The Prophet's Ladder (9 page)

“Yes, indeed I do.”

“Well, he wrote this blog anonymously, and he kept it up. It became very popular amongst academics, intellectuals, and the left leaning crowd. He’d publish articles twice a week or so, in addition to his regular work at various newspapers.”

The chief began scratching notes on a notepad. “Yes. Please continue.”

Amina finished her cup of coffee and poured herself another. She would need the energy after today’s events. “Well, recently there was some…unfortunate media coverage…”

****

Todd sat in his living room early on a sunny Saturday morning eating a breakfast of eggs, lamb sausage, and fresh figs that Samam had prepared for him. The residual guilt of having another person besides his wife cook him breakfast every morning had long since vanished, but he still made sure to give her the weekends off, though apparently he wasn’t expected to do so. Even still, Samam had prepared a meal for the morning and had put it wrapped up in the refrigerator with a note.
I could get used to this easy living.

Todd reviewed notes on his work laptop from the latest Solifuges status report. Various electronics components were currently being constructed on the cleanroom factory floor for the prototype, which was due to roll off the assembly line in two weeks time. It seemed to Todd that things moved so quickly at Al-Hatem Aerospace, much more so than at NASA. He’d heard rumors that the first modules for the elevator project, nicknamed the Tower of Babylon or just the Tower for short, despite any unfortunate connotations, were already being transported to an unspecified staging site. He supposed the name had stuck due to the multitude of nationalities working together for Al-Hatem, as well as the ubiquitous, globalized nature of the original story.

Closing the laptop, Todd noticed that it wasn’t the same computer that he’d been using the week before, much to his disdain. Though of the same make and model, his previous laptop had had a pair of tiny, distinct scratches on the upper left corner of its plastic case, as well as several dead pixels on the bottom of the screen. This one did not. He had brought the computer home from the office yesterday. Same wallpaper, all his files in the same directories, even his home Wi-Fi password had been retained.
Am I imagining things again? No.
Todd resolved to mention it to Karim as soon as he could; maybe IT had done something without notifying him. Instead, he pushed the issue from his mind; today he was meeting the sheikh at 7:30 for falconry, an exciting prospect.
How does one dress when going hunting with a falcon?

Forty minutes and an indecisive, quick change of clothes later, Todd had parked in front of an ornate brick and iron gated driveway. Rolling down the window, he buzzed the intercom mounted on a brick post. “Todd Wittry to see Sheikh Al-Hatem?”

“Yes. Mr. Wittry, the sheikh is expecting you. Welcome.” With that, the gates swung inward on their hinges, and Todd drove another quarter mile up to the largest mansion he had ever seen. A combination of classic Cordoban architecture and Neomodern design, the dwelling seemed part
Alhambra
and part
Art Deco,
with a twist of something novel. It was like nothing Todd had ever seen before. A valet took the keys from his hand as he stared in astonishment.

“Ahh Mr. Wittry! Do you like it? I had a hand in its design myself.” Todd turned to see Sheikh Nur bin Zayed Al-Hatem strolling down a side stairway, carrying a daypack. “I usually do when it comes to construction on my estate or for my company.”

“It is a lovely home, Sheikh.”

“Ahh please call me Nur! And I shall call you Todd, if it pleases you.”

“Of course. Sheikh, err...Nur, I didn’t know you had such a flare for architecture.”

“I dabble in many things, my friend. Experimentation in the arts keeps one’s mind fresh and open to new ideas, especially those of an engineering or scientific nature. Wouldn’t you agree?”

Todd nodded, and the two men walked around the house to a camo-green sports utility vehicle parked at the head of a dirt road. The trail led over a ridge and into the country behind the estate. “Yes, I see how that makes sense. I myself paint with acrylics from time to time, though I’m not very good.”

“I should like to see your paintings! Please you must send me one. Here we are.” Sheikh Nur opened the passenger door for Todd, while he himself jumped behind the wheel. “Just a few miles and we shall meet my falconer. It is a lovely day for hunting!”

