Oil

by Jeff Nesbit

  This, in turn, led the scholars to insist that the Garden of Eden could be found by following the ghostly, dry outlines of the Pishon River that had emerged from the mountains of Hejaz and snaked its way north and east through Arabia to a lush land where Iraq, Iran, and Kuwait converged at the northern end of the Persian Gulf.

  The student thought that notion was hilarious—that the Garden of Eden could actually be found by following the dry riverbed—but he was also intrigued by the idea that the colors of the old flag of the Arab Revolt had traveled around the Arab world for the better part of a century.

  Why not adopt the old Arab Revolt flag—the flag of the long-dead kingdom of Hejaz that had once called Mecca its capital—as the new symbol of the mythical Day of Anger uprising in the Saudi kingdom? the student asked himself. The flag hadn’t been of use since a local ruler—the Sharif of Mecca—had used it to plot the creation of a pan-Islamic empire that had never come to fruition.

  So the student copied the flag image, attached it to a new mVillage post, proclaimed it the flag of a pan-Islamic Arab Revolt, pinned it to the Day of Anger protests in different Arabian cities, and hit the SEND button.

  Within minutes, another bored student in another Arabian university picked up on the post and added yet another rumor to it— namely, that the heir to the long-dead Ottoman Empire would make a special appearance at one of the cities during the Day of Anger protests and lead them in a demand to bring back the kingdom of Hejaz and overthrow the House of Saud.

  It was a ludicrous post, half in jest. This particular student didn’t care that there was, in fact, an actual heir to the ancient Ottoman Empire. The government of Turkey had carefully kept the heirs to the ruling dynasty of the now-defunct Ottoman Empire—the family of the Osmans—from holding any positions of influence in their country and society. They’d only recently allowed some of the family members to even enter the country.

  Nevertheless, there was an actual heir to the Ottoman Empire— a retired librarian in London named Mehmet Osman, who was in his eighties, had never married, and had no children. There was uncertainty, in truth, about whether the Osman “dynasty” would end with Mehmet.

  This post was followed by another outrageous effort by yet a third, equally bored student. He merged the Arab Revolt flag, the old kingdom of Hejaz, the defunct Ottoman Empire dynasty heir, the Arab Spring revolt leadership in Bahrain, Egypt, Tunisia, and Syria, and the peace talks between Israel and Iran into one vast Jewish conspiracy.

  Israel is behind the new effort to bring back the kingdom of Hejaz, this student wrote on mVillage. The Zionists are encouraging the revolt against the House of Saud. They are playing the Shiites of Iran against the Sunnis of the House of Saud in Arabia. The student knew fully that he was tossing gasoline-soaked logs onto the fire. But he didn’t care. It was amusing.

  Then others took this post seriously. Within the hour, cables whirred and whizzed to various corners of the globe. The notion of a Day of Anger took firm root in the soil. People started to plan for such an effort. Several self-appointed leaders in Qatif, Dammam, and Mecca reached out to others who could organize organic protests.

  People in distant capitals heard about the Day of Anger protests planned in Arabia, fed by a growing rise of missives about Israel somehow engineering the protests to pit the Saudis against Iran.

  A few trafficked in end-times prophecy for good measure, to show the Mahdi returning as a pan-Islamic caliph of one sort or another. One thread merged the Mahdism of pop culture with the notion that the Sharif of Mecca would lead a new Arab Revolt that would spread beyond Arabia to parts unknown.

  Still another thread began to spread rumors that terrorists were planning to destroy the Kaaba, Islam’s holiest shrine. There had been threats to the Kaaba in the past, and several actual insurrections in its square. Should someone ever seek to destroy the Kaaba, it would set off violent responses across the globe and usher in the era of the hidden imam as prophecy foretold, they wrote.

  None of it was remotely based in truth. It had all begun as a rumor. Yet somehow a new pan-Islamic flag circulated through mVillage. An actual day of protest in several Arabian cities was identified. An heir to a long-discredited dynasty had been conscripted without his knowledge. And a kingdom-in-waiting was forming in opposition to the House of Saud.

