Chapter 26

            Keller awoke with a start. A jinni, in bland human form, stood beside his bed.

            “It is time to meet the leadership,” the jinni said.

            “Wake-up call, eh?” Keller said as he rolled from the broad couch. The jinni did not reply; he vanished.

            Keller moved to the small hammam, or bathroom, provided for his morning ablutions. Before long, he was striding down the hall. Others from his team joined him on the way, and they all gathered in an expansive majlis. They sat on curved banquettes around a circular table loaded with Arabian breakfast items. The expedition members ripped open fragrant disks of warm pita bread and dug into bowls of lemony, garlicky broad beans, garnished with slices of onion and hard-boiled egg, plates of roasted and pureed eggplant and of hummus drizzled with olive oil, a dazzling array of sweet and savory pastries and small mountains of fresh fruit. They were served small cups of Arabian light roast or Turkish dark roast coffee, followed up by tiny glasses of piping hot mint tea.

            Keller looked at Emily Goddard. She was very thoughtful, very quiet this morning. She looked frequently at Mubarak Awda. They were communicating with glances. It was clear they shared a secret. Were they lovers?

            Dan thought about his own relationships, or lack of them, and wondered if he had a chance with that Marine, Vanessa Willis. She seemed much deeper, more thoughtful, than most young soldiers. She was something of an “old soul,” Dan had concluded, and this fascinated him. He enjoyed speaking with her, and she seemed to like him as well. She was quite pretty as well, and that never hurt.

            Pvt. Willis stood up suddenly, and excused herself from the table. Clearly she was restless, and was about to walk off some energy. She strode off down the hall. After a decent interval, Dan got to his feet and sauntered off in the same direction.

            Keller wasn’t sure how it happened (Jinn magic? Three wishes from the genie in the lamp?), but before too long he found himself in a private alcove, seated on a plush divan, amid overstuffed Oriental pillows, deep in conversation with Vanessa. They spoke about the long, twisting roads that had brought them each to Arabia. Vanessa seemed actually interested in Dan’s Army background – as a harried MP in Faluja and Kabul – and his subsequent career as a security officer. He was fascinated by the story of her life – how the eldest daughter of two distinguished high school teachers in Baton Rouge broke with family tradition and abandoned a career in education for one in the Marines. It must have been Wanderlust, Vanessa said; she had always wanted to travel the world, to see the lands she had learned about in school and books.

            As they spoke with each other, their mutual attraction grew. Vanessa, emphasizing a point, laid her hand gently on Keller’s knee. It was if some kind of psychic current shot through his body.

            “Vanessa,” he said softly.

            She smiled at him. Her liquid brown eyes sparkled.

            “Shush,” she said, as she leaned forward.

            Her soft lips met his, and for a brief moment, Keller was transported from Iram, City of the Pillars, to a far more real and significant place.

            When breakfast was over, the plates were cleared away. As the expedition members continued to talk, Keller and Willis, together, returned quietly to the table. In a few minutes, the team members were escorted to Ubar’s version of a small auditorium: ten rows of curved white benches, with backs, surrounding a central space, about ten meters across, where the three-member jinn “executive committee” awaited them. The human visitors took seats in the front rows. They studied their hosts and the vaulted green dome that rose high over their heads. The leader named Miriam addressed them.

            “Now that you have been briefed on our people and our city, we would like to share with you our intentions. Please convey these plans to your own leaderships, particularly in the United States of America.

            “After spending thousands of years side-by-side with the human species, providing you with covert guidance and hidden knowledge, the time has come for our people to leave this planet, and begin a similar mission on another. We are convinced that you no longer need our help – that in fact any further assistance would only make you dependent upon us, and thus hinder your future development. The human species has reached a crucial takeoff point. You are ready for the universe and for the adventures that await you. We congratulate you. And now it is our destiny to depart. Please convey this message to those who lead you.”

            Silence followed. The team of humans sat stunned. Each of them shared the same thought: They finally make direct contact with Earth’s other intelligent species, only to learn that that species is leaving.

            “You can’t be bloody serious,” Lasser said, almost under his breath, staring at the three jinn leaders as he spoke.

            The jinn leader with the reddish hair – Denis – gave Lasser a semi-smile and replied: “We do understand this may come as a shock to you. After all, you have expended much time and effort searching for us, finally reaching our city, and one of the first things you hear from us is ‘Good-bye.’ But if you give it some thought, you will realize that our departure makes eminent sense. The fact that you have been able to track us down is proof that you have grown as a species, in intelligence and wisdom, and no longer need our presence. Your discovery of our city is the trigger, so to speak, that activates our departure. It has always been thus.”

