The Aisha Prophecy

by Maxim, John R.

  Haskell could hear the soft hum of their voices, broken sometimes by laughter, sometimes by song. He stood for a moment absorbing it all, a smile of satisfaction on his face. “We really do run the world,” he mused aloud to the others. “I mean, think of it. Just us. Just the men at all these fires. It still boggles my mind, but it’s a fact.”

  There were five at the fire that Haskell was tending. Those in his group were younger than most. All five were in their late forties, early fifties. All were dressed casually, windbreakers and slacks. All sat barefoot. All but one were bareheaded. Only Haskell himself had the toned and rugged look of a man who spent much time outdoors. Two of the men were not members of the club. They had come as guests. They had arrived that afternoon.

  “The whole world?” asked Howard Leland, one of the two guests. “I’d have to call that a bit of a stretch.”

  “Oh, would you? Look around you. Look at all those fires,” said the chairman of Trans-Global Oil & Gas. “That’s the greatest concentration of power and wealth that has ever, I mean ever, been seen in one place. Especially now, with world markets imploding. No government on earth has more influence.”

  “Ours included?” asked Leland, who was senior in that government. A cabinet officer. Secretary of State.

  “Ours especially,” said Haskell. “Who put it in office? It serves at our pleasure, for our purposes.”

  The third man in their group was a banker. He was British. He could see that Leland had taken offense. He said to Leland, “The first day at this gathering is always a bit heady. But you’ll find that it settles quite nicely after that.” He said to Haskell, “Charles, you really must mind your words. Howard Leland has never been anyone’s puppet. I’m sure that you were not suggesting otherwise.”

  “Of course not,” said Haskell. “He’s one of us. Or he will be. My apologies, Howard. Want a beer?”

  Leland declined. He said, “Later, perhaps.” He’d begun to regret having come.

  “And, okay,” said Haskell. “Maybe not the whole world. But you’ll see before you leave that I’m not so far off. Leave out China for the moment. We’ll get to them later. The Mideast and its oil is a work in progress, but well underway. And leave out all the countries that have nothing we want. I should have said we run the world that matters.”

  Leland made himself smile. “That clears it up. Thank you.”

  “Yes, lighten up, Charles,” said the fourth man at their fire. He said to Leland, “We’re not really so full of ourselves. Give it time and I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised. You’ll see former presidents letting their hair down, behaving as they did in their frat house days. Senators, statesmen, all doing the same. I’d imagine you already know many of them. Do you?”

  The man who asked that question was the media mogul. He owned more than a hundred newspapers worldwide and some seventy-five TV stations. Leland answered dryly, “I’d imagine.”

  “Of course you do,” said the mogul. “Those in government, surely. But one can never have too many friends in high places. We’ll see if we can’t broaden your reach.”

  The fifth man at their fire was a Saudi. A prince. Unlike the others who were tall, clean-shaven and lean, he was squat and he was fleshy with a beard in need of trimming. He formed a lump where he sat. The image was enhanced by the bath towel he’d brought which he wore draped over his head and his shoulders. He was staring at the fire. He sat rocking back and forth and he’d not said a word. He had acknowledged Leland’s presence with a nod.

  Haskell had taken Leland aside. He said, “Don’t mind him. He’s in a bit of a funk. Some problem involving his daughter back home. He won’t discuss it. Be thankful.”

  “I assume he’s in oil?”

  “What Saudi prince isn’t?”

  “How high up, though? A minister?”

  “Oh, something much better.”

  “Higher?”

  “Way lower. But that’s what makes him useful. He hates all the princes who have more than he has. And he knows where a lot of them keep it.”

  The banker overheard. He said, “Charles, that can wait. For now, let’s enjoy this lovely evening.”

  The proper name of the place was The Bohemian Grove. More commonly, and by custom, it was simply called, ‘The Camp.” In terms of ambience, however, and in terms of creature comforts, it was no more a camp than Camp David. But the surroundings were unspoiled. Dense forests. Pristine lakes. California’s Russian River ran through it. The Grove covered almost three thousand acres some forty miles north of Sacramento.

