed to make a decision on something he had been pondering for a while but I have no idea what he was referring to. And we should not worry too much about the future, he said, as it does not depend on us. Then it was blessing time."

"You seem disappointed," said Father Giacomo.

"I am," replied Valerio, "I was hoping for some reaction, some inspiring advice but none of this happened. Alright, he is a man after all..."

"Valerio, Valerio....you brought him big news, but secular news after all. You brought news from this world, and remember, the world prospers without Jesus Christ."

Valerio looked at Father Giacomo, astonished.

"I was not expecting that from you."

"Oh, you should know that by now. But all the prosperity in this world cannot buy you a single, unexpected minute of grace."

Valerio could not respond before a blue, rather worn down Volkswagen Golf stopped by the roadside and from inside two men started waving at Father Giacomo.

"Look, Silvio and Maurizio! They are two of my parishioners. They must really love me, if you think that they left their families on a Saturday morning to come to pick me up here."

Father Giacomo hugged Valerio, then entered the car, and disappeared in the flow of Roman traffic.
Chapter 13

Irina Kanchelskaya was living in the Arab Emirates since the end of 2009, leading the double life of a secret agent and a top class whore. She was born in Tambov, Russia in 1985, and by the time she graduated in Astrophysics in 2007 from the University of St. Petersburg she had realized she could make a much better living accompanying rich foreign and Russian businessmen in the night clubs than working as a teacher or an engineer.

She also felt a deep sense of sorrow, not so much for herself but for her country, which despite the progress made by President Putin, was still far away from being as strong and respected as it used to be.

She would have liked to find a way to serve her motherland - the Rodina as they called it in Russia - also to feel closer to her father. She knew him only through the stories her mother shared. He had died in Afghanistan in 1986, when his helicopter was hit by a guerilla rocket.

One night, in February of 2009, a man who introduced himself as Gennady had approached her at the club pretending he had a job for her. She immediately noticed he was not even slightly drunk and he did not order any drinks while asking some questions about her customers. When he left, without trying to ask her to spend the night, Irina understood that she had an opportunity she could not miss.

It has been almost three years now, since she agreed to three careers. Her official profession was as a public relations worker in a small Russian company that used to work in the oil and gas sector. The insignificant company served Gazprom, one of their most valuable clients, and tried to do business with the local energy and utility companies.

Everybody knew it was a cover up for a model agency, managing a steady flow of girls between Russia and the Gulf monarchies. The "maskirovka" - or what the Russians call, the art of masking - did not end there though. Many of the models were actually informants and some outright illegal agents of the FSB, the Russian secret service. In the Foreign Operations Directorate, better known as 'Moscow Center', the handlers were using the girls to extract information from the rich and the powerful of the Arab countries.

Irina had quickly moved from simple informant to lieutenant of the FSB, and although the pay was not much higher than the one of a mathematics teacher, she felt she was doing her country a far more valuable service.

As she put the finishing touches to her makeup, preparing for the $5,000 stay arranged that night, Irina thought about how smartphones have made her job so much easier. The technology department of the FSB had managed to install a number of backdoors in the most popular applications, so all Irina had to do was to leave her iPhone switched on during the date.

An invisible application would automatically search for all smartphones within range, activate the backdoors, and silently sync all data onto her own device. To safely send the data to the Russian Embassy, she just had to connect to wi-fi for an hour. The data was downloaded onto the Embassy's secure database, transferred onto a memory card, and then flown to Moscow Center, where it was analysed and stored.

Sometimes her customers would turn off their phones completely or not bring any electronics. When this happened, she got excited, because it was up to her own detective skills to help her country and not some technical wizardry. She had to figure out how to gain his trust and steal his secrets.

So far, she had dealt with four such customers. One of them was Rasim Al-Manna, who had introduced himself as Ibrahim, and never talked about his work.

Irina decided to meet him immediately after two of the girls from her team, simple informants, told her there was a client that kept asking them sneaky questions to figure out if somebody else was trying to extract information about their clients. First and foremost, she had to protect her team and she decided to meet the potential intruder herself.

So when Rasim called the agency looking for a tall, red-haired Russian beauty, she decided it was time to face the threat. Somehow they actually liked each other and started dating on a regular basis, and after six months, he was engaged enough to give Irina some details of his family and personal life.

However, he was also discreetly enquiring about her colleagues and model friends, if she suspected any of them were working with the Russian secret service. If the Arab Emirates secret services had found out, she could easily face expulsion from the country.

Irina said nobody had ever questioned her, but she met lots of interesting subjects and maybe Rasim was interested in hearing a few stories.

In Moscow, Major Olga Kirillova, her superior, disapproved Irina's boldness. She was taking too many risks. The most dangerous one, was falling in love. So they agreed that Irina would leave the Arab Emirates before the beginning of 2013. She was needed in Egypt more, at the time.

When Irina met Rasim a few days before the Christmas of 2012, at the Intercontinental Dubai, she thought it would be the last time. She was about to leave the room, waiting for one last kiss from Rasim, when he took out a small envelope. She felt pills inside and it totally threw her off course. She stared at him with a puzzled expression.

"Darling, you know I do not use this crap, and you don't need chemicals either...."

"Oh, habibi, don't get me wrong. I am giving you this small Christmas gift because I need to know what it is, exactly. Our experts are lost. Maybe some of your geniuses at the Moscow headquarters in Lubjanka square can sort it out."

"I am not sure we can start working together." Irina said sadly.

"I know you can present it in the right way to your boss. You have been helping me for a while, after all. You can tell your boss that your courage has saved your organization and yourself. I think it is time to proceed. Or start a brand new career in another country."

Irina switched on the phone. Rasim frowned, but she quickly reassured him, "Do not worry. I am calling Emirates to book my return ticket to Dubai next January."
Chapter 14

The limousine was waiting at 5:45 AM on a cold January morning, in front of the Long Island mansion of Charles Daniels, the executive vice president of Pfizer, who was in charge of with finding new pharmaceutical developments. One of his predecessors had invented Viagra and made the company a fortune back in the nineties. Charles was getting paid several millions a year to achieve a similar breakthrough, but after two years into the job nothing of the likes had come up yet.

Pressure was increasing and he was desperately hoping to find at least a hint to the next big pill during the trip he was about to start. He boarded the limousine at 5:50 AM and the driver headed towards Teterboro airport, where a Netjets private flight was waiting to take him to South Korea.

He had received some extremely promising reports on a new molecule for oncology and tumor control applications, developed by a South Korean research group. It was now time to check if the production process was in line with the US Federal Drug Administration regulations or if the extensive use of stem cells and other human cell sub-products, potentially banned the drug in the US.

He was still reviewing the reports on his tablet when the limo stopped in front of Teterboro terminal. He left the car and entered the departure area, preparing for the security checks. The real advantage of flying private was not so much about the extra space on board, which was offset by a bumpier ride, nor by the schedule flexibility, which ate into personal life. For Charles, it was all about avoiding the security lines that built up, even for business and first class passengers.

He was shocked when, after passing his carry-on bag through the X-Ray machine, the young officer asked him to enter a small room without windows and a plate on the door stating 'US Customs and Border Control'.

The officer closed the door behind him and stayed outside. Inside the room, behind a rather old desk, sat a man in his late thirties, who sprang up from his chair and invited him to sit.

"Dear Mr. Daniels, let me begin by saying that you are not under any type of scrutiny. On the contrary, we are seeking your help or, better, trying to help you. We ask only a few minutes of your time before you continue your long trip to South Korea."

The opening remark dispelled any apprehension Charles had, letting his assertive side take over.

"First of all, who are you? You do not even wear an identification badge, and this would be reason enough to call a lawyer and sue the government agency you belong to. Second, how do you know I have a twelve hour flight to Korea in front of me? Have you hacked into my emails or calls? If you are the CIA or the FBI or God knows what, I hope you have all your papers right, or else every extra minute you keep me here will mean another lawyer I am going to throw at you."

"Mr. Daniels, we are asking for your help and we have to do it discreetly. If you want to bring your lawyers, that is your decision, but then we will ask you in court to publish what you are doing with the South Koreans. Anyway, we need your help on this."

He handed to Charles a small plastic bag with two pills with the T stamped on top. Charles did not move, watching the border officer with an inquisitive eye.

"Mr. Daniels, all I can tell you is that we do not know what these pills are. We know that there is a company out there that is able to manufacture them, and that they are related to a project developed by two biotech startups, NuAge and Ambrosyan, that shut down around six months ago after some of the key investors left the ventures. You might have heard about them. I can also tell you that some of their investors and designers were involved in an industrial espionage story where foreign powers were trying to get their hands on this. The startups claimed to be active in research for life-extending drugs, but we have evidence that part of the team was also involved in military projects. We have finally managed to get some of the production, we are talking about roughly ten pills, but our labs have not been able to tell us what exactly this drug is, except that it is not a synthetic hallucinogen and is extremely well engineered."

Charles Daniels slowly extended his arm and picked up the bag. "Then why give it to us? And where are the other eight pills?"

"Because we need your know-how to help us understand what exactly we are dealing with. If it is a threat, we will need your help anyway. If it is not, there is maybe something inside you might find useful for your business. It is the US government's priority to make sure American businesses have the upper hand over global competition. And to do things fairly, we have sent some of the samples to your competitors; Merck, Gilead, and the like. We do not favor certain US businesses at the detriment of others."

Charles put the bag back on the table, took a post-it from his bag and wrote an address on top. He then put a twenty dollar bill next to it.

"Alright, Mr. Government, I am going to trust you but I need cover as well. You will send the pills via top priority FedEx to this address, in the name of the officer that is sitting outside. I noticed he is wearing a valid badge, I will take a picture of it before leaving. If the package does not bear his name in the sender address, it will be trashed. Consider the twenty bucks as my personal contribution to cover unexpected shipment costs. We will need at least three months to get some results, I guess you can find a way to contact us."

"I think we are all set, Mr. Daniels. Your plane is waiting for you. And thanks again for your patience and attention. You can call me Skip."

As Charles walked past the departure gate onto his private jet, Skip felt satisfied to begin his revenge against the CIA.

He had been an idiot. He had fed them all the information he had found, including the research on Sean's girlfriend and the whereabouts of the two Israelis. The reward was that he had been summoned one spring day to Langley. He would never forget it. It was April 25th, with Greg Russo interrogating him.

Greg argued that the Israelis had some merit. They had found out that Sean was a cover up and that it was the same person as George McKilroy.

Greg had worked hard to persuade the Israelis that Homeland Security had not been able to figure out in two years, what they realized in half a year. Anyway, it was too late now. Sean had disappeared, and his girlfriend and many of his business contacts had followed suit.

And one of the key reasons of the disappearance was, of course, the warning Skip gave that the Mossad was after him. "Sometimes good intentions lead to bad outcomes," commented Greg, as if he was teaching Spy 101. Had it not been for Skip's blatant mistake, Sean would probably been in jail now. What did Skip know exactly about drug traffic? Had he consulted the DEA, the Drug Enforcement Agency? Even if the Israelis had found out something, they would certainly not share information now.

Greg refrained from directly confronting Skip because the rest of the work was very straightforward. However, it was clear that the enquiry had to be stopped and transferred to the CIA. In any case, Sean and his friends would most likely not show up on US or Israel soil ever again.

Needless to say, Skip got demoted while Greg got promoted. Skip knew that Sean had a valuable secret, though, and if he could not help protect it, surely some other American would. The CIA could never have complete control over the United States.
Chapter 15

The Sunday meeting had just finished oh the assessment of the Syrian situation, and everybody was shutting down laptops and untangling the mass of power cables. Everybody except Eyal, noted Yaakov, a clear sign he had another topic in mind. He approached Eyal and invited him to his office.

"What's going on, my friend? Are you not comfortable with our intelligence about the jihadist groups, in the Golan Heights?"

"Not at all, I just had a thought. Do you remember the Sean Ewals story? Did you really buy the CIA's version of it?"

"Still thinking about that? It's been more than six months now. Anyways, no, I did not buy it - at least not all of it. I do not see what else we can do though. Greg Russo showed up in person the last time we had the review meeting in Cyprus, he is reporting to the Deputy Director of Operations, so if we think he is a liar we would have to get to the CIA director, just one notch below the President. Which, for us, means placing a call to our foreign minister. And remember they have us on the plank with the two researchers. Is it really worth the trouble?"

"I don't know, it's quite strange. First, they confirm our discovery, that Sean is George McKilroy. Then they pretend it is not their cover, but someone else's, and come up with all the narco evidence, which I have to admit is quite credible, with the girlfriend and the fake burial company. For some reason, though, this billionaire decided to start doing business with drug traffickers and changed lives. And obviously, the business is linked to the companies he was working with, even if we do not see a clear connection. It's all about these life-extending drugs. What sounds strange is, if it is not from the CIA, why didn't Greg try to cooperate more openly with us? Are they covering organized crime? There is something they do not want to let us know, but what? I got the feeling, they wanted to drop it and made sure we also dropped it."

"Indeed," continued Yaakov, "because from their side they found out that in the Israeli companies Sean was working with, we had two experts in drones and biotechnologies under cover. So they suspect we are passing some sensitive war technology to the narcos. It is not true, but we do not want to enter this conversation with the Americans now. Just like when we started developing nuclear weapons and fighter jets, we have to complete the mission first and then tell our friends."

"And taking into account that Sean has disappeared into thin air, the assessment is to archive the whole story until some new evidence comes up, if ever," Eyal completed. "We have no other choices, I agree, yet we should keep our eyes open."

"What is frightening you so much? You know, Sean never showed up again since you gave him the warning....looks like your scare tactics worked out, at least here."

"I am just lining up the evidence. We have stumbled across a group powerful enough to operate on a global scale, with access to large financial resources, and the latest biotechnology research. This group has been able to get the protection of big name organizations like the CIA or the narcos, or both, which means they have resources or information that are of real value. And for some reason they have gotten in touch with Erez Yisrael. After two years of research, they are still elusive and we have no clear idea of who they are, what they do, or what they want. Good for you, if you can sleep at night!"

"Well, I would put them two notches above the Syrian jihadists on the danger scale, and 14 notches below the Iranian nuclear program," Yaakov said with a half smile. "Now, if that makes you feel better, I must issue a note to all our agents and _sayanim_ to report tu us anything unusual or new they find in the drug markets. Deal?"

"Deal," ended Eyal, "I need a double shot espresso now."
Chapter 16

The sun was setting behind the mountains that surrounded the lake of Silvaplana, Switzerland on the evening of July 26th, 2013. Dora and Louis were walking the final meters to the Piz Corvatsch refuge, where they had booked a room for the night. Beyond them, the massive Piz Bernina was already glowing in the pink sunset light.

"You hike remarkably fast for a seventy-nine-year-old, Louis. Oh sorry, I mean, Richard".

"And you are without any doubt the most beautiful sixty-year-old the world has seen so far, Dora, whoops, Heidi. Your birthday cake is waiting for us!"

The cake had exactly thirty candles, which Dora blew out in a puff after they finished dinner.

They had decided to celebrate this birthday alone, leaving their new circle of friends from the Zurich business community behind.

After a final round of _schnaps_ , the high-proof German drinks, Dora changed the subject to business.

"So how was the trip to Hong Kong? You have not told me anything since you came back yesterday and I can't control my curiosity any longer. I guess it went well seeing that you got home safely I did not find any anonymous threat letters in our mailbox."

Louis appreciated her patience. She had given him all the time he needed to mentally process the meetings from the previous week, with Mr. Lee and his team, made up of the Italian from London and the Mexican from Los Angeles.

Mr. Lee had insisted to have the periodic progress meeting with Louis. He had been wanting to meet Louis in person for several months.

Eventually, Helena and George settled for one of the many luxury hotels of Hong Kong.

"He spent the first half an hour asking me questions about my boyhood and the early stages of Telomerax," said Louis. "I got the impression that he was genuinely curious, at times even amused. Then he left the floor to one of his partners, the Mexican named Guillermo, who gave a presentation on the current diffusion of Telomerax."

"Basically, they have around a thousand clients on Telomerax. They started from top-notch cocaine users that wanted to pull out because the drawbacks were starting to outweigh the benefits and the results have been amazing. All of them continued with cocaine usage and accepted to pay a hefty amount for Telomerax.

They roughly get one million dollars per user for every year, which, when you deduct the cost of the reduced amount of cocaine and the supply of Telomerax, makes up for a profit of almost nine hundred million dollars a year."

"Louis, you were feeling greedy when George asked for five thousand dollars per pill! We should ask for more!"

"I think it will go in the opposite direction. Mr. Lee and his team know their customers. They are spread across the world, roughly a quarter of them are Asians, a bit less than half are North Americans, and the rest are Europeans and Middle-Easterns - mostly consisting of rich entrepreneurs, financiers, celebrities, a few politicians. Now they want to expand the market five-fold every year, reaching more than two million customers by the end of 2018.

This means they need to bring down the cost of the cure to less than one hundred thousand dollars per year per person. So they want the price to drop, to at least one fifth of the present value. If everything goes according to their plan, they will make one hundred billion dollars in revenue, and a ninety billion dollar profit, in the next five years. The planet will see the first legion of one million immortals, although most of them won't be aware since the pill is marketed only as a remedy to cocaine side effects."

"One million people on Telomerax? In less than five years?" Dora asked, skeptically.

It was bigger than anything she had ever imagined.

"Yes, it is huge. There is something that scares me more, though. Mr. Lee and his friends do not see this mainly as a ticket to immortality. They see Telomerax as a vehicle to bring the planet, or at least vast parts of it, to cocaine addiction, almost a fully legal one. And they are not aware of superintelligence."

"This means that in the long term, or even in a few years time.."

"...we might have a serious conflict with these gentlemen. Nonetheless, for the time being, we have no choice but to follow them in the drug use expansion. I will have to extend the production facility. The only deal we made was Mr. Lee agreeing not to expand in territories like Africa, India and the Middle East, where there is no activity right now."

