by J. J. Harkin
Intently the right eye of Mosi had come to rest upon Talman. “What do you want?”
Talman had known he would be asked the question eventually. “You are right. I do want something. I wanted to find you to insure your safety, but I also wanted to give you this.” It was nothing but a tiny business card. “Listen, I can see that you’ve never benefitted from any real medical attention, so I’d like you to go and see a friend of mine.”
Mosi had squinted down at the card in complete confusion. “You want me to go see a doctor in Tehran?”
“Yes. That’s the first thing I would like you to do.” Talman had handed Mosi a thick stack of money. “I have told the doctor he is to do whatever it takes to put you at ease physically. All is paid for. This money is for what comes next.”
“And what in blazes is that?” Mosi had seemed more and more confused by the minute.
“After you have seen the doctor and taken some time to recover, I would like you to make your way southward, to a home I’ve had built for you.”
“A… home? You have built me a home?” Mosi had felt quite astounded by the possibility.
“Yes. It was completed just last week.”
“And where is this home? Surely I will need to repay you in some way.” Already he had worked past his disbelief in favor of suspicion.
“The home is in Iraq, at a place called New Babylon. I have recently purchased a large section of land there, and I am in need of a… caretaker.”
“Ha!” Mosi had exclaimed. “I knew there would be a fatal catch. Why would I ever go to Iraq? It hasn’t ceased to be a chaotic bloodbath ever since the Americans finally abandoned the place. No one stands a chance at a normal life in Iraq!”
At that point a broad smile had crossed Talman’s face. “Nonetheless, I have reason to believe you will do just fine there.”
“Why in the name of…?”
“You must first get your health seen to. I know you are in great pain on a daily basis. Use the money to put yourself up in a decent hotel if you like. When the doctor feels he has rehabilitated you sufficiently, hire a small team of mercenaries to take you across the border in the dead of night. It will still be somewhat dangerous, but nothing like it might have been a few years ago. The place isn’t much more than an unincorporated extension of Iran at this point.”
“If your aims were purely humanitarian, then you might have found me a closer, safer place to live.”
“I might have, but I assure you my aims could not be more humanitarian.”
“How so?”
“Iraq is a clean slate, Mosi. Admittedly it is a terrible place to live, for there are few who can afford to successfully govern so war-torn a state, but there is more to it than that. The American influences began to fade when their economy collapsed. Any nearby nation might long since have annexed Iraq, but the precarious peace agreements in the region make it far safer to leave the nation to rot. There is nothing to stop foreign investors from leasing land from the locals for the purpose of harvesting oil, so why would anyone need to invade?”
“True, true,” Mosi had replied. “I have heard it has become a rather American kind of free market, aside from the fact that nearly all of the Americans have gone. Their remaining security forces are small.” Mosi Mukasa had felt as though he was beginning to like the way Talman thought about the world. “So you’d like me to find your property and take up residence there. Why, to keep the place up?”
“More or less,” Talman had said. “When you have seen to your health and made the journey, I will meet you there so that we can discuss the specifics of our contract.”
“You are a strange man, Mr… What is your name?”
“Talman Abasi Ahmad is my name.”
“Ah, I have heard of you as well, then. You…” Mosi had faltered, wondering if he should speak freely. “You are a very rich man. That is what I’ve heard about you,” he had finished quickly.
Though he had thought this a lame way for Mosi to avoid admitting all he had actually heard, Talman felt satisfied just to be recognized. “Indeed, I am very rich. I control vast oil fields in Iraq, in addition to many other places. The problem has been security. I need an overseer, and now that the filthy Westerners have nearly all cleared out, it seems to me that you might be the perfect man for the job.”
“Me?” Mosi had asked. “Seriously?”
“Naturally. You are well known by every Arab. We respect you. Many even fear you, though you might not understand it yet. Your reputation precedes you wherever you go as a universal ambassador of the Arabian Peninsula.”