  06

  Bogotá, Colombia

  “Please don’t go, Nash. Saudi Arabia is too dangerous.”

  Nash Lee could sense the fear in his fiancée’s voice. Kim Su Yeong was tough. She could hold her own in any meeting at the White House or at Foggy Bottom even though she was only in her midtwenties. She was fearless—but not when it came to Nash. Whenever he got on a plane to a part of the world where the government wasn’t totally stable or reliable, Su worried. And she was worried now.

  “It’s fine, Su. I’ll be fine. Don’t worry,” Nash said. “I’ll be in the State Department bubble—like I am here in Bogotá.”

  “I know, but…”

  Nash knew precisely why Su was worried. The two often talked at length before he set off on some new adventure around the world. His current trip to Colombia was a good example. When he’d met with the president of Colombia and proposed a novel technology solution to the problem the citizens and military had with indiscriminate landmines in the country, Su had been very worried.

  Colombia was the only country in Latin America with a landmine problem. Anti-government rebels planted or dropped them everywhere to protect trade routes and coca crops. Those mines killed or maimed hundreds of Colombian citizens every year.

  Nash’s mVillage network had potentially found a solution. More than 40 million Colombians had cell phones, and all were more than willing to send SMS messages into the mVillage network to identify where the landmines were located whenever citizens spotted them.

  Once sent, the messages were then plotted with Google’s geocaching software and incorporated into Google Earth. In the past two years, the project had become a huge success. Millions of Colombians had sent in anonymous SMS messages identifying and tracking the landmines.

  Overnight, Google Earth had transformed the picture of Colombia, allowing anyone with an Internet connection to keep track of where the landmines were located and most prevalent throughout the countryside. And the mere fact of knowing that the citizens themselves were keeping track of the landmines had already begun to change the equation.

  But Nash’s next trip worried Su. She was convinced he was getting in way over his head and making himself a needless target.

  “The pirates off the coast of Somalia aren’t rational,” Su said. “And al Qaeda in Yemen is in their same league.”

  “I’m not getting involved with either of those,” Nash countered. “Trust me. I’m only going to Riyadh to hear about their plans to help extend mVillage in the region. And then I’m just joining a State Department delegation for a day trip to Yemen for a quick round of talks on what we can do to access medical and health information. You’ll never see me getting involved with any of the military or counter-insurgency stuff. Never. You know me. I’m all about—”

  Su cut him off. “I know, I know. You’re all about doing good, making a difference, not getting involved in the actual battles and fights. You’re the relentless, positive storm out to remake the world at the edge of battle and military conflicts.”

  She knew Nash’s “pitch” better than he did. He lived the “relentless, positive storm”—the defining way of life and meaning for millions of the Millennial generation who’d grown up living and breathing technology and its benefits. Use technology to change things, make the world a better place, increase knowledge, and help the underserved. That was their war cry.

  Nash was one of their global leaders. His mVillage network had connected hundreds of millions of people all over the world, and opened doors through simple methods of communication using existing technology platforms that could be modified for social good.

  “So I don’t need to tell you,
” Nash continued, “that I won’t be going anywhere close to the Somalia pirates or the al Qaeda camps that Yemen’s government is trying to track.”

  “Good! Because I won’t let you go if you’re planning to get anywhere near that stuff. Promise me you’ll just go there to get mVillage established in Saudi Arabia. That’s all. Okay?”

  “Deal,” Nash said, smiling. His fiancée—known as Su Kim at the State Department—could make her threat good if she really wanted. Su had made plenty of connections at State in her brief tenure there. Word of the role she’d played as a back channel to North Korea during a conflict that had nearly escalated into a nuclear confrontation had traveled far. Su was a force to be reckoned with, folks said. She had connections—beginning with her globe-trotting boyfriend, Nash Lee.

