THE RELIC

Imagine there was a religious relic or artefact of importance to Muslims of every sect, persuasion or nationality. What would happen to the thin veneer of Muslim solidarity when such a relic could give prominence and importance to whichever nation could possess it? This is a fast-paced political thriller of national rivalry with a religious theme.

THE RELIC

Professor Omid Jalili was not at his workplace, the prestigious School of African & Oriental Studies in London. His Ph.D. student Zaid Ali Ghafur was among the three menacing men currently holding him and his family hostage. Two teenage children instead of being at school were tied to chairs as were the professor and his wife. All manner of threats had been made against them and the bruises and cuts on Omid Jalili's face testified to the fact that these thugs meant business.

"Professor, tell us all you know about the current whereabouts of the item...or your son's features will be permanently changed," threatened the rotund individual wielding a shiny seven inch switchblade.

"For God's sake Omid!" shouted Omid's wife, Fatima. "Tell them what they want to know. No secret is worth injury to our son." She was furious at her husband. Fatima could not understand what information a mere history professor might possess that could be important enough to maim and kill to access.

"After your son, my colleague will deal with your daughter. I don't think you'll like what plans he has for her." The lecherous smile on the man's face hinted at dark deeds.

"No!" Fatima was hysterical with good reason. "No, please don't hurt my daughter," she pleaded. "My husband will tell you whatever you want to know."

She turned to her husband. The professor was slumped forward in dejection and fear. "Tell them, Omid! Tell them everything - for the sake of the children! Just do it!"

It took a further ten minutes for the Al-Qaeda agents to learn all they needed to know.

Three hours later the London Metropolitan Police received an anonymous call informing them of a car crash involving a couple and their two teenage children.

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The scrawny man dangling upside down from the ceiling of the dimly lit interrogation cell would tell Gaber Asfour everything he knew about the relic. Asfour had practiced his art of torture during the George W. Bush era of the war on terror' and secret renditions. The cowardly CIA had no stomach for extracting information from terrorists and often the organization had employed characters like Asfour to do the dirty work in US-friendly nations like Egypt, Sudan and Pakistan. Afterwards, the fanatics were transported to Guantanamo.

This interrogation however was different - it was not for the sake of the Americans, but for the good of Islam itself. The man mumbling and weeping held the key to a priceless treasure that would transform Egypt. The cradle of human civilization was located in this very land. A land that built the iconic and immortal pyramids deserved possession of the relic. Its ancient universities had given intellectual vigour and rigour to early Islam. Egypt had ruled empires several times in its long and illustrious history. In due course it would again become the heart of the Muslim world.

If there was one thing that Asfour was certain of, it was that the prisoner, amid his pleas for mercy, would give up his secrets before he died from excruciating pain.

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During the day Djemaa El Fna is occupied by orange juice stalls, youths with chained Barbary apes, water sellers with traditional leather water-bags and brass cups, and snake charmers. All sorts of tourist souvenirs, ranging from the tacky to the refined are available to visitors to the historic city. And if one looks towards the bus stop, the magnificence of the ancient red sandstone El Koutoubia Mosque dominates the skyline. They say that if you are ever lost in Marrakesh, look for the imposing pillar of El Koutoubia to gain a bearing.

As the day progresses, the entertainment on offer in Djemaa El Fna changes: the snake charmers depart, and late in the day the square becomes more crowded, with Chleuh dancing-boys, story-tellers, telling their tales in Berber or Arabic, to an audience of locals, magicians, and peddlers of traditional medicines. With the encroachment of darkness, the smell of cooked meats tease the senses as the square fills with dozens of food-stalls and the number of people in the square peaks.

The Djemaa El Fna square is edged along one side by the Marrakesh souk, a traditional North African market catering both for the common daily needs of the locals, and for the tourist trade. On other sides are hotels and gardens, cafe terraces, and narrow streets lead into the alleys of the medina quarter. The police found Abdul 10% in one of the alleyways just off the square.

