by J C Ryan
Carter looked around and wondered about the reason for the glazed looks on the faces of his audience. “Look, no one knows the whole story. But references to Nabateans pop up in the historical records from time to time, without reference to any one place we can pin them down to. There are some references to rebellions being fought by some tribes with Assyria, and they are named as a tribe that fled into the Arabian Desert and could not be conquered. Some fifty years later, they are seen supporting one of the sons of the king of Assyria in a conflict with his brother. Again, they were pushed back, but apparently not conquered.
“However, over time, the Nabateans built an imposing civilization based on commerce and constructed their first capital at the city known to us as Petra. You have all seen that Indiana Jones movie, ‘The Last Crusade’?”
His audience nodded.
“Well, that temple you saw in the last scenes of the movie was shot on location at Petra. It’s located in the sandstone mountains of southern Jordan. The Nabateans also built other cities in what we today call Jordan, some in the Negev and some in Northern Saudi Arabia.”
Irene smiled upon noticing the looks of astonishment on the faces of the President and Bill Griffin while Carter rambled off the facts from memory as if he was reading from a book. She had seen this mindboggling performance on quite a few occasions, and it never ceased to amaze her.
“One of the anomalies of these people is that despite the advancement of their civilization, they for some reason refused to write about themselves. There is no writing on their temple walls, none of their cities has a library. To date, only a few scraps of writing have been discovered. Even ancient Greek and Roman historians chronicled how the Nabateans have succeeded in hiding their history, their trade routes, and the sources of their goods.
“The obvious question is, why? What is it that they want to hide?”
Bill glanced at the President as an icy chill trickled down his spine when he heard those last words from Carter. These guys have been practicing the art of secrecy for thousands of years. No wonder we didn’t know about them.
Carter continued. “The reality is we still know very little about the Nabateans. I have read somewhere that archaeologists estimate they have only uncovered about fifteen percent of the city of Petra so far — eighty-five percent is still underground and untouched.”
In an unguarded moment of concern, the President ran his fingers through his hair and sighed deeply. What you don’t know is what most often hurts you the worst.
“The thing is this, for a very long time, the Nabateans were nomads, living in tents in the desert. For many centuries, the Nabateans never constructed a single house or a temple. Then suddenly, within a few short years, their civilization underwent a renaissance unequaled by any other — they started building magnificent monuments, of which Petra is one. But again, they hide that architectural marvel of theirs in a rock crevice, with access only through a narrow crack in the mountain. Why hide a city? Why build something so spectacular where no one can find it?
“During the period in history after Alexander the Great and the rise of the Roman Empire, the Nabateans became the most successful mercantile society in the area we today call the Middle East. Their knowledge of caravan routes and sea routes enabled them to become a kingpin in the trade of goods between the east as far as China, to the west as far as modern day Europe.
“They managed to create their own caravan routes through the hostile desert where no one else could go. They developed a method of transporting goods in the desert without the need to use the local water wells, which earned them the name ‘people who draw water from the desert.’”
“Very few things can make my day like when a bunch of surreptitious, ancient, merchant-architects from the Sandpit arrive at my doorstep,” Bill mumbled, loud enough for everyone to hear and send them into a fit of laughter.
Bill held his hand up in apology for interrupting and nodded for Carter to continue.
“The Nabateans also transferred ideas and inventions between eastern and western civilizations. Over time they gained a monopoly on most of these trade goods, started manipulating the prices, and of course, managed to annoy the hell out of the Greeks, Egyptians, and Romans. The rumblings started as the merchants of these countries complained that their empires were being bankrupted by the hold the Nabateans had. They persuaded their politicians to mobilize their armies and crush the Nabateans.”
“Nothing ever changes,” the President muttered.
“However, every time, the Nabateans managed to escape without ever entering battle,” Carter continued. “But their time eventually ran out in 106 AD when the Roman legions marched on them. They again avoided battle, this time by handing their empire over to the Romans. After this, they seemed to have faded from history . . .” Carter hesitated for a moment.
The President completed Carter’s sentence, “But apparently not. It looks like they have just been doing what they do so well — hiding, and that for the past nineteen hundred plus years.”
The President thanked a very curious Carter, dismissed him without further explanation, and then called in his security advisors, who quickly concluded that these were a people who were resilient as well as adept at hiding in plain sight. The fact that they indeed existed at the time Durand claimed the Council of the Covenant of Nabatea came into being led them to believe the truth of the matter. What was worse, these Nabateans could very well be much worse than Durand indicated.
They were about to find out just how much worse.
Chapter 41 -
The counteroffer
The question remaining was, what was on that laptop and flash drive? Durand claimed it was evidence of a widespread conspiracy, but the only hints he’d given about the nature of the conspiracy were that they involved world finance and energy control. He’d hinted that the mystery assassinations in Zürich were linked, as well, leaving the President and Bill Griffin to assume the worst about the victims’ ties to extremist groups.
