Before leaving work on Friday, Rachel zipped a flash drive loaded with the Current Population Survey Data into a small compartment of her purse. On Saturday morning she drove to Brighton Beach to meet an old friend she reconnected with on Facebook. Typical Brooklyn locals paraded the boardwalk; young women walking their fur clad dogs, cocky teenagers loitering around the liquor store, and fat eastern European ladies with their overindulged grandchildren.
A man in his early forties with a dark receding hairline approached with spreading arms saying, “Raych!” Smiling, she placed her hands in the front pockets of her jeans forming a barrier between them, and after a short and akward embrace they proceeded to walking along the boardwalk toward Coney Island.
“So how have you been?” Michael asked.
“Well, hanging in there. You heard Leila died?”
“Yes, I am so sorry--she was so young and all those children. I don’t know how you and Jake manage. I failed with one,” Michael said.
“After Leila died, I adopted her children, and have since come to look upon them as my own. It’s not easy. We do what we have to. So how has life treated you?” Rachel asked.
“Well, I had my moment to shine, but I didn’t make tenure. After ten years at Stern, the academic senate voted me out because I didn’t publish in the appropriate journals. I received offers from lesser schools, but after NYU everything seemed minor-league.”
“Yeah, the bureau has its share of washouts, but they didn’t washout of NYU, if you know what I mean. A diller, a dollar, a tenure washout scholar,” Rachel threw her head back in laughter.
“A diller a dollar, switched to statistics, sucky math scholar,” Michael retorted with a wink. “To be honest, I was relieved to leave the academia. There is no going back, but when I began turning into a windbag with a ‘Hey Day’ from NYU, I licked my wounds, and took a job with an investment bank, eventually making triple the money,” Michael said.
“And your family?” Rachel asked.
“What family? My bed was still warm when the chair of Stern moved in with my wife and son.” “I’m sorry,” she said.
“Don’t be. That’s just how it is sometimes. Love belongs in fairy tales,” he said resuming composure. “A few years ago I met a Swiss banker, originally from Israel and educated in London. After fulfilling his military obligation, he studied economics in London, and before accepting a position with a Swiss bank, worked for the Mossad. Adam formed a wealth management group employing eastern block talent; economists, programmers, and mathematicians, a manage-a-tres made in heaven.” Rachel recoiled at the visual. “He calls them ‘Oracles’ and that’s how he got his nick name—‘King Solomon’. When I mentioned your name --Adam insisted on meeting you, he is a scrupulous businessman.”
“You mean scruple-less businessman,” she said laughing.
It began to rain and Michael flipped the hood of his jacket over his head and said, “Remember when we cut class and hung out at ocean beach in San Francisco--how the waves grew bigger curling into themselves before striking shore?” Pointing toward the hovering seagulls he said, “In contrast to humankind, animals live in nature’s prime real estate. People pay to live in slums surrounded by garbage; their by-product --misery and ugliness.” Rachel shivered as a chill ran down her spine. Michael threw a sideways glance at her and turned up his collar and walked Rachel to her car.
Later that evening, Michael appeared sombre when he picked up Rachel in a rented black BMW. Before ariving at the restaurant, Michael said “Adam insists on having a personal relationship with his clients--it’s his trademark.” Rachel remained silent. “Raych, everything will work out, one way or another it will work out.”
“Of course it will, and let’s hope that it works out one way and not the other,” she replied.
The elevator doors opened into a glass walled lounge overlooking the Manhattan skyline. The maître d’ led them to a table occupied by a large bearded man in his late forties with reddish hair. Michael smiled as Adam stood to greet them. While they chatted, Adam studied Rachel’s face through his crystal goblet.
“Well, let us not waste time,” he smiled revealing small white sharp teeth. “Rachel, ever played 21 questions?” Adam asked in an indistinguishable accent.
“Yes, I know it,” she said.
“Ok, let’s begin then,” he said.
“What distribution has the same mean and variance?”
“Pardon?” Rachel said, startled by Michael’s nudge. “Oh, never mind. The Poisson,” she said.