Abdul 10% was a colourful rogue who earned his nickname through his claim of giving his regular customers an additional personal discount of 10% on goods - in addition to his normally competitive prices. If there were shady deals being made, contraband changing hands, Abdul 10% would either be involved or at least know of it. The police turned a blind eye to some of his business transactions because he was a valuable source of information and had been known to tip off the police - for a suitable fee of course. However, Abdul 10%, with a clean bullet hole through the back of the head was currently trying to make the most important deal of his life with the Almighty.

Inspector Zakaria Harrak had been tired and eager to go home to his wife and children even before he was summoned to the crime scene. Now it would well past midnight before he could wrap things up enough to retire to bed. Murders were always difficult cases but this one was particularly troublesome because it looked like a professional execution. Abdul 10% had been operating out of his league, it would appear. Zakaria swore under his breath. He hated the meddling scum of intelligence operatives that made his job so difficult.

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In his Tel Aviv office, Tamir Pardo, Director of Mossad, read the field operative's report carefully. The news was troubling to say the least. He was due to brief the Prime Minister about the matter in an hour's time. All the possible scenarios that might be played out if the heirloom fell into the wrong hands ran through his head. Al-Qaeda could use it to recruit a legion of terrorists. God forbid that the heirloom should end up with ISIL. Muslims would flood the Middle East in their tens of thousands, rallying to the cause of re-writing the map of the region, including the destruction of Israel. Under no circumstances could it ever be permitted to fall into enemy hands. Israel had to have the item. The thought of destroying such an important part of history was an anathema to a man like Pardo. After all he was a cultured and highly educated man. However, if there was no other option, as a patriot, he would do the necessary to save his country and its people.

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His agents had failed in their mission to extract all of the information that Abdul 10% possessed about the relic. There was incomplete intelligence to locate the item. Sami Paazade Mehmet Bey was furious with his incompetent operatives. He was determined that Turkey would possess the item. After all, what other nation could boast that it had been inhabited since the Paleolithic period - at least 1.2 million years ago. Even today his homeland straddled two great territories and spheres of influence - the East and the West, with Turkey a gateway to both.

Those Bedouin savages in Saudi Arabia with their hegemonic ambitions and untold oil revenues would be thwarted. Soon, the Saudi carpetbaggers with their existing monopoly of Muslim pilgrims would soon wake up to a different geopolitical dynamic. Already his beloved Turkey dominated the entertainment media throughout the region. As for trade, it was growing exponentially. Turkey was in its ascendancy. With the relic secured, his country would become the new hub for all of the Middle East and the rest of the Muslim world. After all, was it not Turkey that brought Islamic rule to the idol worshippers in Hindustan, and also introduced Islam into the heartland of mainland Europe? Turkey deserved the relic, he told himself, his mind already wrestling with where the heirloom would be housed.

He looked forward to soon informing the Prime Minister of the successful acquisition of the relic that would propel his nation on a new path, away from the failed experiment of secularism and westernization begun by Mustafa Kemal after the defeat of the Ottoman Empire. The relic would guarantee the President, with his dreams of recapturing the greater glory of the Ottomans, a second term in which to consolidate and bring back a truly Muslim administration that abided by Islamic laws.

Sami Paazade Mehmet Bey used his mobile phone to call a well-connected acquaintance abroad who owed him a favour. One way or another, he would learn which Swiss bank might be currently housing the relic in its vaults.

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The Ayatollah listened attentively as Omid Farrokhzd told him everything he knew about the relic and its current whereabouts. Farrokhzd did not consider it necessary to mention how many operatives had died in securing that information. What were a few lives against the greater glory of Islam?

"That is all very well, Omid." the Ayatollah paused only to take a piece of French nougat and pop it into his eager mouth. It was a taste he had developed while studying in Paris during his exile years. Those French infidels certainly knew how to make sweets and pastries as the Ayatollah's expanding waistline testified to all too clearly.

