Sahara Shores
John Duncklee
For eight minutes the shock of the earthquake shook the Sahara Desert. The earth trembled and the movement sent fear into the minds of all animals.
Wide-eyed Hadji Ali listened to his twelve camels bawl and grunt as they rose to their feet without his usual command then stomped nervously on the sand. Hadji grabbed the rope on the lead animal to try and calm her so she would not attempt to run away. She spit. The others crowded each other and Hadji feared they would break their ropes should they become too intent on escaping into the dunes.
The camel driver had never been to sea but he felt the earth moving in waves that he had seen off the west coast of Morocco. He had never felt the earth move like this in all of his thirty-four years. He was scared. He had faced all kinds of danger in his young life, but never had he felt the earth threatening to envelop him in a sea of sand that shifted much more than in a windstorm. He thought of huddling down next to his lead camel until the earth calmed down again. But, would the earth ever calm down?
***
Hadji Ali knows every one of his twelve camels. He knows how much weight each can carry and he knows their different endurance limits so that he can judge how far to travel without feed or water for them. Hadji is a smuggler. He does not restrict his operations to any particular class of contraband; Hadji will smuggle anything that he can load onto his camels.
Now, he wishes he were not a smuggler because he thinks that his illegal activities have brought a curse upon him. Alla must be displeased with his way of life. Alla has decided to either teach him a lesson or is determined to bury him in the sands of the desert he has known all his life.
The wave movements cease. The camels calm. Hadji is thankful and wishes he had brought his prayer rug. The camels take the place of the prayer rug in his thoughts. Hadji talks to his beasts of burden and thinks they listen. He hopes they listen. Again he starts his caravan filled with contraband for Morocco and tries to forget the fear he had felt toward the waving movements of the earth. Little did he realize that those movements of the earth’s crust would change his desert to something that he had never envisioned.
***
Carlos Apodaca watched the seismograph located at Sunset Crater north of Flagstaff, Arizona and couldn’t believe his eyes reading a 13 on the Richter Scale. In his ten years at the place he had never seen such a measure of tectonic activity. Immediately he switched his computer to network other seismographs around the world and found that by triangulating his reading with two others that the earthquake had occurred in the Sahara Desert, a most unlikely place for such a phenomenon according to his education that he had pursued to a master’s degree in geology.
Carlos sent his readings to the center for all seismographic abnormalities along with the triangulations he had established, and then waited for any commentary that might come in to his computer.
***
Hadji had his camels moving out at their usual three miles an hour pace heading westward for Morocco with the hashish he had agreed to deliver to his contact in Tangier. They traversed the nearly 1500 foot high Tifernine Sand Dunes whose sand is trapped in a basin surrounded by mountains of basalt. The camels moved with a certain reticence that Hadji had never experienced. He wondered what else was affecting them. He no longer felt the earth move, but the camels seemed to be trying to tell him something. Then he saw what his camels knew but could not tell him. From his position above the surrounding desert Hadji saw a sea of water advancing in finger-like rivers. He turned the camels to even higher ground after wondering if he was seeing a mirage. “What is Alla doing?” he said aloud to the camel he rode. “Perhaps I should stop smuggling if I do not drown first.”
***
The 747 had begun the gradual descent to land in Cairo. Passengers included four United States Congressmen, their aids and assistants along with a bevy of newsmen scheduled to meet with President Mubarek for a conference on the democratization of Egypt. The Captain, a veteran of the Navy during the Vietnam War, enjoyed the charter flights that took him all over the world. Mike Bader loved to fly. Flying had been his primary focus since he received his private pilot’s license while still in high school.
He gazed out the window to the vast Sahara Desert. He shook his head and looked down more intently. “Charlie,” he said to his co-pilot. “Look below and tell me if you see a giant lake in the middle of the Sahara Desert.”
The co-pilot turned his head to the right and looked down. “Holy shit, it looks like a small Mediterranean Sea.”