            Emily Goddard stood up, her hands on her hips. She seemed very angry.

            “You can’t do this!” she exclaimed. “We have so much more to learn from you!”

            The “Chinese” jinn leader, Lee, whose facial features and even gender were difficult to define, responded: “You wish to study us? That’s admirable in a sense, but not a priority for us. We have a new mission to undertake. We will bequeath to you this city and its artifacts, as well as a complete record of our existence here. There is much you can learn from what we leave behind. We are confident you will be satisfied.”

            Devereaux stood. His face was pale, and his hands trembled. But his eyes showed determination.

            “I represent the American president,” he said. “Our leaders are anxious to speak with you. You must stay long enough for us to arrange that.”

            “The protocol of such meetings does not interest us,” said Miriam with a slight smile. “Nor does the politics. If we need to communicate directly with your leaders, we shall do so. For now, however, we are happy to deal with you.”

            Dan Keller stood up and addressed the jinn leaders. “There’s something I need to know. Two employees at my company, Aramco, have been killed while trying to identify the anomaly that turned out to be your city. Why were they killed, if you wanted to meet us?”

            Miriam frowned. “We did not kill your people. They were killed by renegade jinn working with a few humans. Regrettably, there were some among us – not many – who wished to keep the city’s location secret and remain on the Earth. They tried to stop you from reaching us. They have been foiled, and will no longer be a problem.”

            Emily asked: “What will happen to these rebels?”

            “They will depart with us,” said Miriam. “We have managed to ‘rehabilitate’ most of them – particularly since our city’s location is no longer a secret. A handful of the renegades, the most incorrigible, will remain in custody.” She smiled slightly. “I believe you would refer to them as ‘maximum security prisoners.’ ”

            There was a moment of silence. The two parties studied each other.

            Finally, Miriam said: “We leave Earth at dawn tomorrow. We have much to tell you before we depart. This city will be yours, and you will need a ‘user’s manual,’ if you will.”

            The President of the United States sat at the head of the conference table, accompanied by his key aides. He tapped the button on the speakerphone and a tinny, attenuated version of Frank Devereaux’s voice emerged from the speaker.

            “Where are you, Frank?” the President asked.

            “I am in the jinn’s city, beneath the desert, sir. They have facilitated my call. Normally, cells don’t work down here.”

            “Where do things stand? Are you and the others safe?”

            “Yes, sir. All threats to our expedition have been – shall we say, removed.”

            “When can I meet the jinn’s leader?”

            “Well, Mr. President, they don’t have a single leader. They have a council. And I don’t think you’ll get a chance to meet them.”

            “Why not?”

            “Because, sir, they’re leaving.”

            “What?”

            “The jinn are leaving the Earth tomorrow morning – forever.”

            The President was silent.

            “Mr. President?”

            “It’s as if it never happened. They will leave, and all our efforts will have to remain a secret.”

            “No, sir.”

            “What’s that, Frank?”

            “You’ll have something to tell the world.”

            “What?”

            “Mr. President, they’re leaving their city – and all their technology – behind. They’re leaving it to us. It’s a bequest. A gift.”
(Next)

(Beginning)

Chapter 25

            Lasser and Bakhashaf filled us in on the cavern and its City. We sat spellbound, listening to the impossible.

            “It began as a limestone sinkhole thousands of years ago,” Lasser said. “Admittedly the sinkhole was a big one, perhaps a hundred meters in depth, with a small opening at the top, about one meter in diameter. Occasionally wild animals like foxes and desert cats, wandering through the desert at night, would accidentally drop into the hole – to their deaths.

            “Geological formations like this are quite common in Arabia. I’ve explored many of them myself. There’s a famous sinkhole over in Oman: it’s called Majlis al-Jinn, or the Meeting-Place of the Jinn. It’s a huge chamber, one of the biggest in the world, and its opening at the top is about 125 meters above the chamber floor. Felix Baumgartner and others have used it as a BASE jumping site.

            “But I’m not much for parachutes. I’ve been lowered down into that cavern by rope, and you can take it from me: Majlis al-Jinn is impressive, but it’s nothing compared to this place. You see, this cavern has been enlarged from its natural state – dramatically enlarged.”

