by J C Ryan
“I’m looking at this family tree,” she replied. “The Guinness Book of World Records states that the longest known family tree spans more than eighty generations — more than two thousand years — calculated at twenty-five years per generation.
“This so-called ‘world record’ lineage belongs to the illustrious Chinese philosopher, thinker, and educator, Confucius, who lived between 551 and 479 BC, a descendant of King Tang, who died in 1646 BC.
“In September 2009, the 2,560th anniversary of the birth of Confucius, the Confucius Genealogy Compilation Committee released an updated version of his ancestral tree, showing that there were more than one-point-three million living descendants of this revered man scattered around the world.”
“But I guess the operative word there is known.” She smiled as she looked up at her son.
Mathieu chuckled. “Well, I am sure we won’t make them wiser by presenting our 6,100-year-old, 245-generation lineage.”
Graziella nodded. “Definitely not.”
They both went quiet again, continuing their research — determining a legitimate successor to fill the void on the Council of the Covenant of Nabatea left by Xavier Algosaibi’s untimely demise required meticulousness. The selection of council members was based on more than just their bloodline — education, personality, achievements, influence, contacts, and wealth were all factors that had to be considered.
The oldest known noble lineage in the world was said to be that of the House of Ficquelmont, who could list their members since the ninth century AD. Over centuries, they have spread across Europe as the Duchy from which came the Habsburgs and many other prominent noble families of the Holy Roman Empire, Lorraine, Austria and Hungary, France, Russia, the Netherlands, and Belgium.
However, those family lines paled in comparison to that of the Nabateans, who could trace theirs back not only to their original patriarch, Nebajoth, the oldest son of Ishmael, but right back to Adam, more than 6,100 years ago.
“Algosaibi made a fatuous mistake when he strayed from the legacy of Nebajoth and tried to fulfill the sacred prophecy before its time has arrived,” Graziella said with no little acrimony in her voice.
Mathieu looked up from the computer screen to his mother across the table from him. “That’s so true. It perplexes me to see how some of our bloodlines become impatient, ignore the promise, and become power-hungry warmongers and land-grabbers.”
Graziella nodded. “It is indeed troublesome that every now and then someone like Algosaibi takes a seat on the council — someone who just can’t wait for the fullness of time to arrive.”
Mathieu shrugged. “Maybe it’s the results of the battle inside all of humanity. That between evil and good; the war of the seven deadly sins — pride, greed, lust, envy, gluttony, wrath, and sloth — versus the seven virtues — prudence, justice, temperance, courage, faith, hope, and charity.”
His mother smiled. “That could be part of it, Mathieu. But I don’t need to remind you that the Nabateans don’t claim to be the embodiment of the seven virtues. Our sanction is expressed in the blessing of Ishmael to Nebajoth — to ‘draw water from the desert, trade from the east to the west, and be a great nation’ in that order.
“The Nabateans are the secret Turkomens or Gypsies of history — we have no territory, yet we have our own culture and history. We set up our ‘tents’ in the cities of others, and we draw ‘water’ from their land, but we have no cities of our own. We trade, yet have no trade agreements with any government. We move invisibly in the shadows of established civilization. The time to become a great nation, the fulfillment of the last part of that promise, is upon us.”
He grinned. “Couldn’t have said it better myself, maman.”
A long silence followed before Graziella spoke again. “There is something that has been bothering me since I got the news about Algosaibi’s arrest.”
“What is that?”
“His children,” she said.
“I have never met them. Have you?”
“Yes, on two occasions. The oldest is Mayon, named for the first born of our patriarch, Nebajoth, and Aisha, named for the wife of Ishmael, and as you know, Aisha was also the name of the wife of the Prophet Mohammed, many centuries later.”
Mathieu was listening attentively.
“Our sources in Saudi Arabia say that Mayon and Aisha were neither arrested by the Mabahith nor by any other law enforcement or security organization. Despite a massive manhunt, there is still no sign of them — it’s been ten days since Xavier’s apprehension.”
“Could they have been killed without the knowledge of your sources?”
Graziella shook her head passionately. “No, Mathieu, that’s not a possibility. Our sources sit next to King al Saud and all his Ministers; some of them are the Ministers. No, definitely not. If Mayon and Aisha were dead, I can assure you I would’ve known about it.
“They have escaped, and I am sure they will turn up in Paris sooner or later. This is where they have studied and lived for many years. They know the place. I think this is where they will feel safe. They are part of the bloodline and therefore deserving of our protection.”
“What is the problem then? I get the feeling it’s not only their safe passage to Paris that’s troubling you.”
“You are the only one of the children and spouses of the council members who has been authorized by the council to receive the knowledge of our existence and activities. It has been a centuries-old tradition and safeguard to nominate and educate the shadow leader of the council in advance, to ensure continuity in the event of the death or incapacitation of the incumbent leader. That is the only exception that has ever been allowed.
“Through the ages, we achieved success only because the numbers of the council were restricted to twelve, and the oath, under penalty of death, everyone took to keep our existence a secret from everyone else, including family. We would have attained absolutely nothing if we didn’t do it in secret.