"And how about the distribution? Will that scale up as well?"

"The Italian guy - I think his name is Paolo - openly praised the system, and those types do not give credit easily. In the two inspections that the shipments incurred, the customs officers simply thought that Telomerax was part of the chocolate found inside, as it does not react positively to any known drug test.

That way, every country is receiving his share of chocolate via Dubai but customs officers would not be immediately able to correlate to our chocolate factory in Switzerland.

And we are just sending unmarked chocolates to our Dubai trading partner, with a clear agreement that they can repackage and resell them to whoever they want. As for the quantity, I do not think we have a problem, I read in the in-flight magazine that Emirates is upgrading the Zurich daily flight to an Airbus Superjumbo. We can send two tons of chocolate per day."

"Louis, am I wrong or do you seem quite happy about this? I mean, despite your thoughts on how 'Prosperity' intends to use Telomerax..."

"You are right, the system is working. We are starting to spread the drug, in a way we did not imagine but nevertheless it is moving forward. Most importantly, I felt Mr. Lee respects me and he won't try to screw us over, or at least he will do it in the most honorable way if he is forced to."

"And how about Helena and George? How are they doing? We have not met since that meeting in Abu Dhabi, when all of this got started."

"Oh, they look great. George is perfectly integrated in the Hong Kong life. Aside from coordinating Telomerax distribution with Mr. Lee, he is also trying to start up new ventures with the Chinese.

As for Helena, I do not know if it was a new makeup trick or if she also had a bit of a facelift, but she looks a bit more Asian. Last, I almost forgot to mention that, she is three-weeks pregnant. Please, keep that for yourself and do not tell Tarek or Valerio."

Dora stopped with her spoon of raspberry yogurt in midair and stared at Louis intensely, forcing him to continue,

"I know what you are going to say. I also thought about it during the whole journey back from China. I think it is a risk now. I do not know if there might be side effects with Telomerax. For some reason, Helena really wanted this. You know her, she does not stop at anything. Let's first wait to see how it goes, please."

Dora nodded, trying to conceal the envy she was starting to feel for Helena.
Chapter 17

While Louis and Dora were celebrating Louis' seventy-ninth birthday, Rasim was sailing on a motorboat in the seas of Istanbul, heading toward a yacht moored about one mile off the coast.

There were two motorboats following him, one held three Arab Emirates agents on board and the other belonged to the Turkish secret service.

He climbed the rope stairs and boarded the yacht, which proudly waved a Grand Cayman flag. As soon as he set foot on the deck, he was greeted by Irina and her new boss, who introduced himself as Alexey Petrenko.

He resisted the temptation of hugging Irina, wondering if it was the same for her, and formally shook hands with both of his guests.

They moved down to the living room and Alexey asked Rasim where he would like the ship to go. The meeting was expected to last a few hours, they could squeeze in some sightseeing before.

"Oh, well if you already have the transit permit, I would definitely love a ride across the Bosphorus Strait."

"Of course we have got the permit," chuckled back Alexey. "When we ask our Turkish friends for the means to properly host our guests, they always think of everything that might be needed. And they don't ask any questions afterwards. Of course, both of us will have to return the favor somehow, but the world affairs in our region always give plenty of opportunity to pay off debt."

During the first hours, the meeting dealt with exchanging of intelligence about Chechnian and Arab foreign fighters in Northern Syria.

Irina had been promoted and was now sitting at the table as the official 'rezident' of the FSB in the United Arab Emirates. Since this was confidential business, her public duty was to manage the cultural and scientific matters of the Russian Embassy.

Alexey was in charge of the Middle East Section of the Foreign Directorate of the FSB. He was used to sitting in meetings with Vladimir Putin every so often.

By the time they reached the final point of their agenda, the yacht was starting to enter the Bosphorus. They decided to take a break, left the living room, and went out on the deck to breathe some fresh air.

Rasim and Irina recognized the Topkapi Palace, which was the residence of the Ottoman Sultans and, before them, of the Byzantine Emperors. As they sailed along the Strait, they could spot the Palace lodge situated right at the end of the Golden Horn peninsula.

From those huge arched windows, Byzantine emperors and Turkish sultans had overlooked for centuries the trade between Europe and Asia.

Now the ancient kingdoms were gone, replaced by the Turkish republic. Hagia Sophia had been turned into a museum, and the Blue Mosque was more of a tourist attraction than a place of worship. Only trade continued steadily along the Bosphorus. Irina and Rasim exchanged a look, knowing they were also part of that trade.

"Have you ever read the Koran, Irina?" asked Rasim suddenly. Irina had been caught off guard.

"The Koran? Rasim, I was brought up in the last years of the Soviet Union. I barely know some verses from the Bible, save for the one that says tax collectors and prostitutes will be the first to enter the Kingdom of God. Obviously I have a clear, vested interest in that," she said with a subtle smile, regaining control.

"You should do it, especially now that you are in charge of cultural affairs for your Rodina in a Muslim country. Anyway, this place reminded me of the quote by Orhan Pamuk, a Turkish writer, to the verses in the Surah of the Limb that describe why Satan was kicked out of heaven. The account is slightly different from the one of the Bible. According to the Koran, Satan was driven out of heaven because he refused to obey the order of God to adore Adam, the last creation. Adam was made out of clay while Satan, like all other angels, had been made out of fire. And since fire is superior to clay, the request was a bit inconsistent."

"I see," commented Irina. "It was not plain rebellion. He actually tried to outsmart God."

"Yes, I think the Bible has a similar concept too. But at the beginning of mankind, God decided to have man worshipped by creatures that are superior to him. Therefore, taking this into account, it is completely natural that people develop a sense of vanity, envy, rivalry and greed. This is actually the will of God, not the pollution of Satan. You can imagine how this interpretation created a huge problem with Pamuk and the Muslim clergy, but there is more merit in it. Don't you think?"

"Why are you telling me this now, Rasim? I do not see the connection."

"I do not know, it just popped up in my mind. Maybe I am just trying to find a reason for what we are doing here."

One of the sailors quietly approached them, and motioned for them to re-enter the living room. Inside, protected by the darkened windows, Alexey had finished his cigarette and was waiting for them to restart the meeting.

Alexey had switched off the projector and distributed some printouts. They contained the full report of the Biochemistry Analysis lab of the Academy of Science of the Russian Federation, in both English and Russian. Alexey started going into the last topic of the agenda.

"We do not have to go through all of this, you can read it afterwards. To sum it up, our best scientists have confirmed the conclusion of your experts. This drug is extremely difficult to deformulate, despite the many samples you have provided for us. All they could find is that it is based on the telomerase enzyme, plus an additional set of active molecules that make it interfere with dopamine and cocaine. The effects are those that you have described, you can slash cocaine consumption and keep the people addicted with less side effects. I suppose you do not want to tell us who is producing this stuff and how, so why are we talking about it?"

"Because I have a deal to propose to you," Rasim answered, "We do not control the production of this pill, but we have access to an unlimited quantity of it. We are a trading country, after all. I know that consumption is spreading with huge returns for the drug dealers. What if you also entered this business? We can supply you with as much of this drug as you need, I mean several thousands per month, and this would easily finance your covert operations. Every pill is sold on average at $50,000 on the European and North American markets, and the markets in Africa and large parts of Asia have still to be developed."

Alexey weighed the proposal. Black funds financing secret operations were always of paramount importance for any secret service. The CIA had come up with the brilliant idea to print fake dollars in North Korea, but with the price of keeping the FSB and China quiet, it was never enough.

Additionally, the FSB had fewer issues with Congress and Parliament control than their cousins in the West.

"Let's assume we are interested. You understand that we do not want to pay cash and I do not think you are interested in oil or gas from us, right?"

"Absolutely not. You know, looking at how things are developing in our region, my government is seeking ways to secure its status and security among its turbulent, ambitious and sometimes utterly chaotic neighbors. Our assessment is that the Iranians will sooner or later develop weapons of mass destruction.

This last episode of the nerve gas crisis in Syria, that your President skillfully defused, is yet another demonstration that WMDs do help to stabilize governments, especially in our area. Everyone remembers that Saddam was attacked by the Americans even when they knew he had no WMDs, despite the false public evidence denying it."

Alexey raised his hand and interrupted Rasim.

"Alright. Message received. I cannot give you an answer now, however I can tell you that nuclear weapons will most likely be out of the question. We need a few weeks to decide."

He stood up and the trio shook hands. As they all went out on the deck, a motorboat pulled up next to the yacht, allowing Rasim to board. He gave one last wave to Irina, then the motorboat sped down the Bosphorus Strait towards a pier near the Dolmabahce Palace, built in perfect European style, that once served as the home of the great Ottoman admirals.
Chapter 18

Sally Goldberg, the assistant of Charles Daniels, announced the arrival of Dinesh Kheradpir. He had arrived perfectly on time, so she invited him to enter the executive office of Charles on the top floor of the Manhattan skyscraper of the Pfizer headquarters.

Despite a glorious July day and the gorgeous view of Midtown, Charles was discouraged. Just the day before, the FDA, the Food and Drug Administration, had made it clear that they would not test the South Korean antitumoral drug until they perform another round of trials that would last months. In addition the South Koreans were threatening to sell all the research to Novartis, the European competitor of Pfizer.

He hoped that Dinesh, the chief researcher for advanced cancer products based in Cambridge, Massachusetts would make his day better. Strangely enough, Dinesh, a holder of multiple PhDs from the Indian Institute of Technology of Mumbai and Harvard, had refused to hold a the videoconference and insisted on meeting Charles personally for the analysis of the pills.

"Hi, Dinesh," yawned Charles, as soon as his guest entered the room, not bothering to raise his eyes from the screen of his Macbook. "Please sit down, let me just send this email and I am with you."

Dinesh paid no mind to him and went straight to the meeting table, connecting his tablet to the projector.

When Charles had finished, he found Dinesh standing next to the table, pointing to the slide projected on the wall that read:

"Are you one-hundred-percent sure that no one is listening to us here? I would not appreciate to be sent back to India with charges of espionage. Just nod if it is the case, otherwise we can take a walk at the zoo in Central Park."

Half an hour later they were walking in front of the monkey cage, where it was loud enough to drown their conversation out. Dinesh started.

"Alright, so you must know how difficult it has been to find out something about this drug. We broke the samples into four pieces and lost the first with the standard deformulation process.

Then we tried non-destructive techniques on the second one just to find out that the main active element has something to do with the telomerase enzyme, which is quite strange, since no one is working on this right now. We tried to break down the crown of composites around the core, and we lost the second sample.

With the third sample, I changed approach and wanted to see what would happen if I send it down a tube that simulates a person's esophagus and stomach. I figured if I am not able to find out the function of the pill with static breakdown, I have a better chance of doing so by observing how it works as it goes through the body, but it was a dead end.

I had only one sample left, and no idea on how to dissect it. So I decided to call Bill Bradley, who does my same work over at Merck. He is also puzzled, so it seems like your government contact effectively put us all in competition.

Anyway, at Merck they are stuck as well even though they have a lot of connections with Europeans. I highly doubt that this stuff is coming out of Europe, Bill would have found out. Sure, he could have lied to me, but considering the fact that you get tested regularly for progress by your government guy, we came to the conclusion that no one is getting a hold of it. At least in Europe and in America."

"Alright, Dinesh, this I have known for weeks, why are you repeating it in front of the baboons?" yelled Charles. He was exasperated.

"Just to recap and make sure we are on the same page. Now onto the big news. Out of desperation, I called Anatoly Vatutin, who is working in Moscow at the Biochemistry and Pharmacology Institute of the Russian Academy of Science and whom I have known for a while since he used to visit India.."

Charles paled, but before he could speak Dinesh waved his hands to calm him down and continued,

"....do not worry, I did not send him anything. The fact is, Anatoly is working a lot with the Chinese, so he is the only one that can lead us on the right track. It turns out that he knows something but cannot speak about it on the phone."

"So what?" Charles' anxiety was growing.

"There are congresses, luckily! Back in the days of the Cold War, the KGB had good reasons to spy on all the Soviet scientists that went abroad.

Now, with more freedom to go abroad and less funds, the FSB control is far less strict so one month ago I met Anatoly at the annual Pharmacovigilance conference in London. We drove a good two hours to make sure no one followed us and then we went in a small pub almost forty miles outside of London, in the middle of the British countryside."

"There, he showed me a full bag of the pills. They were exactly like ours, also with the T stamped on top.

I gaped in astonishment and before I could say a word he said he could not give me any of it, because they were counted and under the control of the secret service. He was already risking a lot in taking them with him to London, but we had something he was very interested in."

"And what was that?" snapped Charles immediately.

"Oh, relatively minor stuff. He was interested in the molecular structure of our new anti-leukemia drug, of which we published some research after having secured the patents. With all the nuclear dumps they have in Russia, tumors are a big issue so this could help them a lot. And for us it is not a big risk, even if they develop an imitation similar to ours. No one will ever buy the Russian brand here in America. I said I had to check back with you, but he demanded an immediate decision. So I connected to our server, downloaded the files, and handed them over to him. I hope you won't fire me, but I bet that you would have done the same."

"What did you get in exchange?" Charles bluntly asked. "As for your discharge," he thought to himself, "it depends on your answer".

"Well, three key hints. First, the Russians also failed in the deformulation process and it is not a Chinese product. Second, the pill works with cocaine to amplify the effects of dopamine and clean up the particles of cocaine at the same time. In retrospect, this explains some of the molecules present in the casing of the main active element. Third, Anatoly seems to have access to an endless supply of pills, but it is fully controlled by the FSB and he has no idea where they come from."

"Did he tell you anything about the life-extending properties the drug is supposed to have?"

"Nope. If I look back at what we learned so far, this might be linked to the similarity of the main molecular structure with the telomerase enzyme. However, I kept these ideas to myself, obviously," Dinesh lied, with his most serious face.

Charles looked at the cup of coke he was holding in his hand. He had not been drinking this whole time, just listening carefully to Dinesh and thinking. The drink was now unpleasantly warm. He threw it in the trash bin, then turned to Dinesh.

"Alright, it looks like this walk was well worth all the sweat and smells that it costed us. I think you made the right decision in passing on the leukemia drug to your friend. Poor Russian radioactive children won't have to wait the patent expiration day to have a chance of survival," Charles ended with a grin.

Dinesh did not comment. He thought he had done the right thing in lying. It was not fair to leave the knowledge about this drug in the hands of people like Charles.
Chapter 19

Louis worried that the pregnancy of Helena would not go smoothly and asked her to stop taking Telomerax at least until the birth of the baby. He also asked her to come to Switzerland. It was the only place where he could manage excellent healthcare and absolute privacy at the same time.

Initially Helena balked at his requests, but the first signs of nausea and the persistence of George made her change her mind. She arrived to Zurich in October of 2013, during her fourth month of pregnancy.

For a while she stayed at Louis' house, a villa with a charming garden located on the peaceful street of Eichhaldenweg. However her health kept worsening so on November 29th she was moved to the Hirslanden Klinik, within the posh Seventh District, close to where Louis and Dora were living.

George landed in Zurich two days later, and Louis picked him up at the airport. George noticed that Louis had not used his new SUV, but a modest Toyota. Since he was expecting bad news, he chose to start the conversation with an irrelevant subject.

"Hey Louis! You look great! What happened to your shiny, blue X5? You are going to need it now, in the Swiss winters. It's not time to drive around with an environmentally friendly Prius."

"I changed it on purpose this morning before picking you up. The SUV might be bugged and I do not want anyone overhearing what I have to tell you. I asked one of my colleagues at the Swiss Federal University, where I work as a part time chemistry lecturer, to swap cars for the weekend because I was curious to try his hybrid model. He was more than happy to lend it to me, and I did not have to go through a rental car company that could be tracked."

George was forced to accept that his attempt to lighten the conversation failed. If Louis was giving up his usually long introduction and instead resorting to the direct style of Helena, there was a lot of reason to be worried.

"Ok, what is wrong with Helena? How bad is it?"

Louis paused then said, "I received the lab analysis yesterday evening. It is cancer. The bad news is that it is of an unknown type, something between a lymphoma and leukemia, so the doctors do not have a clue on how to cure it. The good news is that it is progressing very slowly, for now."

"An unknown type...do you think is it linked to Telomerax?" asked George, anxiously.

"Yes, I am quite sure about it. It is very similar to how Telomerax works. The main molecule, the one that enters the cells and produces the enzyme so that DNA replication can be perfect, actually spreads into the body like a virus, entering every single cell.

The viral behavior is in turn controlled by the set of molecules that form the casing of the main active element. Initially, they attack a few cells along the stomach and the rest of the digestive tract and use them to replicate the component, which then spreads and infects the rest of the body. It is the small sacrifice of a few cells, which together do not even equal a hundredth of a square millimeter of skin, to keep the rest immortal."

"And that explains why after taking the pill sometimes you suffer from a light fever."

"Exactly. The diffusion around the body is indeed a small viral infection, and the immune system reacts in the same way. But it is a short-lived one, because the active element disappears quickly into each cell and what is left behind is immediately wiped out by the antibodies. The initial multiplication phase is also very fast. That is why Telomerax is so difficult to deformulate. If you analyze it statically, the set of molecules simply looks too intricate. If you look at it when it works in the body, there is too much interaction in too short a time. Now, the problem with Helena lies precisely in these drug dynamics. I should have realized it before."

"What do you mean?"

"Two out of the eleven tumor cases I had in the clinical trial phase, thirty years ago, were pregnant women. The problem is, they were all the pregnant women I was testing on. I did not notice, or maybe I did not want to notice at the time. As much as the external molecules interact with dopamine, they also interact with a variety of other molecules, namely hormones. I recognized this a long time ago, and that is why I ruled children out from Telomerax. However, also pregnant women are huge hormone producers. And this mix seems to trigger the cancer that Helena has got now."

