him calm, she put her hand on his shoulder and rubbed it gently. Trying to comfort him. Hoping to keep him focused. Still, several seconds passed before he spoke again.
'I'm an old man with a long memory. I know what kind of evil goes on in that cave, so I told Chung-Ho that the village was no longer safe for him and his son. Much to my relief, he didn't question me. He just put his boy in their car and left. His wife and the rest of his family planned on following, but they never had a chance.'
'Why not?'
'The soldiers came into town in waves, dressed in black and wearing masks. Some of them followed the blood to the boy's home, while others spread throughout the village. I heard angry voices punctuated by screams, but that's all I could distinguish. I was too worried about finding a place to hide to make out their words.'
Kia sat quietly, waiting for him to continue.
'The first shot was the loudest. It sounded like a cannon, echoing through the town. Others soon followed, one after the other, coming in sporadic bursts like firecrackers. My house is the last one in the village, which gave me all the time I needed. After the first massacre, I'd built a small shelter under the floor of my house, just in case history repeated itself. I stayed down there for more than four days, barely eating or sleeping. Going to the bathroom in my own pants. When I could take it no more, I slipped into my backyard and listened. There were no sounds. I glanced out my front gate, but there was no movement. That's when I knew they were gone.'
'Did you call the police?'
He waved his hands in disgust. 'The police? Why would I call the police? They were in charge of the first massacre! To this day, half of my family is still somewhere in that cave, their bodies crammed behind a pile of rocks and left there to rot. It is such a disgrace to my family name, but there's nothing I can do about it. Believe me, I've tried.'
He took a deep breath before continuing. 'Did you know the size of a grave plot in this country is larger than the average amount of living space that our citizens have? That's right. The dead took up more room than the living. And the cost of all their burials? It would have been more than I could afford.'
She nodded, finally beginning to understand his perspective.
'So I took matters into my own hands. First I went into the boy's house, but everyone was dead. His mother, his brother and sister, his aunt, his cousins. Everyone. Same with the rest of the village. Every single person and been shot and killed. Bodies just lying there in puddles of their own blood, the smell starting to build. So I walked back to my yard and built a fire. I threw in some pine needles and incense to cover the odor. Then one by one I loaded them into my wheelbarrow and did the proper thing. I freed their souls to the sky.'
17
One of the guards found Fred Nasir's body near the tunnel entrance. His throat was slashed and he'd been left to die. Blood covered the wooden planks that lined the floor, dried by the desert heat that seeped in from the outside world.
From the looks of things, he'd been dead at least an hour.
Panicked, the guard sprinted down the steep slope, unlocked the metal gate that protected their site, and told Shari Shasmeen what had happened. Her face went pale when she heard the news. As project leader, it was her job to make all the important decisions-what they did, where they worked, and so on-and to take responsibility when things went wrong. And until then, she had accomplished it with remarkable ease. She had fifteen years' experience in the field and was recruited for her expertise. She was so gifted at her job that the project financier, the Arab who had hired her, was willing to overlook the fact that she was a woman-a remarkable concession in this part of the world.
But a murder? That was
She was a religious archaeologist, not a detective.
Obviously this was a situation she couldn't handle on her own, not with all the politics involved. So she did the one thing she was told to do if there was ever a major problem.
She called her boss, Omar Abdul-Khaliq.
He answered the phone on the third ring, his voice as composed as ever.
'What is wrong?' he asked.
She explained everything-the delivery, the murder, her concerns. The entire time he said nothing. He just listened, occasionally taking notes.
'This is troubling indeed.' He paused for a moment. 'But it can be handled.'
'Handled how?'
'You must listen to me and do exactly what I say.'
She knew not to question him. So far he had proven his worth at every turn. Not only did he finance the project with his deep pockets, money his family had earned in the oil business, but he'd done a remarkable job of getting work permits from the Saudi government, a minor miracle since they were digging right down the street from the Great Mosque, and keeping the police away. Several times she wanted to ask him how that was possible, but she realized it was one of those questions better left unasked.
'Have you touched the body?'
'No! We checked to see if he was dead, but other than that we haven't touched anything.'
'Good. This is good. You must not touch the body. Leave it as it is.'
She grimaced. 'For how long?'
'It will be removed today.'
'But-'
His voice grew stern. 'Please allow me to finish.'
She nodded, regretting her mistake.
'I will send a new team of guards, men more equipped to handle this crisis. They will remain at the site, night and day. You shall brief them when they arrive. They'll need to see everything.'
'Of course.'
'Activity around the mosque will only increase as pilgrims arrive. The old city will be crowded, filled with millions of witnesses.' Abdul-Khaliq paused, thinking things through. 'Until the hajj is over, all work should be stopped at the site. No workers, no digging, no attention. No one but the guards to protect our work…. Do you not agree?'
She answered carefully, realizing it was a loaded question. 'Whatever you think is best.'
'Besides, you and your team deserve some time off-a reward for all your efforts. It will help you forget this tragedy…. Mecca is a historic city, one you've barely seen. Use your time wisely. Roam the streets, observe the celebration. It is one to behold.'
Shari was quite familiar with the hajj and its customs. While preparing for her dig, she read several firsthand accounts, tales of tragedy and triumph, loss and salvation, written by men and women whose lives were changed by their journey. Deep inside she knew she would never participate as a pilgrim-she was a nonpracticing half- Muslim- but as an academic, she realized her observations would be invaluable.
Maybe he was right. Maybe this was the best thing to do.
Considering the circumstances, it was certainly the safest.
'Before we conclude,' he said, 'there is one more item to be discussed.'
'Which is?'
'The delivery of my package. Did it arrive safely?'
She held the sealed envelope in her hand. 'Yes. I have it right here.'
'Good. That is good.' He paused briefly. 'Is it unopened?'
'It seems to be.'
'Excellent!'
She was dying to find out what was inside, especially since the man who'd delivered it was dead in her tunnel. Still, she knew not to ask too much. 'What should I do with it?'
'Hold it at all times. One of these days, it will come in handy. You shall see.'
The guards showed up sooner than expected, less man an hour after she'd called Abdul-Khaliq.
They were highly trained and highly unsociable. Only one of them spoke to Shari, and even then it was to tell her to stay out of their way.
