72

 

Mecca, Saudi Arabia

Given what he’d heard from Nash on the ride to Mecca, Prince Abdul decided to ignore the niceties of diplomacy and ceremony. There wasn’t time.

The day was waning. They’d gotten reports of the Day of Anger protests throughout their flight from Riyadh to Mecca. Most of them had been largely peaceful and uneventful. The protests in Dammam and Qatif, especially, had been mild. Students had shown up, waved their cell phone cameras around for a while, and eventually dispersed.

They’d gotten two disturbing reports as they neared Mecca—both of which they’d need to confront once they’d landed. The first was that a brush fire had engulfed much of the forestland to the west of Mecca and was making its way down the slope. There had also been strange reports of hordes of horses approaching Mecca from both the north and the south. Both would arrive within the hour, the reports said.

While he didn’t pay much attention to such things, Abdul knew that the fire and the cavalry charges from the north and south were prophecies that tens of millions had read about in popular novels about the return of the Mahdi. And today they would be witness to such prophecies, no matter how absurd.

But it was possible that none of this mattered. It might all be for show. The game was here, in Mecca, at the Kaaba. He couldn’t say precisely what Natal was up to, but if he was here in Mecca, it was for a reason.

Three mobile phones went off. Nash glanced at his. He didn’t recognize the number. But Abdul answered his mobile. As he listened, a look of horror crept onto his face.

“There was an explosion at the king’s palace,” Abdul said once he’d hung up and regained his composure. “A portable nuclear device. It destroyed three floors. King Faisal was killed immediately.”

Nash turned white. They’d been there, hours before. He’d only met Faisal—and now the king was dead. Even in the midst of this chaos, Nash couldn’t help but wonder—and marvel—at Natal’s ability to orchestrate these events.

“I’m sorry,” Nash murmured. “I can only imagine your pain. But this means that…”

“Natal is king,” Abdul said.

“And the only other true rival to keep him from remaining king is Prince Muhammad—here, in Mecca,” Nash concluded.

Abdul leaned forward to get the pilot’s attention. “Land the helicopter in the square,” he told him. “As soon as possible.”

The pilot turned, horrified. “The square of the Kaaba? Are you certain?”

“I am certain,” Abdul said. “Land it in one of the corners. The pilgrims will largely have finished by now. There should be room to land safely.”

The pilot obeyed. The helicopter was built for long-haul missions, but it could also hover and land in tight spaces. He’d have no problem landing it safely in the Kaaba square.

As they made their approach, Nash was still in shock from the news. He looked out to the west. Much of the eastern slope of the Hejaz mountainside was ablaze. Black smoke billowed skyward.

“Do you see it—that fire coming toward Mecca from the mountain-side?” Nash asked.

Abdul nodded. “It fulfills prophecy—just like the cavalry charges.”

“Prophecy about what?” Nash asked.

“The return of the Mahdi, or the Twelfth Imam,” Abdul said. “If you believe in such things.”

Nash said nothing. Too much had happened in the previous twenty-four hours for him to process this news. At this point, he wasn’t sure what, or whom, to believe any longer.

The helicopter banked hard and swept out over the square. A few people were still walking around the Kaaba, but most had made their pilgrimage and had left the square. The pilot was able to land the craft safely. Nash and Prince Abdul hurried off toward the nearest door at the outer edge of the square.

“Where is Natal?” Abdul asked a guard, a member of the White Army, as they left the square. “I need to see him immediately.”

“He is with the governor, within the Kaaba. They are there for the ceremony, the cleaning. But I believe he is about to leave the compound, before the ceremony is finished,” the guard said. “We—we have all heard the news. I believe the new king is about to return to Riyadh. The governor will remain behind and finish the ceremonial day of cleaning.”

Abdul and Nash exchanged glances. An unspoken thought occurred to both of them at the same moment. They were running out of time.

“Take us to the Kaaba. Now,” the prince ordered. “We need to see the new king before he leaves for Riyadh.”

“But sir, the ceremony has already begun. They are inside the Kaaba. I can’t…”

Abdul turned and walked back into the square. He strode purposefully toward the square black building. Nash followed him. Guards hurried to catch up.