"But she stopped taking it right after she took the pregnancy test," objected George.

"George, she has been taking it for almost twenty years. I kept studying the six of us over the last several years, we all have in different degrees some residual active molecules that keep floating in our bodies. It is as if our immune system has found a symbiotic balance with Telomerax and no longer attacks it."

"You mean we can stop taking the drug? We are definitely immortal?" George's thoughts ran wildly.

"Not yet, this is what could happen several years from now. But we have to focus on Helena now. And the baby as well," added Louis.

The last statement silenced George until they arrived at the clinic and entered the room where Helena was resting.

She woke up immediately, her eyes racing around the room like when she was watching out for threats in the streets of the Mexico City slums. She saw George, she attempted to smile and waited for his kiss. George and Louis sat next to her bed.

"Where is Dora?" Louis asked.

"She just left," Helena responded with fatigue. "I am afraid she is not strong enough for this type of news," she thought to herself. "So, what is it that I have, Louis? It is pretty serious, right? At least it feels that way."

Louis went through the explanation again, and this time he continued to the end.

"Basically, Helena, you and George must decide whether you want to try to cure yourself and undergo chemotherapy or continue the pregnancy. It's either one or the other."

"Hang on. The fetus is almost five months old. Look at the sonogram. She has a face, her face..."

"Helena, this is a private Swiss clinic for the rich," interrupted George. "I mean, I do not want to imply we should decide based off of this, but it is clear that laws here.."

"Yeah, the law won't be a problem," Helena completed the sentence. "As usual, law won't be a problem for us - for the rich, the immortals. I won't decide according to the law. I never decide based on laws."

The discussion was turning way too emotional, and Louis jumped in.

"Helena, let's stay on the known facts. The tumor is quite slow, so if we cure it now I think - and the doctors agree with me - that you have a very good chance of making it. In the meantime I am sure I will find a way to fix Telomerax so this does not happen again. As for the shock of losing the baby, if it happens, Dora has had many patients that went through similar sad circumstances. She will do her best to comfort you. You will heal from all this pain."

Helena sprang up from the bed, her arms struggling to keep her upright. George moved towards her to try to help her up but the look he received from Helena kept him away.

"You two assholes really do not get the point. Maybe that is because you have never had the pleasure like I did of watching the gruesome death of someone that you hated deep within your heart. You come up with all this wisdom and knowledge that do nothing but mask the sacrifice of an innocent victim for a good cause.

All sacrifices are carried out for good causes and in good faith. So good, that in the best case also the victim agrees! Well, I don't agree. First we, or rather I, am getting my girl into the world. Then, you cure me. Do not try any tricks. I would realize it sooner or later anyway and you know what revenge does to me."

"But Helena, what if the tumor gets out of control in the following months?" sighed George.

"It will be your problem to raise a little girl alone, my dear. I do not think it would be too difficult, with almost half a billion dollars in the bank. I just could not live with that on my conscious forever."

Her muscles gave out and she fell back on the bed. George and Louis looked at each other. They were searching for a response, when they realized Helena had fallen asleep. They left the room and drove to Louis' house on the shore of the lake of Zurich.

Aurora was born on March 15th, 2014.

According to the record of the Swiss demographic office, she was the daughter of Helena Hernandez Avila, a Mexican citizen, and her British partner, Richard Stirner.
Chapter 20

Eyal was looking at the latest satellite pictures from the Gaza Strip, where the Israeli Defense Forces had been fighting against Hamas since the beginning of July 2014, in the so-called Operation Protective Edge. It was now the beginning of August, and his team was analyzing the evidence from the destruction of the tunnel system built by Hamas to smuggle militants and weapons into Israel.

Together with the Army Chief of Staff, Shin Bet had to prepare a report for the government to evaluate if the conditions were suitable to declare an open-ended cease fire with Hamas. In other words, if the damage to Hamas' infrastructure was serious enough to grant Israel several months or even a few years of tranquility before the next eruption happened.

He was discussing the effects of the last airstrike with his team, when Yaakov slammed the door of Eyal's office wide open and gave him an undecipherable glare.

Eyal broke the silence that followed, to ask his team to leave them alone.

As soon as the last person left his office, Eyal set the tone.

"I hope this is urgent, as the Army Chief of Staff is waiting for our report in three hours to review it before the meeting of the Cabinet. You have half an hour maximum."

"More than enough for a run-through. You can go over the details tonight. I am sorry that you have to cancel your date with Ruth, but I bet you will find this more interesting," responded Yaakov, placing a printout on the desk, between Eyal and himself.

"Do you remember our old friend George McKilroy aka Sean Ewals? He is back, and we have identified the full gang."

"Where did he show up?"

"It all started from a report from David Schneersohn, our resident in Bangkok, who is also covering the rest of South East Asia. Around one year ago, he detected the arrival of a new type of drug in the Thai jet-set. He started to investigate and he found out that it was spreading all across the region.

The thing that caught his attention is that this one was not based on heroin, as usual, but rather on a mix of cocaine and a synthetic component. He found it strange, so he did some research, and it turned out that the new stuff was being distributed by the same organizations that controlled heroin, which were now pushing the market to this new drug. David then got in touch with his contacts in Hong Kong, who confirmed that the Chinese gangs had decided to move away from classic drugs on the high end market, thanks to a deal they struck with the Europeans. With some patience, he was also able to have one of his agents take a picture of one of the emissaries, just a few days ago. And here he is."

The picture left no doubt, even if it was taken with a long telescope lens. It was the face of George McKilroy, hurrying out of the ICC Tower in West Kowloon and ducking into a limousine.

"So we were right...there is big crime behind this guy," whispered Eyal.

"I wish it was that simple." continued Yaakov. "In the meantime, David had managed to get some of the drug samples and sent them to us to analyze. I did not notify you, because it seemed ordinary procedure. One was just cocaine, not even top quality, while the synthetic one is impossible to figure out. Our best researchers at Technion are going crazy over it.

Since we could not sort it out alone, we discreetly activated our sayanim among leading biochemists and pharmacologists around the world. And guess what we got? It seems that both the Russians and the Americans are dealing with the same issue."

"Why did they not report it right away?" burst Eyal. "We lost precious time!"

"Eyal, that's how it works with the sayanim. They normally do not take initiative unless they see a clear danger for Israel. Otherwise they stay dormant, waiting for our specific request. In addition to all of this exciting news, our friends in the Russian Academy of Science reported a rumor that the best minds of the biochemistry labs have been working for months to formulate a new drug based on samples they receive directly from the FSB. For reasons you can imagine, they excluded all Jewish researchers from the project.

We even got information from a woman in the United States, who works as executive assistant at a very important pharma corporation, that her boss kept attending meetings with the head of drug research and someone unknown, who she believed was from the government secret service. We showed her some photos and she recognized Skip Ross, the new deputy operations director of the CIA."

"Skip Ross?" repeated Eyal in disbelief. "You mean the not-so-brilliant Homeland Security department guy who ruined Greg's career with the negligence scandal four months ago, and got the much coveted DDO position for himself?"

"In flesh and bones." Yaakov continued, "We were just wondering what the scandal was, that undermined the career of Greg, who has been demoted to hell as head of the US Coast Guard. I sent Ben to talk to him three weeks ago.

Ben told me that Greg is seething with resentment. He has good reason though, after going from master of the secret universe to boss of the baywatchers. So a bit out of revenge and a bit out of our friendship, he talked very openly and all the pieces came together. He also gave us the complete file that Skip had built around Sean Ewals."

"Great, are there any new facts I should know about?"

"Well, now it is clear that Sean is not the boss. The drug is manufactured somewhere in Europe, by one of his friends. We are working on the connection graph created by the Homeland Security. We are closing down on dozens of subjects. The most important point is these guys have also made a deal with the Russians. Skip demonstrated that with the information he received from Pfizer, and used this to nail down Greg for his failure.

Basically, Skip had found out everything but Greg blocked him and the result is that now Russians have their hands on it, or at least partially. Skip managed to find this out thanks to his idea of involving one of the top bosses of Pfizer into the game. Last fact is Skip genuinely dislikes us. Greg told us loud and clear that Skip is convinced we helped Greg frame him one year ago."

Eyal looked at the clock on the wall. Still five minutes to go.

"Alright, the puzzle looks finished now. But why did you rush to tell me? After all, it is a story fully in your foreign jurisdiction. I do not see major implications for Israel's security, apart from adding another row in the illegal substance list and another check to do at our borders."

"Because, there is this last bit. Up to now we worked on the assumption that this is mostly a narcotic story. It is not. The drug is actually a life extender - it is that powerful. And we got the information from a completely different source. It comes from our connections at the Vatican. Straight from the top."

"Yaakov, I am not aware of any secret calls from Pope Francis to Bibi Netanyahu. It would have gotten to me somehow, by now."

"Eyal, come on. You do not send this type of news by wire or letter. It has to go by trusted word of mouth that can be denied without evidence, if anything leaks. What day was last Friday?"

"Um, August 15th, what about it?"

"You should know that August 15th is an important Catholic solemnity. They celebrate the Ascension of the Virgin Mary to Heaven. Well, last Friday Cardinal Tim Dolan of New York City decided to celebrate the evening Mass in the parish of St. Matthews, in Brooklyn Crown Heights, right on the Eastern Parkway. And you must know what else is located on Brooklyn's Eastern Parkway."

Eyal knew by heart. At 770 East Parkway were the world headquarters of the Lubavitch Chabad Hasidic Jews, one of the most orthodox and influential bodies of all Judaism.

"So you mean the Cardinal went to the synagogue? Or the Rabbi went to the church?"

"No, since Friday was also the eve of _Shabbat_ , the Cardinal invited the Rabbi to a short evening meeting in the Parish house, where he offered some kosher snacks and spent a few minutes alone with him in an obscure room that no one would think to enter."

"Is the information coming from the Cardinal or from Pope Francis directly?"

"What the Rabbi told us, is known by Pope Francis alone and a few trusted Cardinals. However, there is no official document going around in the Vatican, I would even bet no document at all."

"And the content?"

"The content verifies all we have been collecting so far. Basically, the drug is not a simple life extender. It makes people effectively immortal. It is controlled by a restricted group of people. One of the members is an Italian and he is most likely the source from the Vatican. But they have added five other people on the list, two of which are women. This is in line with what we know. This team is starting to feel increasingly insecure and has decided to start spreading the drug. And this is exactly what we are seeing."

Eyal looked at the clock. Five minutes past the half an hour he had available. He gathered the papers from the middle of the table.

"Now I understand why you came to me. Over a short time, the news will spread worldwide. That means we have to be ready to activate Plan Lot. Why do you think the Vatican decided to tell us?"

"The Rabbi asked the same question to Cardinal Dolan. He got a political answer. He said they are worried that something bad will happen to us when the news starts spreading and this way, we can prepare for the worst."

"Well," said Eyal, "He certainly cannot say that he knew the Rabbi would somehow tell the Mossad. Do you plan to intercept and neutralize the group?"

"Read the details in the file. It is evident that a mindless action would lead to a faster diffusion, which we do not want, but I agree we need to take some action with these guys. As soon as we have finished identifying them."
Chapter 21

While the giant projector on the wall connected to his laptop, Louis thought about how he had never worked harder than he had been in the past eighteen months, after the birth of Aurora.

He was going through the frantic search for a modification of Telomerax to avoid a catastrophic interference with pregnancy while also monitoring how Aurora was growing up. It had been about six months since Mr. Lee asked him to do the analysis of the Telomerax imitations that were starting to appear in the drug trade underworld.

Even with superintelligence, it required long hours of work, extensive globetrotting, and neglect of personal relationships. Dora had started to complain because there was too much silence and inexpressive nods. He feared it could end up with a divorce, as it had happened between Helena and George shortly after the birth of Aurora.

The first slide appeared on the screen, showing two pills with the carved T on top, placed next to each other. He cleared his mind of all side thoughts and focused on his audience, which was made up of Mr. Lee and three top members of the Central Committee of China's Communist Party.

Louis had not been told their names. All he knew from Mr. Lee is that they were very close to the Secretary General, Mr. Xi Jinping, who for obvious reasons would not attend the meeting.

Louis had insisted to know at least what they did, otherwise he would not show up in Beijing in person to update them. After much negotiation, Mr. Lee eventually revealed that one was Mr. Xi Jinping's most trusted personal counselor, another one was the head of the secret service, and the last one was a top-ranking officer of the Bank of China.

"Based on the evidence collected by Mr. Lee, we know that the counterfeited version of Telomerax started spreading in South Africa and was later detected in India, Egypt, and Thailand. We have been able to collect some samples, which I have analyzed in the last few months. As always, there are things we are sure about, things that are very likely or at least possible, and things which we do not have even the slightest idea about an answer."

Louis paused, not a sign of life came from his audience until Mr. Lee invited him to proceed with a long nod.

"We know for sure that the counterfeiters have had extensive access to Telomerax samples, so that they could study its molecular structure and how the drug is used in the body. This explains the similarities in the structure of their molecule. Let me call it Pseudo-Telomerax from now on."

"Second, they have access to top level biochemistry research facilities. Pseudo-Telomerax is engineered in a very sophisticated way, with tools available only to the most advanced countries or big multinationals."

"Third, they focused on copying the dopamine interference effects. Pseudo-Telomerax is still very ineffective in replicating the core active principle action. In other words, they understood that the cocaine effect lied on the outer molecules and focused on that."

Louis was moving to the next slide when one of the attendees interrupted him abruptly,

"Professor Picard, let me call you by your real name, this is all fine but we need to know who is responsible."

"Easy to understand why," thought Louis. They had a competitor for a multibillion dollar market. And Mr. Lee and the Communist Party of China could not accept the idea that they would have had to share their huge profits with someone else.

"As I said, any idea about who has done this is pure conjecture. From what I know, drug cartels do not have this type of scientific knowledge, even though they run large operations....".

Louis stopped and he thought about the lab tests run by Mr. Lee at the beginning of their cooperation. How long before his legal pharmaceutical company would start commercializing its own counterfeit version of Telomerax? He immediately restarted, fearing his pause might give hints to Mr. Lee about his reflections. Fortunately for him, his mind now processed ideas three times as fast as the one of ordinary people, and his audience barely noticed the pause in his speech.

"....the other thing we are quite sure about, looking at the new molecular structure, is that the imitators have come up with other serious side effects, such as a noticeable growth of the hormones that regulate aggressiveness."

This time, another member of the audience was polite enough to raise his hand before asking his question. "Maybe he is the trusted advisor of Xi Jinping," thought Louis. He stopped talking and invited him to speak.

"Do you mean, Dr. Picard, that people using Pseudo-Telomerax would experience the excitement of cocaine and have the metabolites of cocaine disappear, but over time develop a more aggressive attitude?"

"That is correct, but most importantly they will also become far more aggressive while under the effect of cocaine and Pseudo-Telomerax. They would attack things and people around them and would not stop until physically exhausted because they would feel the positive effects of dopamine."

Mr. Lee looked at the others and chuckled,

"Our imitators have invented the zombie drug then!"

He was immediately interrupted by the impolite member, whom Louis now suspected to be the head of the secret service.

"With the difference that it is easier to kill them, and the effects are not permanent. When do you think the effects will start to appear, Professor Picard?"

"It depends on the individual. However, looking at how Pseudo-Telomerax functions, I think it would take anywhere between two to three years. If I am correct, we should see the first cases on the news in one or two years from now, assuming this stuff has been around for at least one year."

Mr. Impolite did not bother to comment directly and instead turned his head towards Mr. Lee.

"Still, we do not know how our imitators have managed to get enough material to copy the pill. Are you having problems in your supply chain, Mr. Lee?"

Mr. Lee was not used to answer difficult questions, but he was expecting this one.

"Anyone of our customers can give it to a competitor, and we have more than five thousands users of Telomerax on the five continents by now. You can no longer count on the loyalty of everybody. We are, however, reviewing our distribution chain to see if there are major inconsistencies."

Mr. Lee did not mention that he had evidence that in Africa, India and the Middle East also real Telomerax was being sold along with the fake one, out of the control of his channels.

"Mr. Picard, at the beginning you said the fake drug was not able to replicate the effects of Telomerax. Are there any side effects besides the one of cleaning up cocaine in the body?"

The question came from the last member of the group who had not asked any questions so far. Louis looked at Mr. Lee, who remained impassible. Had Mr. Lee never shared the anti-aging news with his team? Or was it only unknown to this group? Were they seeking a further confirmation from him directly? Then, why were they using his real name? His fake identity was a British one.

"I thank you for the great attention you paid to my presentation. The fact is, I started in cosmetics, and Telomerax was supposed to be a skin care treatment, delaying the aging of cells and preserving the youthful appearance of my patients. It had a certain success, but then I found out the side effects on cocaine and my partnership with Mr. Lee began. It seems that the organization that is now copying my drug has no insight into aesthetics and looks only to reap immediate profits, at the expense of long term losses."

The man acknowledged Louis' answer with a smile. Louis thought he was probably the one representing the Bank of China.

After the meeting, when Louis finally returned back to Zurich, he was still so lost in his thoughts about the Beijing meeting that he almost ran over Frau Hannelore Glockner, their neighbor. He screeched to a halt before the pedestrian crossing, where Frau Glockner was walking. After a short moment of sheer terror, Frau Glockner quickly regained control. She ran to the left side of the car and knocked on the driver window.

As the childless widow of a bank executive, she was living in the house opposite to the one of the Picards and she used to rent out rooms to students and foreign young workers to continue living in the expensive neighborhood. Louis rolled down the car window. Frau Glockner was overwhelmed with disbelief: how could an orderly, polite and respectful person like Louis - whom she knew as Richard Pearlman - behave like her previous Italian neighbors?