  Su worked at State during the day and went to law school at night. Nash, the CEO and founder of the Village Health Corps and mVillage, flew in and out of Washington almost on a weekly basis. The two of them saw each other whenever they could. But they were always connected, either by mobile, Skype, or SMS.

  The trip that Nash was contemplating next, though, was one that could contain all sorts of mischief. The mVillage network hadn’t quite taken hold in countries like Saudi Arabia, Somalia, or Yemen, for one reason or another.

  Nash was especially curious about Saudi Arabia and the general lack of adoption there, so he’d decided to visit the tiny mVillage office in Riyadh and see the situation for himself. He was far less interested in places like Somalia and Yemen. There was very little he—or anyone else— could do in countries like Somalia, where the landscape was so chaotic. The mVillage would take hold in both of those countries on their own, like it had in North Korea and Iran, at the local level if people wanted it to work. The technology was available for those who wanted to use it.

  “I’m serious, Nash,” Su said forcefully. “If I hear that you’re getting involved in Somalia, or Yemen, I’m going to march into Secretary Moran’s office myself and order her to shut you down!”

  “You’d never do that to me.” Nash laughed.

  “Watch me—especially if I hear you’re going anywhere near Yemen.”

  A loud voice in the background interrupted their call. “Hey, Su, gotta go,” he said. “They’re boarding the flight. I’ll call when I land in Riyadh.”

  “Okay, but you remember what I said. I meant every word.”

  “I know, Su, and I heard you. I won’t go anywhere near Somalia or Yemen. I promise.”

  07

  The White House

  Washington, DC

  “I beg to differ, Mr. President. It isn’t the same thing—not at all,” the national security advisor said. “You’re being naïve and making a mistake. You’re overreacting. I’m afraid you simply don’t understand how the House of Saud will react to this.”

  DJ held his breath and scanned the room. Dr. Susan Wright, the president’s deputy national security advisor, was clearly shocked by the statement. But the faces of the military staff and advisors were implacable masks. They’d seen this type of scenario play out too many times to react.

  The Situation Room was full. DJ, as usual, leaned up against a wall at the back of the room. The president’s chief of staff, Dr. Anshel Gould, rested his back against a nearby wall as well. Sometimes, DJ knew, Dr. Gould sat beside the president in the Sit Room. But not today. The president was flanked on both sides by two four-stars—General Sean Thomas, his national security advisor, and Dan Johnson, the former Republican senator from Missouri who’d recently become the secretary of defense.

  Daniel James, or DJ to everyone in the room, always counted himself lucky to be included in these meetings. As the principal deputy press secretary on foreign policy matters, he’d asked the president for permission to sit in on briefings like this. President Adom Camara had given DJ that chance, provided he never abused the privilege. DJ was careful and never said a word in these meetings.

  Right now, though, DJ found it difficult to hold his tongue. Everyone in the room could see that General Thomas had just challenged the president’s ability to understand a complicated foreign policy matter. And yet President Camara didn’t respond—at least not the way DJ would like him to respond.

  “Perhaps you’re right, Sean,” the president said. “Perhaps I’m not seeing the situation quite right, or clearly enough. But humor me. Assume, for a moment, that is the same thing, and that I am right about this. Play it out for me.” The president pushed his chair back from the table a couple of feet so he could look directly at his national security advisor. He leaned back in his chair, folded his arms, and settled in for the lecture he was about to receive from his imperious national security advisor.

  “Okay, I can do that.” General Thomas nodded vigorously. Known to relish a challenge like this, he forged ahead, blind to the president’s body language. “But it’s hard, because you’re wrong about this. The Saudis will not see this attack as all that significant—and certainly not similar to the attack on the towers in New York City. You’re equating this attack on the Airbus 380 to 9/11, like it’s a direct attack against the monarchy in Saudi Arabia. But it’s not. It’s merely a hapless dupe they planted here in the United States, who took advantage of a window of opportunity.”

  “You’re sure about that, Sean?” the president asked quietly.