  Its expanse was well patrolled; its gates aggressively guarded. The odd paparazzo had managed to slip in, but was quickly discovered and rudely ejected after watching his equipment being smashed. Members were forbidden to discuss what took place here. No interviews given, no questions answered, not even concerning the most ordinary activities. Guests of members were required to pledge silence as well.

  All contact with the outside world was limited during one’s stay at the Grove. Members and guests were allowed to receive mail, but no phone calls, barring genuine emergencies. Cell phones were forbidden, surrendered upon entering. Certainly no cameras or recording devices. No TV in the guest rooms. Not even radios. These were seen as frivolous distractions. Books could not be brought in, but books were available. These, however, were limited to the business of the club, its history and its traditions. Laptop computers were allowed for some reason, but only if their internet access was disabled. One assumes that if aliens were to invade, an announcement would be posted on the bulletin board. Otherwise, it might go unnoticed.

  No bodyguards either, no personal security, or at least not within the camp proper. Guards who normally traveled with members and guests were housed in special quarters outside the main gate. Among them were the two who had accompanied Leland, armed officers of the Diplomatic Security Service. Reduced to sitting and waiting until he emerged and having his car at the ready.

  The occasion was the annual two-week retreat of the members of the Bohemian Club. It was held every year in late July starting on the third Sunday of the month. This year, more than twenty-two hundred had gathered. The members converged from all over the nation and from some fifteen other countries. Members of at least five years’ standing were permitted to bring one guest each. Guests could mix freely in social activities, but could not attend certain private sessions. Few guests felt deprived by this limitation. It was thought an honor just to be on grounds in the company of the great and the powerful.

  Howard Leland had considerably more stature than many. He’d been a career diplomat who’d risen through the ranks in embassies throughout Western Europe. He’d been named as Acting Secretary of State when the woman who’d held that office had a stroke that left her with minimal brain function. He would probably never be confirmed in full. Careerists seldom were. They were rarely party loyalists. That was why he’d been more than a little surprised to be asked to attend as Haskell’s guest. He was a lame duck. His influence was limited. How did Haskell hope to profit by inviting him?

  Haskell was indeed a major player in oil. His control of Trans-Global was absolute. Infamous even by the standards of that industry, Leland thought him to be a man without conscience and had already said as much to his face. Far from being offended, Haskell seemed pleased to hear that he was known to stand out from the pack.

  Leland, being curious as to Charles Haskell’s motives, and more so about the Bohemians at large, accepted, although not without misgivings. He’d cleared his schedule, but only through Wednesday, not for the full two-week session.

  Haskell had told him that the media mogul would be one of their “bunk-mates” as he’d put it. “Can’t hurt,” he’d said, “to have this guy as a friend. You sure as hell don’t want to be on his shit list.” The British banker would also be a part of their circle. His bank had branches throughout the Mideast and it had funded Trans-Global’s rise to prominence. “The guy is a walking ATM,” said Haskell. “Except, tr
ust me, he spits out more than twenties.”

  The Saudi prince was there as the guest of the banker. “He’s a dimwit,” said Haskell, “but that’s okay; he’s our dimwit. Or he will be by the time this session’s over.”

  “And me?”

  “And you, what?”

  “Am I to be… yours?”

  “Howard, we’re Bohemians. One for all. All for one. Relax. There’s no way for you to lose by having come here.”

  The media mogul said, “I’ll take one of those beers. The letting down of hair begins now.” He opened their cooler and passed cans of Heineken to Leland, to the banker and to Haskell. Leland saw that none had been offered to the Saudi. He thought he understood why. An observant Muslim. But not even an iced tea or a cola?

  Haskell read Leland’s mind; he said, “We’re not being rude. We just don’t indulge his pretence of abstinence. The Prince’s drink of choice is bourbon, straight up. He’ll catch up in private, never fear.”

