The Mahdi, page 33
“Elliot?” the president said in his usual way. “Comment?”
Brooks nodded. “That’s the idea: You step up and look like a statesman for the free world. ABS steps up for Islam. And Israel rebuilds with their troops intact and their money, up to a third of the total.”
“I get the benefits for me, for our country,” the president said. “But what’s in it for ABS? How does helping Israel help Islam?”
“He gains a legacy of greatness,” Kufdani explained. “The Crown Prince of Saudi Arabia leading on the path toward uniting the Muslim world. Not in his lifetime, of course. But he will die as a growing legend in the minds of modern Muslims everywhere.”
The president looked skeptical. “And that’s what he wants? Both down the road and right now?”
Brooks shrugged. “It will take years.”
“Years, my ass! We’re talking decades here,” the president retorted. “Macmillan, don’t any of these young folks have a sense of time?”
“Mr. President, I’ve been around for a long time too,” Mac said. “This may be the best shot at world peace I have seen.”
“If Kufdani’s plan works,” Brooks added, “then you, your successors, and ABS will rule the world for thirty years. It will change defense budgets, votes, and politicians, with you and ABS charting the course—mostly you, Mr. President. It’s coming from you, as your invention, so be sure to take credit.”
“Not only that,” Mac continued, “but we’ll deal with the Chinese from a position of great power. We control oil and technology. China is aging. They can’t fight a war without oil, and population is hard to create quickly. Abolishment of the petro-yuan should be part of this deal.”
Kufdani laughed. “Mac does have a way with tactics, Mr. President. He’s a trained killer. Maybe you should fire him as a gesture to the pinkos.”
“Fuck the pinkos,” the president said. “It makes sense to me. I’m in.”
“Excellent. I’ll inform the Crown Prince,” Kufdani said. “He’ll have to decide what to say.”
“And you will help him with that speech,” the president said.
“I will, quietly,” Kufdani said, watching another puzzle piece fall into place. He had been at this for ten years. It was working. “Mr. President, Islam needs this to work.”
EDGEWORTH STUDIOS, MIDTOWN MANHATTAN
FRIDAY
ELSA SACHS WAS OVERWHELMED IN HER NEW YORK OFFICE. THE MORE time passed, the more the pressure built. She had developed a public relationship with the infamous Kufdani, and now, for most people, she was the only known communications avenue to the man who held the future of the Middle East in the palm of his hand.
Her phones were ringing off the hook in synchrony with an orchestra of alerts on her social media accounts. Everyone wanted to meet with Kufdani, but most would eagerly settle for Sachs. The Pulitzer looked like a lock. Now that it was no longer an unlikely fantasy in her life, however, the accolade had somehow faded in importance.
The fact that her entire nation was suffering didn’t help.
Finally, she gave in to the urge and picked up her phone. When he answered, she said, “Kufdani.”
“Hey there, Sachs,” he replied. “How are you enjoying life here in New York?”
“The press is driving me crazy.”
He chuckled. “You are the press.”
“But they all want you for an interview,” she pointed out. “And for most, I am your only conduit.”
“Well, that’s the role Edgie envisioned for you,” he reminded her. “We need the full, screaming support of the Jewish community in the US and Europe, now more than ever. You can help deliver that. Then they won’t bother you as much—but you might miss it now that you’re known worldwide as a crackerjack journalist.”
“Why ‘now more than ever’?” she asked. “And if I help you get their support, what’s in it for Israel, for me?”
“The president has agreed to fund a reconstruction effort in Israel, mostly Jerusalem,” Kufdani said, explaining that he had committed ABS to funding an equal amount and attempting to bring in the other Middle Eastern money players.
The ultimate goal was to build a relatively peaceful society in the Middle East, where Israel pays a third of the cost and leads from a technology perspective while the oil-rich countries fund the new infrastructure needed: schools to teach the children to read and write, universities to develop the region’s brightest personally for the good of all—all the trappings of a modern society.
