Infidels (10 page)

“Roger
that, we’ll check it out. Bravo Zero-Two, out.”

Red
pointed at Atlas, Spock and Jimmy. “You’re with me. The rest of you stay here.”
Red walked briskly toward the dunes to the north, the sun now high enough for
him to see clearly, long shadows cast by the dunes to their right still hiding
anything that might be concealed in the sand.

“What
the hell is that?” asked Atlas, pointing to the top of one of the mounds.

Red
looked up and saw a long, thin, dark shadow cast on the sand as they
approached. He squinted as he tried to get a better look, and as they neared he
cursed.

Something
was resting atop a tripod.

He
rushed up the hill, and as they got closer it became clear there was an iPhone aimed
at the camp below. He broke left, out of the line of sight, motioning for the
others to do the same. It was already too late if it was recording, but they
might just get lucky.

Red
approached the phone from behind, careful not to touch it. Atlas leaned in
close, looking through the viewfinder then pointed at the display showing it
was recording, then at a device about the size of a laptop sitting on the
ground, masking tape covering any indicator lights that might have revealed it
during the night.

Red held
a finger to his lips then leaned in himself, taking a look. And cursed.
Silently. The angle had been set up perfectly, giving the camera a clear view
of the camp showing his team and the tents, including the Black Stone, sitting
in the open, the top off the crate, and with the down angle the camera had, it
was quite evident what was inside.

He
stepped back and ran his finger over his throat. Atlas tapped the display,
stopping the recording. “Stopped.”

Spock
pointed at the device on the ground. “What do you make of this?”

“I think
it’s a portable satellite modem,” replied Jimmy.

“Which
means anything they were recording could have been transmitted,” said Atlas,
cursing.

Red
shook his head. “Photograph everything then bring it down to the camp. See if
you can tell if anything was transmitted.”

Atlas snapped
several photos then grabbed the tripod in one massive hand as Spock retrieved
the modem from the desert sand. As they slid down the dune to the camp below, Red
activated his comm.

“Control,
Bravo Zero-Two. We found the source of the signal. And we may have a problem,
over.”

Al-Masjid al-Haram Mosque, Mecca, Saudi Arabia

Professor Mahmoud Hamidullah’s heart slammed against his chest, his
palms drenched as he tried to keep a no-nonsense expression on his face. The
guard inspected his pass, running it through the computer, seeming to spend far
longer than was normal on the regular security procedure.

Or is
it just your imagination?

“Your
purpose?”

He
gulped.

Calm
down or they’ll know something’s wrong.

“I’m
here to prepare for His Royal Highness’ arrival.”

The
man’s eyes narrowed. “I’m not aware of any visit scheduled for today.”

Mahmoud
decided to channel his inner thespian, reaching back to his theatre elective in
University and imitating the demeanor of yesterday’s interrogators.

“Of
course you’re not aware of any visit! After what happened to His Royal Highness
Prince Khalid, do you seriously think they’d let the likes of you know of this
new ceremony?” He pointed at the entrance. “Now let me through, there is little
time!”

The
guard recoiled slightly, then quickly handed the ID back, motioning for the
others to let the professor through. He strode past the guards with purpose,
his journey to the Kaaba a blur as his heart pounded in his chest, his desire
to urinate right here, right now, almost overwhelming.

Deep
breaths. Slow and easy.

It was
easier said than done, but his breathing eventually came under control until
the great Kaaba came into sight, sending adrenaline pumping through his veins
once again. There were guards throughout the mosque but he continued forward
with resolve, confidence being the key in a society such as his where the more
certain you looked, the less certain those around you became.

And no
one dared interfere with someone who might be more important than themselves.

As he
rounded the corner toward the Black Stone he held his breath, not sure what to
expect.

Instead
he found nothing, simply the stone encased in silver, the black ceremonial
curtains of the Kaaba in place, hiding the structure surrounding the stone.

