Chapter 14

            

            One night, when I was a professor at Princeton, not long after I had broken up with Max, I dreamt about the jinn. I was inside a house, I don’t know where, perhaps in Arabia. I entered the kitchen and heard what I took to be the disposal grinder in the sink running nonstop. The sink itself was for some unknown reason covered with a sheet of loose metal. I moved the sheet aside, and saw the disposal unit in the drain, grinding happily away. The water was not running, and I knew this was bad for the grinder. I wanted to turn off the electricity, so I looked for a switch, then a breaker box. My search took me around the corner and suddenly I was outside.

            The backyard of the house was a wasteland, rugged and strewn with boulders, large and small. It was about twilight, perhaps sunset, and a group of men were gathered in the yard, watching the sun sink beyond the horizon. I did not know why these men were there, so I started to approach them. Could they be workers? They looked to be of all sizes and shapes, and some seemed very strange, though I could not yet tell why. Many of them seemed to be Indian or Pakistani. One of these, a young man with dark hair, wearing a jumpsuit of some sort, of slender physique and very pale in the light of the setting sun, began to lean forward a bit. Then suddenly he bowed forward dramatically and began to shrink, collapsing into a little ball of coruscating whiteness.

            “Hey!” I shouted, and I ran toward him and the group. The others turned toward me. The man who had shriveled into a tiny ball now began quickly to expand, returning to normal, until he was a full-sized man, standing with his comrades. As I approached, some of the men began to move toward me. Their faces were hard to distinguish in the gloom, but occasionally one would become clearer, as if bathed in the light of a full moon. While the slender young man was good-looking, the faces of his friends were often grotesque, terrifying. Facial features were out of place – noses up, eyes down, slavering mouths off to the side. Some of their faces were huge and amorphous and ripe with decay, like rotting pies.

            As they neared me, pure terror swept over me like a wave, and I feared for my life. I suddenly realized that they were jinn – evil jinn, no doubt, demons – and though I was not a Muslim, I began shouting the protective Arabic words of the bismillah at them, over and over. “Bismillah ar-Rahman ar-Rahim! Bismallah ar-Rahman ar-Rahim!” In the Name of God, the Compassionate and Merciful! In the Name of God, the Compassionate and Merciful!

            When they heard me, they suddenly stopped. Their ghastly faces registered shock and fear. They turned and fled, howling like a pack of feral dogs. I continued to shout the sacred words at them, until long after they had vanished.

            Then my eyes sprang open. I was awake – alone in my bed. I realized I had been shouting the bismillah in my sleep! My throat was almost raw from the ordeal. And the terror I still felt was very real.

            The Marines spread out and explored the perimeter of the large cavern chamber, alert for security threats. The rest of us followed the pathway to the center of the “hall,” and tried to make sense of the place. There were clearly refinements to this chamber that had been added by someone at some time. The pathway through the hall appeared smoother than concrete, almost like travertine limestone, but it was not made of blocks – it was one continuous flow of rock, highly polished yet retaining a very fine natural pitting. The pathway led to the far side of the room, then stopped at the cavern wall.

            “Hey!” said Jim Lasser, as he studied the chamber. “This is a goddamned amphitheater!”

            I followed his gaze and realized he was right.

            “Yes! I thought this was some kind of natural terracing, but you are right. The strata are actually stone benches – long curving benches!”

            The low benches swept around the chamber in descending circles, meeting a flat central circle, where conceivably someone could address a crowd seated on the surrounding benches. This was how the Greeks and Romans did their open-air dramas and comedies. The travertine pathway cut through the center of the “amphitheater,” passing out on the other side. I noticed that the central circle was also made of polished, finely pitted white limestone.  We converged on the circle, and stood there, examining the room from a new perspective.

            “Who could have used this amphitheater?” Devereaux asked. “Is this some ancient South Arabian thing?”

            “Don’t think so,” I said. “The South Arabians had nothing like this, judging from the archaeological sites that have been found in Southwest Arabia.”

            “Then it must belong to – ” Devereaux stopped himself, and wandered away from the circle. I looked at Mubarak. He gave a slight nod, perceptible only to me.

            The Marines on the far side of the chamber shouted and signaled to us.

            “Mr. Devereaux!” called the sergeant. “We found an exit!”

            We hurried across the hall.

            An oval opening in the cavern floor revealed a ramp – a three-meter-wide, dark-blue ramp that appeared to slice into the earth at about a 45-degree angle and stretch as far as the eye could see.

            We gaped at what was clearly a transformative discovery. This tunnel was not natural, and was not the work of the ancients. This was advanced technology, and signaled for us the reality of what had previously been only a theory.

            Devereaux gave us our marching orders. “We’ll begin exploring this tunnel tomorrow.” He looked around the chamber. “Let’s camp here for the night, and set out in the morning. I expect another asset to join us by then – someone from Aramco.”

            “Aramco?” I asked, as a flood of memories came back to me. “What role could they possibly have in this?”

            “This tunnel may enter one of their oil fields. At any rate, they have an interest in this, which I’ll explain later.” He turned to the Marine leader. “Sergeant, we’ll be staying the night in this chamber. We can base ourselves in the amphitheater. Please send a few men back to the vehicles and bring us some food and sleeping bags.”

