65

 

Hejaz Mountains

Saudi Arabia

Mehmet Osman was thoroughly confused. As he stood on a front porch deck overlooking the holy city of Mecca, he’d already forgotten why he was here.

He’d been suffering from dementia for several years. It had crept up on him even before he’d considered retiring from the public library he’d worked at in downtown London for more than twenty years. There were days when he’d forget what he’d been doing earlier that day.

Osman had long ago resigned himself to the fact that he was the last of the heirs to the long-dead Ottoman Empire caliphate. He’d never married, and he had no children.

But he did not regret that. He’d never had any desire, really, to live in Turkey. And he’d certainly never had any thought of entering politics or becoming involved in affairs of state.

No, Osman had always been content with his small, uneventful life. Every so often, for a bit of fun at a cocktail party or a small gathering, he would reveal that he was an Osman and an heir in the succession of caliphs who’d ruled the Ottoman Empire. He’d get a laugh, a lifted brow, several questions about the job requirements for a caliph, and then the conversation would move on.

In fact, Osman had never truly studied the Ottoman Empire or what caliphs did. He’d heard stories from his parents and grandparents growing up, of course. But they’d all seemed so distant and remote. It had never occurred to him that he’d need to pay any attention to the stories of his childhood.

Until today. That’s why he was confused. Osman wondered why someone had bothered to fly him halfway across the world, to a place in the Hejaz mountains overlooking the holy city of Mecca. He could see Mecca from where he stood. The sun was beginning to rise in the east, so the outlines of the holy city were becoming visible.

The two men who’d come to see Osman at his flat in London had produced identification papers indicating that they were members of the Saudi National Guard. The princes of Saudi Arabia wanted to honor him at a ceremony, they said, and they were willing to pay handsomely if he would agree to accompany them to the kingdom.

The two men had then given him a considerable sum as a gesture of good faith. Osman had nothing better to do, so he’d decided on a whim to travel to Saudi Arabia with them. He’d already decided he would buy two new suits with the money they’d given him.

The men had not explained Osman’s role in the ceremony, and he hadn’t asked. The sum of money and their identification papers had been convincing. They’d left in a small jet, from a private hangar at Heathrow. There had been no waiting, no checking bags, and no need for security. It had been just the three of them, and two pilots, on the private aircraft.

Osman had stared out the windows for most of the trip. It had been a very long time since he’d come back to this part of the world. He’d lived in London for so long that he’d forgotten how breathtakingly gorgeous the Arabian Peninsula was.

They’d landed the night before and had taken private vehicles up into the Hejaz mountains. When he’d asked about the activities that would occur in the morning, the two men had merely smiled and told him that all would become clear soon enough.

Osman asked about a banner and flag propped up in the corner of the safe home they’d brought him to. It was a unique flag, with a red triangle and green, black, and white stripes. He did not know that it was the last flag of the old kingdom of Hejaz, that it had been used as their symbol for the Arab Revolt early in the twentieth century, or that it had later emerged as the modern Palestinian flag.

As a librarian, Osman should have known that the colors of the Hejaz flag had come to be known as the unofficial pan-Arab colors—should a day ever arrive when there was a reemergence of a pan-Islamic caliphate that crossed country borders and looked like the old Ottoman Empire.

Had he ever inquired about his own heritage and his connection to past events, he would have learned about the disappearance of the kingdom of Hejaz in 1925, when an Emir drove the Hashemites out of Mecca, creating the modern kingdom of Saudi Arabia. The House of Saud had ended any hopes of a pan-Islamic caliphate when it made Arabia a monarchy.

Now, as Osman looked out from Hejaz at Mecca, he noticed men fanning out in all directions across the eastern slope of the Hejaz mountainside. Carrying torches, they set trees on fire as they made their way through the forest. It was a sight to behold.

Osman turned to the two men who’d brought him here. “What is that?” he asked them.

“It is of no concern,” said one of the two men.

“But…”

“They are clearing brush,” said the second man. “They’re firefighters, and they’re simply clearing out dead wood in an old growth forest. They’re making way for new growth.”

Osman nodded. It didn’t make sense, but the men were right. It was of no concern. The two men then beckoned to him, urging him to return inside, out of the early morning air. They all needed to rest up for the day ahead, they told him.

Good, Osman thought. Then I will have time for a nap.

Several of the larger trees exploded as the raging fire spread throughout the forest that overlooked Mecca. Within hours, the fire would move from the mountains of Hejaz toward Mecca. This, too, would fulfill prophecy about events that must immediately precede the return of the Mahdi.