“Very good. Now, tell me what the central limit theorem says about n large?”
“Well, if n is large, the distribution of X (the thing we are estimating) will approach a Normal distribution, also known as the Gaussian distribution, and the Bell Curve,” she answered smiling. “Good.” he said.
“How likely am I to win a game against you, if you won 15 out of the last 20 games we previously played?”
“You are three times more likely to win.”
“Now... tell me something that you didn’t memorize from a flash card,” he said.
“I thought you would never ask,” she said. “I believe Gauss used the Mispar Kidmi to arrive at his formula for summing all numbers,” she said.
“Gematria? The Mispar Kidmi is a form of a Gematria,” he said, stroking his beard.
“Yes! Each letter is the sum of all the letter position respectively, up to and including itself. Forming a series of sums where A=1, B=3, D=6, E=10 and so on. Notice the pattern of the difference is n plus 1. Now we find an appropriate scaling coefficient, which gives us Gauss’ result; the quantity, n plus 1 times n and the whole thing divided by 2. For all we know, Gauss could have been a Jew,” Rachel grinned.
“I will accept this as a conceivable hypothesis.” Adam said. Rachel exchanged glances with Michael and excused herself.
“I don’t follow you,” Michael said.
“Michael, decent mathematicians who don’t go on to pursue PhD, become actuaries, the rest turn to statistics. Since she is the latter rather than the former, I had to check her level of statistical understanding before starting collaboration.”
When Rachel returned, Adam smiled at Rachel and said, “Now, please tell me about your data.”
“Well, I have access to the Current Population Survey—the mother of all surveys, from which key economic indicators are born. The Bureau collects, processes and delivers the data to the sponsor—the Labour department,” Rachel said.
“Of course. The Labor department construct economic indicators out of the survey,” Adam said,
“The bureau is not a research institution; its primary function is collecting and processing data.
Typically it’s some PhD program washout with a chip on his shoulder, claiming to be doing high level work. I have yet to find someone who published beyond their graduate program. In all fairness to the Bureau, what it lacks in statistical talent, it compensates with geographers,” Rachel said.
Adam scratched his temple with a manicured finger, revealing a brass ring set with four jewels inside a hexagram.
Narrowing his eyes he said in a hoarse whisper, “Rachel, name your price.”
Rachel hesitated before answering, and then said, “Mr. Brahms, unauthorized disclosure of personally identifying information carries a two-hundred fifty thousand dollar penalty and five years in prison. How much is five years of life worth?”
Adam’s eyes brightened and he said, “Please—call me Adam. Monetizing a human life is not rocket science. In fact, given what you are asking me to monetize, I am inclined to use the Marx-Zilberman equation. It’s elegant, yet simple. It was actually developed by a brilliant woman I once knew. She developed the model after reading Marx’s’ Communist Manifesto,” Adam said, smiling sheepishly.
“I recall seeing something published in some obscure economic and risk analysis journals. Oh yes-- and Wikipedia. I won't argue--it’s straightforward and simple. Yes, the more I think about it, the more I see that it is the precisely correct model to use,” Rachel said. Then she reached inside her purse and produced a flash drive and placed it on the table.
“Gentlemen, one year of CPS data for your Oracles to wet their appetites,” Rachel said.
Like a well-trained dog waiting for his treat, Adam’s gaze moved from Rachel to the flash drive and back again.
The waiter brought a 1999 Vintage Dom Perignon Rose and chilled Beluga Caviar on mother of pearl plates. Optimism about the future warped Rachel’s thoughts. Surrounded on all sides by wrong, at that moment, Rachel believed --she was doing right. While Michael was on his cell, Adam moved closer to Rachel and slithered his hand up her back making his way to the nape of her neck, she weaved her neck, forcing his hand to release, and slither away. Clearing his thoughts, Adam said, “I owe much of my success to Hedonic principles. For example, optimism bias; an exaggerated idea about how much control we have over outcomes. Most people are far more optimistic about their own circumstances then someone else’s.”