            After we had eaten a freeze-dried dinner and settled in for the night, I took Mubarak aside and the two of us sat by a boulder and talked about … well, everything – all the way back to that morning in the desert when he rescued me from the Sulubi. The Marines were taking up their guard positions. Devereaux, Semple and the two cavers sat in a circle and planned the next morning’s trek. Awda’s English was amazing for someone who had spent his whole life in Arabia. I told him the turns my life had taken in the intervening years. I even told him about Max Sellars and our obliterated relationship. I don’t know why I needed to elaborate on that, but Mubarak seemed interested and sympathetic. He studied me with those large brown eyes of his – they were almost piercing in their effect on me.

Then I decided to get down to business. I wanted to know who he was, and what was going on down here, beneath the sands of the Arabian desert.

“Tell me who you are,” I said.

He glanced around, to make sure no one was within earshot.

“I think you understand the truth,” he said. “That I am of the earth’s first people, the jinn.”

“You know how ridiculous that sounds,” I murmured.

“Of course. You come from a civilization that has lost touch with the fundamental realities, and that pursues fleeting ones. Some people in the West have returned to the old beliefs, as a kind of fad, I think. But you are not one of them.”

I stared at him, not knowing what to say.

“The humans who are Muslims still officially believe in the existence of the jinn. But some have lost that belief, as they pursue so-called rationality. Other Muslims don’t know what to make of us.”

“You look like a normal human being.”

“Well, thank you. That is my intent. I realize, however, that I look younger than I should, given the years that have passed. I have done that so you would recognize me.”

“This is crazy,” I said, shaking my head.

“God has given us some skills that you lack. One of them is the ability to change appearance.”

He looked around again, to make sure he was not facing anyone in our group. Then he lowered his hand from his forehead, over his face, down to his neck. As the hand passed over his face, he changed. My heart almost stopped. I saw Max’s face, smiling at me, like he did in the good old days. Then the hand passed over his face again, and Max was gone – it was Mubarak. It reminded me of something that had happened long ago.

“Holy shit, Mubarak!” I whispered. “How do you do that??”

He grinned like a mischievous child. “It takes a lot of practice,” he said.

“Did your face really change? How do you know what Max looks like?”

“Well, to answer the first question, the face that you see did indeed change. But as you know, that is not my true appearance. It is not what other jinnis see. But you can never know that appearance. To answer the second question, I have done a lot of research on you, Emily. I needed to find out if you were the right person. I was operating on what you would call a ‘hunch.’”

“The right person for what?”

“We knew this day was coming – the day that humans would discover our hidden city in what you call your ‘world.’ Our goal is to prevent a calamity. There is no reason why we cannot live in peace.”

“What would prevent that?”

“There are some who do not want harmony, some who sow discord and hatred. They are coming, and they will try to keep humankind from knowing the jinn.”

I felt a chill run down my spine, and the tiny hairs on my arms stood on end.

“Who do you mean?” I asked.

“You find them all over the world, but these particular ones are the present leaders of Persia, the land you call Iran. The Persians follow a minority belief in Islam, as you know, and are called the Shi’a, the Faction. But their faith is not the problem. The problem is the worldview of the Persian leaders. They feel they are locked in a war with your civilization, with the West, a war that has continued in one form or another for thousands of years and dates back to the ancient conflict they had with the Greeks. And these Persians are willing to bring on the ‘Last Days’ to achieve what they see as victory. It is very sad, because the Persians are a good and productive people. They contributed much to the Golden Age of the Abbasids, when art, science and reason prevailed. Unfortunately, their current leaders have a warped view of the real world.”

“What is your role in all this?”

“I have been asked to be your guide. I will take you to the hidden city, where you can meet our leaders, and discuss our future relationship. I will do this if the Persians do not stand in our way.” He paused, and thought for a second.

“I should also warn you that there are some of my own people who do not want a reconciliation of humans and jinn. Call it politics, if you will. There are always some who oppose a new plan of action. These jinn want the old ways to continue. They want mankind to fear the jinn, not collaborate with us.”

“So we can expect trouble?”

“That’s always possible. But I will do my best to prevent any problems.”

Mubarak reached out, took my hand and squeezed it gently but firmly. His eyes overwhelmed me. I wondered what he was thinking.

“Tell me, Mubarak,” I said, “the legends speak of many kinds of jinn: afreets, ghouls, marids and the like. Do these types exist?”

“To some extent,” he said with a smile. “The legends are highly embellished. They are man’s attempt to describe something he does not fully understand. We do not use these names – ‘ghouls’ and such – to identify our people. And certain types of jinn behavior, described in countless works of literature, are much rarer in real life than the stories indicate. For example, we do not spend much time in the shape of snakes, despite what certain traditions would have you believe. As for ghouls, there are a handful of jinn, particularly in Egypt, that have taken to living in desert caves, frightening travelers by appearing to them as monsters. These few have apparently developed a taste for human flesh. I personally find such behavior repulsive. As do most of my people. Of course, the human race has its own deviates, as you know.”

I nodded slowly, thinking about the John Wayne Gacys and Jeffrey Dahmers of our world. Mubarak put his arm around my shoulders and held me close, comforting me at a moment when I desperately needed it. He kissed me softly on the lips, and I responded, just as gently.

            When we returned to the group, Mubarak went off and sat with the cavers, Lasser and Bakhashaf. I sat down beside Devereaux, who was nibbling thoughtfully at a granola bar.

            “So what’s with you and Awda?” he asked bluntly.

            “Nothing,” I said. Leaning back, I rested my head on my backpack and stared up at the stalactites. “We’ve met before, that’s all. I knew him back when I lived in the Kingdom.”

            “Old home week, eh?” Devereaux said. I didn’t like his tone. He sounded like an ex-boyfriend questioning a new relationship. I can’t stand that possessive crap. Besides, this was business. Strictly business.
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