“He got lucky with rare frequency,” Adebowale persisted.
She smiled. “His prognostications were retrospectively interpreted, meaning someone somewhere was always going to be able to say he’d got it right. So. He got lucky — a lot.”
Adebowale’s smile turned to a hard stare. “Why are you here, Doctor?”
She smiled. “For the same reason as you, Adebowale — money.”
“I came because you asked me, and because it was written in the ancient scrolls of time. Why else would our two families cross paths for almost four centuries?”
“So you keep telling me…” she replied. “Why is that again? I only met you four weeks ago, and I don’t recall asking for your help — as much as I’m glad to receive it now that you’re here.”
Adebowale spoke slowly. His deep voice resonating as though he were preaching some verse in the Bible. “Because the prophecy said I would. And because it has been written that the lives of our two great families should be intertwined throughout the ages.”
“Right,” Zara said. She looked at his face; it was eager for some sort of acknowledgement on her part, which she denied him by ignoring the question. “I don’t know what you think was so great about our two families? Your father was murdered when you were a child, leaving you to beg and work for your subsistence. As for my father, he was an archaeologist who wasted his life searching for something I still don’t believe in, until the poor lifestyle and wages associated with life in the Sahara left him dead of a heart attack at fifty-two. Both of our mothers disappeared before we could remember them. I never had a sibling and yours are still in a country where you were exiled.”
“Our families have both been great and will one day be again. As for you and me — I met you when you were still very young. You most likely looked upon me as another poor labourer and so you can’t recall my face, but I have never forgotten you. Your father helped me because he believed in the prophecy, and in time so will you.”
“You think my father organized your American visa because of an ancient family history?”
He nodded. A large white grin beaming ear to ear. “Spanning since Nostradamus came out here in 1562 — our two families have been interconnected in ways that no human being will ever truly know.”
She laughed. “You think he did that because of the prophecy?”
“Yes. Why else would he?”
“Because he took one look at you and thought to himself he’d never seen anyone as big as you in all his life. You want to know destiny? You were born to play American football! Knowing my father, he probably got some sort of kickback from the coach where you played college football.”
“I took no pleasure in it.”
“I googled you, Adebowale. You made it into the NFL and your team played in the Super Bowl!” She shook her head. “And then you left it all behind to follow me for nothing.”
“No. I got the education I needed if I’m ever to return to my country. Then I waited until it was time and then I came to help you.”
“You think a degree is what you need to lead a rebellion?”
He shook his head. “It’s what’s in a man’s heart that will lead his men to overthrow the usurpers. But an American education has taught me what I need to know to gain assistance from other nations to help me regain my birth right.”
“You’re dreaming again. Your birthright was taken from you when you were three years old. The very day your father was slaughtered. The Americans, the U.N. and the outlying countries have no interest in getting involved in another rebellion in Africa.”
She had been too harsh, and instantly wished she hadn’t pushed so far. She carefully watched his greyish-blue eyes for a reaction.
He paused for a moment and smiled. “You’re right, nobody wants to be involved. And why should they? It’s not their fight. There’s nothing of value to the rest of the world from my homeland. It’s entirely worthless. But soon, they will all flock to my country, and then we will see who offers me their assistance.”
Still regretting her comment about his father’s death and intrigued by his certainty, Zara persisted, “What makes you so certain?”
“Because I have seen the day with my own eyes.”
She smiled. It was genuine. “I hope your dream comes true.”
“You don’t believe me, do you?”
“Not a word, Adebowale. But, I truly respect your faith and conviction. It must be nice to be so certain about something. As an archaeologist, I’ve spent a lot of my life following my father’s old notes and making educated guesses, sometimes based on fact and other times hunches. I’ve second guessed a lot of things. Unlike you, I don’t believe in what I’ve done with my life.”
“Then why do you do it?”
“Because it seemed easy and it was something I could do. The money has been good, too.”
Adebowale shook his head. “Zara, do you even know who’s funding your dig?”
“No. But he’s never argued on the exorbitant fees I send him. And he always pays in advance. That’s a pretty good deal for any archeologist.”
“So you may be giving away your most prized possession?”
“It’s not mine.” She smiled. “And I don’t plan to give it away, either. For the amount HE’s paying for it, I won’t ever have to work again and you, my friend, can hire enough warriors to place you back on your royal throne.”
“But if the book of Nostradamus doesn’t do anything, why would HE keep paying you?”
“What can I say?” She laughed. “A fool and his money will soon be parted.”
“Yes. Well, I’ve met plenty of white fools in my life.”
“Talking about fools.” She looked up at the two riders, their camels climbing the next sand dune far in the distance. “What do you make of them?”
“They’re not Tuaregs or Boudins. That’s for certain. There isn’t a nomad in Africa who would be willing to cross the Sahara on a day like this.”
“That’s for sure.” She shook her head. She’d met plenty of fools in her lifetime, too. Black and white. It didn’t make a difference. They both shared that common human fault — stupidity. “But did you see the dive tanks?”
“Ah!” Adebowale lifted his hands up as though that explained it. “More treasure hunters! The Sahara seems to be breeding them currently.”
“Treasure hunters?” Zara was suddenly interested.
“They’d be looking for the lost city of the Garamantes.”
“The ancient people who were said to have learned to master their environment through the use of large aqueducts, moving water hundreds of miles to create their oases?”
“That’s the one.” Adebowale nodded. “They were desert dwellers who used an elaborate underground irrigation system, and founded prosperous Berber kingdoms or city-states in the Fezzan area of Libya, deep in the Sahara desert. They were a local power between 500 BC and 700 AD.”
“I thought they never made it this far south into the Sahara?”
“They didn’t.” Adebowale smiled. It was a pleasant smile, which put people naturally at ease. He smiled frequently, and Zara had never witnessed him lose his temper. His perfectly white teeth were a rare contrast to the complete darkness of his skin. His face was littered with scars, like trophies from the battles fought in his youth. “But legend has it they once had a most prosperous city deep in the Sahara. It drew water from an underground water basin hundreds of miles away, and for nearly a thousand years reigned supreme with an oasis to match Eden, brimming with life. Its name was, The Golden Fortress.”
“It was made from gold?” she asked.
“No. If it was, one of these treasure hunters would have found it by now. Instead it was apparently given such a name because of its wealth, ingenuity, and prosperity.”