            Bakhashaf said: “When the jinn found the sinkhole, it suited their purposes. They needed a hidden base, where humans were unlikely to find them. But the chamber was not big enough. So they began expanding the sinkhole, and building the City.”

            “At first they concealed the opening at the surface with optical illusions – imaginary dunes, bogus rock outcrops. But eventually, over the centuries, a natural sand sea, driven by the winds, covered the entire area, and the jinn devised a portal system – a kind of sand whirlpool – that would temporarily suck the sand away from an enlarged aperture and allow their aircraft to come and go.”

            Bakhashaf smiled: “Those ‘flying saucers’ the world knows so well – the UFOs…. They aren’t spaceships! They operate only inside the earth’s atmosphere! There is a hangar not far from here. We met some of the pilots!”

            “The secret would have remained for millennia more,” Lasser said, “if it hadn’t been for the oil exploration teams and their seismic surveys.”

            Wait till the world hears this, I thought.

            I imagined the jinn “aircraft” zipping up to the surface, past the inhabited structures around them. I thought about the towering buildings outside our quarters, set on levels above levels, and the vast, soaring expanse of the cavern, with its natural dome, and an automated portal at the center of its highest point. I sat there silently, as did my colleagues, marveling at the power of this hidden species of intelligent beings.

            I took Mubarak’s hand, and as his fingers closed around mine, I imagined, or think I imagined, a scene from the distant past. Huge laser-like instruments melted away the walls of the limestone cavern. Other beams of glowing particles, turquoise in color, rose up from the floor and created great structures, glistening, inhabitable buildings complete in structure and detail. They seemed to be using the substances in the earth that surrounded the sinkhole: limestone, granite, desert sand. The process had to be some kind of mineral transformation, carried out on a grand scale – a kind of modern alchemy….

            Annette Braverman sat alone in a conference room at the U.S. Consulate General in Dhahran, staring at the image on a large screen at the end of the conference table. The image was that of the President of the United States, and he seemed troubled. His lips began moving; there was a slight delay in the sound, due to a satellite issue, but his words soon matched the movements of his mouth.

            “So you haven’t heard anything from Goddard or Keller or anyone?” he asked.

            “No sir,” Braverman said. “But there is no need for concern at this point.”

            The President frowned. His long thin face, with drooping cheeks and soulful eyes, reminded her of a bloodhound.

            “This is a very important time for all of us, Annette,” he said, though she needed no such reminder. “Our future may hinge on the actions of that small group. I frankly feel very helpless in this situation, and wish there was more I could do.”

            “I understand, sir.”

            “I have the utmost confidence in Devereaux, and in Professor Goddard. I know you are very confident of the abilities of Dan Keller. Let’s hope we are contacted soon, and that everything works out for the best.”

            Annette looked up at the video image of the President. She knew him to be a consummate politician, an expert in the convoluted ways of Washington and in horse-trading with the U.S. Congress. But she wondered if this whole affair might be beyond his well-known skills as a political leader. Who, after all, is equipped to handle a pivotal encounter with another intelligent species? What if we screw this up?

            The President clearly had nothing more to say, and was keeping the video connection alive simply for the human contact of it. Braverman thought he must be fundamentally a very lonely man – surrounded by experts, aides and sycophants, but hesitant about what steps he should take when the fate of the whole world was at stake. She didn’t envy him at all.

            “The second I hear something, Mr. President, I will get back to you,” she said.

            After a pause, the President replied: “All right then.”

            Jinn had brought us hot mint tea and fresh fruit, and we continued our conversations among ourselves, seated on couches in the corner of that vast room. As we talked, two figures entered the room from a far-off darkened passage and walked slowly toward us. As they approached, Keller jumped to his feet.

            “Art!” he shouted. “Dahoum!”

            He looked at us and said with genuine emotion, “It’s Art Vallentine and Abdul Rahman Dossary – the missing geologists!” Keller led the way. We surrounded the two men and welcomed them back into human company. Keller did the introductions.

            The two geologists looked none the worse for wear, though a bit confused – not by the strange setting, but by our presence. They wore clothes supplied to them by the jinn: simple, brightly colored jumpsuits that shone with a metallic gleam.

            “How did you all get here?” Vallentine asked Keller. “Did you get sucked down in that whirlpool?”

            “No,” Dan said, “we came through a cave network, from the Najran area. Tell us about the whirlpool.”