“As for what’s in it for you,” he continued, “it’s not about you. It’s not even about me. If everything works as envisioned, we could finally see the unimaginable: the Middle East as a safe, good place to live and grow for all men, women, and children.”
“Liberty and equal rights for all? In the Middle East? That sounds like Enlightenment bullshit,” Elsa said. “You’ll never be able to achieve that.”
“Oh, ye of little faith,” Kufdani chuckled. “I didn’t say it would be done by next week or even the year’s end. It’s a process that will take decades. Your piece is to build a following among the diaspora, where they lean in to get the job done and influence others to join in—and to reach into their pockets.” He paused. “And who knows? Maybe you can leverage that Pulitzer we talked about into a Nobel.”
Elsa had to smile at that.
“Any Jew who thinks this is a bad idea is stupid,” Kufdani continued. “You must make the world believe that and denigrate that kind of thinking. Your job is to convince the liberal Jewish world that this is the best hope for peace they will see in their lifetime. Plan it out. Build a national image, and use it. Then get married and have babies who can expect a bright future.”
“Maybe,” she replied vaguely, “but first I’d like to go back home.”
TANGIER
THURSDAY
IN TANGIER, CAITLIN WAS DOING WHAT CAITLIN DID BEST: EMPLOYING her wealth of skills and technological dominance to monitor the convergence of Kufdani’s plan at a near-planetary level.
Amid growing cacophony among liberal Jews demanding action in Israel, the US president delivered his message on national television. The support for his ideas among the Jewish diaspora in America, particularly New York, was loud and growing.
The Crown Prince of Saudi Arabia added to this crescendo when he announced his support for the effort in the name of Allah, promising twenty billion dollars to help rebuild Jerusalem as an international place of worship. “It is time for modern Muslims to rebuild our rightful place in world society,” he insisted. “We must educate our young and reinvigorate our squandered legacy. This is an important first step.”
In Israel, the Knesset had finally stopped squandering time, and convened again for a new vote, approving the internationalization of Jerusalem with almost universal support. The Haredi had objected but were shouted down. With the United States brokering the arrangement and Saudi Arabia on board, Israel had agreed to fund a third of the rebuilding effort from its own resources. Financial support from the other Muslim autocracies would follow. Kufdani’s plan was truly coming together.
Caitlin was eavesdropping on the prime minister’s office just after the appointment of Nabov Dayan as the new Israeli minister of defense. Pelzer instructed him that Kufdani was now off-limits: there would be no offensive operations targeting him. Kufdani had won the battle and won just about everyone over to his side—Israelis, Palestinians, Saudis, Americans—and now they would all need him. Plus, Kufdani would be able to keep a close eye on Iran given their desire for nuclear capability.
A conversation between Madam Pelzer and Guns Epstein also revealed that Yakov Bernstein was still missing in northern Israel—the latest news hinted at something about a car wreck, but despite attempts to investigate, the local hospitals up there had no official record of treating him.
Out of our hair at least, Caitlin thought. She knew Alex was still yearning for revenge, and knew Yousef Salama was working diligently to help out with his contacts in northern Israel.
“We must redirect the IDF,” Pelzer was saying to Dayan, “from an externally faced organization to one that is focused on a controlled rebuild of Jerusalem, and a safe environment that would encourage education for children of all religions. We must continue to lead our world in research and technology, not oppression and war.”
Caitlin listened carefully, grinning as the prime minister outlined her goals for managing this sea change in the IDF’s mission: from killing and destroying to building and educating. This inside information would give her the edge she needed: the technology for education must come from an external, proven source. And who better than Kufdani Industries to administer the building of education facilities and curriculum? Just as she was about to sign off, Caitlin overheard an interesting comment made by Guns: the new director of Mossad was preparing to schedule a prime-time interview with Kufdani, to be televised on the new Elsa Sachs Show.
Caitlin knew who she wanted to hear from next: Elsa Sachs herself.
Her first few calls to Elsa’s studio office went ignored. Elsa now had three assistants to handle the callers clamoring for her attention, and Caitlin couldn’t seem to break through the wall of silence. So she tried Elsa’s private phone next, with a more favorable outcome.