“In other words,” Rachel said, “Optimism bias--a combination of arrogance and a desire to be an individual rather than a statistic.” Afraid of what Rachel might say, Michael raised his glass and said,
“To a lucrative collaboration!” The clanging of the crystal produced a clear resonating sound.
Surprisingly enough, Rachel was satisfied with the outcome of her trip. It pleased Rachel’s internal sense of order to formulaically establish a price for her services. She sensed omnipresent perfection. Keeping the money a secret gave her time to try to understand its purpose. Rachel loathed thinking of herself as a consumer unit. She liked Plato’s ideas from “The Republic.” Plato described an ideal state and the abandonment of the typical family structure. A matrilineal dynasty came to mind; “the House of Rachel,” she whispered. The dynasty would have to wait, and so will Jake, she thought smiling. Rachel didn’t want to jeopardize Jake’s security clearance, it’s too early for him to quit his day job, she thought.
The following morning, Rachel woke to the smell of coffee that Jake made for her before leaving for work. Each sip increased her feelings of disappointment. An inner voice said, ‘you are a mediocre person-- living a mediocre life’. ‘No! Today is a beginning,’ she thought, ‘it’s a sign of things to come.’ She hurled the coffee toward the sink, breaking the cup and splattering the creamy brown liquid against the steel. She tossed the broken cup fragments into the trash, rinsed the sink, and ran upstairs to wake the children.
After meeting with Adam, Rachel’s desire for professional advancement began to wane. All work at the Bureau, she thought, was essentially the same-- cleaning and processing data. She remembered a professor from her graduate program, saying in a thick Russian accent, “Only the top statisticians analyze data, most of you, one way or another --will be cleaning it.”
Rachel didn’t doubt the Oracles ability to reverse engineer Labor Bureau’s algorithm. A short time passed when Michael called with the news, “Raych, the Oracles can consistently match Labors economic indicators, also they found evidence of a data-fudging algorithm that intentionally distorts economic indicators”
“Really!” she exclaimed
Michael said, “Well, it extends time for the rich to convert their bad investments into cash. Adam is anticipating a market adjustment. Economically speaking, the US economy is going to hell in a hand basket and he is preparing to take advantage of fallout.”
To construct a username for the Swiss bank account, Rachel used the Kabalistic method of calculation she described to Adam when they first met. She calculated her Hebrew name’s minor Gematria to be 9. She reasoned nine is three to the second power, a pair of triplets, three points in a triangle; two triangles form the Star of David. She used the census of the twelve tribes from the “Book of Numbers,” for the password. Her heart skipped a beat when she saw a pending deposit of two million.
Rachel executed her scheme with mechanical precision. Each morning she copied the survey files, and keeping only the variables Adam requested, created new data sets, which she transferred to a flash drive, and sent to Adam by overnight mail. Rachel’s scheme provided an escape from her commonplace existence. Possessing a natural inclination toward solitary activities, Rachel found most social interaction aversive and hoped that within a few years she could quit her job and live a bohemian life.
Though their family shared a common history, it was the study abroad program that brought her and Jake together. Drunk with infatuation, they agreed to marry once Jake fulfilled his military obligation—but even the best-laid human plans are flawed. When she returned from her program, her father Laban was diagnosed with inoperable colon cancer; he said to Rachel, “Some things are beyond our understanding when we must do them. During such times, the internal aspects of our character are tested. There is a natural order to things. In it lies truth. Just as it is natural for a parent to precede her child in death, it is natural for the eldest sister to precede the younger in marriage. Before I die I want to see Leila married.”
Rachel’s distressed state prompted Jake to make clear his intentions to marry her. Laban threw the engagement party, and during the festivities he pulled Jake aside saying, “my dear boy, though it’s customary for the couple to be engaged for one year, given the state of my health, I have arranged for you to marry my daughter tonight.” Jake in a drunken stupor agreed to everything. Laban produced a drafted marriage document which enumerated Jakes responsibilities to his future wife saying, “We mustn’t forget the Ketubah,” then Laban stuck a pen into Jakes hand and two men who were holding Jake up witnessed him signing it.