Nash felt helpless. He had no idea what was happening. But he trusted Abdul’s instincts. By the time they’d crossed the square and arrived at the entrance to the Kaaba, Nash was actually winded. Between the largely sleepless night and then the wild ride from Riyadh to Mecca, he was running on fumes.

Natal was just coming down the stairs that led into the Kaaba as they’d arrived. The pilgrims still in the square stared in fascination as two members of the royal family confronted each other in front of Islam’s holiest site.

As he arrived at the bottom of the stairs, Natal glanced first at Abdul and then at Nash. He was clearly taken by surprise, both by Abdul’s arrival here, at the Kaaba, and by Nash’s presence with him. But he recovered quickly.

“What is the meaning of this?” he demanded. “Why are you here?”

“I needed to see you,” Abdul said. “So I am here.”

Natal was agitated. Both Nash and Abdul could see on the new king’s face that he wanted to be anywhere but here at this moment. It was painfully obvious.

“I know you’ve received word of the horrific incident at the palace,” Natal said, visibly angry. “So I must return to Riyadh. Immediately. There is not a moment to lose.” Natal started to move away from the prince. There was no doubt he wanted to leave this place. Quickly.

Abdul stepped in front of him, physically preventing Natal from leaving. Nash held his breath. “Natal,” Abdul said quietly, so only the three of them could hear his words, “I know what you’ve done. I know. But we will leave that discussion for another day.

“For now, I insist that you remain here, with me. We will take part in the day of cleaning, with the governor of Mecca. For today, we will all be one big, happy family. Wherever you go, for at least the foreseeable future, I wish to make sure that both the governor of Mecca and I remain with you.”

Natal, the new king, and Abdul, who would soon become foreign minister, stood facing each other. Nash could see that Natal wished to flee the Kaaba. Every fiber of his being screamed it to the heavens. The fear emanating from Natal was palpable.

“I am your king,” Natal said. “I do not answer to you.”

“True. And right now, I would invite you in the strongest possible terms to enjoy this glorious day of cleaning inside the Kaaba with the governor and myself.”

Abdul, the younger man, took Natal by the arm and steered him back toward the entrance to the Kaaba. Nash trailed behind, still not quite certain what was happening. But he was determined to keep up.

In the end, Natal did not resist. For what could he do? Flee? An elderly king, running in abject fear from the Kaaba as pilgrims watched? Hardly.

Natal went to work immediately. He did not have a moment to lose. There was some risk to him in what he was about to do, but there was no other choice. He was trapped here, inside the shrine, and there were no allies here to help him. He had to act.

Once inside the Kaaba, Natal left Abdul and Nash, ignored the dignitaries sweeping the floor with ceremonial brooms, and approached one of the White Army guards. He, in turn, then found two more additional guards. The three of them approached a hapless member of the cleaning crew.

The man panicked. He tried to sprint for a closet to one side of the interior of the Kaaba. “Stop him!” one of the guards called out. A fourth guard intercepted the man. They collapsed to the ground in a flurry of tangled arms and legs.

One of the approaching guards opened the door of the closet the man had been trying to reach. He recoiled immediately and took two quick steps backward. It was obvious, even to his untrained eye, that it was some sort of an explosive device.

“Everyone needs to leave this place,” the guard said loudly. “Right now. There’s a bomb here.”

It was like yelling fire in a crowded movie theater. All of the dignitaries dropped their brooms and rushed toward the exit as one. It wasn’t pretty. They all tried to shove and push their way through the door by force in order to escape what they feared was a death trap. Natal, Abdul, and Nash were nearly crushed in the sudden, mad dash for the exit. They were fortunate to escape.

But just as they’d reached the stairs, they were greeted with pandemonium on the other side of the doorway. Dozens, perhaps hundreds, of soldiers mounted on horses streamed into the square, carrying white and black flags, waving menacing swords above their heads and shouting to the heavens. Members of the White Army moved quickly to cut them off before they could reach the Kaaba. Bursts of gunfire echoed throughout the square.

Some of the remaining pilgrims trapped inside the square— at least those who knew the legends about the return of the Mahdi— immediately recognized the prophesied signs. But there wasn’t time to process these thoughts. Everything was happening too quickly.

An instant later, a small, five-seat, white helicopter with twin propellers hurtled over the top of the onrushing cavalry. It navigated to the center of the square, slowed, and then came to rest—directly atop the Kaaba.