“Hello, Caitlin,” Elsa said. “Are we just about done yet?”
“Hey, Sachs,” Caitlin said. “Yeah, just about. This one played out better than I thought it would. The NSA isn’t happy with me, but Alex is. Should’ve known he never bites off more than he can chew.”
“How is he?”
“He’s okay,” Caitlin said. “A little tired of all the Mahdi bullshit, but I guess it was necessary. And on the personal side, pretty much the same as usual. I can’t see that you taught him much of anything. What was the music?”
There was a long pause. “Bob Evans,” Elsa replied.
“Inner Spirit?” Caitlin whistled. “Marc Johnson is a find, isn’t he? Gives me shivers just thinking about Alex keeping time with that bass …”
Elsa chuckled. “You taught him well, Caitlin.”
“Well, in all honesty, he was already quite talented when I met him long ago.”
Caitlin recalled what Alex had said to her one time: It’s dark, it’s damp, and the view never changes. The target is predictable and not hard to handle. The goal is mutual, and I seldom miss.
“How romantic,” Elsa drawled.
“That’s where the jazz comes in. Look for a connection with the music, and you can’t go wrong. If there’s a next time, try Bob James and Earl Klugh, One on One.”
“Thanks for the advice. Anything else, Caitlin?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact,” Caitlin said, “I may be back in the colonies for a visit soon—mend some fences at the NSA, get a little plastic surgery. Alex has been hogging my new airplane, and I want to show it off. Will you be around? Maybe we’ll take you on a ride someplace.”
“Caitlin, I don’t—”
But Caitlin had already disconnected the call. She smiled to herself—turning to look out the window at her second-favorite view, Tangier harbor—and decided to keep Alejandro Muhammad Cuchulain to herself a little while longer.
TANGIER
THE FOLLOWING FRIDAY
KUFDANI HAD KNOWN THE INTERVIEW WITH GUNS EPSTEIN ON THE Elsa Sachs Show would be critical to achieving the final stage of his plan, but he never expected it would receive such unprecedented ratings. Excitement across the political and cultural spectrum had led to overwhelming Israeli public approval of the plan as they described it, which had been agreed upon by the Crown Prince, Madam Pelzer, and the president.
Power had been restored to Israel. Jerusalem’s airport was booming, and Ben Gurion was well along in its repairs. Primary schools were being planned for construction as soon as possible, under Prime Minister Pelzer’s leadership but with Kufdani Industries the most likely (and most capable) option for handling the educational programming.
Kufdani sat in his Tangier office going over the new education statistics. Things had been quiet in his little hole in the mountain: LuAnn was safe and happy at home in DC with Brooks. Jerome was hard to pin down, now they were out of the shooting business for a while—or shooting at Israel, at least. He had freshly blooded warriors to pin medals on and reposition, lessons to be analyzed, weapons to inventory, tactics to update, and Admiral Sino to keep happy. For Jerome, it was basically a vacation.
Elsa Sachs had been nominated for her Pulitzer Prize, as promised, and was being considered for even greater honors. Without Edgie, however, New York and Edgeworth Studios just didn’t feel right. She had decided to return permanently to her offices in Tel Aviv, so she could host the Elsa Sachs Show from Israel, now a center of exciting opportunity.
Yakov Bernstein had finally been found, after no word of his whereabouts for about a month. He’d been mistakenly swept up in the return of escaped criminals and placed in the general population at Gilboa Prison, which was slowly coming back online. Bernstein had suffered an incredibly long list of injuries, from two broken elbows to shattered knees to a tangled web of internal injuries.
His long hair had been ripped out over some period of time, and iodine had been applied to the bleeding scalp, staining it a startlingly appropriate red. The older wounds were healing well, and an investigation was underway. Well, two investigations: Bernstein had been indicted in his absence for treason—something about recording secret meetings on his phone and distributing them.