Nothing
looked amiss.

Could
Professor Acton be mistaken?

He
pursed his lips as he got closer. Acton hadn’t actually said it had been
stolen, just that they had found a duplicate that they feared might be the
genuine relic.

Leaning
forward, he gasped as the truth was suddenly revealed.

There’s
no damage!

The
reason he and his team were in Mecca for the ritual was to repair the damage
caused during the last Hajj. The silver frame, attached to the Black Stone by
silver nails, had become slightly separated. It needed to be repaired so that
during Ramadan, when hundreds of thousands if not millions of the faithful
desperately lay their hands and lips on the sacred stone, it didn’t come apart.

The
consequences could be disastrous.

But this
stone was flush against the silver frame, no evidence whatsoever of there being
any damage.

This was
not the Black Stone in the photos he had been provided with.

“You,
what are you doing here?”

He spun
toward the voice to find a guard storming toward him, anger written on his face
as his eyes glared at Mahmoud, sending a shiver down the scholar’s spine.

He
grabbed his phone, speed dialing the number left for him.

“This
is—”

He was
grabbed from behind, his phone yanked away.

“There’s
no damage! It’s a fake!”

A fist
to his nose ended his shouts as he collapsed to the ground, boots delivering
Saudi justice as he had never experienced it before.

Assistance Publique Hôpitaux de Paris, Paris, France

“There’s no damage! It’s a fake!”

Acton
pulled at his hair as the recording played again, the sounds of the phone
clattering to the ground then the cries and grunts as poor Mahmoud was beaten,
excruciatingly, Acton almost feeling each blow. He winced as the recording stopped,
somebody finally ending the call, probably with the stomp of their boot.

“And you
haven’t heard from him since?”

The man
whose name he hadn’t bothered to ask shook his head. “Our agent saw him led
away from the mosque and placed in the back of a police car. He was alive, but
we haven’t been able to find out anything more. We’re continuing to make
discrete enquiries, but we have to be careful. If they find out he was acting
on our behalf, it could simply make things worse for him.”

Acton
felt his stomach flip, bile filling his mouth.

It’s
your fault!

“I
should never have asked him to help.”

“This
situation is much bigger than one man’s life.”

“Tell
that to his wife and kids.”

The man
nodded, sympathy on his face as the agent absentmindedly spun his wedding band.
“What do you think he meant by ‘there’s no damage’?”

Acton
looked at Laura. “What do you think?”

“Well,
didn’t this incident take place during a ritual to take the stone for repairs?”

Acton
smiled, his head bobbing. “You’re right! Which means the genuine stone has
damage! Now he said ‘there’s no damage, it’s a fake’. Now, if the stone now in
Mecca was damaged, then would he have risked calling to tell us the one
we
had was fake?”

Laura
shook her head. “I wouldn’t think so. But either way, the one without damage is
fake. So, either he saw no damage in Mecca, meaning that one was fake, or he
remembered seeing no damage in the photos, meaning the one Red’s team has is
fake.”

Acton
pointed at the secure terminal. “Can you bring up the photos again?”

The man
nodded and a few clicks later they were looking at the photos. Acton leaned
forward, using the trackpad to cycle through.

“There!”
he and Laura said simultaneously.

“What?”
asked the agent.

Acton
pointed toward the screen, tracing out a half-inch gap between the silver frame
and the black stone. “It’s separated. It’s supposed to be flush with the stone,
attached with silver nails. This is definitely damaged.”

“And
Mahmoud would never have missed that.”

Acton
glanced at Laura, nodding in agreement. “No way. We didn’t pick up on this
because it’s not our area of expertise, but a man who has spent his entire life
studying it would never miss that.”

“So
you’re saying what?” asked the agent.

“That
the Black Stone your team recovered is the genuine article.”

The
agent frowned. “That can’t be good.”

Acton
nodded. “If Muslims find out that their holiest relic is in the hands of
infidels…”

He
stopped, unwilling to give voice to the horrors that might ensue.