“I suppose that is possible, though I wouldn’t have suspected it a few hours ago, as I lay in a swoon before the city gate.”
Talman had been ready for this. “It is like I said: No one can appreciate you if you continue to live in secrecy. I know this has been your habit, but understand that your former pursuers no longer have the capabilities they once possessed. America has become a tired place, wisely committed to a strict policy of isolationism. Why else do you think you were finally able to escape from Afghanistan after all this time? They have become weak!”
“Maybe you’re right.” Mosi had already heard as much concerning the Americans. But was he truly so widely appreciated amongst the Arabs? He had his doubts.
“Of course I’m right!” Talman had insisted. “I have thought this through very carefully. All the people of Iraq need is a man they can respect. The people suffer under an absolutely minimal, completely disorganized government presence at the moment. You would be their perfect inspiration!”
“Can I have some time to think about all this?”
“Certainly. Here, take this as well.” Talman had reached into his pocket to find a videophone. “Feel free to contact me at any time you like. My number is already programmed into the phone. I will be calling to check on you as well. At least do me the honor of providing you with some medical help. Even if you refuse my full offer in the end, it would still please me greatly to know that I had in some way been able to aid you, a fine man, in your quest for peace.”
At that Talman had made his farewells hurriedly, hoping to leave Mukasa’s curiosity utterly unsated. And his plan had worked. Curiosity had eventually gotten the better of Mosi Mukasa, and so the two had eventually finalized plans for their next meeting.
“But where is he?” thought Talman. Certainly Mosi should have arrived by now.
Talman stiffened. Headlights could be seen in the distance, carefully making their way down the guarded road which had been constructed as a route to the Darkspire. A short elevator ride bore Talman swiftly to the tower’s ground level. There he made sure his impressive figure was arranged picturesquely to await Mosi Mukasa’s arrival. He must remember to exude benevolence as well as prestige, as this fish had not yet fully taken the bait. Glaring lights were extinguished as the caravan stopped at last. Talman smiled, for awe was apparent on the face of Mosi Mukasa as he stepped past the Darkwater trooper whom had opened the door of the SUV for him.
Mosi craned his neck as his eyes did their best to take in the tower’s immense proportions. The Darkspire was an exceptional structure, a one hundred story building of modern proportions, but with a twist. The tower was round, and slightly conical, so that it was narrower at its peak than at the base, almost like a chess piece. Though its designers had given it numerous windows of various shapes and sizes, none of these had been placed above one another along the vertical axis, as might have been done in a modern office building. Rather they had been scattered everywhere, and some were round or even three-sided, while a great many others seemed to be hexagonal. The entire exterior of the building had been covered in a patchwork of interleaved sheet metal, all of which was connected by strangely placed welds, fashioned to look like stitches. In the night the vision looked like a tall monument sewn of hand-crafted leathers, though certainly it was far more reflective and metallic in its essential nature. The high entryway before which Talman stood was obsidian of
the deepest black – a glimmer in the moonlight. Mosi had been driven up to this door via a causeway no wider than two or three cars’ widths, which spanned a vast archeological dig of some sort.
“Good evening, my friend!” said Mosi, surprising Talman with a friendly embrace. “I thank you again for your generosity.”
“It was, and is, my pleasure,” replied the other. “Now do come in. I have so much to show you.”
“So this is what you were talking about? This is the home you spoke of?! One might say you understated yourself a bit.” Again Mosi craned his neck, gazing upward, as Talman turned to lead him on into the Darkspire. “But what is all this they’ve dug up around the tower?” continued Mosi, glancing around as he followed after.
“The foundations of Babel,” replied Talman simply, as he strode away up the short flight of stairs which led into the tower. Mosi followed him inside, and Talman pulled shut a pair of steel doors after them, sending an echoing thud through the chamber within. The place looked rather like a foyer, furnished in nothing but obsidian.
“You are indeed a rich man, Talman, if you can afford such dwellings for even the least of your servants,” said Mosi, attempting a friendly bow on his bent legs.
