LATE SUNDAY MORNING, Abdullah al Jamal loaded the linen wrapped body of Russell "Bitty" Smith into the back of his old four-wheel drive pickup in preparation for informal interment. The truck, provided to him by his handler in El Paso, blended into the drab desert earth tones as if camouflaged intentionally.
In the truck he unfolded a BLM map of southeastern New Mexico. He spread it out on the seat beside him, and searched it to determine the locations of public and privately owned desert lands. The rugged jeep trails, that appeared to end with no clear destination, were of greatest interest to him. With a highlighter he marked the route he would take through thousands of undulating uninhabited acres. Since he would stay on public land he had no fear of trespass law, but would watch for ranchers.
As roads went from gravel to dirt and finally no road at all, his progress slowed. On sparsely vegetated rangeland, devoid of anything but scattered clumps of brittle grass and thirsty desert shrubs, he bumped along on uneven land noting a distant cow or two and an occasional galvanized metal water tank fed by a spinning windmill. After five miles from the nearest trail, he stopped at a desolate patch of ground. A visual search revealed the location to be surrounded by higher elevations. He reasoned high ground would be the best burial site, since it would be less subject to water erosion. With shovel in hand, and the little body of Bitty Smith flopping over his shoulder, he trudged uphill until he found what looked like a perfect spot. Dumping the body on the ground, he began to dig.
He encountered hard packed soil, not unlike the deserts around his home on the Arabian Peninsula near Dhahran. Each shovel of dirt required tremendous effort and no little pounding with his foot. His sweat evaporated almost as soon as it appeared on his skin. A half hour later, his muscles sore, he had chiseled through the top twelve inches of the sun baked soil. He drank from a dented canteen and sprinkled a little water on his head.
Work progressed as the temperature edged up. He paused to catch his breath. It was hot, but not as hot as the last time he dug a grave in desert heat. Abdullah jammed the shovel into the hard ground, rested on the handle and remembered his family’s disgrace.
Ten years before he bury his sister Nadia, one of three siblings. The labor performed that summer day restored his family’s honor. As one of six thousand members of the Royal Family, Abdullah’s father, Prince Abeer Jamal, enjoyed the wealth and privileges that went with the title, and the requirement that honor be preserved in the name of Allah, the Lord of the World.
On a hot day in August the Brotherhood of the Defiant kidnapped Nadia, and held her for twenty days before accepting a fraction of the original ransom demanded for her release. At the hospital, the doctors found that her hymen had been ruptured which brought dishonor to the family. The loss of her virginity, even against her will, meant she was a disgraced woman and could never be married. She became a liability to the family and, therefore expendable.
Family prayers preceded the taking of her life. In deference to her membership in a royal family, she experienced a peaceful death by lethal injection administered by her father. This spared her the agony of stoning, strangulation or a slashed throat. Prince Jamal ordered that Abdullah, his oldest male child, hide their shame in the scorched sand dunes of the Persian Gulf south of Dhahran. Abdullah's brothers, little more than babies, remained at home.
Abdullah regretted the loss of Nadia. If his younger brother had been kidnapped, none of this would have happened. Every member of the Brotherhood of the Defiant would have been hunted down and hung from light poles in the city streets. But, she was a woman, and the Will of Allah the Majestic must be served. In a strange way, this experience strengthened Abdullah’s determination to serve his God.
"I must not think of that time," he muttered, still standing before the future grave of Bitty Smith. "I have work to do."
By mid-afternoon he had created a hole in the ground one meter deep, two meters long and one wide. Good enough for the likes of Bitty Smith. He rolled the wrapped body into the hole. As he filled the grave with rock-like soil Bitty disappeared. After each shovelful he tamped the ground using a booted foot to pack it down. When finished he scattered the excess soil, in an effort to restore a natural look to the surface.
Satisfied, Abdullah stepped back to admire the results of his landscaping. Bitty is now a seed in the earth. Given his sexual perversion this may be his only opportunity to nourish new life. This idea caused him to chuckle.
He returned to his truck, tossed the shovel in the back, sucked down a long satisfying drink of water, and prepared for the drive back to his remote desert home.
As the truck bumped from one uneven surface to another he contemplated his next move. Tomorrow, in the name of Russel Smith, he’d open an account at the Bank of America, and, of course apply to the U. S. State Department for a passport.