The road was quite bumpy, and wound over and around several dunes and hillocks topped with clumps of lavender or thorny sand button. Once, they crossed a dry riverbed comprised of innumerable glassy pebbles that clacked together as the SUV’s tires rumbled across them. The embankment on both sides was very steep, and Todd was quite sure they would roll over, but the sheikh deftly maneuvered the vehicle across the terrain with a practiced, consummate hand.

After some miles they arrived at a flat, sandstone outcrop where another SUV had parked. Several portable expedition chairs had been unfolded next to a table of a similar make, with the sheikh’s Bedouin falconer seated behind, sipping a drink from a small glass. Atop the table was an ornate bronze cage and within a docile, hooded falcon. Stepping out of the car, Todd saw that the bird’s plumage was quite distinct: a chocolate brown underbelly with contrasting grey pinion feathers.

Sheikh Nur spoke, donning a falconer’s heavy leather gauntlet as he did so. “Todd, I can see that you have an eye for beauty. She is a Saker falcon, one of my favorite breeds. In the wild they winter here on the Arabian Peninsula.”

The Bedouin falconer greeted the sheikh with his hand placed over his heart, and Sheikh Nur mirrored the gesture in return, smiling kindly at the man. In Arabic, as if to test Todd, Nur introduced the tribesman, speaking slowly. “Todd, this is my old friend Jaffar, my falconer. Please say hello.”

He understood the sheikh’s words and was pleased to greet Jaffar, who laughed and clapped him on the back upon hearing Todd’s accented Arabic. Jaffar inquired if he was indeed an American, and how he was enjoying the desert. He complemented Todd’s enunciation, and, still speaking in his native tongue, offered him some mint tea, which Todd gratefully accepted. Though it was still morning, the sun had begun to rise high into the sky, warming the men and the surrounding terrain.

Sheikh Nur opened the door on the falcon’s cage and, reaching in with gauntleted hand, coaxed the bird out with strips of fresh cut meat pulled from a satchel hanging on his hip. The bird, still hooded, followed the scent of the meat and tentatively stepped onto his hand, which Nur removed from the cage. He gently tugged at the hood’s tassel and pulled it deftly off the falcon’s head. At the same time, he let the bird have a meat strip, which it rapidly gulped down.

The bird suddenly spread its wings and issued forth a piercing cry, to the delight of the men. It was a superb creature, with a massive, 120-centimeter wingspan. Nur held his arm aloft so that the bird might stretch in the sunlight, all the while whispering to it in a calming tone. The animal’s feathers shone in the bright morning air, and with a push of its wings the falcon took flight, climbing rapidly into the sky. Wheeling in ever widening circles it flew higher and higher, its body an aerodynamic machine of exceeding efficiency and control. Todd immediately realized how anyone with a passion for rocketry and powered flight could enjoy a sport such as this. Averting his eyes briefly as the falcon passed in front of the sun, Todd wondered what type of prey the bird sought, its eyes able to discern any sudden movement below.

After a minute or two the bird shrieked a call and, folding its wings tight against its now compact body, dove as a torpedo at some point several hundred meters southwest of the men’s position. Todd estimated the bird dove at near 80 or 90 kilometers an hour, an impressive burst of speed. At the very last second the Saker falcon unfurled its wings whilst simultaneously extending its claws, snatching a small mammal from the desert foliage below. There was a brief bout of rapid flapping and tussling as the prey sought to escape the falcon’s grasp, to no avail. Todd heard the death shrieks of the land bound quarry echo across the ground back to their encampment.

The bird then returned to the men, bringing with it a medium-sized, sand colored hare. Jaffar took the dead creature from the falcon, rewarding her with a hefty strip of cut meat as he did so. Making hand gestures, he informed Todd in simple Arabic that he would remove and set aside unwanted portions of the hare for the bird’s next meal as a further reward. The falcon, thus sated, returned to Sheikh Nur’s gauntleted arm.

“Well now! I do believe we have our supper! What do you think Todd? Very impressive no?” The sheikh stroked the nape of the bird’s neck with the back of his finger.

“It is a lovely sport, Nur. I can see why you take to it.”