"Frau Hannelore, I am terribly sorry! I was lost in thought and I think the car has a problem, because it did not react immediately...you look terrible, if you want I can take you to see a doctor...just to make sure the scare did not have any other effect...."

"Herr Pearlman, I was not expecting this from you," Frau Glockner replied coldly, moving back to the last name, after almost two years of addressing him on a first name basis. "Since your arrival five years ago, I was hoping that your young yet rule-abiding family would help me in restore some much needed discipline to our neighborhood, but I was wrong. I will have to watch over you as well. Good evening, Herr Pearlman."

She walked past the car to her door, without waiting for a reply. Louis parked the car in the garage and entered his house. From the living room couch, Dora groaned to welcome him home. The television was airing one of the old episodes of Dr. House. He hesitated, then groaned back, and headed to his basement lab.
Chapter 22

Louis had been back from China for more than a week, but the only sign of life he gave from his lab was a request for a sandwich.

Dora used to give psychotherapy advice to her patients, but over the last months she noticed she had given up advising couples in trouble. She knew why.

As Christmas was approaching, she used to spend the whole afternoon shopping in the gleaming streets of Central Zurich, accumulating gifts for no one in particular.

She decided it was time to face the problem. She went down to the basement and stood in front of the retina scanner. The door opened and she entered the room. At least Louis had not reprogrammed the security system. She walked down the corridor and there she found him, sifting through images and numbers on three different screens glowing in front of him. He did not realize her presence until she touched his shoulder. He turned towards her, forcing a faint smile, but realized that all his face could show was a mixture of tiredness and sadness. Dora stared back and whispered,

"What is bothering you, Louis? Is it the new version? Is it our team? Or is it me?"

"The new version might not work, I am not sure. I do not even know how to test it. I have not heard from George in weeks. At least I can take comfort in knowing Helena is focused on Aurora. She and the baby are doing well and are safe in Brazil while I have the feeling that Tarek and Valerio are not as safe as they pretend to be.

I am tired, Dora. And I fear it might all fall apart in the worst possible way. All of the sudden, I feel all my eighty-one years of life hitting me. Sometimes I think all of this should have never started....as if something inside me is telling me it's time to give up."

Dora did not answer. She hugged him. She started kissing him and when he hesitated, she drew all the more closer.

"Forget it all. It's just you and me. We are going to make it, one way or another. And forget your tests for today."

A few hours later they were in bed, exchanging meaningless small talk and laughing at each other's inside jokes.

"Louis, have you noticed that Frau Glockner no longer greets us by name? And I have found her staring at our house from her living room window, quite a few times. Imagine if she looked into our windows now..,"

She chuckled.

"Oh, Frau Hannelore..I should have told you. I almost ran her over the other day, when I arrived home after my long flight. Do not worry. I think we are back to the 'neighbor probation process', like when we arrived back in 2011. In a few months she will be back to normal and greet us on a first name basis."

"Oh yeah sure, in a few months," Dora echoed. "So many things can change in a few months."

Louis suddenly changed his tone. He looked at her with tenderness and fear.

"Dora, you know what Helena went through to have a baby. She made it. It is not guaranteed at all that you can make it too. Why did you want to take the risk?"

"Why did you accept to take the risk with me, Louis? You could have stayed in front of your screens."

"Because I knew if I didn't, I would lose you. Maybe I was selfish, but I prefer to be with you until the end rather than regretting the end of our relationship while we are both still alive for eternity."

"You men always calculate. I simply felt it was the right thing to do. And now, run back to your lab, you have one more good reason to fix your drug!"

She kicked him out of bed and went to take a shower.
Chapter 23

Skip Ross landed in San Francisco on the early afternoon flight from Washington, one rainy and foggy November day in 2015.

He checked in at the Marriott Hotel, close to Union Square, and then waited in the lounge. He had been told he would receive instructions in due time for the evening dinner. While in the lounge, he went over the last points with the head of the surveillance squad. The squad was hired to discreetly watch his back and, more importantly, to record and find out all necessary information about the people he was about to meet.

All he knew now, was that the dinner had been called by Charles Daniels, who had recently left Pfizer and set up his own company. Charles did mention that other important people would be present at the meeting, but he did not say anything more over the phone.

At about 6:45 in the evening, the text message arrived. It contained the address of Danko's, a restaurant close to Fisherman's Wharf, on North Point Street. He had to be there in fifteen minutes, making a taxi the only option.

As he hailed the first one down, he wondered how it was possible to organize such a meeting in a restaurant. Anyone could eavesdrop....or snap a picture with a smartphone. It all felt really unprofessional to Skip.

The taxi pulled up in front of the restaurant, and Skip noticed that the parking spaces were tight. This meant the van of the surveillance squad would have to keep circling around the block. Maybe his hosts had not been completely all that careless in choosing the location. As soon as he walked in, Skip noticed that the restaurant was half empty and all the people at the tables were Asian. More precisely, they were all thirty-years-old Asian men dressed in dark suits. No one looked at him.

The waiter promptly led him across the restaurant, to a curtain that hid the private reception rooms, where there were three people waiting for him. There was Charles Daniels at the end of the table, an Asian with the looks and manners of a wealthy man, and lastly, smiling and politely waving him to the place next to his, there was George McKilroy.

They all shook hands. The Asian man introduced himself simply as Mr. Lee. Then Charles took the floor.

"Skip, thanks for accepting the invitation. Before we start, can I ask you to send a text to your team outside that everything is fine and that they do not have to enter the restaurant?

As you can see, we booked the place for the whole evening to keep unwelcome ears and eyes away. Once you send the text, the bodyguards of Mr. Lee, who are having dinner out there, will switch on their necessary means of protection to make sure our privacy is guaranteed. The dinner will last until nine in the evening. Mr. Lee is still suffering from jet lag and wishes to catch up on his sleep."

"Alright," thought Skip, "you managed to create a secluded Chinese zone in Central San Francisco." He waited for a moment and then sent the message. Mr. Lee acknowledged his action with a smile and gave a small nod towards a bodyguard by the curtain. As the intimidating man left, Skip glimpsed all the guards on the other side of the curtains reach for their phones. In a few seconds, his smartphone went black. Mr. Lee started to talk,

"Let me also thank you for your availability, Mr. Ross. I fully understand that with a job like yours, it is not easy to make room in your agenda on such a short notice. However, the matters we have to discuss tonight are extremely urgent and relevant, for the security of our countries."

"As you may know, in the past we have introduced some changes - positive changes, I dare say - in the drug market. I do not expect you to approve or even endorse this business, however in the past few months there have been some unwelcome intrusions which we must work together to stop.

Our new competitors in the field, the Russians, made their way into the market by buying a distribution channel from our former partners in the Arab Emirates. They paid by giving the Emiratis unlimited access to weapons of mass destruction. All the evidence is stored here, for your experts to analyze." He placed a memory card on the table. Then George jumped in.

"Skip, I know you are biased towards our organization, but we realized that the Arabs and the Russians are going too far and we cannot simply take them out of the game with standard drug cartel rules. You know what I mean, the occasional street shoot out and what not. We need to show them that they have trespassed a line they should have respected."

"Hang on," Skip interrupted. "I am getting lost in your unclear messages. What do you want me, or better, the United States to do? You want us to fix your drug cartel rivalries by bombing Russia or Dubai? Please tell me I got it wrong. Otherwise, give me a very good reason why I should do it."

Charles replied, for George.

"Skip, the message is very simple. Mr. Lee and George are losing control of Telomerax production and distribution, to the benefit of the Russians and their Arab allies. Meanwhile, the Russians are feeding the Arabs with stockpiles of nerve gas and other biochemical weapons in exchange for the drug. This basically means that biological warfare arsenals are now growing virtually out of control, because we do not know to whom the Arabs may resell them.

So here is the deal: Mr. Lee and George will re-engineer their manufacturing and distribution chain away from these unreliable partners, but they need your help to disrupt the existing one. In a way that nobody will ever try to organize something like this again, for fear of having the most powerful and resolute United States security agencies against them."

"Back up," interrupted Skip again, while he was struggling to remove the shell of a giant fried prawn. "You mentioned you needed security agency intervention, but now you are calling for the Armed Forces. I may agree with the idea, but what exactly do you have in mind? And then, how do you plan to rebuild your network? I don't think you want to destroy your business forever."

Mr. Lee smiled. This Texan was not dumb at all, even if he was awful at removing shells from seafood. He continued to expose the plan.

"Mr. Ross, we are thinking about using the fifth secret clause in the Sino-American security treaty, the one that grants Taiwan access to all US weapon systems, public and secret, in case of a danger to their territory. And the system we are thinking about to use is Zeus."

Skip nearly choked on his prawn. So this Chinese tycoon was aware of the existence of Zeus and thought he had the right to ask for it to be put into action?

"Mr. Lee, with all due respect, assuming there is such a thing as a fifth secret clause in the Sino-American security treaty, you know that Zeus requires presidential clearance on our side to be triggered and head-of-state authority from a foreign country before requesting its usage. Do you think you can arrange all that? And do you know that we will have just a few hours?"

"Oh, we know very well that the system was developed in the aftermath of 9/11 to re-program the route of commercial jets, in case no other option was feasible. All major plane makers, which is to say Airbus and Boeing, provided the NSA with backdoors and activation codes, to seize control of their planes when necessary. So your clearance procedure can indeed go through within hours, provided the right evidence is given."

"Alright," Skip said. "You seem to know the procedure. I expect you to follow it properly the day you decide to invoke it. However, you have not answered my second question, how do you plan to re-organize your business after your get rid of your unloyal partners?"

"This is the easiest part," Charles jumped in. "Thanks to your cooperation and the knowledge of George, we can now make the pills on our own. We strongly believe that in a few years from now, we can evolve the drug into a fully legal one, with obvious benefits for the US...and China, of course."

"That's why you left Pfizer, you did not want to share the profits with your old employer," noted Skip sarcastically.

"It's the animal spirits and free initiative that made our country great, Skip," George responded. "Now we have the opportunity in front of us to bring this ground-breaking discovery under an American roof, on equal footing with our Chinese partners. Personally, I hope it becomes legal sooner, rather than later. True, illegal stuff has much higher profit margins and creates alot of opportunity for the black market, but I am counting on you to help us bring this out in the open."

Skip looked at the clock. There were five minutes to nine. Between prawns, small talk, and the main topic, time had flown. He stood up, shook hands with Mr. Lee, and concluded the meeting.

"Gentlemen, let me summarize the interesting conversation we had tonight. I agree we need to send a strong signal to stop the Russians and the Arabs meddling with weapons of mass destruction. You will always have us on your side for this. For the rest, let me be very clear; if you get into trouble with the Drug Enforcement Agency, the FBI or even a county sheriff during your um...new business venture, don't even think about mentioning my name. I will side with them. Finally, I have to admit that prawns are not that bad, once you manage to peel them."

He left the restaurant, followed by Mr. Lee and his platoon of bodyguards. Charles and George remained alone at the table, looking at their empty glasses of wine.

"We did not tell him that the Telomerax we are going to make is not the original one, but a derivative," said George.

"Forget about it, he would not have understood at all. It took me one entire day to listen to the explanation of Dinesh on how and why the two drugs were different. The key point, is that the cocaine interaction and the anti-aging effect is maintained. By the way, thanks again for joining our venture. Without you, we would have never made it. Were things so bad with your old team?"

"Well, you know, it's a bit like your own situation. Why did you make the decision to leave Pfizer? You were powerful and respected, after all."

"Because I increasingly felt I would be better off outside. I felt more and more out of sync with my team mates. And then a new opportunity showed up to leverage my knowledge, and.."

"You see?" interrupted George, as they walked out of the restaurant. "Just like my case. On a more personal note, after more than ten years away, I was really missing San Francisco and Silicon Valley. This is my hometown after all, even in the foggy rain of November."

A car slowly stopped by the roadside, and the driver waved to Charles. He said goodby to George, opened the door, and entered the car.

"Hi Sally, how are you doing? I was just about to tell George that you were one of the reasons I left Pfizer, because you cannot work in a place where you are dating your assistant, but he did not let me finish the sentence."

"I am always great when I am with you, darling! How did your dinner go?"
Chapter 24

Tarek and Valerio did not like the way things were going. Ever since the birth of Aurora, they felt the team had started to break apart.

The relation with George was becoming more of a business one than the friendship it used to be. Just within the last year and a half their correspondence had faded to a few emails per month about updates on the Telomerax production and diffusion. They had not met in person since 2015.

Louis and Dora had isolated themselves in their villa on the secluded hillsides of Zurich, with Louis completely absorbed in his studies on the new variant of Telomerax.

Helena was the only one who kept the friendship alive. She regularly called Tarek and Valerio, using her secure internet connection.

Her video calls almost always ended with the latest mischiefs of Aurora. She had managed to recover fully from the cancer and it was clear that her focus was now on her child. She never said where she was calling from - all that Valerio and Tarek knew was that it was somewhere in Brazil, where she could count on the protection of the narcos clans.

Tarek and Valerio, however, regularly met in person at least once a year, thanks to the fact that Tarek took his family to London during the Christmas shopping season. In December of 2015, they were sitting in front of their beers in a deserted pub near Canary Wharf. It was a Saturday afternoon and all the surrounding office blocks were empty.

Tarek gave a generous tip to the waitress before lighting a cigarette. As he expected, nobody came to enforce the no-smoking rule.

"How are you doing, Valerio? I am already tired of our annual Christmas shopping week, even though the boys are old enough to take care of mom at Harrod's and I can spend my time with friends.."

"Being tired of London means being tired of life, Tarek," Valerio rebuffed. "You have many more trips in your future, and most people would give anything for the gift we have."

"Ah, yes, our gift. Let's call it that. Do you think we are on the right track? I honestly have a bad feeling."

"It is more than a bad feeling, look at this." Valerio put in front of Tarek some printouts for him to read.

"Hmmm...some Asian millionaire in Taiwan went a bit too far with his cocaine party and the end result was a shoot out with more than twenty dead, including the party host?"

"That is the official story on the Taiwanese news, translated by Google. But even the original, in Chinese, fails to mention the most important details that I got thanks to my connections in the newspaper industry. First, it was not a normal shootout, like the ones that happen all the time in New York City. It surprisingly was the host, that all the sudden lost control of himself and started killing his guests by all possible means: from guns, to knifes, and even his bare hands. The casualties include the first three cops who were called in to try to stop him.

Second, the party was only partially based on cocaine. The guy is one of the first customers of Telomerax in the region, at least according to the latest list of customers that Mr. Lee and George gave us six months ago. So I tried to contact George to find out more. After more than two weeks, he called me back as if he was doing me a favor and pretended that Telomerax has nothing to do with it. As if this guy had indeed moved to the Russian version - you can call it Telomeraski if you want. So, yes, it is definitely spinning out of control."

"Now I understand why Rasim is growing uneasy..." said Tarek "He might have a part in this. You know, he has been giving huge amounts of pills to the Russians, but I thought he did this simply to build his fortune. But apparently Russians have added their own sauce.."

"..and the whole thing is morphing into something no one was expecting," Valerio completed. "Jesus, the only thing I do not regret about this whole thing is that I told the Pope three years ago."

"Not even the Pope can solve our problem, Valerio. I do envy you a bit though, for this special, last resort outlet you have to discharge your soul...when you remember you have one.." Tarek laughed. "Did you hear anything from the Vatican again? What are they doing with the information?"

"About one year after the new Pope took office, he called me on the phone. I was right in the middle of a client meeting, when I saw the number from Rome. I picked it up, and a voice told me they are going to put me in contact with His Holiness Pope Francis. I was surprised, but not too much, since it is known he often calls personally when he is touched by some special story. I knew I had told Benedict XVI special information.

I automatically wondered how to make sure the conversation was confidential, as I do with every important call, so you know what I said? 'Please confirm that the following discussion will not be wiretapped or recorded in any way.' I felt like an idiot, the moment I finished the sentence."

Tarek was doing his utmost not to burst into laughter, and Valerio continued.

"I think he also laughed on the other end of the line, however he responded respectfully by saying he had discussed my case with his honorable predecessor, and he was praying for me."

"That's it?" asked Tarek, who was regaining control over his laughing fit and getting interested in the story. "I mean, it is not every day you get put on the Pope's list of special intentions but did he give you any advice?"

"He mentioned he was trying to see what he could do with the information, he thanked me again because this would help him finalize his decisions, and he stated we had to rely on God's grace to get answers on difficult matters. This, in practical terms, meant a lot of prayer and discussion with those he trusted within the Church."

"So he is sharing the secret inside the Church," Tarek pointed out. "If he shares this with more than a dozen trusted people, we have a very good chance that someone betrays him and uses it for their own interest."

"That's exactly what I thought, but I did not dare bring it up. I am sure he is also fully aware. But if you look at what he is doing and saying in public, it seems he is really trying to refocus the Church away from any specific moral or political positioning, and return to the basics."

"Alright," concluded Tarek. "So we have His Holiness, Pope Francis, on our side with all his Swiss guards, that everybody knows have about as much strength as an ant. What is next?"

"Don't be an asshole," said Valerio "at least he comforted me, even with a one-minute call. In the long run, it will help to be on good terms with the Pope. And unlike Galileo, we have time to see things unfold."

"Well, we definitely could use some faith now," said Tarek. "Back to other business, Rasim has been called by George to go to Taiwan in about one month from now. George said that Mr. Lee wanted to reassure the local head of the drug dealers that we, alone, sell quality products.

Rasim asked me to go with him, hinting that George would like to see both of us. But I did not get any call from George and I do not have that much interest to pick up the phone. Anyway, I was wondering what was behind this invitation to Taiwan, but now that you told me this shoot out story, things start to add up. But why would George not tell us anything?"