            We sat Vallentine and Dossary down on one of the couches and listened to their story.  Arthur described their frightening descent into the whirlpool of sand. Both of them were convinced they were going to die. Vallentine had jumped from their Hummer and was trying in vain to climb out of the growing vortex. Dossary stayed in the vehicle, and rode it down into hell – or wherever they were going.

            Both men lost consciousness, and awoke sometime later in a small oval cavern chamber, lit with a soft, greenish glow. They lay on large, overstuffed cushions covered in what seemed like silk, and they were dressed in brightly colored jumpsuits. Dahoum’s outfit was lapis blue, and Art’s was deep burgundy. They were wearing strange footgear, clinging “socks” with a supple, leatherish feel. Soon afterwards, they met their first jinn, a pair of beings in idealized human form, and were told briefly where they were and why.

            “They hinted someone was coming for us, but they were never specific,” Dahoum said. “We never expected to see you folks.”

            “They’ve been feeding us with familiar Arabian foods,” said Arthur. “We’ve been quite well treated, but we’ve been isolated, and haven’t seen much of this place. I don’t know what to believe. First we get sucked down into the earth by a whirlpool of sand. Then we end up in some futuristic prison, staffed by spirit creatures, if that’s what they are. This whole thing creeps me out.”

            “When you do get the tour,” I said, “it will blow your mind.”

            Dan Keller asked Vallentine: “Where are your camp workers? The three Pakistanis?”

            “After the whirlpool, we never saw them. Apparently, they didn’t get sucked down to this subterranean world. We were told the camp crewmen were taken back to Haradh, none the worse for wear. We weren’t told how.”

            “I’ll believe that when I see it,” said Dossary, shaking his head.

            I told the geologists: “If our hosts, the jinn, told you the three men are safe, then they are safe.”

            “Goddard…” Arthur said, thinking about my last name. “Are you related to Matt Goddard? He used to be a petroleum engineer at Aramco.”

            “He was my father,” I said. I explained that Dad had died about a decade earlier, a few years after retirement, hit by an unexpected cerebral aneurism at my parents’ home in Austin, Texas. “I grew up in Dhahran.”

            “I didn’t know he had passed away,” Vallentine said. He seemed to be genuinely saddened. “Matt was a great guy. Very well liked by his colleagues. I don’t think I ever met you, though….”

            “I was away at college, and grad school,” I said. Those tumultuous years seemed so far in the past that they belonged to someone else.

            “So why are you all here?” Dahoum asked. “What the hell is going on?”

            “The jinn are revealing themselves to the world,” Devereaux said. “Or at least to the Americans and their allies. They seem to be about to announce something. A world-altering event, perhaps. We’re down here on a mission sponsored by the U.S. and Saudi governments, aimed at establishing contact with the jinn and determining where we go from here. We’re about as new to this place as you are.”

            “Do you have any way of communicating with the outside world?”

            “Not at the moment. Sorry.”

            Mubarak – the only one of us who really knew what was going on – sat off by himself, expressionless, quietly observing the conversation. I wished I could get inside his mind. He looked at me for a second, and I thought I saw a spark. A spark of what, I wasn’t sure….

            “This is crazy,” Vallentine said. “I’m not sure I buy it. I’m not sure I believe in this jinn stuff.”

            “Well, it really doesn’t matter whether you or I or anyone believes it,” Devereaux said grimly. He was clearly stressed, and was fighting to stay calm. “Something is going to happen, and we will have to deal with it – whatever it may be.”

            Mubarak Awda took me by the hand and escorted me out of the room. We soon passed into the great cavern of the City, alive with lights and movement. We crossed an expansive plaza and entered another building, this one immense in size, egg-shaped, windowless and colored sea-green. Before long the two of us were sitting together in a comfy little room, talking intently.

            “Tomorrow our leaders will make their announcement,” he said. “I want you to be ready for this, because it involves you personally, more than you know.”

            “You have to help me out here, Mubarak,” I said. “Surely you can tell me something.”

            Though I was the one doing the pleading, his eyes seemed to be begging me for something. Acceptance, I supposed.

            “When the announcement is made, everything will change,” he said. “I’m asking you to stand with me.”

            “That’s a strange way of putting it,” I said lightly. But his expression remained deeply serious. “Of course I’ll support you,” I added.

            “More than that,” Mubarak whispered. “I need more than that.”

            I took his hand. It was cool and reassuring. I avoided his dark brown eyes, because I knew that if I stared into them, I would plunge deeper than I wanted to.

