“I could not hear the train coming, but trusted, and knelt ready for perhaps half an hour, when the suspense became intolerable, and I signaled to know what was up. They sent down to say it was coming very slowly, and was an enormously long train. Our appetites stiffened. The longer it was the more would be the loot. Then came word that it had stopped. It moved again.
Finally, near one o’clock, I heard it panting. The locomotive was evidently defective (all these wood-fired trains were bad), and the heavy load on the up-gradient was proving too much for its capacity. I crouched behind my bush, while it crawled slowly into view past the south cutting, and along the bank above my head towards the culvert. The first ten trucks were open trucks, crowded with troops. However once again it was too late to choose, so when the engine was squarely over the mine I pushed down the handle of the exploder. Nothing happened. I sawed it up and down four times.
Still nothing happened; and I realized that it had gone out of order, and that I was kneeling on a naked bank, with a Turkish troop train crawling past fifty yards away. The bush, which had seemed a foot high, shrank smaller than a fig-leaf; and I felt myself the most distinct object in the country-side. Behind me was an open valley for two hundred yards to the cover where my Arabs were waiting and wondering what I was at. It was impossible to make a bolt for it, or the Turks would step off the train and finish us. If I sat still, there might be just a hope of my being ignored as a casual Bedouin.
So there I sat, counting for sheer life, while eighteen open trucks, three box-wagons, and three officers’ coaches dragged by. The engine panted slower and slower, and I thought every moment that it would break down. The troops took no great notice of me, but the officers were interested, and came out to the little platforms at the ends of their carriages, pointing and staring. I waved back at them, grinning nervously, and feeling an improbable shepherd in my Meccan dress, with its twisted golden circlet about my head.”
This was the train commanded by my Turkish Colonel, and the train that almost carried Paul Dorland into the heart of the moment at Kilometer 172. So, as the history reads today, it was indeed a little quirk of fate that saved train number two. Lawrence fixed his exploder box, waited for the third train, and blew that one up instead. While the characters never really find out how their tampering worked its magic on the time line, I can let you all in on a little secret. Masaui was on train two, and he was meant to die in the raid. In fact, the Colonel was just about to tick off his name on a list for some uncomfortable scrutiny that would end up in his being posted to the forward train cars—the most undesirable place on the train when considering the prospect of ambush. Paul’s capture interrupted the Colonel, and Masaui stayed where he was, on train car number seven. When the train was spared he went on to lead an insignificant life, surviving the war and leaving behind three children—two boys and a girl.
Years later that girl caught the eye of the man who was to father the novel’s unseen villain Ra’id Husan al Din. This man was so taken with the beauty of the girl that he married her—instead of the woman who gave birth to our villain. And so, dear readers, the dastardly terrorist, who’s name meant “Sword of the Faith,” was never born. I thought it only fitting to let Time give us one small jab in the ribs with the minor earthquake that happened on the island instead of the catastrophic Palma Event. The West was spared to live out the time line we find ourselves in now.
According to Dr. Simon Day, however, the western flank of the volcano on Palma is indeed weakening and is destined to collapse into the sea one day. When that might happen is anybody’s guess, but it is only a matter of time. As groups like Al Qaeda, the Foundation, escalate their attacks to a grand scale, dire warnings are appearing on the Internet, and infusing all mainstream media in our current time line. One has only to scroll through the news channels or browse the Internet to find them. Beyond the ‘newsworthy’ saturation coverage of sniper attacks, car bombs, attacks on oil tankers, embassies and army barracks, we get even more ominous chatter. At the heart of the Islamic threat is a real insistence that they are enacting the divine will of Allah—a retribution against those who do not embrace that faith.
As an example, I found a proclamation that was eerily in sync with my story posted on the net. The terrorist statement read by the BBC announcer in the scene where Mr. Graves reveals the plot by Husan al Din was pulled right from the flotsam and jetsam of an Internet newsgroup. It was a warning sent to the “alt.prophecies.nostradamus” newsgroup, and it was quoted verbatim in my story.
“We are patient, forgiving. We are seekers only of peace, but as Allah chooses, then the command is given for the seas to rise and pound the shore. We are but an instrument, to that power. As the oceans are made up of an uncountable number of individual drops of serene waters, when Allah commands, those drops come together to form the most powerful force on earth, the ocean of Believers, who’s waves of faith become the hammer upon which justice is delivered to all followers of Satan.”
This mentality, using religion as a shield to justify one’s acts of cruelty and murder, is all too common to the mindset of any radical group. It is hardly unique to the Islamic radicals. Let us not forget the numerous Crusades sanctioned by Catholic Popes, and the slaughter of innocents in those campaigns, where Muslim women and children were literally boiled and eaten by some of the starving warriors of the Christian faith. It seems that every major religion has used this “sinners in the hands of an angry God” motif at one time or another to justify inhuman deeds. In my story, the clash of cultures and world views between Islam and the West are simply the latest iteration of that old demon called “Holy War” by some men and “Just War” by others.
In Meridian, it becomes “Time War” when the mission to the Hejaz in 1917 stands as the first use of time travel technology to alter or render null the willful and catastrophic act of a terrorist group. While the primary team members labored to keep the outcome secret, the long years stretching into the future will give ample opportunity for later generations to discover what actually happened. Suppose some dissenting group in that time objects, and uses the resurrected technology of the Arch to try and change the Meridian again?
This idea of “Time War” is developed further in future volumes of the Meridian series. The first sequel, entitled “Nexus Point,” focuses on Paul Dorland as he makes an unusual discovery in Wadi Rumm, the marvelous valley where the movie Lawrence of Arabia was filmed near Akaba. Paul stumbles into something that reveals this Time War is now actually underway, and the milieu of the Crusades has become a particularly fertile battleground for two shadowy groups from the future who seek to bend the lines of fate in their favor. A second volume, “Touchstone,” is written from the perspective of Nordhausen. It will begin with another of the Professor’s secret little “capers,” a trip to old London about the time of the Sherlock Holmes milieu. When he visits the British Museum to see the now famous “Rosetta Stone” he discovers that the stone has been chipped and damaged. The portion of the vast black basalt that once held the Egyptian hieroglyphics is gone! As a consequence, no one ever made the connection this touchstone is famous for, and the Egyptian hieroglyphs remain a mystery… except to Nordhausen. He returns to the present at Berkeley Labs and discovers that he, and he alone, can read and understand the cryptic Egyptian hieroglyphs.