Under a stretched tallit held by four men, the Rabbi read the Ketubah aloud, and placed a ring into Jake’s hand. As he then eased the ring onto his bride’s finger he slurred the words, “You are consecrated to me through this ring, in accordance with the religion of Moses and Israel,” and the Rabbi corrected each word that came out of Jakes drunken mouth. Then the Rabbi recited seven blessings over the couple, each time refilling Jakes wine glass. In remembrance of the loss of Jerusalem and the Temple, with a little help from Laban, Jake broke the wine glass that was placed under his foot.
Jake’s intoxicated state prevented his fingers from lifting his brides’ veil during the ceremony. Joyously Jake surrendered to the men that carried him and his bride to a private room to consumate their marriage. The following morning, Jake woke up with a throbbing headache, and when he looked over at his sleeping bride, he realized that Laban had tricked him.
Before panic took hold of his mind, he remembered when he tricked his own father on his deathbed. Jakes mother said, “Isaac is asking for your brother, I beg you, he is blind, if you speak in a whisper, he will think you’re Edom. Don’t let your father die with a broken heart.”
Jake sat at his father’s bedside, and he heard his father say to him, “Edom my son, I made a secret agreement with Laban, when the time comes, you will marry Leila, and by virtue of being a firstborn son—inherit your birthright.”
Jake sat motionless, only the sound of his breath revealed his presence in the room. When Isaac finished speaking, Jake felt that he could not continue to deceive his father by pretending to be his fathers first born son, but then Isaac touched Jakes face, mumbled some words, closed his eyes and never regained consciousness.
Laban’s voice roused Jake from his trance, “Jake, my son, Leila is your wife, not Rachel. Your father made a promise-- yesterday you fulfilled it. You restored your father’s honor, so that I may genuinely say, ‘May his memory be for a blessing’.” The last six words reverberating in Jakes mind, may his memory be for a blessing, and in some such way, in his inexplicable situation, Jake found comfort in Laban’s resolve.
In the next ten years, Leila bore seven children, six boys and a girl. After the birth of her last child, a routine mammogram revealed breast cancer. When Leila completed her first course of chemotherapy and radiation treatments, the two sisters sat in the oncologist office and listened to Leila’s doctor’s professionally polished, apologetic, and kind utterance, “Despite our best efforts, the breast cancer has returned and is no longer treatable.“
Rachel moved in with Leila and began taking care Leila’s children. Toward the end of Leila’s illness, she said to Rachel, “I know that Jake loved you for all the years we’ve been married and I know how much you sacrificed for me. After I die, you can marry Jake, only please promise to raise my children.” They hugged and after, for the first time, Rachel allowed herself to cry.
After Leila died, Rachel devoted herself to the care of Leila’s family. With Jake working long hours, Rachel developed an evening ritual that included taking Leila’s pain medication. After a long day with the children, she took comfort in small doses of the liquid opiod that Leila was prescribed towards the end of her illness. Rachel switched roles from aunt to mother, when one evening, Leila’s oldest son showed up in her room, swallowed hard, puffed out his little chest and said;
“We want you to be our mother.” Rachel and Jake soon married, adding two children to their household.
In a restaurant on the top floor of the Mandarin Oriental, Adam said to Rachel,
“My clients are quite pleased with the results. We are holding large amounts of cash, in a cash poor world.”
Rachel began moving her head from side to side, and interjected, “Within the year, the Bureau’s computer security policy will disable the USB ports, rendering our data transfer method useless. Adam, Jake’s clearance reinvestigation is approaching. I feel that this is a natural place for an ending.”