“You can read our chronicles; they are all available here in this library. And you will see that whenever someone failed to abide by their oath were the times when the Nabateans got into trouble. Breaches of our secrecy by defiant councilors have brought us to the brink of disaster on more than one occasion in the past. Someone breaching our secrecy is always the council’s biggest risk.”
“Do you have reason to believe that Algosaibi reneged on his oath of secrecy?”
“Nothing specific, just intuition, because I am mindful of the fact that he must have been under tremendous stress when his plot was uncovered — people can do very strange things in the heat of the moment. Moreover, Algosaibi was rebellious by nature — he didn’t want to heed the council’s advice to cease and desist with his foolhardy plans.”
Mathieu nodded. “We must find out where they are and what they know — as a matter of extreme urgency.”
Graziella slowly nodded as she stared at the unique and priceless, handmade Persian tapestry on the wall. She would not hesitate to issue a termination order if required — she had done it in the past and would do it again. “Since the beginning, our society has been structured along bloodlines. But as we know, every so often bloodlines have to be protected with bloodstained lines.”
Chapter 5 -
One battle in the war
President Grant had summoned the Directors of the CIA and A-Echelon, William “Bill” Griffin and James Rhodes, to the White House for a top-secret meeting. He had also requested that Irene O’Connell, the Deputy Director of A-Echelon, be present at the meeting.
On arrival at the White House and clearing all security checkpoints, the three of them were escorted by one of the President’s Secret Service agents to the Executive Residence, where the President was waiting for them to join him for breakfast.
When they entered the room, the President put down the morning paper he was reading and stood.
“Good morning. My breakfasts are usually such solitary affairs, it’s great to know this one won�
��t be so lonely.” He smiled and shook hands with everyone.
“You’re welcome, Sam. I’m sure none of us would ever object to help make your breakfasts a more companionable event.” Bill laughed.
The President’s full name was Samuel Houston Grant, and he and Bill had been friends since college. Bill was one of very few people who called him Sam. For James and Irene, it was Mr. President.
The President asked them to take their seats, and the chef approached to take their orders.
“Have any of you had contact with the Devereuxs and Liu Cheun lately?” the President asked when the chef left.
Irene nodded. “Yes, Mr. President, I spoke with both Mackenzie and Liu yesterday.”
“How are they doing? I often think of the hell those people went through.”
“They are all doing well, sir. That place of the Devereuxs’ out in the wild is the ideal environment for rehabilitation of mind, body and soul. As for Liu, she is also doing very well, thanks to the caring attentions of Dylan Mulligan.” Irene smiled.
“Dylan Mulligan. Sean Walker’s second-in-command? Is he not the guy who carried Liu out of her room and up the stairs during the rescue?” the President inquired.
“Yes, sir, that’s correct.”
“From your smile, I deduce there is a bit more than platonic friendship going there?”
Irene laughed. “Yes, sir, indeed, but the only ones who can’t see it yet are Dylan and Liu.”
“It will happen, just give it time.” The President laughed.
They made small talk until their food was served and the wait staff disappeared before the President got to the purpose of the meeting.
“I take it you’ve all been ruminating on the events of the past ten to twelve months leading up to the rescue mission in Saudi Arabia and, of course, the inevitable reverberations?”
The three of them nodded in unison. “Yes, in fact, we,” Bill pointed to himself, James, and Irene, “have been very busy mapping out this global labyrinth of deceit, and I can tell you it’s going to take a lot more time to get the full picture — if ever.”
The President was shaking his head. “You know, it’s still bloodcurdling to think about this whole mess, and it’s as you alluded to earlier, Bill. We haven’t seen all the heads of the Lernean Hydra yet.”
“Well, for now, on the national security front, all we can do is to keep on digging until we get to the bottom of it,” Bill responded. “So far, we are getting excellent cooperation from the Saudis and other security agencies across the world. As for the political front, that is your turf, Sam.”
“I wish I could just wash my hands and leave it to my successors to deal with, but I can’t. The political fallout has not even begun. I doubt any of us can imagine what will happen in the next few weeks when the media finds out about George Robertson’s role in all of this.”
“It’s going to be ugly — that’s for sure,” Bill replied.
“Yes, and along the way, I can expect to face an impeachment inquiry into my behavior as well. However, that doesn’t bother me too much. My conscience is clear; I did what had to be done to ensure the safety of the American people. If that turns out to be wrong, then so be it. I will face the music when the time comes.”
“Mr. President,” James said, “for what it’s worth, I can assure you if that ever happens, you’ll find all of us by your side in support.”
“Thanks, Jim, I appreciate that. But as I said, that’s not my biggest worry now. I’m concerned about the security situation and the feeling we’ve unearthed only a small part of this malevolent conspiracy. What else is there we don’t know about? How big is the residual threat, and how imminent is it?”
“That’s true, Mr. President,” Irene responded. “We have survived one battle in the war — there will be many more battles.”
The President nodded. “The way I see it, the threat of the ancient nuclear weapons has not diminished one bit. It’s still as real and as frightening as ever.”