  “Quite certain,” the general said. “Al Qaeda in Yemen has attacked a Saudi prince before. They nearly killed their head of intelligence not long ago. They’ve gone after other members of the Royal family. This is old hat to the Saudis. One more in a long line of efforts to go after individual members of the House of Saud. Remember, it’s Saudi intelligence that provides us with a steady flow of information about al Qaeda’s activities. They’ve warned us about serious activities a half-dozen times in the past decade. They know al Qaeda better than we do.”

  “So this is just one more incident? Nothing more serious than that?” asked Camara.

  “Yes, just one more incident,” the general responded. “The Saudis know where most of the al Qaeda financing activities originate. They follow the money quite well, which gives them access to al Qaeda’s plans. They know full well that al Qaeda is an organization in name only, that leaders in various groups don’t really answer to anyone, and that they all look for opportunities to go after the House of Saud. This is an isolated incident. It isn’t organized and certainly isn’t the same thing as a direct attack against the leadership of their country.”

  “Dr. Wright, is that your assessment as well?” the president asked without taking his eyes off General Thomas. “Do you believe this is only an unfortunate, isolated incident?”

  DJ glanced over at Dr. Wright. He couldn’t help himself. He really admired the president’s deputy national security advisor. She’d brought badly needed stability and sanity to the national security office. DJ knew that, someday, Dr. Wright would head back to academia to become president of some prestigious American university. But for now, he leaned heavily on her wise counsel and calm demeanor during times like this. He wondered how she’d handle this one.

  She did not answer immediately, and DJ sensed she was uncomfortable that the president put her on the spot. When she did speak, she seemed to choose her words carefully. “I believe this is a serious attack, one that the Saudis will view differently than previous attacks. I’m not prepared to say it’s precisely analogous to 9/11, but nevertheless, it is something the Saudis will take very seriously. They will ask for our utmost cooperation on intelligence sharing.”

  “Why?” the president asked.

  “Because it’s Muhammad al Faisal—who I believe will become king at some point—and because it happened on American soil at precisely the moment he’d arrived in this country to dialogue about the succession of power within the House of Saud. It’s as if someone within the royal family—someone who doesn’t agree with the succession plan—helped orchestrate the act to disrupt the plans. Imagine if the attack had succeeded. It would hav
e permanently altered the plan for the House of Saud. For that reason alone, I believe we need to take this quite seriously.”

  “But Mr. President, we don’t know any of this with absolute certainty!” General Thomas jumped back into the conversation. “We still don’t know if Prince Muhammad arrived here to brief us on any succession planning for the House of Saud. At most, we’ll be reading tea leaves after he’s gone back to Riyadh. He’s not the king yet and may never be. So we can’t impute all sorts of things into this, like it’s an assassination attempt against the Saudi king on US soil.”

  “Well, General Thomas, I beg to differ with your assessment,” the president said calmly. “I do believe our intelligence is correct and that Prince Muhammad is here to give us a fairly clear road map. I also believe Secretary Moran will confirm that for us shortly.”

  “No secretary of state—not even Jennifer Moran—can decipher that in just one meeting with someone like Prince Muhammad from the Saudi royal family,” General Thomas said flatly. “That’s not possible. The House of Saud covers its face with one veil after another, and you can never truly know what face will emerge.”

  “So you’re a diplomat now, Sean?” The president cocked his head.

  “I don’t need to be a diplomat to know how cautious the royal family is about their business. There’s no way for us to know what they may—or may not—have in mind. I continue to maintain that this was just another incident—not directed at disrupting the succession plan for the next king of Saudi Arabia. And our response, both militarily and diplomatically, should be calibrated accordingly.”

  “But what if you’re wrong?” Camara asked.

  The general’s eyes narrowed. “I’m not. We don’t know the Saudis’ plans. What we do know is that this was almost certainly an isolated incident. My prediction is that we’ll learn in the next day or so that the gunner on that truck was a lone operative with loose connections, like nearly all of the others we’ve tracked down over the years. It’s the press that creates this grand al Qaeda conspiracy that we all know is bunk.”