“You are reminded of our beautiful Al-Hatem Aerospace creations, I think.”

“Yes indeed, I thought just that.” Todd assented.

“Haha, I knew you would. This sport is not only a connection to my history, to my ancestors’ and my culture both, but it serves to inspire me in my work. It is a win-win, as you Americans say, yes?”

Todd laughed. “Sounds like it.”

After returning the bird to her cage with a water feeder, the men sat down in the unfolded khakis chairs and sipped their tea. It was a pleasant way to spend the morning, and they discussed, in English and Arabic, various types of birds favored in the sport, the weather, the pitfalls of learning a foreign language, everything but work. Eventually, Todd felt emboldened by the casual conversation, and believed that Nur was receptive enough to hear out his concerns about events at the aerospace facility.

“Nur, can I talk to you frankly about some work issues? I’m sorry if I’m being rude.”

“Of course, my friend! What’s on your mind?”

“Well, just...some strange things have been happening. At the complex.”

“Oh? What do you mean?” Nur inquired politely.

“Sometimes I feel like I’m being...shadowed, or watched. Perhaps it sounds silly…” Todd began to think he sounded quite mad, or at the very least, overly paranoid.

“No. No! Not at all. Please continue. I trust in your observations. Your work output has been stellar thus far.”

Todd was grateful for the complement. “Thank you. Well, you know I took my office laptop home to check over some things for the Solifuges project, and, well, all the files are the same, even my wallpaper, but it isn’t the same computer. I’m certain of it. I know that sounds crazy…”

“Oh no, no it isn’t. It isn’t the same computer.” The sheikh smiled broadly, his teeth bright and almost predatory in the desert sun. Todd was taken aback.

“Come again?”

Sheikh Nur laughed. “It isn’t the same computer! We change them out. Swap them: factory-reset them or destroy them. It is a security precaution. And I should tell you...you are being shadowed. Not all the time, of course, but often enough. Another precaution.”

Todd sank back into his khakis chair. “But...but why?”

The sheikh saw that Todd was concerned and adopted a serious tone, his amusement at Todd’s perplexity fading.

“Todd, you understand, I’m sure, many of the technical aspects of what we’re trying to do at Al-Hatem Aersopace, yes? The space elevator. The Tower of Babel.”

Todd nodded. “Yes.”

“And I’m sure you’ve thought of the ramifications, at least in your field, if we are successful. The impact it will have on the fields of space exploration, aerospace engineering, astronomy, the hard sciences, even the impact it will have on the economy of the planet. There will be a gold rush of unprecedented magnitude and scale.”

“I have considered the ramifications, yes.” The falcon squawked loudly, and Todd jumped ever so slightly in his chair, almost spilling his tea. Jaffar cooed at the bird, and placed another strip of meat in its cage.

“Do you think the other governments of the world, yours, China’s, the EU's, will sit idly by and let us build such a wonder? Especially here! It would completely shift the balance of power, and those with some foresight can see it. It would be a Panama Canal connecting Earth to the heavens, and in the UAE! ‘Allah forbid!’ they’ll say.” The sheikh stood up and began leisurely pacing the sandstone outcropping.

“No, I can assure you my friend, that they have their spies amongst us, despite our thorough vetting, and our every security measure. They are watching, and waiting, for now. But we know this, and we know some of those who are in their employ. It is very much a game you see, one that I am quite good at. But you must understand that you are indeed being watched. Especially because of your status as an American.”

Todd took a leap of logic. “Are your people shadowing me, watching me as well? My wife too?”

“To a degree, yes, but only for your own safety, your protection. I know I can trust you.”

“That is only somewhat reassuring, Nur.”

“I understand your concerns, my friend. You Americans yearn for your individual rights: your freedom, your privacy. It is a part of who you are.” The sheikh placed his hand on Todd’s shoulder and locked eyes with him. “I promise you, I give you my word: we will respect those rights, and you and yours. But your safety and your work are paramount to all else. Once the Solifuges project is up and running I will need your input on other components of the Tower, its upkeep and so on. Do you understand?”