Nevertheless, Durand had asked for the moon with little upside for national security if he was inflating the importance of the information on the laptop. Therefore, they made a counteroffer. Scott was tasked with getting back in touch with him, since he’d made himself scarce after the first contact, but all he could do was wait for the forty-eight hours to run out before he could make contact again, as he agreed with Durand.
Precisely forty-eight hours after Durand’s call, Scott dialed him. “Well?” Durand asked.
“We’re interested,” Scott said carefully. “But just as you need guarantees, so do we. We have conditions, and a counteroffer.”
Durand sighed. The ploy was a classic negotiation strategy. The first to name a price or concede interest was at a disadvantage; therefore, he didn’t want to ask. But Scott was a master of the game. He remained silent, waiting for a response.
Durand considered his options. He could shop the information to another government, but he didn’t know of another one that could keep him as secure as the US could, nor had he saved the life of one of the secret service operators of another country. Not even Israel had the resources of the US security agencies. Deciding he could at least hear the counteroffer, he responded at last.
“What is your counteroffer?”
“We’re willing to give you what you ask — if the information is thorough and as volatile as you say. You can trust us to keep our word on that. We’ll place you in protective custody to keep you safe until we can examine the goods. If they’re bona fide, we’ll sign off on the deal, and you’ll have everything you asked for.”
“And if your agency arbitrarily decides they aren’t? What are my guarantees?”
“Then we’ll escort you out of the US with a protective detail to any country of your choice. We’ll give you a written guarantee of immunity from our prosecution. In other words, we’ll leave you alone. We won’t come after you.”
But Switzerland might. Durand couldn’t help being bitter about t
he consequences of going rogue. Someone knew of his involvement, and if someone knew, anyone could know. Which likely meant he was wanted for murder in Switzerland even now. And the $17 million might as well have been nothing for all his ability to reach it. One step of getting some of it would be like an insect stepping foot on a spider web. He’d be trapped as surely as if he walked into the headquarters of this accursed Council and gave himself up. He had less than $20,000 left.
Furthermore, because of his betrayal of Charlie, he could expect no more jobs. Contractors in their industry made it their business to know of each other, and know of each other’s circumstances, if not the details of the jobs they completed. He could expect that apart from a big black X on his forehead as far as work was concerned, he probably had a hefty bounty on his head as well.
“Will you give me back the laptop and flash drive?”
“I can’t guarantee that. You can ask for it, but whether you’ll get it is above my pay grade.”
“I suppose I don’t have much choice,” Durand answered in defeat. His tone was bitter, but at the same time, he knew the information was going to be extremely valuable. If Scott and his employers were to be trusted, his future would be secure. “Where shall I bring the items?”
“Tell me where you are. We’ll pick you up.”
Reluctantly, since it went against all his tradecraft, Durand gave his location. “I have a rental car to return also,” he mentioned. “And by the way, I’ll have to retrieve the goods from a secure location. I’ll need a couple of days.”
“We’ll bring someone along who can drive the rental back. As soon as we get to you, you’re under our protection. I’ll escort you to pick the items up.”
Somehow that statement didn’t seem as comforting to Durand as it was no doubt meant to be. To him, it sounded like “we’ve got you now.”
Scott didn’t waste time in socializing with Durand when he saw him. As far as he was concerned, the favor he owed was paid back in spades. A curt nod was all he afforded the man when they met. He wasn’t very happy that to retrieve the laptop and flash drive would require a trip into Canada, either. But he made the arrangements that got them there and back in record time.
Then, with laptop and flash drive in hand, he drove at top speed to the A-Echelon offices, while others handled getting Durand to a safe house and his rental car back where it belonged.
Within twenty-four hours of delivering the laptop to A-Echelon, Scott, along with James and Irene, were once again in Bill Griffin’s presence, with corroboration that turned his blood to ice.
“It’s all true,” James said. “Unbelievable, but this came straight from the horse’s mouth, and it’s undeniable. Algosaibi clearly created this record to assure his children’s safety, but somehow, they were discovered, and it did them no good. However, knowing what we know now, I’m damned glad he did. Even if I haven’t mourned his passing one iota.”
***
“What’s your assessment?” the President asked. “What kind of threat does this organization actually pose?”
Bill’s voice was grim when he spoke. “Every kind. What’s mind-numbing is that they — these Nabateans — have been right under our noses, right under everyone’s noses, since fucking 106 AD, and no one has ever heard of them. Sorry, Sam, but this has me shaken up, I’ll admit.
“Their goals are total world domination, in every sense of the word. Political, financial, control of all energy, and every other technology you might care to mention. And damned if they aren’t capable of it. They’re right on the brink of accomplishing everything they’ve been working for all this time.
“And it should come as no surprise that with Algosaibi’s involvement, they also know everything about Carter Devereux’s work at that city of giants in Egypt and his search for the ancient nukes, as well as his wife’s research into ancient medicine.”