"It looks like he trusts Mr. Lee more than us, or he believes that we sided with Helena after they broke up," Valerio said. "The problem is, what if he passes completely to the other side? Will we still be part of the team or be put on the enemy list?"

"Valerio, in our business you cannot afford to take risks. If you are not one-hundred percent sure that someone is a friend, it is much safer to put him on the enemy list."

"George, an enemy?" pondered Valerio.

"Maybe not, or just not yet," Tarek said, "but you know what? I moved to a new house, and changed a few habits that George knew all too well. He can still reach me, but he no longer knows if I put the house keys under the doormat or next to the garage door. I suggest you do the same. And also, prepare a quick relocation plan to a safe place in case something goes wrong with him or with his new best friends. Just as Helena did."

Tarek put out his cigarette in the remaining beer at the bottom of his glass, and asked for the bill.

"Now you have to excuse me. In half an hour, my wife will be waiting for me outside Harrod's, and I am way too far from there. Merry Christmas, Valerio, and pass it on to the Pope if he calls you back for the season's greetings."

Tarek patted Valerio on the back and shook his hand, then stepped out of the door into the chilly winter air, and jumped in the first taxi that passed.
Chapter 25

February mornings were unbearably cold in the Negev Desert. Eyal and Yaakov had been flown to the secret weapons test range during the middle of the night, and with them were the top ranks of the Israel Defense Forces. They were about to see the first demonstration of the new biodrone technology that had long been in development and which Eyal and Yaakov had strived to keep secret. They had only a few hours to carry out the test, because Russian and American spy satellites would soon fly over the area and the test had to remain a secret.

As the sun started to rise, the flat rocky plain started to change colors, from pink, purple, and then yellow. Soon, all the landscape would reverberate in white. In the distance, through the thin and clean air, it was still possible to see the buildings of Dimona, where Israel's first nuclear bomb had been developed. People realized that the targets were of different nature. Instead of old tanks and transport vehicles, there were a few sheeps, goats, and even a couple of horses closed in a somewhat neglected iron corral.

Then, the loudspeaker asked the attendees to take their places on the stands, as the test was about to begin. Yaakov calculated the distance to the targets - certainly more than a few hundred yards but perhaps less than half a mile. Anyway, too close to test high explosives. The loudspeaker declared that the test had begun, and asked the audience to look out towards the Western horizon. After a few seconds, they could spot a drone. It flew over the animals at a height of about one thousand feet, then it released a small circular device, that exploded about fifty yards above ground. "To use the word explosion was actually an exaggeration," thought Eyal, "especially for people who had witnessed real wars."

The noise was more like the uncorking of a giant bottle of champagne. Then nothing happened for a few minutes. Yaakov was about to tell Eyal that the test had maybe failed and they had wasted a good night's sleep, when the goats and sheep started to fall to the ground one by one. In less than a minute, only the two horses were left standing in the corral.

The speaker declared that the test had succeeded. A few jeeps were waiting next to the stands, for transportation to the corral.

When they got there, Eyal and Yaakov examined the animals. The goats and sheep were undoubtedly dead, without any wound on their bodies so they had to have been killed chemically. Yet the toxin had to be extremely volatile considering only five minutes had passed since the attack, and they were walking in the area under no danger. The one question left was; why had the horses survived?

People were exchanging glances and unfinished sentences, when Tamir Pardo, the head of the Mossad, appeared and introduced a young lieutenant who would give all the explanations. His name was Avi Eitan. He stepped into the corral and spoke,

"Today you have all witnessed the first live test of our new biodrone. After many attempts, we have managed to insert a microchip, stored with a small but lethal amount of toxin, into the nervous system of a fly. The chip sees everything that the fly sees and can override its brain function to drive the fly in any desired direction. The chip is activated via remote radio control, and in this case it received images of the targets to attack - sheep and goats but not horses. In this experiment, the microchips were activated before they left the drone, and as they started flying around they detected the animals. As soon as the scanners identified the image that it was programmed to attack, it overrode the fly's brain and forcefully crashed it on to the skin of the selected animals.

The impact released the toxin, a special variant of the nerve gas, Sarin, that penetrated the skin and eventually killed the animals. If you observe carefully, on the surface of the carcass you will see the remains of the flies. But unless you have a very powerful microscope, you will not be able to detect the microchip, if anything of it is left at all."

"Very impressive, Lieutenant Eitan, and well explained. I can imagine a lot of applications for this but how many can we build? And what is the cost?"

The question came from Gadi Eizenkot, the ' _rav aluf_ ', or head of the chiefs of staff in Israel.

Tamir Pardo was the only one who could answer. This was a Mossad project, after all.

"I will start from the costs and the answer is: very low. Every microchip costs a few hundred dollars, then with the toxin we have to add another few hundred dollars, but we never exceed one thousand dollars per fly. The production process is still to be perfected, though.

The circuitry has to be wired to the fly while it is still a larva in the development phase, and the production yield here is still about ten percent. Which means, out of one thousand larvae, we can create roughly one hundred armed flies. Fortunately, failed larvae do not develop at all, so we can recover the chips and try again. Larvae are obviously not an issue to obtain. Flies tend to be short-lived, on the other hand. They last a few months at best. A few years back we leveraged some...how can I define it...external industrial advice to treat them in a way that our armed flies could survive for as long as one year. As of now, we can produce about one hundred flies a month, for a total cost of less than one million dollars. Of course, in case of national emergency, production can be quickly ramped up. In the test, today we used fifty of them which makes an average of five flies per target struck."

Yaakov and Eyal exchanged a look of complacency. That old bastard was counting only the marginal cost of production, when in reality billions had been invested in the program for the last few years. However, the same could be said of the nuclear program. Gadi knew that as well, but he decided it was not worth spoiling Tamir's moment of glory.

Yaakov and Eyal then got back into the jeeps that would take them to the airstrip, when suddenly, Tamir got into the car with them. He immediately closed the door behind him, and ordered the driver to leave without waiting for other passengers.

"Let's take advantage of this short ride to have a meeting about the life potion sorcerers," he said, looking at Eyal. "I can see Yaakov in my office anytime, since he reports to me, but I also need your input as representative of the counterespionage."

Eyal wondered why the head of the Mossad would discuss this with him. After all, Tamir had all the authority to decide what to do outside of Israel.

"Let me cut it short," Tamir continued. "We have reliable information that the diffusion of this drug is accelerating, with new variants popping up. It also seems like the original group is losing control. We got word from a sayan who is infiltrated in their organization. I discussed the matter with the prime minister, and our assessment is that we need to get the group under our control. We need to be in a strong position when this starts spreading beyond the wealthy circles."

"By getting the group under your control, do you mean that you want to take them to Israel? Against their will, most likely?" asked Eyal.

"You guessed it. Listen, we are aware of the risks. The fact is, this story is spinning out of control anyway. The only difference will be if we have a chance to sway the turn of events in our favor, or not."

Eyal looked at Yaakov, who did not comment. It was clear that the decision had been made. He looked back again at Tamir and said,

"Then why do you need my input, Sir?"

"Because you are the only one in our security community who had a chance to talk to one of the creators of the drug in the past. What was your impression? How would they react?"

"Based on a five minute conversation and the analysis of the video footage, the one I met, named George McKilroy, seemed like a very reasonable person you could negotiate with. I do not know how the others - especially the founder, Louis - might react.What happens if they do not cooperate?"

"We have not decided yet. For sure, they would not be on our friends list. But you do not have to kill all who are not friends with you - at least, not immediately. What would you do in my place?" Tamir was genuinely interested in Eyal's response.

"I know it is difficult, but I would try to set up a dialogue rather than impose control. After so many years of investigation, we still do not have a clear idea of their goals. We just keep acting based off our own ideas about them," Eyal commented, but he knew he could not change the decision.

The three men stayed silent for the rest of the trip, until they were dropped off at the airstrip, where Tamir boarded a helicopter. Eyal and Yaakov would follow on another plane with the rest of the audience. As the helicopter took off, Eyal asked Yaakov,

"When is the confrontation going to take place? Are we talking days, or weeks? And who are you targeting?"

"The first two members of the commando are already on site for one week for the final preparations. In two weeks, they will be joined by the other two. We are targeting Louis and Dora, his wife."

"Shit, Yaakov, do you realize that if anything goes wrong, we risk having Telomerax go public in a few days? It takes years to have Plan Lot ready, and you are going in a direction where we might need it in a few months!"

"I know, and I share your concern but the boss is the boss and Tamir wanted to get this operation started at all cost. Do not ask me anything else. I need to catch up on my sleep now."
Chapter 26

The plane took off from Abu Dhabi on time and began its route to the first waypoint, just south of Pakistan. The flight was scheduled to land in Taipei, Taiwan eight hours later. At the border between Bangladesh and Myanmar, four hours of flight away from the destination, the plane banked deeply to the right.

Most of the passengers did not notice, as they had fallen asleep after lunch was served.

Rasim, however, who was used to always being on the lookout for danger since his childhood, immediately noticed. He turned on the flight tracker of the entertainment system and it showed the plane was turning south, veering off its route and heading straight into the South Indian Ocean. After a few minutes, the flight tracker was switched off, and the flight service manager was called into the cockpit. When he came back, his face had turned pale. Rasim called him to his first class seat, he stated his identity and asked to talk to the captain. The flight service manager did not even bother to ask questions and walked him through the cockpit door.

There, the captain was hastily talking to the first officer in Urdu, their mother tongue from Pakistan, and sending messages in English via radio. As soon as the two crew members noticed Rasim, they stopped talking and sent him an inquisitive look.

"Good evening, gentlemen. You do not have to worry about me, I should only mention you that I am a high ranking officer in the _mukhabarat_ , the State security service, and I personally know Abdel-Rahman Al-Thaimi, your airline's chief security officer.

I understand something strange is going on here. You can call me Ibrahim. Can you tell me exactly what is happening?"

Hearing the name of the chief security officer, plus the calm and collected manners of Rasim, persuaded the crew to trust him. The captain dismissed the flight service manager.

"Sir," the captain responded, "my name is Naveed Shaheen, and I have nearly fifteen thousand hours of experience flying. What happening here is simple and yet impossible to understand. About ten minutes ago we completely lost control of the aircraft. I mean the flight management system has been reprogrammed to follow a new route, and there is no way we can reset it.

We tried to disengage the autopilot, and fly the plane manually, but it does not respond to any command. The radio does not work either. All the identification signals that every airliner normally sends out, have been switched off too. It is as if someone has taken control of the plane, and is flying us where he wants."

"Where is the plane heading now?" asked Rasim. "Could the hijacker be someone in the plane with some advanced technology?"

"We are going straight into the South Indian Ocean, in an area where the sea is so deep that the wreckage might never be found. Especially if we do not manage to switch the radio back on. Right now, we are invisible to the flight control centers. Military radars might detect us, but they rarely pass through this area. As for the passengers, I ordered the flight service manager to quietly search for anyone with any active electronic device."

Before the captain could finish his report, Rasim fired his orders.

"Naveed, please give me the passenger list and the cargo loading bill, I want to check them. Next, I want the crew to carry out a full inspection of the cargo hold. If the culprits are inside the plane, they could very well be hiding below. And be careful, they could be armed."

The captain nodded, and the first officer left the flight deck. Rasim sat next to the captain, who handed him all the flight documentation.

There was a total of two hundred and forty-seven people on board, of twelve different nationalities. Most of them were Taiwanese and Europeans but there were also some Russians, no Americans. None of the names sounded familiar to Rasim. He went on, to read through the cargo bill.

After a few minutes of sifting through the list he found it. In the cargo hold below the main deck, there were two separate shipments of Telomerax. One was the original one, in the disguise of Swiss chocolate.

The other one was the Russian imitation, which traveled under cover as lokum, the traditional Turkish sweets. And that was not it. The plane also contained some base chemicals from the very same factory, that had been used to manufacture the weapons Rasim had gotten from the Russians. The materials had apparently been ordered by a local Taiwanese company.

Rasim stopped reading, he turned towards the captain and asked how many hours they had left.

"Counting fuel reserves, just below five hours," the captain answered calmly. "Considering our current position, if we do not regain control of the plane in the next two hours, we will crash into the sea."

"Captain Naveed," said Rasim, "this is not by chance. I am the target, along with part of the cargo. Let's assume the plane is being controlled by an evil entity like the NSA or some similar company. What could we do to regain control as a last resort?"

"I have been thinking about it while you were reading the flight documents. The only thing we can do - which is very dangerous - is to completely switch off the entire flight management system and try to fly the plane using just the hydraulics and the basic electrical system. Except passengers will notice.."

A few minutes later, the co-pilot returned after inspecting the cargo, with nothing to report. The captain explained what he had to do and dispatched him to the avionics bay. Rasim decided to go with him. As he was stepping out of the cockpit, the flight service manager hurried in.

Worry was growing in the cabin, the entertainment system had stopped working for more than one hour, and some passengers who were used to flying the route were asking why they could not see the lights of Vietnam and China below them.

Rasim, the flight service manager, and the captain talked briefly, then the captain took the intercom.

"Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking. Unfortunately our flight has been affected by some minor issues. As you have noticed, we have a problem with the entertainment system, which we are now working to solve. We will need at least another couple of hours to fix it. Additionally, the Chinese air traffic control has put us on a route much further south than planned, and we are now passing above the South China Sea. It will take us a bit longer than scheduled, but we will be landing in Taipei four hours from now."

Rasim smiled to reassure the passengers and followed the co-pilot to the electronics room, below the passenger deck.

The co-pilot switched off the main electrical board, and the protection system activated automatically as expected. He then moved to switch off the flight management system, making sure the seat belt lights were still off, not to panic passengers. He then called the captain in the cockpit. The computers were off, but the autopilot was still engaged and it was impossible to regain manual control. The copilot switched to Urdu again, and the conversation quickly got animated. Then he stopped and turned to Rasim.

"Sir, our strategy is not working. Somehow the route has been installed into the system. There is only one option left, and the captain wants your advice. The idea is to completely switch off the engines and the auxiliary power systems, hoping this resets the computers and allows us to regain control. There is a risk though that we are not able to restart the engines."

"Switch everything off, now," Rasim calmly responded.

The engines stopped first, then the auxiliary power system was shut down and the plane became completely dark. Left suddenly without power, the aircraft reduced speed, and started to descend. Some passengers started screaming.

The captain immediately initiated the restart procedure. After a few seconds, the hum of the engines was vibrating through the cabin again, lights came back and eventually the plane regained speed and altitude.

Hostesses and stewards were running through the cabin, desperately trying to calm down passengers.

The captain announced that the failure in the entertainment system had created the major malfunction they had just experienced, but now everything was back under control and they would safely be landing in Taipei, in a couple of hours. Rasim went back into the cockpit.

"How can we ever be landing in Taipei, or anywhere else, if the plane has not changed direction?" he asked calmly.

"It didn't work," responded the captain. "And I think my passengers have already suffered enough panic and fear over the last few hours. I beg your pardon for not discussing it with you first, but I decided they would live the last two hours of their lives in peace."

Rasim agreed. He had always imagined that death would come to him swiftly and unexpectedly, in an ambush of some sorts. He was instead given two hours, that he did not know how to use.

In the meantime, the captain reactivated the entertainment system and turned to his co-pilot.

"Sir, it was a pleasure working with you over these last two years." He shook hands and hugged him. The co-pilot, a man in his thirties, was quietly crying in front of the control screens, as he was going through the photo gallery of his smartphone, looking at the pictures of his family for the last time.

Ten thousand miles away, in Colorado, Major Andrew F. of the US Strategic Air Command was observing the plane route in a room placed in the depths of Cheyenne Mountain. Zeus, the system he was now trying out for its first live mission, was being managed with the same procedures that regulated the launch of the US nuclear missiles. Just like every other member of the US strategic forces, Andrew was trained to take action without questioning orders. Even if it implied the death of thousands or millions of innocent people.

He was relieved that his duty caused minimal collateral damage, involving just a few hundred lives, in order to block the imminent and serious threats to the US and their allies. The procedure had been efficiently carried out, with presidential approval.

The screen showed that the plane still had about one hour and a half left of fuel and it was already on its way into the Indian Ocean, in an area where sea depth exceeded fifteen thousand feet, which made any rescue attempt impossible. Major F. had observed the remarkable attempt of the crew to regain control of the plane and decided it was too risky to leave the plane for another hour in the air. Maybe the crew could come up with a new idea to control the plane, or they might manage to re-establish radio contact.

So he typed the maximum engine power command on the keyboard, and then ordered the rudder to put the plane in a deep dive, to maximize the impact with the sea. At five hundred miles per hour, and with the help of gravity, the plane disappeared into the sea in less than forty seconds.

Major Andrew F. recorded the completed mission, as he fought the disgust that he started to feel, by using the techniques he had learned during his psychological training.

After a few minutes, his struggle was over. He had nothing to reproach himself. He had executed orders, and nothing in the procedure had gone wrong. This was war, and war has victims. In this case, he knew that the vast majority of them were innocent, but he knew what he was getting into when he was first offered the job.

Eventually he stood up from his chair, shut his computer, and went to the coffee machine to get a well-deserved mocaccino.
Chapter 27

The first espionage squad of the Mossad was made up of two young agents who pretended to be interior designers on a scouting trip for a wealthy client, looking for a house in Zurich. This allowed them to provide a quick explanation, if police stopped them as they were moving through the restricted streets of the Witikon neighborhood.

They arrived to Zurich in January 2016, tracked down the house of Dora and Louis, and started to shadow them. They soon realized that Louis was rather unpredictable in his errands. He often stayed home the whole day with just a short evening walk. Dora followed a far more regular routine. She always left the house at around nine-thirty in the morning and returned just before noon.