James looked at Bill and got a slight nod from him. “Mr. President, on that topic, I have some more disturbing information.” James paused for the President to give him the go ahead.
“What is it, Jim?”
“Sir, amongst the information recovered from Xavier Algosaibi’s laptop was an elaborate report about ancient nukes. Most disturbing was the discovery of an ancient nuclear explosion site in Syria.”
“Give me the details.”
“Sir, apparently, soldiers belonging to a group known as the True Sons of the Prophet blew up some ancient buildings close to Palmyra in Syria and discovered a tunnel system below the ruins.
“When they entered the tunnels, they found the crystallized remains of people and reported to their leader, Hassan Al-Suleiman, who is calling himself the Sultan of Syria.
“He, in turn, contacted Algosaibi, the financier of the True Sons of the Prophet. Algosaibi then contracted three Pakistani nuclear scientists to visit the site at Palmyra and investigate.”
“And the plot sickens.” The President sighed. “Please continue.”
“The scientists provided a report to Algosaibi; we have a copy of it. In summary, they found the radioactivity levels in those tunnels to be lethal. In fact, five people who entered the tunnels without protective clothing died from radiation poisoning. The author of that report was Dr. Ishrat Sadiq of Islamabad, one of the most senior nuclear scientists who worked on the Pakistani nuclear program.”
“He’s not working for them anymore?” the President asked.
“No, sir, he was killed in a hit and run accident outside a hotel in Dubai, and the two other scientists who accompanied him to Palmyra have also disappeared. Our sources in Pakistan say they were picked up by members of the Pakistan Intelligence Bureau and have not been heard of since — presumably dead. The Pakistan Intelligence Bureau denies any involvement whatsoever.”
“So, what were this Dr. Sadiq’s conclusions?”
“Sir, he concluded that one, the high radiation levels were the result of a nuclear explosion, and two, the nuclear explosion occurred a long time ago. More than ten thousand years.”
The President was staring into mid-space when James finished. After a long silence, he spoke. “That’s why I can’t ignore this and drop it in the lap of my successor, and neither can I waste time worrying about impeachment. We must keep working on this. And I don’t mean only the ancient nukes but the entire conspiracy.”
“We’re in agreement, Sam. With your permission, the three of us could work out a strategy over the next few days and present it to you.”
“Thanks, Bill, that’s what I was about to suggest. I’ll handle the media and the politicians. As for the security of our country, you three work out the strategy, and let me know what you need to make it happen. I don’t have to tell you since the Mabahith did such a thorough job of the investigation in Saudi Arabia, there are now a lot more people who know about the nukes. And that makes the hair at the back of my neck stand on end.”
“Sam, I take it you would like to see some of the information that was retrieved from Algosaibi’s laptop?”
“Absolutely. I want to see it all. I’m also interested in this Hassan Al-Suleiman and the True Sons of the Prophet. The Sultan of Syria…” The President was shaking his head.
“Good. I’ll have it ready for you at our next meeting,” Bill replied.
Chapter 6 -
Seven days is a long time
Mayon and Aisha had their father’s very precise instructions of what they had to do and what not, whom to contact, when, where, and how, and they had followed them to the letter. After clearing customs at the Istanbul Atatürk Airport with their false passports without raising any suspicions — at least as far as they were aware — they booked into an out-of-the-way, backstreet hotel. When they were in their room, they looked at the miserable surroundings, and with repulsion clearly visible on her face, Aisha sighed. “I guess there’s always a first time for everything.”
> Mayon shrugged. “And this is not going to be the last time, I am sure.”
Ten days after their arrival in Istanbul, they had stayed at ten different backstreet hotels — a different one every night — none of them better than the first. It was time to make arrangements to get to their next destination, Rome. For that, they required new legends, which meant new identities linked to a personal history that would stand up to scrutiny, new passports, and new looks.
Their father’s instructions led them to Emir Yilmiz, a restaurateur on the south side of the city. If they had learned anything at all over the past ten days, it was not to set expectations — that way they were less disappointed when they arrived at the various places on their list. Emir Yilmiz’s “restaurant” was no exception, although afterward they had to admit to each other they did expect a place resembling a bit more of a restaurant than the kitchen of the house in which Yilmiz lived. Calling that place a restaurant and bestowing the title restaurateur on Yilmiz did require some imagination — maybe not for the Turks, but definitely for Mayon and Aisha, brought up in the bosom of copious extravagance.
Despite the paltry surroundings, the food was good, and they were honored by Yilmiz’s personal attention from the moment they arrived — especially so after Mayon slipped a fifty-dollar bill into his hand when Yilmiz placed their coffee on the table.
Mayon’s generous tip ensured that Yilmiz joined them at the end of their meal to serve them with free baklava and coffee and a private chat. That’s when Mayon got the opportunity to let their host know why they were there.
After the usual pleasantries about the weather, family, politics, and other unimportant matters, a short respite in the conversation gave Mayon the opportunity he had been waiting for. He looked at Yilmiz intently, and after he was sure no one else could hear him, said, “We’re the children of Nebajoth.”