“In other words, the shit is about to hit the fan,” the President said, though his smile didn’t reach his eyes.
“Wait for it, sir. That ain’t a fraction of the bad news. Their systems, their communication technology, and in fact their surveillance technology, is superior to ours. It’s more advanced than ours or any we know of, and in fact, they’ve been spying on us and everyone else all along, including the CIA, NSA, FBI, A-Echelon, DARPA, Homeland Security — you name it, they have it. And you can bet your life they already knew we had this information in our hands. And that poor fool Durand? He doesn’t stand a chance. He’s already compromised, and I doubt we can do a damn thing about it.”
A moment of silence fell as they spared a bit of regret for the man who’d given them critical information barely in the nick of time. But they couldn’t focus on him now. He’d be given their best efforts, but those would have to be delegated to others while the implications of what they’d learned were studied by the best minds they could gather.
They’d be handicapped at first by the fact that Algosaibi hadn’t revealed the names of all the council members, only those of Graziella and Mathieu Nabati, and that the Council have their headquarters in the catacombs below a house located on the bank of the River Seine in the third district of Paris. Clearly, more intelligence about these two was required, but how to get it when they couldn’t even guarantee the secrecy of their most sophisticated techniques? If they were to storm in there and setup a spy operation, they would immediately be compromised and have the tables turned on them.
Every time Griffin thought about the fact that the Nabateans had probably been spying on not only his operation, but his predecessors’, for decades, he suffered a heartburn attack. This job was going to kill him if he didn’t get a handle on this threat soon. His only chance was to pull together the best minds in his organization for a summit meeting.
Chapter 42 -
Succumbed to human nature
As Carter was the reigning expert on the Nabateans, at least within the circles of people with top secret clearances, he was invited to sit in. He eagerly accepted. Maybe now I’ll learn what got the sand into everyone’s asses the other day. At the meeting, though, held in as unlikely a place as he could think of, a restaurant in Tyson’s Corner, he got rather more than he’d bargained for.
Carter couldn’t have known, but the restaurant where he sat around a massive makeshift conference table, was owned by the IRS, the result of a raid on its tax-evading owner. Through a series of face-to-face meetings designed to foil the superior espionage of the Nabateans, it had been borrowed, thoroughly swept for bugs, and then protected by the most powerful jamming electronics known to the CIA. None of that was in evidence at the meeting. The only thing Carter knew about it all was that he’d been given specific instructions about how to approach and arrive at the location, handwritten and passed to him during a handshake. His limited spycraft training when he joined A-Echelon was enough to alert him to follow the directions to the letter.
With him at the table were several people he didn’t know, introduced as CIA analysts and technology experts. When he shook hands with his friend Sean Walker, he managed to hide his surprise and immediately concluded that something serious must be afoot. Executive Advantage was only called in as a last resort whenever security agencies find themselves with an obdurate problem that couldn’t be dealt with through commercial, diplomatic, and political channels.
The meeting began with a PowerPoint presentation that summarized the information on the laptop to the extent the group needed to know in order to formulate a plan.
The most puzzling and therefore frightening piece of information had to do with the 1900-year-old secret. How was it possible they’d gone unnoticed for so long?
While the presentation was running, Carter was fully focused on it, storing every bit of information on the hard drive of his brain. But the minute the floor was opened up for brainstorming, his quick mind put what he knew of the ancient Nabateans together with what he’d just seen, and he had a theory.
“It may be that the current group’s interests
have only been focused on international control since World War One,” he remarked, almost as if he were talking to himself.
“What was that?” James had heard him mutter and wanted the others to hear it, too.
“Maybe at first, they just wanted to protect their trade secrets, maybe to rebuild Petra and maintain their cultural identity. They weren’t a great political influence in the world, or even in their region. Historians have even thought they had completely blended into Roman culture after 106 AD,” he explained. “They wouldn’t have been noticed until they began to form their current agenda. That had to have been after World War One, or maybe even after 1948, when Israel was carved out of the area. But I would say we’ve been focused in the wrong direction, and that’s how they’ve avoided detection.”
“How do you figure?” asked an analyst. “We’ve always backed Israel. Or did, until . . .”
“Let’s keep it focused,” snapped Griffin. He, of course, had his own political opinions, but he’d served under several presidents, and he didn’t intend to have any of them thrown under the bus during this discussion. No matter how much he agreed or not.
“What I mean,” explained Carter, “is that we have been focused on the unrest in the Middle East, for as long as I can remember and probably even before that. Yet the ringleaders of this group are apparently based in Europe. Specifically, in the bastions of finance, which underpins every other aspect of global affairs. Hell, they may have even finagled intelligence, or disinformation, to keep us focused elsewhere.”
Heads began to nod around the table, and James exchanged a knowing wink with Irene. Carter’s ability to reason and analyze was almost as spectacular as his memory, but the analysts he’d only just met didn’t know it yet. James thought privately that they might all get a wake-up call during this meeting.