“Na’am,” he replied, and told them his story.
His name was Hamed, and he explained that he had lived in these sands all his life. They generally stayed dozens of miles to the north near an oasis called Ash Shafa, but were traveling south to see family. Nate asked him details about his family, and Hamed perked up right away, introducing his wife and children. Nate in turn introduced himself and Ana, as well as the rest of the team.
They chatted for a while as the stars shone brightly above and the moonlight cast a shadow on the sand behind them. The man asked where Nate had learned Arabic and he told him about learning the language in the army and reinforcing it through extensive travel in the region. Ana discussed her upbringing in Egypt and her career as a geologist. Hamed seemed to enjoy the conversation very much.
“Where did you get these weapons?” he asked, motioning toward the rifle strapped to Nate’s Mystery Ranch ruck.
“They were provided to us down south,” Nate answered somewhat ambiguously. “For protection.” He didn’t wish to relay their black-market dealings in Yemen to the man.
Hamed grunted and motioned that he would like to see the Mosin-Nagant. Nate unstrapped it from the side of Wally’s pack before unloading it and handing the weapon over. Hamed worked the bolt action and peered down the sights into the desert.
“It is a fine weapon,” the Bedouin man said. “I used to have something similar, however it broke, and I could not repair it.”
“Well, we happen to have one of the best weaponsmiths I know withus,” Nate said, jerking his thumb over his shoulder at Tim, who gave a short wave.
“No, no,” Hamed said. “I had to part with it.”
Nate was beginning to pick up on the man’s intentions. It was a game he had played many times before in the Special Forces. Oftentimes, the partner forces they worked with would want something, but rather than asking for it outright, they would drop hints so as not to impose. Giving them what they wanted, if at all possible, was usually beneficial if it was realistic and practical. The person asking received what they wanted, and the team established further rapport with their indigenous force.
“We may be able to spare one rifle, if you like it.”
“No,” the man said. “I cannot.”
“I insist,” Nate said. The game was playing out. “You have been kind enough to share a meal with us. Consider it a gift.”
Hamed put his hand over his heart. “Shukran.”
“Afwan,” Nate replied.You’re welcome. He hoped Hamed would now be more forthcoming with information. He wasn’t disappointed.
“You said you were searching for something,” Hamed stated.
“Yes,” Nate replied.
“Iram of the Pillars,” Hamed said plainly.
“What makes you say that?” Nate asked, puzzled. The old man laughed and waved his arm around to take in the whole of the desert.
“What else brings men like you to a place like this?”
“You are right. We search for Iram. Do you know anything about it?”
“Of course,” Hamed said. “Much more than you. It lies beneath these sands, not far to the north from here.”
“You have seen it?” Nate asked anxiously.
“No. It is buried too deep. Struck down by Allah long before the time of the Prophet,Salla Allahu alayhi wa-sallam.”
“I’ve heard the stories,” Nate said. The man waved his hand in front of his face as if warding off the sentiment.
“Stories? Not stories. The city is real. Everyone knows this. As real as the sky and the desert.”
“I see.”
“Why do you seek it?” the old Bedouin asked. “Treasure? Glory?”
“Knowledge,” Nate countered. “I am a scientist. I seek truth, not glory. Knowledge, not wealth.”
Hamed peered into his eyes for an uncomfortably long period of time, as if attempting to read his soul. Satisfied, he looked away and popped a date into his mouth.