  The Saudi had to have heard this, but he barely reacted. He let out a sigh and kept rocking.

  The mogul said to the banker, “Here we are, away at camp, and we’re sitting round a fire. Shouldn’t someone be telling ghost stories?”

  “No ghosts here,” said the banker. “Can’t get in unless invited. But we could summon Satan if you like.”

  The mogul smiled. He said to Leland, “I assume you’ve heard the rumors. Devil-worship and such. I never cease to be amazed at what people think goes on here. The damnedest thing is that some of these stories have appeared in my own publications.”

  “Then they must be true,” said the banker with a nod. “We all know how unbiased your editors are.”

  “I’d have a talk with a few of them were it not for the rules. I’m forbidden to correct them. I can’t tell them a thing.”

  The banker said, “More’s the pity. I think people should know. Not all of it, of course. Not all that we do. But it might be a comfort to them to know that their world is in capable hands.”

  Leland thought to himself, Here we go again.

  Haskell said, “What he means, although he’s too polite to say it, is that unlike the mass of our elected civil servants, we don’t have our heads up our asses.”

  “I liked the polite version better,” said Leland.

  “Oh, he didn’t mean you,” the British banker said quickly. “Nor were you elected. You were appointed on merit. You are nonetheless part of a political system that limits, even thwarts, your effectiveness. But perhaps we might help you to focus your energies where they will do the most good.”

  “For whom, sir?”

  “For the world, sir. And indeed for ourselves. Truth be told, we do run it. Or we run a great deal of it. We run it better and more profitably than it’s ever been run by anyone since…”

  “The robber barons?” asked Leland.

  “I was going to say the Romans. They brought law. They brought order. But you say ‘robber barons’ as if it were a pejorative. I think you know your own history better than that. The robber barons, as you call them, were the men who built your country. It certainly wasn’t the government. It was they who built the railroads and the steel mills and all else. They amassed great wealth, but they used it well. They endowed universities, hospitals, libraries. All considered, they gave better than they got.”

  The media mogul added, “As do most of us, Howard. And none of us set out to have this sort of power. Once achieved, however, it’s a burden we’ve accepted. We regard it as a trust. A sacred trust.”

  “Precisely,” said the Saudi, nodding under his towel. This was the first word he had spoken. He added “It is sacred because God has willed it.”

  Charles Haskell rolled his eyes. He told the Saudi, “Not here.”

  The Saudi looked at him, blinking. He did not understand.

  Haskell said to the Saudi, “That will of God business. Do not say that here. Someone might think you actually mean it.”

  “But, I do,” said the Saudi. “All that happens is God’s will.”

  “And that’s a handy excuse for not making things happen. That’s what we’re here for. Try to keep that in mind. The only will that matters in this place is our own. Save that crap for the rag-heads back home.”

  The Saudi’s eyes turned cold for the briefest of instants, but he forced them to brighten. He grinned. He said to Howard Leland who was visibly ill at ease, “You see that I am smiling? These men are my friends. What is friendship without a little pulling of the leg?”

  Haskell said to Howard Leland, “We, of course, applaud his piety. He’s been known, however, to leave it behind when his aircraft departs Saudi soil.”

  “He leaves his taste in women along with it,” said the banker. He nudged the Saudi with his elbow. “Scandinavians, correct?”

  “I am not undemocratic. English girls are good too.”

  “As long as they’re not much older than twelve,” said Haskell while winking at the media mogul.

  “No, I think you mean his bourbon,” said the media mogul. “It’s his bourbon that has to be older than twelve. A lowly Dutch beer is beneath him.”

  The Saudi said to Howard Leland, “More pulling of my leg. A good Muslim does not drink either beverage.”

  “Except when no one’s looking,” added Charles Haskell. “Drop by his room, you’ll find a case of Jack Daniels. I should know. I had his bar stocked with it.”

  The Saudi shrugged. “You have a saying. When in Rome. For me, this is Rome. I might take an occasional sip.” He said to Leland, “But I will not deny that I chafe at the policy that requires all here to be celibate. We are men in full vigor. Our needs are our needs. Did you know that no women are provided?”