Talk of Kufdani being the Mahdi still raged across the lands like wildfire. And it was Friday morning, the time he and ABS caught up on things. Time to bring the plan to completion.
Kufdani picked up his Kphone. “ABS, my friend,” he said heartily. “All is good at your end of the world?”
“Yes, my friend,” the Crown Prince replied. “You actually pulled it off! This pleases me greatly.”
“But it was just step one, Your Majesty,” Kufdani reminded him.
“Yes, step one! The great cooperation between our three countries—our investment in the future,” ABS continued. “I am received with open arms wherever I go. I am invited to speak at prestigious events. My people cheer as I drive by!”
“Good,” Kufdani said. “Now for the hard part.”
ABS sighed. “Yes, the hard part—restoring Islam to greatness. This part of your plan is already well underway. But there has been increasing resistance from the Wahabi here in Riyadh. They don’t like the new freedoms I have pronounced.”
“Is it anything you cannot handle, Your Majesty?” Kufdani said. “It is their power that is reduced, not yours.”
ABS sighed again. “The Wahabi have started to preach about the Mahdi.”
Here we go, Kufdani thought.
“They say you are an apostate, Sheik Kufdani. They say you have influenced me with your claims to be the Mahdi. They say you should be put to death.”
“I never claimed to be the Mahdi,” Kufdani pointed out. “Nothing in the Quran provides guidance for identifying the Mahdi, nor any indication that such a personage even exists.”
“How do you think I should deal with the Wahabi?” ABS said. “Did you foresee this difficulty?”
“I have thought about this problem a great deal,” Kufdani replied, “and considered how we would know if the Mahdi had appeared. To know for certain, we must see evidence that the glory of Islam is restored to where it was in the ninth century. This requires building new relationships between Muslim nations, both Sunni and Shi‘a—and a new world status to reflect this.”
“Indeed, Sheik Kufdani, you are correct.”
“But all of this will not happen without some measure of strife and turmoil, including dealing with your Wahabi. Bumps in the road are inevitable.”
“That makes sense,” ABS said. “And how do you plan to deal with them?”
“I am a warrior and a businessman, Your Majesty. I can deal with the Wahabi at your request. They are in the way of the will of Allah. We will deal with other bumps as they occur.”
“Hm.” The Crown Prince paused as if in thought. “I must admit, there are many skills you will need to develop.”
“I have no plans to develop those skills, Your Majesty.”
“Whyever not, Sheik Kufdani?”
“Those are the skills of a statesman. I am not a stateman and have no plans to become one. It will be up to another of Allah’s children to undertake those tasks.”
ABS was silent for a moment. “Nobody comes to mind, Kufdani. Have you identified an alternative?”
“I have long considered an idea that is compelling to me,” Kufdani replied, “and I now feel certain that I can persuade the world to accept it.”
“And what have you concluded? If not you, then who?”
“It is you, Your Majesty,” Kufdani said. “You must act as the new Mahdi. You have the skills, the power, and the status to make things happen. You are already seen as the statesman transforming the Middle East.”
“But I am not the Mahdi. I am not worthy.”
“Just as I know that I am not the Mahdi.”
“I would know if it was to be me.”
“How would we know?” Kufdani asked. “Will Allah send the Angel Gabriel to anoint you or me in Mecca? We have no reason to believe that to be true.”
“Sheik Kufdani, I am not the Mahdi.”
“Your Majesty, perhaps it doesn’t matter. If you do the work and bring Islam to glory, the Muslims of our world will praise you and remember you in their prayers. The Christians and Jews and others will adapt as they always have.” Kufdani paused to let it all sink in.
ABS answered at last. “I had not thought of this. As the Mahdi, I can speak for Islam. The Wahabi will listen.”
“And if it turns out you can’t handle them, I’ll give it a try,” Kufdani declared. “You are the Mahdi, but I am forever your warrior. And I don’t mind killing a few more to ensure your work succeeds. Now you must step forward and be seen as a world leader, not just the Crown Prince of Saudi Arabia.”