Ministry of the Interior Branch Office, Mecca, Saudi Arabia

Colonel Faisal bin Nayef shook his head, frustrated. He was trying
to save this idiot’s life, but the man simply wouldn’t cooperate, adamant in
his contention that the Black Stone at the Kaaba was fake.

The
problem was the man was 100% correct.

And yet
he couldn’t be allowed to repeat his contention otherwise the Muslim world, and
by extension the entire world since people of his religion were now everywhere,
could erupt in unprecedented violence.

“Professor
Hamidullah, you are mistaken. I can assure you that the holy relic has not been
stolen.”

“But it
has been! I saw the stone with my own eyes. We were to repair damage done
during the Hajj. The silver frame had become separated from the stone. What I
saw today had no separation, it was perfectly fine.”

Nayef
smiled. “Is that all this is about? The explanation is perfectly obvious. The
stone was already repaired.”

The
professor’s eyes opened slightly wider, his jaw dropping as he seemed caught
off guard by the suggestion. His eyes suddenly narrowed. “When?”

Nayef
shrugged. “Who am I to know these things? My information is that it was taken
shortly after the attack and repaired by a team other than yours, as there were
concerns of a possible security breach.”

“I can
assure you none of my people were involved!”

Nayef
smiled. “Of course not, and your people have been cleared, I assure you.”

Professor
Hamidullah grunted then paused, his finger suddenly tapping on the tabletop.
“You said it was repaired by another team?”

“Yes.”

“Led by
whom?”

Nayef
resisted frowning.

You
can leave if you stop asking questions, you idiot!

“That I
cannot say.”

The
professor shook his head. “There’s no way any team could have completed the
work that quickly, not if they were following all the proper protocols.” He
jabbed his finger into the table. “There’s
no
way that was repaired, and
there’s no way the other one I saw could have the exact same damage as the one
we were preparing to fix.”

Nayef
paused.

What
other one?

He
asked.

And fear
filled the face of the once confident man sitting across from him.

“Nothing.”

“Oh,
it’s definitely not nothing. You will tell me now what you meant.”

The
professor looked at his fingers, nervously tapping them against each other as his
hands rested on the tabletop. He looked up at Nayef, his voice lower,
conciliatory. “Colonel, you agree that the Black Stone is our most holy relic?”

“Of
course.”

“And as
good Muslims, it is our duty to protect it.”

“Yes.”

“Then I
must inform you that I am
certain
that the Black Stone currently held at
the Kaaba is a fake. If you insist it is not, then either you are fully aware
that it is a fake and are covering up the fact so as not to cause panic, or you
are
not
aware it is a fake, and are a victim as I am, of a cover up.
Either way, what is now at the Kaaba
is
fake, and it is our duty to
recover the genuine stone.”

Nayef
sucked in a slow, deep breath, then sighed it out. “Professor, even if what you
say is true, of what benefit would it be for you to repeat such a story? Only
harm can come of it.”

“I
agree, if others were to find out it could be disastrous, but…”

The
man’s voice drifted off as his gaze dropped to his fingers again.

“But?”

The man
looked up. “But I know who has it?”

“Who?”

“The
Americans.”

“What
makes you say that?”

“I saw photos
of it last night; it had the damage we were preparing to fix.”

“Who
showed you these photos?”

The man
paused.

“Who?”
demanded Nayef, leaning forward slightly, his eyes glowering.

“Professor
James Acton.”

“James
Acton?”

“Yes.
And his wife.”

Nayef
pursed his lips. “Did you discuss this with anyone else?”

Professor
Hamidullah shook his head.

“Not
even your wife?”

The
man’s jaw dropped, horror in his eyes as he rapidly shook his head. “She knows
nothing of this! I would never put her in such danger!”

“So you
only spoke of this to this Professor James Acton and his wife.”

“Yes, I
swear.”