This made her a much better target for an abduction, but from the Tel Aviv headquarters, Yaakov had made it clear that the target was Louis and no one else. The surveillance team was then forced to spend hours waiting in the car, or take long walks around the neighborhood, to properly log Louis' habits. This eventually made them blip on the radar of Frau Glockner.

Their Middle Eastern looks made her immediately categorize them as Muslim immigrants, and as they were loitering around during the day, she guessed they were also probably without a job.

One misty February morning, she decided to confront them and knocked on the windows of their car asking what they were doing around her neighborhood. They answered with very poor German accents, that Frau Glockner could barely understand. All she could grasp was that they were looking for sites for their clients. What sites? What clients? Then she suddenly realized. These guys were probably looking for a new site to build another mosque, as if the one in the nearby Forchgasse street was not enough.

She still remembered how fiercely her former husband had opposed that project, before dying of cancer. Frau Hannelore Glockner was convinced the mosque story had had a part in his husband's fatal illness. No, Muslims would not take over Zurich, at least as long as she was alive.

The surveillance squad had fully realized that Frau Glockner risked becoming a major problem, so they started to circle around Louis' house from a distance. They failed to take into account Frau Glockner's tenants, though.

Frau Hannelore had called all her Serbian renters to the dining room and persuaded them to side with her. Some of them had had relatives killed by the Muslim militias in the bloody Bosnian war of the early nineties of the last century. Now their host country was under a similar danger and she needed their help to fight off this new wave of invaders, starting with the first two young men who had been patrolling the neighborhood for the last several days.

She wanted to know their whereabouts at all times, to be ready to report them to the police as soon as something went wrong, which surely it would. They used to move around the street, but after she had confronted them they had appeared less frequently. Her tenants accepted to help, more out of fear of losing their rooms than of a Muslim invasion.

By the time the other two members of the attack squad arrived in late February, Frau Glockner's household had tracked the whole recognition squad and was dutifully reporting the daily positions to their landlady, who recorded them on an old city map.

The abduction squad decided they would act the first week of March. The plan was very simple, the surveillance squad would follow Louis on the first occasion he left the house in the late afternoon, while the abduction team would wait on the main road. Louis would be distracted by the surveillance squad just before reaching the corner between his street and the main road. There, one of the members of the abduction squad would sedate him from behind, and load him quickly into the car with the help of the other two. Then, three people would bring Louis to the private terminal of the airport and take a private jet to Tel Aviv, while the last member of the surveillance squad would return to the car and fly back to Israel alone on a commercial flight.

The plan worked perfectly, except that as soon as Louis was being loaded into the car, unconscious, one of Frau Glockner tenants was already calling her with a full description of the kidnappers' vehicles.

Two Swiss police patrols, equipped with heavy weapons, intercepted the squad when they were still one mile away from the airport.

The last member of the commando was arrested, completely unaware of the interference at the Hertz rental car return area. As the Swiss policemen had quickly disarmed the squads, the Israelis did not have time to tell anybody in the Mossad headquarters that the operation had miserably failed.

In Tel Aviv, Tamir Pardo received a call from Yaakov in the afternoon that the operation had started and it should have finished by 7 PM. Fifteen minutes past seven, no departure confirmation had arrived yet, but this could be due to a number of reasons, like traffic jams. However, the call that Tamir received around 7.30 PM came unexpectedly. It was the Israeli Foreign Minister in person, who put him in conference call with a furious Yigal Canspi, the Israeli ambassador of Switzerland.

Yigal had just been invited to attend an urgent meeting with both the Swiss Interior and Foreign ministers to discuss an unfortunate episode that had just happened.

"How unfortunate?" Yigal asked.

"Very," was the blunt answer of the Swiss Foreign minister.

The instructions from the Israeli Foreign minister were crystal clear; the damage had to be minimized to try to mend the relationship with Switzerland in the shortest possible time.

After he hung up the call with the minister and the ambassador, Tamir called an open-ended meeting with Yaakov and his staff, starting at ten-thirty in the evening. They would not finish until a decent recovery plan would be set.

When Yaakov entered the office of Tamir a few hours later, he knew all too well that the recovery plan depended on him, as he was responsible for the failed mission. His goal as an experienced officer was not to avoid being laid off, but rather to leave in the most professional way and, most importantly, to ensure a legacy in his office.

Yaakov achieved the first goal by exposing the backup plan he had prepared in case of failure. The reaction of the Mossad was focused on the defamation of Louis Picard. The line to be kept with Swiss authorities was to admit to using the wrong way of an illegal abduction, in order to achieve the respectable goal of securing the safety of Israel from a dangerous drug dealer who was producing on Swiss soil.

The allegations came with a complete file of the activities of Louis and his team members in the past few years. If the Swiss asked why the Mossad had not followed a legal path to get cooperation from the Swiss authorities, the answer was easy.

There was overwhelming evidence that Louis was well connected in the financial, industrial, and even academic community of Switzerland, so the Israelis feared something might have leaked, putting him on alert.

Tamir Pardo appreciated the attention given to preparing Plan B. It was as accurate as the main plan, that had unfortunately failed. He thought it was really a pity to have to fire Yaakov, most probably for circumstances that were beyond his control, but he needed a victim to placate his government and the Swiss one, and Yaakov was the perfect culprit.

The meeting ended shortly after midnight, Tamir dismissed all the team with the exception of Yaakov. The people in the room left in silence. As soon as the last one closed the door behind, Yaakov took the envelope with his resignation from a pocket in his computer bag. He handed it over to Tamir, who set it aside on his desk, without bothering to open it.

"I need to ask you a few final questions before letting you go, Yaakov," Tamir said plainly. "First, do you already have any ideas for your new life out of Mossad? We can help you build a new career, of course. And second, I would be very interested to get your advice on your successor as head of foreign operations."

Yaakov did not miss out on the opportunity to leave his legacy at the office that he had run for the last eight years.

"Well, Tamir, let's start from the end. No matter how well we get out of this accident, I think we are heading into more difficult times. Therefore I think you need somebody who is even more focused than I was on the security of Israel and much more attentive to details. I think Eyal would be a good choice but it is your decision, of course."

Tamir paused, then after a few seconds he grabbed the envelope and continued impatiently.

"You have not answered my first question."

"Oh, my future..", Yaakov paused for a while, "...you know, I have managed to set up some connections over the past years. I do not think feeding my family will be an issue. Believe me, Tamir, focus on protecting our country. It will require all your energy."

Yaakov stood up, without waiting for permission, shook hands with Tamir and left the room for good.
Chapter 28

The first winter snow was blanketing the mountains around Teheran. Alireza Gilani, the head of the foreign service of the VAJA, the Ministry of Intelligence of Iran, liked to look at them to draw inspiration when he was facing a particularly challenging situation.

"This is a tough call," he thought, as he read the reports received from Lebanon and the Gaza strip for the third time. He had to report to the Minister in a few hours and he had not yet figured out what type of threat his country was facing.

The first event occurred in August 2016, when at one of the tunnel building sites in Gaza, four workers suddenly died. Then something eerily similar happened again at two other sites in Gaza and then at three secret missile caches in Lebanon, all within less than two months from the first incident.

In total, the allies of Iran - Hamas in Gaza and Hizbullah in Lebanon - had lost nineteen members, plus three innocent people who were simply in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Then, rumors started to spread that workers at those sites were exposed to dangerous substances that killed people, and this made recruitment much more difficult and expensive. There was a serious risk that could jeopardize the next campaign against Iran's arch-enemy, the Zionist State of Israel.

Alireza was sure the Israelis were behind this. In at least two cases, Israeli drones had been spotted nearby, and for him this was evidence enough. He still needed to figure out all the rest to be able to respond to the attacks, though, and after four months from the first one he still had little insight.

According to Islamic law, all the victims had been immediately buried within the next day, and as unburying was viewed as a profanation, Alireza had ordered to bring the corpses of the victims of the next attack to Teheran for a post-mortem examination. However, this was met by the strong resistance of his allies, as Alireza was unable to guarantee that the bodies would be back in time to comply with the Muslim burial practice.

On the contrary, Alireza knew the corpses had to stay in Teheran for a fairly long period of time.

This was an unfair advantage their enemies had, as the Israelis and Americans would have unburied and dissected the corpse without blinking an eye.

The situation reminded him of 'The Anatomy Lesson of Dr. Tulp', the painting from Rembrandt he had seen in The Hague while working in the Netherlands, at the beginning of his career. For Alireza, this painting conveyed all the most dangerous Western vices that he had vowed to protect his people from. Rembrandt had been able to portray the insane curiosity to explore the border between life and death, the excitement for the discoveries of the new science, and the quiet awareness that this knowledge could be transformed into power over the world and other human beings. All things that God had clearly forbidden. This was the radical difference between him and his Western enemies, not just the fight for power over Middle East, or the different moral habits that the Islamic Republic defended.

However, if he wanted to continue to lead his battle with a chance of success, Alireza had to turn himself into some kind of Dr. Tulp.

"My God," he prayed, "it is very difficult to fight an enemy that is putting you in a dilemma; either to abide by my religion and lose, or win by denying what I want to be."

Then he looked at the clock. There was no more time. He rehearsed his proposal for the Minister, then called his assistant and left the office to join the meeting.

When he came back, he was relieved. The Minister, a doctor of Islam as the Iranian constitution dictated, had approved his plan. He picked up the phone, and called his chief agent in Lebanon on the secure satellite line.

Three weeks later, Alireza was showing the results of the autopsy to the Minister. The victims had been killed by a new nerve toxin that had been injected into the bloodstream. The toxin was very similar to other poisons routinely used by the Mossad.

The physicians ruled out the possibility of inhalation, as there were no traces of toxin in the lungs. Then, the Hamas and Hizbullah officers excluded the presence of snipers, seeing that the sites were too far from the Israeli border and there was no evidence of any bullet wound on the bodies of the victims. As no further evidence was available, Alireza instructed his allies to seal off the site of the next attacks - he was sure there would be many more - and to not touch anything before the arrival of a crime scene investigation team from Teheran. He also suggested to deliberately leave some hints on the new missile and tunnel building sites, to make them an easier target for Israel.

At the end of his report, Alireza could see the Minister was quite satisfied with his work. Although many pieces were still missing, the method was the right one.

"Good job, Alireza. Let me ask you one thing; did you use the _fatwa_ I gave you last time to persuade our friends to unbury and send us the bodies?" the Minister asked.

"Yes, Sir, it was absolutely necessary. It was not sufficient, though, as people were very reluctant to unbury the bodies. We had to hire some Lebanese Christians to do it."

"I see," the Minister replied, "now, Alireza, there is another thing I would like you to investigate. It is more a matter of control, but it might have some consequences, that we need to be prepared for. It's about drugs."

"Drugs, Sir?" Alireza could not hide his surprise. Sure, his team was involved in the heroin dealings in Afghanistan, but it was more a way to exert influence in the area than a business concern and he was certainly not smuggling it into the Islamic Republic. The Minister handed a police report over to him.

"It is a new type of synthetic drug that has appeared a few months ago among members of the upper class. It seems to have the same effects of cocaine but it is much more difficult to detect. We know it is being smuggled in the country, mostly through Turkey and the Arab Emirates. Given its effectiveness, it is being sold for a very high price in the market, and it looks like it is spreading among some influential members of the Pasdaran, the guardians of the revolution. We do not have a clear understanding. We have to find out who is behind this, and identify all the users in order to protect the Islamic Republic. I trust you can do this, Alireza."

Alireza took the report, bowed slightly to the Minister, and walked out of the office.
Chapter 29

Valerio arrived in Zurich the afternoon of April 21, 2017, roughly a month after the kidnap attempt. He took the morning flight to Stuttgart, Germany and then hired a car using a fake driving license that had been provided by Tarek. He had to brief Louis about the latest developments, and the only way to do it was in person, since they could no longer trust any other means of communication. They met at Louis' house, which was under surveillance of a Swiss police patrol. They walked along Witikonerstrasse for a few minutes, then took a taxi to the city center, walked along the lake shore and boarded one of the boats that were touring the lake. They sat at the bar inside the boat. It was impossible for someone to have followed them.

"How miserable is your life, Louis?" Valerio started, staring at his friend. It was clear he had not had a decent sleep in weeks.

"I am seriously starting to regret the discovery, Valerio," sighed Louis. "The Swiss police are treating me more like a criminal than a victim. After two weeks of having my face on all the major newspapers, all of my neighbors recognize me and make sure to steer clear. I could eventually get over it, but Dora cannot bear the growing social isolation. She is feeling more and more depressed and this is affecting the pregnancy. In addition to that, three days ago there was an attack on the pill factory. The building was completely burned down. The firefighters said it was probably due to a short circuit. Bullshit. I designed every detail of that building, it was one of the safest in this country. It was destroyed, and Swiss authorities are siding with the attackers for some reason. I have no idea of who they might be. The Mossad? The CIA? Or our dear friend, Mr. Lee?"

Valerio let Louis rant on, to allow him to discharge his tension. The boat was just about in the middle of the lake, when Valerio interrupted him. For sure somebody on the other side of the lake was waiting to listen in on their conversation, so he had to convey the important part of the message.

"Listen, Louis, the situation is bad but we still have a chance. The Swiss are being manipulated by the Mossad, I checked with my connections in the German press and they confirmed the local media is being fed by companies that are typically used by the Israelis to spread their own ideas. There is worse news, though. Do you remember the case of the airliner that went missing over the Indian Ocean a few weeks ago? For a couple of weeks it hit all the headlines, now the story is brought up only on aviation media and it will soon be put on the backburner. Well, we know for sure that it was not coincidental and it is in fact linked to Telomerax..."

Louis snapped back to reality in an instance and interrupted Valerio.

"We know? How do we know?"

"Rasim Al-Manna, the head of the Arab Emirates counterintelligence service, was on that flight. Shortly after the tragedy, the government of the Emirates received evidence that it was a brutal warning, not to mess up with the Telomerax trade."

Louis was getting impatient.

"Jesus Christ, how do you know this? You are just exaggerating, aren't you? Or does it come from Tarek?"

"The tragedy kind of took a turn in our favor. After the death of Rasim, Tarek was called by the rulers of Abu Dhabi. They informed him that Rasim had made some very dangerous deals with the Russians, and this was the retaliation. Then, they asked him to take Rasim's place to sort it out..."

"So now Tarek is head of the Arab Emirates counterintelligence?" Louis cut in with a faint smile. "This is a piece of good news, at least."

"It is, because it gave Tarek access to information we did not have before. Unfortunately," Valerio continued, "Rasim had been invited to Taiwan, as a trap set by George. Rasim had invited Tarek to join, but Tarek missed the plane. He was fishing and had gotten trapped in a mangrove. By the time he managed to clear his motorboat from the vegetation, it was too late to catch the flight."

A long silence followed, then Louis asked the question that Valerio and Tarek had been asking themselves for weeks now.

"Was George aware that Rasim may have brought Tarek along? Did George actually ask Rasim to take Tarek to Taiwan with him or did Rasim have a plan of his own?"

"We do not know. Rasim left no evidence and neither Tarek nor I want to ask George. One thing is sure, he did not even try to contact any of us since the accident."

Another long minute of silence followed. This time Valerio began again.

"Louis, we are under attack. And those who are after us do not mind killing hundreds of innocent people to hit their target. I do not want to take a position on George, at least not for now. I do not want to blame him, yet we can no longer trust him. We have to reorganize ourselves, and this is possible in only two places right now. One is to join Tarek in Abu Dhabi.."

"..and the other one is to go to Brazil with Helena," Louis completed the sentence and continued, "I pick this one. Dora told me several times she would like to share the experience of raising the baby with the help of Helena, which by the way will be a boy."

The thought of the baby seemed to revive Louis, so Valerio lingered on the subject.

"A boy! Congratulations, Louis! What are you going to name him?"

"He will be Dorian, the last name however is still to be decided...it depends on the next set of passports that Tarek sends us," Louis responded with a grin and then continued. "There is also another issue, can we still trust commercial airlines? What if they discover our identity and decide to shoot us down on our way to Brazil?"

"Tarek analyzed the risks and came up with a plan," Valerio said, as he placed a cardboard box about the size of a book in front of Louis. "Here you have three sets of passports and the airline itinerary. It is a bit complicated, but it should allow you to elude surveillance. It is all about timing. You have to leave Switzerland within six days from now."

"Six days?" Louis stared in disbelief. "My goodness, I have to dismantle the lab in my house and.."

"Tarek and Helena calculated that is the time you need to transfer your assets to the new accounts, set up by Helena in Panama," Valerio cut in. "As for the lab, just make sure you destroy all the sensitive data in your computers. Unfortunately, all what Dora and you can bring along has to fit in two carry-ons." Valerio paused, he saw that Louis' face was lost in thought. He started talking to himself, his eyes fixed on the table.

"I hate escaping like a thief. Worse still, I am inflicting this on Dora. Despite all of our achievements, or actually because of them, she has to escape her world just like her father did, except with a son in her womb."

The boat slowed down, and was moored at the pier. The movement brought Louis back to the decision he had to make. He looked back at Valerio, then quickly grabbed the box and put it into his pocket. Valerio was trying to find something to say to console him, when Louis abruptly asked him,

"Are you coming to Brazil, too?"

"No," Valerio answered. "I am going to live in Dubai, for now."

"I could have bet my house on that. Not that I need it anymore." Louis commented. Before Valerio could reply, he hugged him, disembarked, and took the first taxi home.
Chapter 30

Tarek did not like the office that had belonged to Rasim, in the military city, but it was a part of the job he could not change. He had learned the real cause of Rasim's death from Sheikh Hamdan, the Foreign Minister, just a few days after he had started his new job.