            I suddenly thought: Was he proposing to me? My God, I thought, he can’t be proposing! I was really fond of him, and in a strange way we had once been intimate, had made love … but for God’s sake, he’s a freaking jinni! My head began to spin, I felt dizzy, and I took a deep, deep breath.

            “Slow down, sport,” I told him. “Let’s just take things as they come, one event at a time. We’ll handle the big announcement tomorrow, and then we’ll see where it leads.”

            Mubarak smiled, and sat back. He studied me for a moment, then stood up suddenly.

            “Come with me,” he said.

            He took my hand and we left the room. We passed through a series of winding passages, and emerged into the great cavern that enclosed the city of Iram. We were several levels up from the bottom plaza. We walked the streets of the city, passing many jinn. Some walked, like us, and took human shapes. Others were vaguely humanoid glows, in various colors, moving above and below, unrestrained by topography.

            We soon reached a gateway, and passed into an impressive hall, with a dome overtop. In the center of the hall, on the gleaming marble-like floor, far below the great dome, sat a white sphere about three meters across. The hall seemed empty of life. We approached the sphere slowly. When we reached it, the boundaries of the sphere became hazy, immaterial, and we entered the white object. This action seemed totally normal, and I was surprised how calm I felt. We sat down in the sphere, and I realized its inner skin was like a viewing screen in a theater. Suddenly we were looking at a landscape, a spring meadow, with distant, greenish mountains, and puffy white clouds scudding across the blue sky. If it was a video, it was incredibly realistic. Three dimensions, and sounds too. I heard the wind. In fact, I thought I could smell the wildflowers in the grass.

            Mubarak said in a quiet voice: “The sphere allows us to review history, to see what is past, what has happened. We are going back very far, into the times of legends, when truth is hard to separate from the imagined. This is the time before mankind, before Adam, as some say, when there were only jinn.”

            Suddenly we were moving up into the mountains. We overflew many villages, passed stone castles and fortifications. And we saw hundreds, thousands of inhabitants, many of them – not humans, but jinn. These, I was sure, were the many types of jinn that were spoken of in later times: afreets, marids, ghouls and common jann. Most I saw as gauzy shapes, echoes of reality, often vaguely like humans or beasts, but many times not. The farther we went up the mountain slope, the more jinn we saw. They were living their lives, as families, clans and tribes. They met in marketplaces, held assemblies. They raised walls, as if by magic, pointing with their fingers as stone blocks moved slowly into place. They flew over the fields, seated in the air as if cross-legged on flying carpets, or swooping with their arms extended, like great birds. Some traveled the roads on immense, tamed beasts – giant sloths, shaggy primordial elephants, woolly rhinos and frightening creatures I did not recognize. Despite the innate strangeness, it all seemed so normal!

            “This was the way we lived before mankind,” Mubarak told me. “We preferred the old, low mountains and their rich, green vegetation.  These climes became the Mount Qaf of legend, the green emerald mountain range surrounding the world, the primordial home of the jinn. So our life continued for eons. Then, suddenly, the humans appeared, and everything changed. For a while, we ignored them, thinking we had a clear advantage. They were primitive, and lived in just three dimensions of space. They could not shape-shift. They could not slip between dimensions and travel across continents instantaneously. But the humans were persistent – sometimes relentless. Like us, they possessed the power of free will, and they exercised it, sometimes shocking us with their boldness. They expanded quickly upon the Earth, like a rampant tumor. Sometimes we fought them, or tried to frighten them away. But our efforts were half-hearted. It was not long before we were forced into hiding, and we took on a new role with regard to mankind.”

            “A new role?” I asked.

            “As guides,” Mubarak said softly. “We were told by our leaders that this was indeed our destiny.”

            “So … you are our partners, our helpers.”

            “Yes.”

            “And all that we have achieved – as a species – has been done with your assistance?”

            “Much of it. Though most humans don’t know this. And will never know. Those who believe in jinn think we do evil and mischief. A few of us are wrong-doers, certainly. But most of us are not.”

            I sat silently in the sphere, watching the pre-Adamic jinn living their lives, and I thought about the implications of what I had just heard.

            We stood outside the sphere. Mubarak this time took both my hands. His own hands were warm and dry, and in their grip I seemed to feel an electricity, a force of some kind, passing between us.

            “Now I would like you to experience the dimensions beyond your own. Your senses are aware of these dimensions, but human brains have trouble processing the data. Perhaps someday your species will be able to experience the full array of natural dimensions. But for now, I need to possess you – temporarily – in order for you to experience the real world. Is this acceptable to you?”