“Rachel, I guarantee that if Jake agrees to accept a detail in the Jerusalem office, there will be no reinvestigation of his clearance application, it will be renewed—I guarantee it.” Ignoring Rachel’s look of discomfort, he refilled his glass, and said, “I suggest you encourage Jake to accept the transfer. Tell him to bring the children, and tell him that you will join them soon.” His features gravely set, he leaned his head closer to her and said, “Rachel, I must warn you, turning to the authorities is never an option, but this is,” Adam reached into his pant pocket and produced a small box with a digital pad, saying, “It opens when you key in the letters of your name,” and he opened the small box to reveal three yellow capsules. “Because they are bitter I recommend you take them with a sweet drink. Death will come quick and painless,” Adam said in nonchalant tone.
“And what about Michael, was he also bestowed with the same benefaction”? Rachel asked sarcastically.
Adam smiled, “Rachel, there is no free lunch. Take what you want—but pay for it.” Before leaving, they amicably agreed to conclude their collaboration within six moths.
That evening, Jake said, “I had a strange dream, a woman-- maybe Leila, was standing tall, her head above the clouds. An angel began clambering up her body, but after a short time he fell and broke into pieces, followed by a second, and a third. But the fourth angel managed to reach the top and disappear into the clouds.”
Rachel felt goosbumps, “And then?”
“Nothing, then I awake,” Jake said.
“Jake, each person has a unique destiny--a spiritual journey. In the dream the angels symbolize four stages of your spiritual struggle and you will come closer to God, by the auspices of a woman.”
Jake with his eyes cast down said, “I believe you’re concealing something, and I must reach beyond myself to discover it.” Rachel pretended to fall asleep, and Jake stopped talking.
Jake accepted a detail in Jerusalem, bringing his children and a housekeeper.
Rachel was in the midst of wrapping things up; she sold her house, moved to a hotel residence, and had paid cash for a one way ticket to Jerusalem. One evening as she was packing, Rachel received a call.
“Hello, this is investigator Ryan Noonan with the department of treasury, is this Rachel Laban?
Rachel’s heart pounded, “Yes.”
“I am investigating a case involving foreign investments in targeted sectors of the US economy.”
Beads of sweat appeared on her forehead. Rachel agreed to meet the detective the following afternoon in a coffee shop across the street from the Marriot Residence, where she was staying. That night, she dreamed that she and Adam were walking through a pomegranate orchard, planning to pick 613 pomegranates. An old man appeared saying, “Pick only the fruit on the trees, leave the fruit that’s on the ground, and don’t pick the fruit from the four corners of the orchard.” And in the dream she remembered asking the man, “Why? Why not the corners?”
And he answered, “Never cut corners. Never in the field, and never in life,” then she awoke.
When Rachel entered the coffee shop, Detective Noonan approached her from the back of the shop. “I will come straight to the point. I have evidence pointing to your involvement with a central figure of my investigation. We suspect Adam Brahms made investments using illegally solicited data.” Rachel felt bolts of adrenalin shoot through her body.
“Do you have a court order, Detective Noonan?”
“Would you like me to obtain one?” he asked. “Ms. Laban, in less than an hour, I can produce a court order that will prevent you from leaving the country.”
Rachel remained cool saying, “You are going after the wrong person.”
“Are you denying that Adam is your brother in law?” Rachel felt dizzy; she had never met Jake’s brother. The brothers haven’t spoken since their father died.” He handed Rachel his card, “when you are ready to talk, call me.” Rachel ran back to the residence, and called Adam’s cell, “Adam,” she said, controlling her impulse to scream.
“Yes.” Adam’s unemotional voice answered.
“The treasury is investigation us. The investigator said you are Jake’s brother,” she hissed.
“I returned to collect what is mine—my birthright.” “Rachel--both of us lost. You gave everything to Leila’s family, your youth, your love, and your time. Now, you are alone—an orphan—forsaken by the very ones you love and gave everything to. Rachel, with me, you can have whatever you want.” In a low, deliberate voice, he said, “I have set a side a passport and a ticket to Switzerland, just in case this type of thing happens. Come with me.”
Rachel interrupted, “No, Adam, that’s not how I am. My answer is and always will be—no!” Adam heard her hang up--then a deathly silence.