"Omid, you do realise that those uncouth Arabs cannot be permitted to possess such an important relic. After all, it is part of our Shia heritage."

"Of course sir. Our Hezbollah brethren have provided us with all the intelligence at their disposal. The item will be in our possession very soon, I assure you."

The Ayatollah was less irritated with Omid Farrokhzd's calm manner, and more so with the lack of concrete results. Though, back in the mid-1970s, the Shah of Persia's ruthless SAVAK was much maligned, the administration of Ayatollah Ruhollah Khomeini found its own uses for a ruthless secret police and Intelligence Service. The Intelligence Services had strong links with the Revolutionary Guard given their common goals. Sadly its efficiency in dealing with foreign matters left a great deal to be desired.

"The holy relic when it is in our hands will transform this nation and all our external relationships. When it is ours, it will be displayed in Kerbala, and the commemoration of Ashura on the 10th of Muharram will be reinvigourated."

"It will be most certainly, sir." Omid was all too aware that his own fate was tied up with the retrieval of the artefact.

"Those mercenary and unsophisticated Saudis will no longer rule the roost once the oldest reliable artefact from the earliest days of Islam is housed in our great nation. Even the lying and devious American devils will quake before our new moral authority and respect among the Muslim world."

The Ayatollah felt the surge of excitement swell in his chest at the thought of it all. Shias will no longer be despised and discriminated against by Sunnis. The imbalance between the two sects could be corrected and perhaps, just maybe, the differences and divisions between them become less pronounced.

"We have a long and cultured history, sir. And by all rights, the relic should be ours - and Inshallah - it will be ours by the beginning of next week," opined Omid Farrokhzd.

"Make sure that it is - or other measures will need to be implemented." The Ayatollah knew his meaning was clear and there was no need for elaboration.

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Pierre Duchamp was a rich banker in a country caricatured as the land of chocolate, cuckoo clocks and black money' in secret bank accounts. His own view was that wealth was only relative and never enough. He was in the business of acquiring more.

Duchamp knew that the House of Saud's invitation was serious by the quarter of a million dollars that accompanied the limousine ride to the meeting in the Presidential Suite of the fanciest hotel in Geneva. The House of Saud family was estimated to be composed of 15,000 members, but the majority of the power and wealth was possessed by a group of only about 2,000 as far as Duchamp could ascertain. What the Frenchman didn't know was that two of the living grandsons of King Abdulaziz headed up the delegation. It came as no surprise that the banker was made to wait outside the Presidential Suite until it was convenient for the Saudis to parley.

Inside the suite, Saud bin Nayef, former Saudi ambassador to Spain and deputy governor of the Eastern Province was engaged in intense discussion with Faisal bin Salman Governor of Madinah province.

"We will offer whatever is necessary to acquire the heirloom," insisted Faisal bin Salman for the umpteenth time. "Only our country deserves it. Are we not the guardians of the holiest site in Islam?

"Of course we are," replied Saud bin Nayef. Through his demeanor he hoped to soothe Faisal. "And we make good money from that too!" He smiled at the thought of all the additional revenue that the priceless heirloom would bring to the House of Saud."

"That may be, brother, but the item will also bolster our moral authority at a time when we are being criticized abroad for what we have done to the holy city. We will show the Muslim world that we can combine the old with the new."

"Let them criticize all they want. They will still flock in their millions from all over the world to perform the sacred duty of Hajj. Besides, are we not extending our influence over the globe by gifting money to countries like Pakistan, Malaysia and some African states to come onto our side? Our land birthed the Prophet (pbuh) and the world's largest empire was built by us Arabs. That still and always will count for a great deal."

"Yes, and this holy artifact will silence our Shia enemies. We will possess the oldest artifact from the time of the Prophet (pbuh). For all those reason we must ensure the sacred object is in our hands for safe-keeping."

"Don't worry, brother. We cannot fail. So... let's have the greedy kafir wheeled in and make him an offer he can't refuse. Money is good at easing a man's conscience."

