Chapter 6

“So tell me, do jinn exist, or are they just folklore?”

            All six of her students laughed. They were sitting on the grass beneath a tall elm, not far from the old Gothic-style chapel. It was their last preceptorial of the spring term. Professor Goddard got to her feet and circled the students as she talked. A light breeze blew her sandy hair over her face; she swept it back and faced the six.

            “We’ve studied the jinn legends of four Muslim countries. You know by now that many of the people in these countries regard the jinn as a living species, as intelligent beings that share the earth with man. They believe the jinn were created by God, as man was, that they have free will, that some follow the path of righteousness and others stray, and become demons. So, again, tell me, do jinn exist?”

            “Is this a trick question?”

            Once more, laughter. Emily looked at the earnest youth sitting closest to the tree. Alan Badillo’s arms were wrapped around his knees. He was smiling.

            “No, Alan, it’s not.”

            “Well, then I’d say they don’t exist. They’re mythological.”

            “Are all myths false?”

            “Well…”

            “Who’s heard of David Bohm?”

            Silence.

            Emily pressed on. “I know most of you are liberal arts majors, but some of you must have studied physics.”

            “Oh, I remember,” said Justin Walsh. He was a reedy young man with rimless eyeglasses and a shock of wheat-blond hair. “He was one of Einstein’s friends. Back when Einstein was here, at the Institute of Advanced Studies.”

            “Right,” Emily said. “Bohm was one of our best theoretical scientists. He and Einstein would sit for hours at the Colonial Café, drinking strong coffee and exploring the boundaries of knowledge. He never won the Nobel Prize, but many say he deserved it. Bohm developed the theory of the implicate order. He believed that we live in a universe of many spatial dimensions – all but three of which are hidden from us, or from our perspective, rolled up and ‘implicate.’ ”

Emily sat down in front of her students, her long legs folded beneath her, her hands on her knees, her eyes wide.  “According to the theory of the implicate order – though I admit Bohm never spoke of this specific possibility – jinn and other spiritlike beings could exist in the physical universe, but primarily in dimensions that are hidden from our senses. They could have the ability to enter and leave our three spatial dimensions at will. They could be real.”

“Oh, that’s bull, Dr. Goddard, if you’ll excuse my French.”

Emily laughed. “You may be right! But additional dimensions do exist. Physicists insist on it. Otherwise, the mathematics of quantum theory doesn’t work. Those extra dimensions are hidden from our senses, and it’s very possible that something exists in them. Beyond that, the physicists and cosmologists are looking into the possibility that alternate universes exist.  Parallel universes. Bubble universes. Worlds where duplicates of you and me may exist, not to mention entirely different lifeforms.”

            Lying on the bed in my Washington hotel room, hours after my briefing at the Old Executive Office Building, I relived that spring preceptorial with unusual vividness. The session under the elm had been prompted by Max’s multidimensional speculations. Now it finally seemed relevant.

            I jumped to my feet and scooted over to the mini-bar. I pulled out the fixings for a double rum and Coke. I really needed a drink. I was confused, and scared shitless.

            As I sat on the bed and sipped my Cuba Libre, I went over the briefing again. Pollack had proceeded to explain the facts of life to me, and in the course of his explanation, had sent my smart-alec persona running for cover.

            Yes, he said, there were UFOs and aliens. They were real. (Great…) But they weren’t from a distant galaxy; they lived among us. They were hiding in the basement, for God’s sake! And it looked like the federal government was on the verge of busting their cover.

            “This is where you come in, Dr. Goddard.”

            That classic line gave me the chills. I downed the rest of my drink and laid down on the bed. The ceiling, with its swirling white stipples, looked far more attractive than what seemed to lie ahead for me. I studied the swirls, making myself dizzy in the process. No way I’m getting involved in this bullshit. No way in hell.

            I squirmed on the bed and thought, what I wouldn’t give for a nice, hot, zipless fuck right now. No strings, no regrets. Just something to take my mind off this lunacy….

            Then I sat up straight and shook my head wildly. Look at yourself, Emily, just look at you!

            I jumped off the bed and began pacing. Jinn hunting in Arabia? Unidentified Flying Objects???? What a crock. My professional reputation – meager though it is – will be shot. My neighbors will give me strange looks. And Max? He’ll call me when he finds out, I just know it. And he’ll laugh. Oh, he’ll laugh!… God, I hate that obnoxious bark of his…

            I wrapped my arms around myself as I paced, and thought how much I’d hated Max when we broke up, and how much I’d loved him at the beginning. Maybe it was a mistake to leave him. Maybe we could work things out. Oh, how I detest these emotions, they’re so … multidimensional!

            It suddenly occurred to me that I really needed Max now. Not so much as a lover – though that might not be a bad idea – but as a kindred soul and a thinker. Max would help me figure this whole thing out. He was a skeptic about the paranormal, but he was open to new ideas. Max would know what to do…

            The phone rang. Distracted, I picked it up.

            “Yes?”

            “Dr. Goddard? It’s Frank Devereaux.”