            My heart began racing. I was not sure of this, but I wanted to know.

            “Okay,” I said.

            “Close your eyes,” he said.

            There was a long silence. I felt Mubarak’s presence. Somehow, he became a part of my consciousness.

            “Now open your eyes.”

            I opened them. I gasped. I was staring at Mubarak, and he looked the same, but different. There was richness, a brilliance to him. A depth…. I cannot describe this, but I could see him from all directions, even directions I was not aware of, inside and out. More than that, I experienced him. Yes, I could see his human form, his face, his body. But I also saw – was this insight? – what he really looked like. His jinn nature. And then I realized: This was how the jinn were able to possess us…. All they had to do was to sense us, to perceive us, to experience us…. My gaze drifted to the buildings around us. They too were brilliant, and oh so experienced. The colors! And textures! And the lives of those behind the walls! I knew all that I needed to know about this place. It was so apparent, so open to my senses! I felt a great joy welling up in me.

            “My God,” I said softly. I embraced him.

            “I know,” Mubarak said, just as softly.
(New)

(Beginning)

Chapter 24

            Salem Bamahfuz stormed through the Abha suq, his dark robes flying, muttering curses under his breath, as he headed for his house. His small, slender form seemed tightly wound, packed with rage. He bumped carelessly into a fruit cart, sending oranges and figs flying. The cart’s owner, an old merchant who knew Bamahfuz and his power, kept prudently silent, backing up against a nearby wall, and waiting for the angry man to pass. The market was crowded with shoppers, but most knew who this man was, and no one dared challenge him. The crowd melted away as Bamahfuz moved along the shopping street, re-forming behind him as he moved toward his multistory villa. A Sudanese doorman quickly opened the gate to Bamahfuz’s courtyard, and let his master enter.

            When Bamahfuz reached his majlis, Abu Sameer was waiting for him – standing, as was his custom, in a shaded corner, his arms folded across his chest. Bamahfuz looked at him, tried to focus on his face, but as usual, Abu Sameer was difficult to get a fix on.

            “Well?” Bamahfuz said, as he settled in a nest of pillows in his favored corner. He watched as a servant poured tea for him. “I understand you have more bad news for me.”

            “Your Iranians have failed.”

            Bamahfuz snorted. “My Iranians? My Iranians?”

            “They launched a brutal attack on an illusion. Then they wandered off and were caught in tunnel loop that never ends. They will die there.”

            The merchant shook his head slowly, then sipped his hot sweet tea. Afterward, he looked up and said: “It never ceases to amaze me that your people are unable to stand up to our adversaries.”

            Abu Sameer was silent.

            “Don’t you realize what’s at stake?” Bamahfuz asked, almost spitting his words. “Our entire way of life!”

            “We are running out of options,” said Abu Sameer. “I must consult with our leaders.”

            “You do that. And remind them that I am not without influence. And that I am custodian of the true Black Stone!”

            Abu Sameer glided through the doorway and was gone.

            Bamahfuz stood up and began pacing back and forth. He hoped none of the servants had heard him. The jinn knew about the Black Stone, but his servants were totally in the dark. Only he had the key to the special room downstairs….

            He wondered how he might use this magical stone to protect the Lost City of Iram from the invaders. Could the jinn give him any answers? Did they know what its true powers were? Certainly they must…. Bamahfuz was torn. He wanted to speak to the jinn about the powers of the Black Stone, but he did not want them to take so great an interest in the stone that he might lose it forever. Perhaps there is someone else I can turn to, a magician or sorcerer who knows the old magical texts, who understand the powers of ancient treasures.

            I will ask the old herbalist, Mazin Fawwaz, he said to himself. To most people, Mazin is a humble Abha shopkeeper who sells herbal remedies and aromatics to his neighbors from a tiny stall in the suq; but on behalf of a select few, Mazin secretly practices the “condemned system,” the ancient black magic that calls on the forces of evil, that strikes fear into the hearts of the Kingdom’s religious leaders. He consorts with afreets, the powerful jinn who serve Eblis, the great demon. The afreets are much more powerful than the run-of-the-mill jinn, than Abu Sameer and his ilk…. Without his God-given signet ring, the great Solomon, prophet and king, would have been unable to control and compel the afreets as he did, to force them to build great monuments and palaces. Perhaps the stone set in the magic ring of King Solomon is of the same substance as the Black Stone – in which case I should have no problem destroying these filthy, faithless invaders….