It only took an hour to finalise the deal - and that only because of the niceties of diplomacy were observed. An exceptionally generous monetary gift guaranteed that despite the lack of properly authorised paperwork, the Saudis would be able to take possession of the content of the large safety deposit box in the vaults of Duchamp's bank. However the Arabs were insistent that no one else would be permitted to see or touch the secret item. It would be removed personally by the two representatives of the House of Saud.

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The DCRI, tasked with counter-espionage, counter-terrorism and the surveillance of potential threats on French territory knew about the two CIA operatives. DCRI had known of their presence long before being informed through official channels. These uncultured and arrogant Americans had been shadowed by French operatives for the past week. Even when the CIA agents followed three Al-Qaeda terrorists across the French border into Switzerland, their every move was being watched by DCRI.

When Jim McKendry and Winston Chain of the CIA updated head office about tailing the terrorists to Geneva, they learned of the agency's loan of four operatives from Langley HQ to the House of Saud. McKendry and Chain were given minimal information and instructed to stick to their brief by keeping close tabs on the terrorists and not become involved with the Saudi operation.

"Something about this caper doesn't smell right to me," commented McKendry, the senior of the two.

"How d'you mean?"

"Are these three nut-jobs on a reconnaissance mission or are they here to target somebody or something?"

Chain shrugged. "Beats me. There are no obvious Al-Qaeda style targets to speak of. The Swiss don't have much other than banks, and a bank heist is easier in some Third World country than here."

"May be they're going to target a big American bank," suggested McKendry, not really believing it himself.

"Again, the same point: why here in Switzerland?"

This time McKendry shrugged. Then both men fell silent, lost in their own thoughts.

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The deep cover Mossad agent amongst the entourage of the Saudis contacted his superiors immediately the item from the bank was collected. The CIA guardians were making his mission difficult. They had already discovered the second explosive he had planted, and disabled the listening device too. Now he would have to improvise to ensure that, as ordered by the Director himself, the artifact never reached the Middle East. However, that was easier said than done and he was running out of time and ideas.

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The senior Al-Qaeda agent cursed as he stood at the window of his hotel room. With his binoculars he could see that the Saudis had duped any onlookers in loading the relic. With a flawless switch it was not placed in the lead limousine along with the VIP Saudis, but in the Mercedes parked round at the side of the bank in a one-way street. He used his cellphone to contact his co-conspirator in the hotel across the street.

"Ali, they've switched cars."

"We're no longer going to follow the cars as originally planned. We must stop them here and now before they get moving."

"But how?"

"I have an idea. I suspected it might come to this," commented the lead terrorist, as he rummaged through his large duffel bag with one hand. The grenade launcher was near the bottom of the bag. "We must not permit the holy relic to become a tourist attraction in the hands of these Saudi sons of wh**es. Not as long as there is breath in my body!" He was equally determined that the Shias not possess the relic.

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Mashhad was Iran's holiest city, where in the 9th century, Imam Reza, eighth Imam of the Shias was poisoned and martyred. His revered position made his tomb a sacred place for pilgrims to visit. People came from near and far to say prayers at the tomb.

The Ayatollah looked down from his hotel window at the tomb in the mid-distance. His heart was filled with grief and he wept silently. He wept for the incalculable loss sustained by his people, but mostly, he wept for Islam.

The commemoration of Ashura on the 10th of Muharram every year still served as a reminder of the sacrifices of the family of the Prophet. On that day, in 51 AH, on the plains of Kerbala, the Leader of the Martyrs was killed on the battlefield as he performed Sajdah.

The rabid barbarians had destroyed the robe worn by Hussain, son of Ali bin Abi Talib and grandson of the Holy Prophet. The last physical connection to the family of the Prophet had been lost forever.

(THE END)

The above story is a work of fiction. The dialogues and characters are imaginary, although some organizations and personalities appear to have a different view!

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