The Chosen One

PAN-ARAB HEADQUARTERS

INSIDE THE KING’S BURIAL CHAMBER, THE GREAT PYRAMID OF KHUFU

THE GIZA PLATEAU

Muhammad Mourad sat in the burial chamber along with his closest advisers. A pall was on nearly every face. There was little doubt in his followers’ minds that the war was lost. Only their leader seemed unaffected by the battle’s recent days.

“Chosen One,” General el-Saeed said, “one of the American divisions in the south is drawing near.”

“How far away are they?”

“No more than sixty kilometers. They’ve defeated the units you diverted from the attack upon Cairo and are marching toward Giza as we speak. There’s nothing standing in their way. They could be here in a few hours if something’s not done.”

“What about our Sudanese reinforcements? Can we use them to slow the infidels?”

“No, Chosen One, they’re cut off. The other American division has pushed them back toward Egypt’s southern border.”

Mourad looked at General el-Saeed. The threat was unmistakable. There was only one thing he could do. He’d send his best division to face the 4th Infantry.

“Order my personal armored division to head south to meet the Americans. They’re to leave within the hour. The communication complex and a few of the air defenses are to remain behind, but everyone else in the division is to go.”

“But, Chosen One, if we do that there’ll be almost no one guarding this place. You’ll be vulnerable to an attack.”

“Nonsense, General. I’ll be fine. No harm will befall me. Allah will see to that. Until Islam rules and the world reaches its final days, I will live.” He could tell from el-Saeed’s face his general wasn’t happy with his decision. “And my mujahideen will watch over me.”

“Your bodyguards are great warriors. But two hundred men, no matter how fierce, no matter how loyal, cannot stop a determined opponent. All I’m asking is to give your directive some thought before sending your division to face the Americans.”

“What choice do we have? No one stands in the heretics’ way. We cannot allow them to advance unfettered. We’ve got to do something to give us time to capture Cairo and turn the tide.”

El-Saeed measured his words before speaking. “Chosen One, even if we were to capture the city, I’m not sure it would make any difference. Not with the enemy closing in on nearly every side. The American Marines and British tanks in the north are a mere forty kilometers away. We have viable defenses in their path, so we should be able to hold a little longer. But I cannot see what we’ll gain by taking Cairo. It’s too late to cross the Sinai and reach Israel even if we’re somehow victorious in the present battle.”

“Nonetheless, you are to keep attacking with everything we’ve got. For Allah’s plan to be realized, we must unite Islam. And the first step in doing so is to overthrow the Egyptian government. It’s been five days since our attack began. Are we any closer to capturing the capital than we were yesterday?”

“I’m sorry to report we are not,” el-Saeed answered. “It appears we’ve failed. What forces we’ve placed in the city are falling back. And while our attempts to get more of our soldiers across the river continue, we’re meeting with little success.”

“We must keep trying, General el-Saeed. The building of the bridges and fording of the river will continue until our enemies lie dead at our feet.”

The commander of the Pan-Arab army once more vacillated, weighing his options. His reluctance to follow the order to continue the assault on Cairo was unmistakable. The time had arrived to disclose the military reality. “Chosen One, it’s no use. We should cease our attack and withdraw from Egypt. We’ve no chance of taking Cairo. Our army’s beaten. Our men demoralized. Despite everything the mullahs have tried, many are discarding their weapons and beginning the long walk home. We’re shooting any deserters we find, but it’s not stopping them from trying. And it’s growing worse with each passing hour.”

El-Saeed expected a lengthy tirade from his leader. Yet Mourad just looked at him in eerie silence. It seemed an eternity before the Mahdi spoke again. “The assault will continue. But tell the political officers and our field commanders to allow those who wish to go to do so in peace. I will no longer judge those who turn away from our sacred mission. Make sure, however, those who leave understand that even though I’m not stopping them, Allah will be measuring their every action.”

“It will be done, Chosen One,” el-Saeed said.