  “I… don’t recall that it came up,” Leland answered.

  “Too late now,” said the Saudi. “We are both out of luck. The only women who have ever been allowed on these grounds are the cooks and the housemaids, none younger than fifty. I have sacrificed much to be here with good friends.”

  Haskell gave Leland a look that said, “Perhaps you now see what I meant.” To the Saudi, he said, “I’ll have a sheep sent to your room. Beyond that, your friends will make your sacrifice worthwhile. You’re going to be glad that you came.”

  A cell phone chirped. Its sound was muffled. It chirped again. All heads turned to the Saudi. The sound came from somewhere on his person. Haskell looked at him, glaring. “Did you bring a phone?”

  “Do not worry,” said the prince as he cupped both hands over it. “I have been careful to keep it concealed.”

  “Concealed? The damned thing’s ringing. Shut it off.”

  “Yes, at once.”

  The Saudi fumbled for the phone that he’d secreted in his jacket. He silenced it and he peered at the read-out. He chewed his lip. He was visibly nervous. “It is one of my cousins. This must be an urgent matter. He knows not to call me unless it is urgent.” He started to tap out a number.

  Haskell said, “Stop right there.”

  “You are right. I will wait.”

  “No, what you’ll do is walk down to the shore and throw that thing into the lake. You will try to do so in a casual manner. Try to look as if you’re skipping a stone.”

  The Saudi drew a breath. His color rose.

  The banker said, “Better yet, throw it into the fire.”

  Haskell said, “No, because the battery might explode and, if not, its remnants would be found in the morning.” He asked the Saudi, “What else have you brought? What else that I told you not to bring?”

  “Only this.”

  “After you’ve tossed it, why not take a little swim? Take off all your clothes. It’s called skinny-dipping. That’s another of this club’s traditions.”

  The Saudi’s face went blank. “I… do not understand.”

  “You’ve forgotten one rule. Another might have eluded you. A recording device comes to mind.”

  “You accuse me?” asked the Saudi.

  “No, I alert
you. Because if you had ‘forgotten’ that you’d brought such a thing, you’d be out on your ear and me with you.”

  The banker rose to his feet and unzipped his own jacket. He said to the Saudi, “I could do with a dip. I’d be honored if you’d let me accompany you.”

  The Saudi stiffened. “To watch me undress?”

  “Not at all. It is our custom. It is called the buddy system. We’ll wade in together and I’ll turn my back. You’ll have ample time to make any adjustment that might add to your comfort and ours.”

  The Saudi hesitated. “I have no such device.”

  “I believe you,” said the banker, “but let’s do it all the same. After that, we needn’t ever speak of this again. We will continue to nurture the level of trust that I feel is now growing between us.”

  The Saudi said to Haskell, “This man has good manners.”

  “He’s a beacon to us all. Enjoy your swim.”

  SIX

  Howard Leland watched them go. “A bit hard on him, weren’t you?”

  “I’m going to take a walk. Care to join me?”

  “Saudi men don’t undress before other men. And this one’s a prince. You’ve insulted a prince.”

  “Saudi princes, as you know, are as common as houseflies. There are what, six thousand?”

  “Something like that.”

  “And they have a pecking order. This one’s near the bottom. He’s been sucking hind tit all his life.”

  “Even so…”

  “And I didn’t insult the damned fool,” said Haskell. “His honor, such as it is, is intact. One can only offend the honor of an Arab if another Arab is present to hear it. We’re all infidels here. By his lights, we don’t matter. The insult, therefore, never happened.”

  “If you say so,” said Leland.

  “The point is, so would he.”

  “Still, you seem to have nothing but contempt for this man. Just him? Or toward Saudis on the whole.”

  Haskell shook his head. “I have no such prejudice. I respect competence wherever I find it. I admire courage in whatever culture. This particular Saudi is possessed of neither virtue. He’d be a dickhead wherever he came from.”