            “Oh. Hi.” I picked up my drink and finished off the dregs. “What’s up?”

            “I was wondering if I could fill you in on some of the details. We’ll be working together on this.”

            One surprise after another.

            “Where are you, Frank?”

            “Downstairs, in the café. There's someone I want you to meet.”

            “Okay. Give me a minute, and I’ll be down. But Frank –”

            “Yes?”

            “The bar. Meet me in the bar.”

            We were sitting across from each other in an expansive brown booth. Next to Frank was an older man, about fifty, with graying hair, mustache and an impish expression, as if he had just pulled a prank and no one knew about it yet. Frank made the introductions.

            “Dr. Goddard, this is Dr. William Semple, professor of psychiatry at Columbia University. You may have heard of him. He's an expert in alien encounters.”

            “As in close encounters?” I asked.

            Dr. Semple smiled. “You bet. Call me Bill.”

            Frank tried to head off my skepticism. “Dr. Semple – Bill – began studying alien encounters and abductions as a possible psychological disorder. But he found there was more to it than that – right, Doctor?”

            “Well, yes. I was still finding psychological problems, but many of these seemed to be caused by real phenomena. Something was happening to these people. It was not just their imaginations run amok. Most of those who claim abductions or encounters are just normal people, not wingnuts or fringe types.”

            “Wingnuts – is that a clinical term?” I asked.

            The good doctor grinned. “I think you know what I mean.”

            Our drinks arrived. A second Cuba Libre for me, a light beer for Frank and a Guinness for Dr. Semple.

            “Bill will be joining us on our trip.”

            Ah, the trip! Now we're getting to it. I knew I would be heading back to Arabia, but had no idea where.

            For the first time I got a chance to study Frank's eyes, which were greenish gray and rather earnest. He reached in his coat pocket and pulled out a snapshot. I had this silly feeling that he was going to show me a picture of his significant other.

            “Have you ever seen this before?” he asked.

            It was one of the most bizarre images I’d ever seen. Something – someone? – caught off-guard, photographed in what looked like a murky cave. A grayish creature, with spidery limbs, a gaunt torso and a largish head, with pointed ears and piercing eyes. The photographer had caught the creature head-on, as it clung to the rocks, and the tell-tale red-eye from the flash gave the subject a devilish look. It appeared to be nude, but there was no sign of sexual identity. Slightly feminine, but…? And the feet – how strange … the toes appeared to curl up, like harem slippers. If it hadn't been for the fiery eyes and the fact that it was poised to run, I'd have thought I was looking a desiccated human body, all the fluids sucked out of it by natural mummification, someone murdered perhaps and abandoned in a cave.

            “What the hell is this?” I asked. I examined the photo carefully. Your normal snapshot, say three by five, with a date burned in the lower right corner: 04-05-01.

            “Take a guess,” Devereaux said.

            “Oh, right! It’s a jinni!” I said with appropriate sarcasm. “How could I have missed that?”

            He smiled and took the photo from me, studying it briefly before laying it on the table in front of him. Dr. Semple didn't seem very curious. It clear he had already studied the photo.

            “It was allegedly taken in a cave in southwestern Saudi Arabia. For the past year, the Saudi authorities have been searching for the photographer – and the cave. So far without success. They brought the photo to us about a month ago. They want us to identify it.”

            “Lucky you.” I took a swallow of my drink. I looked again at the photo, with its so-called jinni. The eyes were creepy as hell…

            “Actually, lucky you.”

            I looked up. “What do you mean?”

            “I mean, it’s your baby now. Bill and I will assist, but you are in charge. We’d like you to track down the photographer and the location.”

            I laughed in my drink. “You need a private eye.”

            “We have one. A Saudi investigator. We’d like you to work with him. He'll take you to the cave where we think the photo was taken. His name is Mubarak Awda. He has good instincts, and – ”

            “And?”

            “ – he knows Najran.”

            Najran – a remote city, in southwestern Arabia, near the Yemen border. In the foothills of the Asir mountain ranges. Right on the edge of the desert, last stop before the sands of the Empty Quarter. It was a Christian stronghold before Islam swept through the area in the seventh century. Very few people knew about the time I’d spent in Najran. But apparently Frank did. Obviously, the Feds had a good dossier on me.

            I looked at Devereaux. “Are you sure this photo was taken in that area?”

            “It’s our best guess.”

            “Well, I’ll be damned.”

            Dr. Semple looked at me intently. “I know all this must sound bizarre to you,” he said, “but it's truly on the level. We have made a breakthrough in understanding, and are on the verge of resolving this UFO thing once and for all. Yes, there are UFOs and alien abductions. No, the aliens do not come from outer space. They have always lived on our planet, but they've been in hiding. We are about the shine the glaring light of truth on their activities.”

            Bill seemed quite driven on this subject. Had a bunch of loonies taken over our government? Or, had there really been, as he said, a “breakthrough”? I didn't seem to have much choice in the matter. So I sipped my drink and nodded. Let's see where this takes us....
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