His mission, the Minister told Tarek, was now to undo the deal that Rasim had set up with the Russians, but without losing all the benefits that the Arab Emirates had obtained. In other words, the Sheikhs wanted to keep the weapons of mass destruction that Rasim had acquired. The Americans and the Chinese had made it clear that they wanted the Russians to stop the drug trade and the Emirates to destroy their chemical weapons. Tarek needed to have the Russians on his side, but for some reason they were pushing the Emiratis to give in. If Russia stood firmly with the Emiratis, it would be easier to strike a deal with China, since a long term oil supply would be involved. And then the US would be cornered.

Tarek needed something to get leverage on the Russians, but he could not find anything. He had had a number of talks with Arkady Dobrynin, the new Russian intelligence chief in the Arab Emirates, and he felt the Russians were hiding something from him. Tarek knew Rasim was giving them samples of the pill, which the Russians used to base their own version of Telomerax off of.

He was still reflecting on the course of action to take when he received a text message on his phone, requesting his presence at the Aquarium of the Dubai Mall. It was from Rasim Al-Ibrahim.

Very few people knew that Rasim used Ibrahim as a fake name, so the message must have come from somebody belonging to his inner circle. Could it be an ambush? Probably not, it made no sense to attack someone in the middle of the Dubai Mall. Tarek decided this was a good opportunity to spend the day out of the walls of the military base. He left the office and drove to Dubai, that sunny May morning.

Two hours later, he was admiring the coral reefs in the giant pond at the entrance of the aquarium, when he was approached by a young, red-haired woman who greeted him in Arabic.

"Marhaba, you must be Tarek. You match the description that Rasim gave me," she said. "My name is Irina, and I am the predecessor of Arkady. I am currently working in Moscow, but I feel there is some unfinished work to do here so I took a short break and flew in yesterday. Has Rasim ever talked to you about me?"

"Not too much, he told me he was quite happy with the way you had managed the Telomerax deal. Unfortunately, I am afraid that the new boss that has replaced you is not as cooperative. May I suggest we go have a cup of green tea?" offered Tarek, while moving towards the nearest coffee shop.

As Irina sipped her tea, Tarek recalled that Rasim had told him that Irina was a young woman in her thirties. But she looked considerably younger. He decided to continue the conversation from there.

"Irina, I must admit that Rasim was right," said Tarek as he passed the sugar. "One of the few things Rasim told me about you, is that you were by far the most attractive agent in the country. I hope that you do not get these looks with some, how can I put it...unconventional methods."

"Let's leave flattery aside, I called you to discuss some work issues," replied Irina, wondering what else Rasim could have told Tarek. "And I do not quite get what you mean by unconventional methods."

"I am talking about injections, pills, and other unnatural procedures. Sometimes they work but sometimes they lead to nasty side effects, if not properly manufactured."

"If you are referring to the pills that Rasim gave us, then yes, I have used them," Irina responded promptly. "Why? Is their quality poor?"

Tarek thought it was time to put all the cards on the table. He needed the help of the Russians to get his host country out of the corner where Rasim had forced it.

"Oh, you do not run any risk if you use the original version. Unfortunately, poor imitations have sprung up, just like what happens with Lacoste shirts or Ferrari glasses. And the one from Russia has proven, bad effects on people's aggressiveness, as we have witnessed in a few episodes in the Far East and Africa. There will surely be more to come."

"And how about the Chinese version? It is the same as the American one. Did you also have the opportunity to study it?" Irina asked. She wanted to show Tarek she was knowledgeable, too.

Tarek paused for a while and then continued. Irina had managed to impress him.

"The Chinese version...yes, we know it is out there. We have not yet carried out a full analysis. But we suspect nasty side effects as well. One of the best experts I know of thinks it is massively increasing the spread of tumors, and I'm afraid it is not going to stop. The pressure we are receiving from the Americans and the Chinese is overwhelming. They will not slow down the diffusion of the drug nor the multiplication of their variants any time soon. I think they are doing this to protect their own trade."

"You are totally right, Tarek. My new colleague, Arkady, has not realized it yet. I can give you some information that could help block the American and Chinese pressure, bringing Russia to your side. Of course, I would need something in exchange."

The eyes of Tarek flashed. Irina might be an angel sent by God to save him, he thought.

"Absolutely. What do you need from us?"

"Very simple. I want to know the name of the man who drew Rasim into the trap."
Chapter 31

Charles Daniels was furious. Dinesh Kheradpir, his chief technology officer, had decided to resign the day before the May investor meeting, that Charles had been carefully planning for months. This was a crucial step to present the new products that were based off of Telomerax, and to prepare for a stock offer worth several billions of dollars. Luckily, George, who was one of the main investors in the new venture, had been able to replace Dinesh and they had agreed to keep his leave secret, justifying his absence with unexpected personal issues.

This would calm the financial analysts for some days, maybe weeks, yet Charles and George had to quickly figure out why Dinesh had left the company, and what his plans were next.

They anticipated the answer. Dinesh was going to start his own venture, and maybe he had already been working on it for a while. The rewards of Telomerax were too high not to ignite the ambition of brilliant people like Dinesh, especially now that the Russians were being knocked out of the market and Louis Picard, the inventor, was under heavy surveillance. Charles and George needed to know more, quickly, so they decided to call Skip for help.

A few weeks later, in June, Skip invited both of them to Washington, D.C. He was now working to become the next CIA director, and he could not afford to leave the Capital for a single day.

Skip set the tone of the meeting on a sarcastic note.

"My dear, brave venture capitalists, heralds of entrepreneurial initiative and of the free market, it looks like the two of you persuaded your government into killing two hundred and forty-five innocent citizens, a few months back, for no reason."

Skip paused for a while. George and Charles shifted uneasily and Skip continued,

"Your old colleague is back in India. He has set up a pharmaceutical laboratory close to Mumbai, which is guarded very well. It is a mix of private security and regular soldiers, which means he has good connections high up in the government. We are trying to find out more about the involvement of the Indian government."

"Um....any idea of what he is making there?" George chimed in, with the most sheepish tone he could manage.

"Ideas? You think we can be satisfied with ideas here? You may make money out of ideas, but not us!" Skip snapped back. Then he regained control and continued, "this is what they are making there." He opened a drawer under his desk, and raised up his arm, with a small paper box firmly in his hands.

"The last time I handed a few pills over to you, Charles, it ended up with a plane crash in the middle of the Indian Ocean and no results in terms of our control over the diffusion of the drug. Apparently also the Indians are making their own strain, the Russians came to know and they are now refusing to give up their own variant. The outcome is, the drug is spreading out of our control. It is a complete fiasco, let's face it. Lastly, I have to report this to the new President in two weeks. You can imagine she will not be very glad to know that the drone attack strategy of her predecessor Obama, started off with hundreds of victims," Skip stopped just short of saying that this was jeopardizing his chances of becoming the next director of the CIA.

A short silence followed, as each of them thought of possible ways to move forward. George was the first to speak,

"Alright, we are in a situation where Telomerax, no matter what version, is accelerating its diffusion, mostly in an illegal way. In the last meeting I had with Mr. Lee, he showed me that we have more than three hundred and fifty thousand people addicted, all around the world. It sounds like a large number, but it is less than five percent of regular cocaine users. Each of them are paying an average of one hundred thousand dollars a year for the treatment, which means more than thirty billion dollars net profit every year. We do not know how many users control the Russians and their allies, but we can assume several tens of thousands as well. Quite soon, the Indians will join the party as well so.."

"So what, Sean?" Skip cut in, "I know the CIA is getting almost three billion of unaccounted cash per year from this, but I cannot tell the President this was the real reason behind destroying the plane. It would be highly inappropriate."

"What I think George is trying to say," Charles interrupted, "is that we have to look at it from an economic standpoint. The illegal market is going to expand, with new players coming in, so we have to secure a bigger market share by increasing the production and by speeding up the launch and the adoption of a legal version of Telomerax. If we arrive first, we can dominate the legal market by fighting a patent infringement war with the Indians and the Russians. The cocaine users will switch to the legal variant, and Mr. Lee and his friends will not lose money, as organized crime will just increase the price of cocaine."

"Exactly," George continued, "This is the only way we can follow, to make sure that those people in the plane did not die in vain."

Skip pondered the proposal. It seemed like it may work, yet there were still missing pieces.

"Let me recap. You said you want to manage this in a fully transparent and legal way, so I understand the CIA won't be called in for the kind of services we did last time. But then how about Louis Picard, the inventor? He could come to court and claim he holds the rights."

"Louis actually created a system to make sure everything would be kept secret," added George, as he had already imagined all of the consequences.

"Yeah," Charles joined in, "but he might change his mind, when he sees that we are making money by the tens of billions...Skip is right, we have to take care of that. By the way, it looks like Louis has disappeared as well, a few weeks after his Swiss laboratory was destroyed by Skip's team."

"Gentlemen," Skip interrupted, "let me be very clear. I helped you to activate Zeus, because there was a clear danger to US interests, but this does not mean that the CIA is now at your service. If you do not know how to locate and deal with Louis, this is your problem, not mine."

As he finished the sentence, Skip thought that his involvement in the first, failed activation of Zeus could cost him the promotion. He had to reduce his dependency on Mr. Lee and his friends.

Charles drew to the conclusion.

"Alright, we can all agree that we have to proceed with the launch of the anti-aging pill. Louis might become an issue, in that case we will try to manage it between us, without asking for Skip's support. Unless we identify a clear threat to US interests, of course." George nodded, and Skip was quick to understand the subtle blackmailing in Charles' words.

"Correct," commented Skip, "I think we are all set. Are you flying back to California tonight? Otherwise we could have dinner together - no business, just small talk."

Charles responded first, "Thanks for the invitation, but I risk losing my girlfriend if I am not back home in Long Island tonight. I have been on the road for the past three weeks." George, on the other hand, had a Netjets private flight waiting for him at Reagan Airport. They both left.

Charles received a call from Skip about two hours later, just after he got home. Sally frowned, and impatiently waited for him to sit down for dinner.

"Good evening Skip, did we leave anything out of our talks today?"

"I believe we covered it all," answered Skip, "however there is a new scenario I have to assess. What if George also decides to leave your company, just like Dinesh did? Would he be able to start his own?"

"He may be able to copy our Telomerax, but he would be exposed to the same infringement suits and without the protection of a foreign government, things would be much more difficult. So I think he realizes it would be better for him to stay near Louis and the original formula. This is my problem, though, you said so yourself."

"Indeed, Charles, indeed," Skip rushed to confirm. "It is just to get an idea of future events. We have to be prepared to face anything. Enjoy your evening and I trust you are not sharing this with anyone, not even Sally."

Charles stopped, wondering when he had ever told Skip about Sally, but before he could put together a question, Skip had hung up the phone.
Chapter 32

Louis stared out of the window of the laboratory overlooking the terrace where Dora was feeding Dorian, their two-month-old son. Just a few seconds of admiring the scene was all he needed to continue his work. His eyes then shifted, beyond the terrace, to the cove of Copacabana beach and the rhythmic waves of the South Atlantic Ocean.

Dora and Louis had spent the first six months in Brazil changing home every three weeks, until Helena announced that their final destination was ready. To their surprise, they learned that their new home would be a renovated house in a _favela_ , meaning the slums of Brazil. It was located on the slopes of Morro dos Cabritos, one of the mountains that surround Rio de Janeiro.

The favelas proved to be very organized communities, mainly controlled by the narcos, with full access to the infrastructure of the modern city. Built around the hills like Middle Age villages, they typically had a single entrance that led from the city streets to the maze of the favelas' alleys. It was easy to transform the tiny towns into fortresses, making them inaccessible to hostile intruders.

Helena had restructured a set of houses, transforming them into a four-thousand-square-feet apartment spread out among several buildings, which also included enough space for Louis' new laboratory. The most important people of the favela had all been put on payroll, so now Louis could count on a small army of five-thousand people to ensure continuous surveillance and protection.

He liked the new location, it was so different from the quiet and reserved neighborhoods of Zurich. The terrace, on the other hand, reminded him of 'Le Jardin' in Passoy. Dora also enjoyed their new life, and kept saying that it was the ideal climate to raise their newborn child. She was involved in the community, helping to run the local kindergarten at the entrance of their favela.

As for Louis, he was busy studying all the Telomerax strains that had been made. Counting the Indian imitation, there were now four versions around. His was still the best. He had managed to remove the carcinogenic effects that had caused the tumor in Helena, and Dora's pregnancy had past without any issues. He had also discovered that the version developed by the company of Charles and George could still increase the chances of developing tumors. He was completing the analysis on the Indian samples he had received from Tarek the previous month.

Along with the samples, Tarek had also given him heads up to be prepared for surprise visits. Louis was about to restart the molecular analysis software he was using to test the Indian pills, when Jorginho, the head of his security team, called him on his walkie-talkie.

Jorginho was at the entrance of the favela, where an extremely fit, middle-aged man had shown up with an interpreter, and asked to meet Louis. The man had invited the security team to check him thoroughly, and from his behavior, Jorginho immediately understood.

" _Olha_ , look, Louis," said Jorginho, "there is some guy here who claims to be named Yaakov. He wants to apologize for being responsible for your move to Brazil and he says a man named Tarek wishes you and Dora all the best. This guy is some sort of professional agent, I can smell it. What shall we do? Kill him or send him away with a warning?"

Louis immediately wondered if Yaakov was aware of all the risks he was running.

"Jorginho, _pelo amor de Deus_ , don't jump to conclusions so fast. Just scan him with the metal detector, make sure he is clean, and take him alone to the bar of Lenilton Silva. I will join you there. For sure, I do not want him in my house. Please make sure you have three of your best people with you too, you guessed correctly, he is a cop of the worst kind."

Half an hour later, Louis entered the small, windowless warehouse of the bar, where the air was suffocatingly hot. Louis invited Yaakov and Jorginho to sit down at a worn-out plastic table, while the security team stood at a distance, near the door.

"Welcome to Brazil, Mr. Yaakov," started Louis, "I hope you have other reasons for your visit, beyond making sure I have been able to settle in here."

Yaakov hesitated, as he quickly glanced at the bodyguards. Louis understood.

"You can speak freely, they do not understand English at all. Some of them cannot even speak proper Portuguese, as they grew up on the streets. What news from Tarek are you bringing?"

"In a nutshell," Yaakov responded, "We need your help. By we, I mean the State of Israel. As you might know, I used to work in the Mossad, and we have been following you for years, therefore we know quite a lot about Telomerax. Last February, we tried to have a conversation with you but, I have to admit, it was not the right way to start a partnership."

"Are you also responsible for setting my Swiss lab on fire?" snapped back Louis.

"No, we are not. We believe it was a CIA job, judging by the type of explosives used. Plus, the Swiss did not even try to blame this on us. Anyway, let me get back on topic. We know that this Telomerax is spreading like wildfire. We know there are at least three other strains besides yours and we need somebody that can help us. None of the big guys will cooperate with us, so you are our last resort."

"How do you know that there are three strains of Telomerax? And why should I help you? Your first approach was far from charming, you even said so yourself."

"Louis, let me make it simple. Tarek told us about the Indian strain. Israel and the Arab Emirates are both small countries at the center of much bigger interests, so as soon as Tarek learned that I had left the Mossad, after the Zurich failure, he contacted me.

I am a freelancer now so what I say does not involve my former employer, although I do still have strong connections and influence there. Anyway, here is the deal: you provide us scientific advice on the drug - which we do not want to manufacture by the way - and we make sure the CIA does not interfere too much with your life here. All the other countries, including China and Russia, cannot compete with the narcos influence here in Latin America, so if you keep the 'gringos' at bay you are safe. We have quite some influence in Washington D.C., and we also have a good network here. Originally it was to hunt for Nazi criminals in the past."

Louis thought that this deserved some challenge.

"Yaakov, you should know that if something bad happens to me or my family Telomerax goes public. Why should the CIA or anyone else try to hurt me?"

"Louis, don't you realize that the situation has changed? Those that control the three new strains hope that you keep it secret, to not derail their business. And they will react if and when you decide to take it public. You have the knowledge, we have a shield to offer to you and your team. It is an unusual alliance, but it is bound by the most robust glue; mutual need. Just think about it, Tarek knows how to reach me."

"Alright," Louis conceded, "so if I keep it secret, they won't bother me. Then why should I help you? You see that I am very safe here."

"You might be very safe, but not your loved ones. Not forever," replied Yaakov calmly. "Could you hand me my bag for a second? You know there is nothing dangerous inside."

Louis nodded, and Jorginho carefully handed it back to Yaakov. The three bodyguards reached for their guns. Yaakov slowly took out a few pictures, they were all of Dora and Dorian playing on the beach.

"All of these were taken from a number of hotel rooftops here in Copacabana, from a distance that can be easily managed by a sniper rifle. The only way to be truly safe is to live in a cave."

"Are you blackmailing me, Mr. Yaakov? Is this what will happen if I do not cooperate?"

"Louis, please, don't get too emotional. The terms of the deal are clear. If you help us when we ask, we will make sure that you and your loved ones are safe. Not only in this favela, but wherever we have influence and control. Otherwise, you will have to take care of security on your own and you now see how tough that can be. I think it is a fair deal. All we ask for in exchange, is some updates and some consultation. Anyway, I understand you might want to discuss the proposal with Tarek and your team first. If you agree, just send me a text message within one week, simply stating it is ok."

"There is no need to wait one week. Just do not give me tight deadlines. I still need my freedom for research. And I want to keep a small production lab here, for the benefit of the people in the favela. I think you and your associates can survive with a small, independent producer in the market, with no other ambition than quality and research."

"Absolutely, Louis. We fully acknowledge the value of having you alive and on our side," Yaakov grinned.
Chapter 33

Bassam Al-Biri clocked out his time to end the work day in the tunnel, just as the sun was setting. It was a little past the _iftar_ , the daily break of the Ramadan fast. Enduring the fast was becoming more manageable in 2019, as the Holy Month was moving away from the summertime and instead taking place in May. Bassam brushed the dust off of his arms and looked forward to the meal that his wife had prepared. He could afford a good dinner, and had invited many relatives and friends, as his pay had risen several times during the last few years. Because of the continuing, mysterious deaths of workers, the tunnel builders had by far the best paid jobs in Gaza.