“Rich?” laughed Talman, gesturing toward a waiting elevator. “Am I the rich one? To the contrary, my friend, there is no amount of money that can buy the kind of riches I desire most, riches which you happen to possess in spades.” They stepped into the elevator. Seeing the quizzical look upon Mosi’s face, Talman continued. “You are famous, Mosi Mukasa, and for all the right reasons. You are well liked by the people, and have the respect of the truly wise. I am rich in money, but you have a wealth which can garner true power – power over the masses.” Talman’s comparatively small companion said nothing as the elevator bore them hurtling upward. “But don’t be too impressed with the tower. It was no trouble, really. The spire is the product of a Japanese firm which makes prefabricated buildings. It took only a week to construct, and required less than a day for installation. Preparing its deep foundation amid all these archeological digs actually took longer than anything else.”
“I can’t believe it,” was all Mosi could say.
“You will, you will,” smiled Talman.
They had finally stopped, and the elevator doors were opening gently. Mosi had never seen anywhere as decadent as this. Though it had not been evident from down below, the uppermost set of floors were surrounded completely in thick glass. From this vantage point Mosi could see that they were high above the plain. The moonlight streaming into the room illuminated a commodious expanse of velvet seating, while a spiral staircase directly across from him appeared to grant access to the roof.
Talman touched a nearby lamp of polished steel, lending warm light to a cozy nook. He signaled to a veiled woman, hitherto unseen, and they were presented with a platter of various snacks, which was set carefully before them. Wine was soon flowing, and Mosi wasted no time to sample everything.
“You must be hungry,” remarked Talman, noticing the other’s voracious appetite.
“Actually, no,” laughed the twisted little man at his side, “it’s just the force of habit at this point. Every time I see food I eat it as quickly as possible. Must be that I’ve spent too much time on the run with poor rations. I actually did nothing but eat during the entire ride here.”
“Ha! You are an animal, my friend!” Talman’s smile was genuine. “We must feed you up. You have seen many years of suffering due to the selfishness of the powerful. It is about time the process finally reversed itself.”
Mosi continued to thank him amid hurried munching, never forgetting to mix in the wine. Talman was glad to see this. He needed his subject as calm and relaxed as possible for what would come next. Thus, when they had both had far more than they planned, Talman stood.
“Will you come up to see the roof?” he asked. Mosi said nothing, but obligingly followed Talman across the room, to the staircase positioned in mirror image of the elevator that had brought them to the top. “Be careful up here. It’s windy,” explained Talman. Mosi could see that Talman was fiddling with a latch, the snick of which opened a hatch, and then they stepped out onto the most unusual rooftop he had ever seen.
Clearly Talman had a flair for all of the most dramatic aspects of architecture. The summit of the tower was medieval in structure, appearing to be tiled in countless geometrical flagstones, arranged perfectly into concentric circles. As it was closed, the trapdoor which had allowed them access disappeared perfectly beneath the flagstone which composed its exterior side. They were now standing on a wide, round platform precisely sixty-six feet in diameter, encompassed completely by a four-foot-high, crenellated parapet. The vision left the viewer feeling strongly that he might be atop the highest turret of some ancient English castle. Talman had not been kidding, for the wind above the level of the parapet was a gale at this height, so that Mosi found himself clinging to it for support.
“Behold the Darkspire!” shouted Talman, raising his arms slightly for emphasis. “Come here.”
Though Mosi Mukasa showed no sign of it, he was quite unnerved. Talman had struck quite a note, standing there before the moon’s pale sickle, looking for all the world like some carved image out of Old Babylon. His pale blue robes, radiant face, and perfect beard – artfully shaped and trimmed to fit the ancient style to a T – gave an inexplicable feeling of déjà vu. Mosi shook off the confusion, but avoided the other’s eyes still, for they were like holes in the night. Somewhere to the south, a thunderstorm flickered and rumbled intermittently.