            Mazin’s eyes widened behind his rimless spectacles as Bamahfuz outlined the situation and described his needs. The two men stood in the shadows of Mazin’s tiny shop, which was closed for sunset prayer-time. The rich aroma of lavender, sweet thyme and oud wood invigorated Bamahfuz and helped him press on with his scheme.

            “I have a – special stone,” he had told the shopkeeper, without elaborating. “I need to summon an afreet to unleash the stone’s innate powers. I ask for your help.”

            Bamahfuz spoke about the Lost City of Iram that lay beneath the dunes of the Empty Quarter; he described its jinn inhabitants and explained about the American expedition heading for the city through subterranean tunnels. At first Mazin was skeptical, but the story held together, and before long he was asking questions and getting specific responses. Mazin had been face-to-face with the spirit world, and was not surprised about its extent and power. Of course, he thought. Of course! The UFOs that pester so much of the world are nothing more than tricks played by the jinn. Yes, they are delusions, but delusions perpetrated by jinnis….

            When Bamahfuz spoke about the intervention of the Iranian troops, Mazin’s heart began racing. Mazin was a Shi’ite, and a secret Iranian sympathizer. Bamahfuz did not know this yet – Mazin kept his religious and political preferences to himself, for the sake of survival. He saw Iran as a powerful if somewhat distant protector of his people’s rights. He knew they would come to the rescue whenever called upon.

            But Bamahfuz was suggesting in an indirect way that the Iranian soldiers were not enough, and that some action by demonic forces would be needed. The merchant had a special stone that he thought an afreet could activate. Fine, thought Mazin, let’s see what he has and we will plan a solution.

            Then something occurred to him.

            “Why are you involved in this?” Mazin asked Bamahfuz. “Isn’t this something for the jinn to deal with by themselves?”

            Bamahfuz frowned. “The jinn leaders of the city have capitulated. They are surrendering to the Americans.”

            “I find that hard to believe.”

            “It is true. Only a handful of city leaders are resisting, and these jinn have asked for my help.”

            “Why you?”

            “I have many resources on the ground.”

            “Hm.”

            Mazin noticed that the street sounds outside were stepping up.

            “Prayer is over,” he said. “Let us go to your house and see the stone.”

            Bamahfuz smiled and clapped Mazin on the shoulder as the two of them left the shop and headed for the villa.

            Bamahfuz shared with Mazin Fawwaz the secret of the Black Stone. Fawwaz stared in amazement at the chunk of gleaming black meteorite beneath the glass dome as Bamahfuz related the story. Mazin was skeptical at first, but the longer he stared at the stone the more persuaded he became. He had of course been to the Great Mosque in Mecca, and, like other pilgrims, had kissed the stone framed in silver at the corner of the Kaaba. The notion that the real Black Stone could lie here beneath a dome of glass, in the villa of businessman Salem Bamahfuz, both thrilled and frightened him. The thought crept into his mind: Could I possibly bind an afreet to this stone, and thereby imbue it with staggering powers? I don’t know if I can do this, Mazin told himself. He thought about all the ancient spells he had read and mastered over the years. He searched his memory for one that could do the job.

            Assuring Bamahfuz that he could summon and bind an afreet, he hurried home to get his satchel, which contained various herbs and artifacts used in his work. When he returned to the room, Bamahfuz was still staring at the meteorite beneath the glass dome.

            “Ah, you are back,” said Bamahfuz, sensing Mazin’s presence, but not looking at him. “You may summon the afreet now.”

            Bamahfuz slowly backed away from the stone and stood quietly in a corner while Fawwaz began his preparations. Reciting complex incantations that veered from Arabic to ancient Aramaic to totally unfamiliar tongues, he sprinkled the floor around the pedestal with powdered sidr leaves. Sidr, or Ziziphus spina-christi, the Christ’s-thorn tree, was well known as a plant favored by the jinn. In the spiny sidr thickets that grew in remote areas of the desert, the jinn were said to keep their lush, secret gardens.

            “We must remove the glass,” Mazin said. “I will need to touch the stone.”

            “It is not sealed,” said Bamahfuz. “Just lift the dome off.”

