At the same time Yehoshua drove his sedan back onto kibbutz property, Daniel and Victor were stepping out into the street in front of their apartment in Tel Aviv. Through an encrypted message, they were instructed to scout out a pub in a suburb about twelve kilometers south of Tel Aviv known as Bat Yam. After exiting their apartment building, they walked a block south past a young man pushing a baby carriage. Moments later, several teenage girls lost in their own conversation strolled by. When they passed, the two men hailed a cab with relative ease. They asked the driver in English to take them to the corner of Nordau and Agnon Street in Bat Yam.
“You are from Ukraine?” the cab driver asked with all the English he could muster.
Victor and Daniel were not in the mood for conversation with an Israeli, but they answered cordially, hoping to make the least memorable impression possible. “Yes, we arrive here few weeks ago,” Victor responded in English that sounded less fluent than it was.
“I glad you here. Europe no good for us,” the driver added.
This time the two Ukrainians didn’t take the bait. They simply smiled, indicating that they were not interested in any further conversation. The driver didn’t mind, knowing that his English could not have taken him much further anyway. Nevertheless, he could not resist adding that he lived in Bat Yam, not far from the run-down neighborhood the two men had requested as their destination. He informed them that the trip would take about thirty minutes because of traffic.
Forty-two minutes later, the two men paid their fare and stepped onto the sidewalk. Across the street was a roundabout with a bizarrely entertaining piece of art shaped like an octopus in its center. They crossed the street heading east towards the beach just a few blocks away. At the end of the next block, Victor and Daniel spotted their destination. The target was a large pub known as Tzvika’s. Outside, green Heineken umbrellas covered several tables, and a wooden sign with the name of the pub hovered over the doorway. Tzvika’s was a football bar. It was a shrine to the game. Paraphernalia of football clubs and signed black-and-white photos of Israeli football players covered the walls. There were multiple televisions all currently showing replays of past matches, and there was a large chalkboard schedule of upcoming live games to be aired at Tzvika’s.
Tzvika was an affable guy who never strayed too far from his pub. He was slightly overweight, with brown curly hair that hung over his large green eyes. He was always dressed in jeans and his trademark short-sleeve button-down shirts, which were almost always a little too small for his frame. He was loud and boisterous, but welcoming and appreciative of everyone who patronized his bar. Tzvika was a schemer and never missed an opportunity to promote himself or his business. Realizing that there was an influx of Ukrainians into the neighborhood, Tzvika had seen a golden opportunity. He immediately hired a young Ukrainian man to work for him in order to make his new Ukrainian customers feel comfortable. Tzvika’s now offered a menu in Ukrainian. He started placing ads in the backs of different Tel Aviv publications trumpeting Tzvika’s as a home base for Ukrainian football fans to gather and watch the games.
Tzvika’s efforts were successful. Unlike other marketing ploys he had tried over the years, he had hit upon the right thing at the right time. If there was one thing the Ukrainians were looking for, it was a place where they could drink beer and watch football. Tzvika knew they all had a few extra shekels in their pocket because of the monthly stipend each immigrant Ukrainian family was receiving from the government. Tzvika was happy to take as many of those shekels off their hands as he could. He knew eventually those stipends would dry up, but he figured he might as well enjoy the ride if possible.
Tel Avivians were becoming quite familiar with Tzvika’s of Bat Yam. The pub’s ubiquitous ads in all their newspapers gave them no choice. There were, however, other less friendly entities paying attention to where the new Ukrainians were gathering. In Kiev, intelligence agents monitored the Israeli papers and websites. Tzvika’s ads in Hebrew and Ukrainian could not have made their job any easier. For Tzvika, Ukrainians were his bread and butter. But in welcoming them, he also welcomed an unknown threat he never could have imagined.
It did not take long for Tzvika to notice the two Ukrainian-looking men walking in that afternoon. Usually this late in the afternoon business was slow. The lunch crowd was already gone, and most of his evening customers had not yet arrived, though there were always a few stragglers who needed a drink and a place to catch their breath while they pondered what had happened to their lives over the past year.
“Shalom, achim,” the fearless owner said from behind the bar as the two men passed through his doorway.
“Shalom,” Daniel responded. “Where can we sit?”
Most of the Ukrainians made at least an effort to speak in Hebrew, and Tzvika was a bit surprised when the man in front of him responded in Ukrainian. But in truth, so long as they had shekels to spend, he really didn’t care.
“Anywhere you like, my friends. What can I get you to drink?”
“Two Heinekens please,” Daniel said as the two men hopped on stools in the center of the empty bar.
Tzvika poured two tall glasses from the tap in front of him and handed them to his customers. “Enjoy, guys, and welcome to Tzvika’s.”
“Thank you. What is the best time to get here tonight to see the game?” Victor asked while taking a sip of his beer.
He told them it would be a few more hours until the crowd would begin to assemble. “The game starts at nine, but by eight thirty there won’t be a seat left. Standing room only,” Tzvika said proudly.
“Good to know. We just might come back later. Should be an exciting game.”
“Come back anytime, boys. And if you promise to return, I will promise to save two great seats for you,” Tzvika said. “You are always welcome here.”
Victor and Daniel smiled stealthily at each other before Daniel turned to Tzvika and, slipping him a few spare shekels said, “Thank you. You will definitely see us again tonight.”