Mosi moved slightly closer to the parapet where Talman was standing. “Why must it be called that?” he asked. “The Darkspire. It is a strange name.”
“To frighten our enemies,” explained Talman. “You see all this land?” He gestured vaguely toward the lands beyond. “This is mother Iraq, the cradle of civilization. This is where it all started, and this is where it will end.”
“It is a rich land,” Mosi admitted, “but what is it that you expect will end here?”
“Perhaps you should sit down,” suggested Talman, seeing the man’s precarious stance. “Shelter here against the parapet. Do not be afraid. I am a friend.” Mosi complied gratefully, feeling much more secure against the sturdy wall, where he was safe from the crosscutting wind. Talman moved away to stand upon the centermost stone of the rooftop, where the moonlight shone from behind him. “What will end here?” he continued. “I suppose that depends on who you ask. But the Christians say Babylon has always been destined to serve as the center of the kingdom of Satan.”
“You mean their mythical Antichrist?”
“Whichever. The point is that, if one is so blessed as to know what one’s enemy fears, the best strategy is to attempt to embody that. In this way it is possible animate the very darkest places of the enemy mind, usually eliciting the most emotional of reactions, rather than intelligent ones. A scared enemy is often a doomed enemy.”
“I like the way you think, Talman.” Mosi was warming up to the man, but had not yet conquered his vertigo and the fear of the blustery wind. So he obeyed Talman, and remained seated, fascinated thoroughly by the other’s oratory.
Talman seemed largely unaffected by the wind. “The first battle is in the mind,” he said. He raised his arms higher, directing his viewer’s attention toward the starry night sky. “What would you say if I were to tell you that perception exists first in the brain, regardless of the condition of one’s eyes?”
“I would be curious, of course,” replied Mosi, “as it might mean the sight in my left eye is not forever lost.”
“Then you will be glad to know I have finally achieved that which no other has ever done in the history of civilization. Watch.”
At this Talman turned to face the night sky, gesturing with his right hand. Slowly he let his arm fall then, as he looked out into the still cosmos. Presently a change occurred. A black hole in the net of stars had appeared, shifting and chang
ing shape like an ever-expanding embryo. Was it growing larger, or was it getting closer? Its shape was growing increasingly specific as it wound back and forth through the night. No, it was certainly not that the stars had disappeared, but that a large three-dimensional object was moving through the air far above, blocking them from sight. The closer it came the more reptilian it seemed, though it glided through the air like a kite. Abruptly the shadow flew out of their field of vision, as it began to circle the tower from far off.
Mosi jumped up to get a better view, still gripping the wall to support his shaking hands. He could not believe his eyes. It was coming closer, being perhaps only a mile off now. Its wings were batlike, flapping effortlessly, bearing it ever closer and closer. Suddenly Mosi’s blood ran cold. He was sweating. Was this a panic attack or a heart attack? Talman’s firm hand found his shoulder reassuringly, but it did no good. The thing was closely circling the tower now, ever nearer and nearer, with a feline grace that meant it could only be one thing. Mosi was looking at an enormous black dragon, scaly like liquid onyx, and more real than any of his wildest imaginings after one of his grandmother’s rangiest bedtime stories. The moonlight glinted across its wings as it looked upon Mosi at last. The roar which shook the air then was all he could take. The next instant he was screaming, clawing at the flagstones in search of the hatch that might lead him to safety.
“Yes, yes, we should go back inside,” sighed Talman resignedly, feeling a true sense of pity for the man. “But first...” He attracted Mosi’s attention again as he stepped away. Behind him the shape of the dragon had begun to hover, beating its wings as it slowly approached. Talman remained nearly still, gesturing in the air with purposed intention. The dragon was changing, glimmering, losing solidity, shrinking. Before it disappeared, Mosi had a last breathtaking glimpse of the animal as it alighted the edge of the tower, enclosing Talman in the loving embrace of its leathery wings. Then it had vanished completely, and Talman walked over to open the little hatch.