Mourad looked at those assembled. He was far from ready to concede defeat. “Despite all that’s happened we won’t give up. We’ll persist in our holy venture. We’ll fight to the last man. We might falter in our righteous endeavor, but it won’t be because we’ve lost faith. If we fail it will be because Allah didn’t find our sacrifices befitting of his honor.”

“We all know why we’ve failed,” Kadar Jethwa, the high cleric of Algiers, said. “We’ve spoken of it many times in the past days. Allah’s displeased with your allowing the heretic woman and her companion to keep their heads. The signs are all there. To tolerate debased infidels in his Chosen One’s presence at such a crucial time has led to our downfall. They must forfeit their lives if we’re going to return to his favor.”

“Nonsense,” Mourad said. “I’ve heard too many discussions regarding my permitting the woman to live. And I’ve grown quite weary. I’ll hear no more talk of it. It was my decision to spare her life, and mine alone. To try to blame our shortcomings on her is without merit. We cannot place the responsibility onto anyone but ourselves. We’ve so far failed because Allah did not find our efforts worthy of his blessing. The woman has nothing to do with this. It’s we who must examine our piety before God.”

“But, Chosen One . . .” the high cleric said.

The Mahdi held up his hand. “The discussion of the woman is over.”

* * *

—

The sunset was drawing near. The time had come to honor his mother. With a pair of mujahideen to watch over him, he headed for the passage through the interior walls that would take him to the pyramid’s opening.

On his way through the antechamber he spotted Lauren Wells sitting in a corner. She appeared to be staring at nothing in particular. He wondered what it was she was thinking. She looked up and halfheartedly smiled. Other than Sharif, he’d never felt anything but uneasiness when dealing with women. He’d shunned female contact after his wife’s death, and until this moment had no desire for that to change. Yet for some unexplained reason, he didn’t feel that way about the engaging American. He wasn’t sure why, but he’d liked her from the moment they’d met.

He hesitated, trying to form the words. “Would you like to accompany me on my evening walk, Miss Wells?”

He seemed perfectly relaxed. She would have never suspected his world was in near collapse.

Her initial response to his invitation was astonishment. He’d barely acknowledged her presence in the past days. She soon recovered. Her smile became genuine. “I think I’d like that very much, Mr. Mourad. After

being in this room for so long, I’m starting to feel more than a bit cooped up. I’d enjoy the opportunity for some fresh air. Are you certain I won’t be intruding?”

“Not at all. In fact, I think I’d rather enjoy the company.”

Wells got to her feet. She was at least half a foot taller than the diminutive Algerian. “All right, then. I’d be honored to join you, sir.”

He turned toward the low entrance into the Grand Gallery. She followed close behind.

They were soon at the pyramid’s exit. She poked her head out, peering at the fading light upon the western desert. The late afternoon’s warmth was a welcome relief. They headed down the archaic stones toward ground level. When they reached the firm sands, she stopped to look upon the Nile. The sounds of fighting were still there. The battle was raging. Yet it wasn’t nearly as intense as it had been on the morning she’d arrived at the foot of the pyramids. To her surprise, the armored division guarding the plateau was nowhere to be found. She’d no idea where the tanks had gone.

The Mahdi started walking north, away from the Great Pyramid. He continued in that direction until he was even with the northernmost edge of the ancient western cemetery. Without a word, he turned and headed across the mesa toward the setting sun. One hundred meters silently passed. He’d reached the eons-old remnants of the deteriorating rock wall on the northern edge of the aboveground necropolis. He’d found the crumbling aperture during his earliest days on the plateau. He began walking next to the venerable limestone, out of sight of those at the pyramid. With the constant activity on the hilltop, it was the one place he could find a modicum of peace. His thoughts were on the distant past and the unassuming home where his mother had waited at the end of each day. Calmness gathered in his soul. His bodyguards kept their distance, giving him the space he craved. Nevertheless, they stayed vigilant, their rifles at the ready.