Bassam had managed to get a place at the construction site thanks to his cousin, Moussa, who was a Hamas activist. Bassam himself was not a strong believer in the cause of Hamas, but he had four kids to feed and send to school, and he had also managed to negotiate a special insurance of fifty-thousand dollars in case of death. Every time the noise of the drilling machine or the dehydration got unbearable, he thought about how his kids would eventually benefit from his efforts, finish high school and maybe, one day, get a good job in the Arab Emirates. Unless Hamas, _inshallah_ , had managed to destroy the Zionist State of Israel in the meantime. In that case all his family would come back to what they considered their land, Palestine.

His thoughts were on the fresh _labneh_ yogurt that was waiting for him at home, when he felt a slight pinch on his right arm. His left hand reacted immediately and smashed the bug on his skin. He was about to look down to see what insect he had just killed, when a strong wave of nausea hit him. He lost his balance and fell to the ground, the nausea became a big black cloud that wiped out all his thoughts like a huge hammer. The last thing he saw were the shadows of his coworkers, rushing towards him from the tunnel entrance that he had just left.

All of Bassam's coworkers stopped just short of his body. They controlled the mixture of fear, anger, and grief they were feeling, and followed the instructions they had been given; not to touch the scene.

In minutes, an Iranian officer arrived with his assistants, and started taking pictures and collecting every kind of sample from the scene. At the end of the examination, in the middle of the night, Bassam was enclosed in a thermal-controlled body bag and smuggled into the Sinai Desert, from one of the many tunnels that were running below the border between Gaza and Egypt. Two days later, the corpse of Bassam was laying on a table in the research laboratories of the VAJA, the Ministry of Intelligence in Teheran, where the full dissection could eventually take place.

Four months later, Mehrdad Esfahani, the VAJA research head, sent out the Outlook invitation to brief all interested parties, as this time there was a ground-breaking discovery.

Alireza Gilani accepted immediately, canceled all other important meetings, and then went back to the Financial Times article he was reading. It was about the imminent offer of shares of Ambrosiax, a new US pharmaceutical company that was claiming to have invented a drug that could extend life by many decades.

Alireza was feeling a growing sense of anguish, as if he was under a siege of threats that were increasing by the day. He was sure that such a drug would be banned in his country, like the other synthetic drug that he had been fighting for the last several months in vain. At least he was now hoping to get some answers on this mysterious killer.

The triumphant tone used by Mehrdad Esfahani to start his presentation left no doubt; there was major progress done. Along with Alireza, there were the heads of the Gaza and Lebanese secret operations and the chief ayatollah of the Ministry, who was reporting directly to the Supreme Guide of the Revolution.

"For once," said Mehrdad, "we have to thank the Americans. Our officer in Gaza used to work in the Los Angeles Police Department, as a crime scene investigation expert, before deciding to return to Iran and leave his parents in California. It is thanks to his expertise that we have been eventually able to isolate the cause."

"Why was his family exiled to California?" Alireza prompted. "Are we sure we can trust him?"

"His family left Iran back in 1979, because his father worked in the secret police of the Shah, and Iran was no longer a safe place for him. He was born in the United States, grew up amid the Iranian diaspora of the West Coast, and became a police officer. Despite being a US citizen, he felt he needed to come back home. He returned to Iran in 2010, at the aged of thirty, and offered his skills to the Islamic Republic. After several years of loyal service, we decided we could entrust him to the most intricate tasks, like overseeing our investigation in Gaza. It paid off big time."

"What did he find out?" urged the head of the Gaza operations, eager to know the results.

"We analyzed each and every thing that was on the body of the victim, from clothes to terrain samples. We actually dug out and collected everything that was around the body in a radius of five yards, took it here to our labs, and went through a full examination of it all. It was nearly five hundred pounds of dirt. That's why it took some time, but we now know the answer. Our man - his name was Bassam - has been killed by a fly."

"A fly?" commented Alireza, showing his disbelief.

"Obviously not an ordinary fly," Mehrdad continued, "this one has a microchip attached to it, and is full of toxin to kill the victims. It is the attack weapon, no doubt. We have been lucky two times, or better, God has blessed us two times. First, the victim killed the fly and it remained attached to his body. Second, the methodology we used this time made sure no evidence could be lost."

"Beware of your statements," the chief ayatollah interrupted Mehrdad to challenge his view, "one might say that it was Western science, and not God's will, to help us out."

"But it was God that changed the heart of our officer, putting his knowledge at our service to show His glory and help us defend our country," Mehrdad promptly rebuked. He was used to the theological challenges from the ayatollah, and he never gave up an opportunity to stand up for his faith.

"Anyway, now we know exactly what type of new threat we are facing. From here, we have to find a way to fight back, but it won't be easy."

"No," thought Alireza, "it won't be easy. We will need help." He congratulated the research team, and he promised he would suggest them for a special reward in his next meeting with the Minister, in a few days. He then concluded the meeting and went back to his office. He noticed that after the long, dry summer the mountains outside of his window looked more barren and desolate than usual.

Israel had come up with a new, disruptive weapon, potentially more dangerous than the nuclear weapons that Iran was trying to match.

Three days later, he got his strategy approved by the Minister in the security review meeting. As soon as he was back in his office, he called the head of the Arab Emirates mukhabarat - the secret service. Alireza had never met him in person, however all his agents assured him that the one responsible for the counterintelligence, an agent named Tarek, was a reliable correspondent.
Chapter 34

On a sunny morning in January 2021, Valerio hopped into his brand new electric car and told the vehicle management system to take him to his office in the Dubai Internet City. He sat back as the car put itself in motion and moved out of the garage, then he connected to the office server via the free, ubiquitous high speed wireless network and started downloading the morning newswire feed.

The traffic was always so congested in Dubai that it took him almost an hour to drive from his posh villa in the Palm Jebel Ali Marina to the office, but starting a few days ago, this was no longer a problem. The self-controlled car took care of everything and he could focus on his work.

As he did every morning, he checked what he had called the "Animal House Report". Valerio had programmed his newswire software to track and record every drug-related report, to see if and how the side effects of the Russian Telomerax version were spreading around the world. As Louis expected, these events were becoming more frequent, with an average of four per month, worldwide. Tracking tumors in pregnant women was more complex, since Valerio did not have access to any clinical data. He eventually managed to build a robot that scanned all available medical publications. If something abnormal started to happen in the cancer rates of women, the medical community would find out, but nothing had surfaced until now.

Valerio was contemplating his idea about the effects of the spreading of the different Telomerax versions, when a call from California came in. He picked the call up, to hear George greet him with one of the loudest hellos he had ever heard.

George had made international headlines, as he earned more than ten billion dollars in a day with the initial stock sale of Ambrosiax, the company he had co-founded with Charles Daniels. George was now in the same league of titans as Bill Gates and Steve Jobs. As Valerio recalled the story, he realized that he had not been in contact with George for almost five years. What was he looking for? Was he calling to explain how it all happened? Valerio hid his surprise, and put together the most nonchalant answer he could manage.

"Glad to hear from you George, I was just wondering if your fame had made you forget about old friends, but that does not seem to be the case..."

George ignored it and cut to the chase.

"Valerio, maybe you have spent too much time in London, allowing you to master the art of the British understatement, but I do not have much time for that. I need help, from you and the team, if you still care."

"Well, you can count on me, and maybe Louis, but I cannot guarantee the support of Helena and Tarek, for reasons you know all too well," Valerio replied immediately. "If he wants to talk raw," he thought, "I better lay all the problems on the table right away."

A few seconds of silence followed, then George continued,

"Look, Valerio, in Tarek's case things are not what they seem. I cannot explain it now, but you have to trust me when I say that I was not the one behind the plot against Rasim. As for Helena, you know, these things happen. I even feel pain for not being able to see my daughter for almost four years. Anyway, can I count on you, at least?"

His tone was firm, yet Valerio sensed that George was scared. He was about to ask George why he did not call him before, when there was still time to explain, but then he remembered his conversation with Father Giacomo, almost ten years ago. Valerio had been allowed to share his problems with the priest without any questions asked beforehand.

"Alright, George, I am here. Tell me what's going on."

"It's Telomerax, the one we market at Ambrosiax. Despite the modifications introduced by Dinesh, our former head scientist, the drug still has horrible carcinogenic side effects. And they are starting to appear now. We have had hundreds of cases popping up in the last two months. It is still not publicly known, however the early reports that the FDA, the Food and Drug Administration, shared with us leave little room for doubt. Within six months from now the research will be complete, and by the end of the year it will go public, creating maybe the biggest scandal in the history of American pharmacology."

"Oh no, George," Valerio grumbled, "you already experienced firsthand the drawbacks the first version of Telomerax had, and you know how much effort Louis put in to try to fix it. How could you just go and trust the first scientist that you meet in your venture?"

"Well, Louis is not the only brilliant biochemist on the planet, Dinesh has a great mind as well," George snapped back, almost resentfully. "In our defense, we did test our version and it seemed as if we had managed to remove the carcinogenic effect. Turns out that it had only been delayed. Yet this is past us, we need to look at the future. I need two things from you."

"Ok, tell me," Valerio sighed.

"First, I need your company to manage the public relations of Ambrosiax. A huge storm is coming, and I need somebody with the full knowledge of the story to talk to the public with the right pitch. There will be congressional hearings, hundreds of lawsuits, monumental financial losses, but the biggest risk for Ambrosiax and its team - including myself - is to lose its reputation and disappear into oblivion. The line we want to follow is very simple; Ambrosiax made a big mistake that hurt our customers and ourselves, no doubt, and we will pay for the damages, however it was a learning experience. So we will fix the issue and continue our journey. This means that we will have to dispel all the negative criticism that will be thrown at Ambrosiax management."

"Tough request, but doable," Valerio commented. "What is the second thing you need?"

"I need Louis to give me the true formula, or at least some surrogate product - a simple life extender, without nasty side effects. I am sure that you can persuade him."

"George, I am afraid this is not possible," Valerio replied firmly. "If Louis does it, Dora and his child would be at risk. That's the deal that the Mossad made, with the agreement of the CIA, to guarantee his family's security."

Through the silence that fell, Valerio could sense George's frustration, yet he was not giving up.

"Valerio, are you sure about the conditions of the deal? I have connections at the CIA. I know the guy that is most likely to become the new director, now that the Republican candidate has won the presidency."

"No, I must admit I do not know precisely. All that Louis shared was he struck a deal with an Israeli guy, who claimed to have good connections to the CIA. The message was clear: stay out of the Telomerax trade and do not share anything with anyone and we won't bother you. Fact is, this happened almost three years ago, and so far the deal has worked. I do not think Louis wants to try to renegotiate it."

"Alright, Valerio. I will sort a few things out with my contacts in Washington before I come back to you and Louis. Nonetheless, I hope you can accept to work with my company on the public relations issue. If you agree, I am going to ask our vice president of public affairs to get in touch with you to work out the contract details."

Valerio wondered what he should do. He thought about Tarek; how would he react to this cooperation? Valerio wanted to help George, but could he afford to become a kind of traitor in the eyes of his Egyptian friend? He needed more time. After a long pause, he responded.

"George, do not take it as a no, I just need a bit of time to reflect on it. Can you call me back tomorrow, so we can have a more structured discussion?"

"Tomorrow I will have a structured no, Valerio," George replied bluntly. "It is not your fault, and you have plenty of reasons to decline, just do not fool me around."

Valerio tried to reply, but George hung up. He then tried to recall the number, but all that Valerio got was the automated voice of the department of public affairs of Ambrosiax that invited him to leave a message after the tone. As he took his eyes away from the multifunction display screen, he realized that his car had just finished parking in its reserved space in the garage of the new Dubai Internet Tower.
Chapter 35

Dora and Louis were sitting at a table in the Pousada d'Areia hotel, next to the beach of Arraial do Cabo, sixty miles away from Rio de Janeiro. It was late May 2022, the overbearing heat of the southern tropical summer had given way to a warm fall. They had decided to take a long weekend off with Helena and Guillermo, who had been married for one year.

Just outside of the pousada, Aurora and Dorian were playing in the white sand of the beach, and jumping in and out of the crystal clear water. Around them, Jorginho and his team were doing a discreet but careful surveillance of the area, with guns hidden in their diving suits. Two motorboats, moored a few hundred yards away from the shore, were also part of the surveillance squad.

They were just ending their lavish seafood lunch, when Helena's phone blinked. It was a call from Valerio. Helena answered and greeted Valerio warmly, then suddenly fell silent. Dora and the others could hear that the tone of Valerio's voice was serious, but could not catch any words. After a few seconds Helena turned pale, and then she tapped her glasses to signal the other three to put on theirs too.

Helena switched the call into videoconference mode, and the face of Valerio appeared on the glasses of everybody.

"Ok, Valerio, now you can see and hear all of us. Please, repeat the news. I think it is better that we all know at once."

Valerio took a deep breath and repeated again.

"Hi everyone, George has just died. He was found dead yesterday evening, Pacific time - which means a few hours ago - on the Sunnyvale, California golf course he used to frequent. I got the newswire feed one hour ago, just after the coroner confirmed the death. It is now breaking news."

Guillermo immediately asked the question that everybody was thinking.

"Is there any idea of the cause of the death? I mean, was it natural?"

"At this stage, no one really knows. I just called the editor of the San Francisco Chronicle, who happens to know the coroner. There were no signs of any wound on the body so it was either a natural death, like a stroke or heart attack, or a very sophisticated murder. We need to wait for the results of the autopsy."

"Forget the autopsy!" Helena shouted, "He has obviously been killed! We all know how you can manipulate post-mortem examinations. George was one of the first to benefit from this, a long time ago. We just have to find out who killed him, and get our revenge."

She did not add anything else. George was still the father of Aurora, and Helena could not tolerate this news.

Louis tried to calm her, with practicality.

"Helena, please, this is a possibility, but don't get overwhelmed. After the Ambrosiax scandal broke out three months ago, there are tens of thousands of people that have very good reasons to blame George and his company – starting from the nearly seven thousand women that developed cancer during pregnancy after taking Ambrosiax. Almost all of them have died, leaving grief and anger among their husbands, children and relatives. Then, consider the hundreds of thousands of women that have taken it, and now have to face the decision between getting pregnant and getting a tumor, like you and Dora did a few years back. These women did not know they were taking a risk. They paid tens of thousands of dollars to get the life-extending drug, assuming it was safe. Last, do not forget about the hundreds of thousands of disgruntled shareholders that invested tens of billions of their dollars into Ambrosiax and in a few weeks saw their holdings and savings disappear. The list of people who might have wished to see George dead is simply too long. Even if he has been killed, we will never find the culprit."

Helena stood up, her eyes scanning the people sitting at the table,

"I did not say it will be easy. I just cannot let it go unpunished. I have all the time I need to prepare my revenge; sooner or later I will find out."

She left the table and hurried to the beach, calling Aurora to get in the car to go home. Aurora tried to protest, but quickly gave in. It was one of those times when arguing with mom was hopeless.

Dora and Louis remained alone at the table. They simultaneously looked out of the window to see Dorian, who was giving a hard time to a crab that was desperately trying to get back into the water. A few yards away, Jorginho was observing the scene with a smile of amusement.

Dora and Louis continued the meeting with Valerio.

"Have you already got in touch with Tarek? What's his view?" Louis asked.

Valerio nodded, his face got all the more somber,

"He called me shortly after the news broke. I think he knows something. He predicted no wounds would be found on the body, before I talked to my colleague at the Chronicle. Either Tarek knows personally the coroner in California, which I do not believe, or he has some information that might be relevant to us. I asked him to elaborate further, but he refused. He just told me that as soon as he gets some evidence he is expecting from his informants, he will contact you, Louis."

Dora jumped in,

"What was Tarek's reaction? Is he thinking about revenge, like Helena?"

"No, not at all," Valerio replied, "I do not want to say that he was happy to hear about George's death, but he was quite apathetic. He kind of expected this to happen, because he has always thought George had a disordered desire for success, even with the many talents and gifts he possessed. He told me he is going to get in touch with the two of you soon. He thinks you are trusting the Mossad way too much."

"Ok, Valerio," Louis interrupted, "we will be waiting for his call. Telomerax has gone public, and the results are tens of thousands of innocent victims, among which George. I wish I could take a break from all of this, just for one day, but apparently it is not possible. Please get back to me as soon as you have some news. We must drive back to Rio now."

Louis ended the video call, then all the team boarded their jeeps and the small convoy headed back to Rio. Dorian made it clear that he was not pleased with having his afternoon at the seaside cut short, and he did not stop crying until Jorginho captured "his" crab in an empty plastic bottle for him to bring home. It was not until they had almost reached their destination, on the bridge that connects Rio to Niteroi over the Guanabara Bay, that Dora recalled the actual purpose of the whole trip.

She first glanced back at Dorian, who was sleeping with the bottle firmly grasped in his hands.

"Louis," she said, "You told me that you wanted to invite Helena and Guillermo out to share big news. I am guessing Valerio's news spoiled it..."

"Yes, indeed. It was about Aurora, and Dorian as well...how they are growing up. I cannot determine if the news is good or bad."

Dora moved closer to Louis, turning an eye towards the backseat to make sure Dorian was still asleep. She then whispered,

"What do you mean? Are they going to develop some strange feature? You did not say it is bad, so it must not be a sickness.."

"Dora," Louis replied, further lowering his voice, "it is not a sickness. It is the way they are. Their DNA replicates perfectly for some reason, I still have to find out, but it's like they have Telomerax embedded in their genes."

"Louis, this means that..."

"Yes, Dora. They are the first members of a new species of humans. They are the first naturally born immortals."