When Michael called Jake to tell him everything, he set an avalanche of events in motion. All night Jake wrestled with guilt about taking his brothers place at his father’s deathbed. When he met with Adam, he told him about Rachel, Leila, and his children. But the moment of clarity came when Jake said, “Greater civilizations fell before ours and it is inevitable that ours will follow suit. Without society’s constraints, people are capable of eating their young--as savage animals. By observing traditions and rituals of the book and teaching those to our children, regardless of the circumstance—we remain rooted in humanity.”
Before the brothers parted, Adam told Jake that he gave Rachel suicide pills, he said, “if the pills are swallowed whole they will harmlessly pass through the digestive tract producing only an appearance of death, but if they are crushed between the molars -- they will release a fast-acting poison. I told her to swallow them,” Adam voice was filled with remorse.
Jake was minutes away from the residence when Detective Noonan knocked on Rachel’s door, “Ms. Laban, I know you’re in there. It’s useless to stall; I will have a search warrant within the hour. Open the door!”
Her nerves wound to the highest pitch of tension, she emptied the contents of the small black box, remembering Adams words, “and death will come quick and painless.” In a moment of weakness Rachel swallowed the rubber-covered ampoules. She stretched out on the floor, closed her eyes, and whispered,
“Shema Israel, Adonai Eloheinu, Adonai Ehad,” but the last word came out as “Ehath.” As her breath became quick and shallow, she experienced an overwhelming feeling of regret.
Detective Noonan’s rookie partner Davis sprung out of elevator, waving the warrant,
“I got it! I got it!” Noonan grabbed the warrant out of Davis’s hand, tearing it slightly.
“Let me see,” Noonan jerked the warrant out of Davis' hand tearing the top part in such a way, that one half of the warrant remained in Davis's hand.
He formed his hand into a fist, pounded on the door, blaring, “Open up, I have a search warrant. Open the damn door, I say.”
Davis produced a plastic room key and opened the door. Rachel’s lifeless body was sprawled across the floor, next to her lay a sheet of paper, and one brown rubber ampoule. Noonan, grabbed the sheet and read aloud,
Detective Noonan,
Stalemate! You win!
-R
“Bitch! Bitch! Goddammit,” Noonan raved while Davis checked Rachel for signs of life. The rookie detective flinched when Noonan kicked Rachel’s body spitting at it, “All my work came to nothing! Nothing! I have no goddamn case with that bitch dead.
“Let me at least try CPR, maybe she is still alive,” Davis said almost pleading.
Uhg! Noonan picked up the brown rubber ampoule, and said, “She’s dead—these are cyanide pills. I’ve seen them during my OPS officer days with the CIA,” Noonan said, his voice filled with disgust. “And don’t even think of calling the paramedics, a scandal like this can cost a man his career. I want a promotion not a demotion. Leave this trash for the garbage collectors—the Metro police.Understood! Now let’s get the hell out of here.” Davis bowed his head and shuffled his feet, following Noonan out of the room.
Minutes later in the residence’s basement, two men pushed a gurney into the rear of a service van and closed the rear gate. Inside the van, a woman positioned one electrode hand over Rachel’s right breast and the other under the left breast. The man stood back as Rachel’s body jerked from the voltage. The woman produced an auto-injector syringe, made a fist around it, swung back her fist, and thrust the syringe into Rachel’s heart. For five long minutes they took turns administering CPR before Rachel’s vital signs stabilized. The blows from Detective Noonan’s sharp pointed shoe caused agonizing pain in Rachel’s hip. As she slipped in and out of consciousness,she heard “passport,” “today,”
“no time.”
Five hours later Jake wheeled a heavily sedated Rachel through the security gate at JFK airport. The TSA officer returned the passports to Jake, and in a thick southern accent, mispronouncing their new names, said —Isra-EL, take good care of that there LE-Aah. Ya’ll come back now. Y'hear!”


--End--

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Tag der Veröffentlichung: 25.10.2009

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