            Mazin did so, setting the glass dome on a nearby table. He looked closely at the stone, at the amazing array of sparkling colored pinpoints that winked in a sea of utter blackness. He placed his fingertips on the stone. Surprisingly, it felt alive, almost pulsing. He pulled his hand away quickly, then took a deep breath and touched the stone again. He pulled from his memory the Arabic phrase that would summon the afreet. But before he could utter the words, his vision blurred, he gasped, and he staggered backwards. He bumped into Bamahfuz, who was staring in the direction of the Black Stone. Two of them stared transfixed as a greenish mist materialized in the neighborhood of the stone. The mist coalesced quickly into a large, featureless humanoid shape standing behind the stone. Fawwaz and Bamahfuz realized they were looking at the afreet. The shape, about seven feet tall and slender, towered over them and dominated the room. As they watched in growing terror, it slowly became more understandable, showing golden eyes and a dark slit of a mouth. Its vermilion skin was smooth, supple and shining, without hair or blemish. The two men could not tell if the creature wore clothes; its remarkable skin seemed so artificial and, while the figure exuded masculine power, they could see no sexual organs. The afreet moved large hands in circular motions above the Black Stone, as if calming it. The creature had thumbs, but the four fingers on each hand were fused into flattened spades. The circular movement of the quasi-hands had the two men almost hypnotized.

            “Come here,” said the afreet. It spoke their language, but its lips did not move. Its deep, almost booming voice seemed to permeate their flesh and penetrate their skulls. Slowly, trembling, the two men approached the pedestal.

            “You are such fools,” the creature said.

            Its odd comment shocked them, helped them clear their heads. They looked at each other, then back at the afreet.

            The creature stared at them steadily with its golden eyes, which seemed endlessly deep and swirling, like vortices drawing them in.

            “You live in the 21^st century of your era. But you act as if nothing has changed since ancient times. Don’t you realize that existence is a never-ending process, always moving, always altering? You still think of us as the same jinn your prophets knew so many centuries ago. Those ancient creatures exist only in storybooks! Just as your world has changed, so has ours. Let me assure you, you cannot summon us and bind us with your silly magic!”

            The creature gestured toward itself.

            “You think of me as an afreet, a powerful demon serving ‘Shaytan’! Such an old and curious belief…. I am not a demon, and you did not summon me. I came to you because the time is right. We must make an end of this charade – now!”

            Bamahfuz inched forward, realizing this was his last chance.

            “I understand that you are angry, O Great One,” he said. “But we need to make use of your powers. We need to stop a great blasphemy from occurring!”

            “Blasphemy??” The creature laughed. “What a quaint concept…. No doubt you are referring to the visitors – the visitors to our city. This is not something you can stop. Decisions have already been made, and the machinery set in motion.”

            “But, O Great One, we have – as you can see – the Black Stone! We can use it, with your help, to exert its great power and stop the infidels.”

            “You are not going to stop anyone,” said the creature. It looked down at the stone on the pedestal. “This will not help you.”

            Pointing at Mazin, the creature said: “This man is a charlatan. Send him away!”

            Mazin looked at Bamahfuz, who made a dismissive gesture. The old herbalist, confused, left the room. By the time he reached the door that opened onto the street, he had no idea where he was or what he had been doing.

            The creature beckoned to Bamahfuz, who was beginning to have doubts but did not want to offend this strange being.

            “Come closer,” it said. “I want you to place your hand on the stone.”

            Bamahfuz approached the pedestal and laid his hand on the Black Stone. It felt warm to the touch, and his palm tingled from the contact.

            “Now, press hard against the stone.”

            Bamahfuz did as he was told. The stone seemed to give way, and his hand sunk suddenly, deep into the rock. He looked with amazement. His hand had vanished into the stone, beyond the wrist.

            “What is happening?” he asked with a quavering voice.

            “You are merging with the stone. You are becoming bound to it. It is an interdimensional phenomenon, and you are incapable of understanding it. But this is what you wished to do to me, is it not?”

            Bamahfuz pulled frantically, trying to extricate his hand from the rock, but it was trapped. The stone was very heavy – too heavy for him to lift alone. He turned to the creature with a look of pure terror in his eyes.

            “Help me!” he cried.

            “I have already helped you,” said the creature. “Now you may take advantage of the powers of this stone.”

            “What powers?” Bamahfuz asked.

            “Exactly,” said the creature. “This is not the Black Stone. Did you actually think we would return it to the men who stole it?”

            It took only a few seconds for the vermilion being to dissolve before Bamahfuz’s eyes. The businessman was suddenly alone, in his secret room, his hand trapped inside a black chunk of rock. He realized he would never be able to free himself. From the far corners of the villa, the servants could hear his high-pitched scream.
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