“I’m glad you are seeing the same thing as I see,” Mike replied. “I thought I might be looking at a mirage or the flight attendant put something special in my coffee.”
Mike continued to look out the side window from the cockpit. “Look down there again, Charlie. Do you see all that water gushing from a long, wide crack in the land?”
Charlie looked down again and saw what Mike was talking about. “I wonder if it is draining the Mediterranean.”
“I doubt that, but I am going to radio back to headquarters and report this,” Mike said, as he put the microphone up to speak into it.
When he had finished his transmission he signaled the chief flight attendant to come to the flight deck. When she arrived, Mike took off his headset and turned toward her. “Monica, have you seen all that water in the middle of the Sahara?”
“No, Captain. Water in the Sahara Desert?”
“Look out the window.”
“Wow, what is water doing way out here?”
“Beats me, but we saw a long fissure back a ways with water gushing out of it. Get on the horn and tell those passengers to look out their windows and I’ll fly around so they can see it all.”
“Yes, Captain Bader,” she said, and left the flight deck to make the announcement.
Mike waited long enough for Monica to inform the passengers about the huge flooding, and then turned the aircraft so that passengers on both sides of the aisle could witness the inland sea forming in the middle of the desert.
After listening to the flight attendant the passengers looked down to the flooding Sahara. They hollered exclamations and the reporters took digital images from their cell phones and sent them to their editors via their laptop computers that they always kept within reach.
One congressman stood in the aisle after Mike had finished giving everyone a view of the unique phenomenon.
“I think we should keep this to ourselves for now because the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff will probably want to investigate what is happening,” he said.
One of the reporters who had already sent his dispatch to his newspaper in Washington stood up. “Congressman, pardon me for questioning, but what in the world would a military man investigate about a flooding of the Sahara Desert?’
“I have no idea, but we should keep this classified until further notice,” the congressman said.
“Sorry to disappoint you, Sir, but I have already sent digital photos and a message to my editor,” the newsman said.
”You may not be invited to fly away with us on our next mission,” Congressman Ivan Post Daily said, and turned to his chief assistant.
“Henry, get a call off to Loring Lincoln and tell him about this. Loring is a big time developer of resorts and retirement communities, and, as you well know, a generous supporter of my last three campaigns.”
“Yes Sir,” Henry replied, and opened his laptop to send the message he knew would grab the attention of Loring B. Lincoln, the billionaire developer who helped elect the congressman by very generous campaign contributions above and below the table. The “B” was for Bertram of the Boston Bertrams who owned historic vacant land around Scituate, Massachusetts, dozens of Maine coastal islands and several California properties that they were in the process of developing. Henry knew that the congressman wanted to let his benefactor in on a potential goldmine. Or, actually a desert sea that could support millions of people from around the world who were well heeled and looking for a unique place to live or even visit for part of the year.
The other congressmen fled into conferences with their assistants and aids so that the result was myriad messages sent at high priority to various constituents who had been donors to campaigns, past and present. The airwaves congealed into such a mass of requests and demands that the CIA and the FBI had a chance to intercept only a few because the federal budget had reduced the number of interceptors to a minimum for complete coverage. The system had broken down because of budgetary cuts in order to fund the major project, Iraq, that had been a continual drain on the deficit treasury for so many years that no person, no group, no think tank could unravel the eccentricities of such a mixed up set of principles of basic economics.
Therefore, when the dispatches arrived and became subjects of interpretation, and classification within the government’s system of protecting the military/industrial complex that had existed since the Eisenhower administration, there was nothing done about investigating the flooded Sahara because the investigative time-line had not been determined by the Secretary of Investigative Determinations. He being a man who had earned his PhD from a mail order university located at an internet address called U-Name It.com.
Bader guided the 747 to the Cairo runway setting the aircraft down smoothly before switching to reverse props to slow the huge jetliner as it hurtled along the asphalt. He had landed at Cairo forty times during his current assignment flying foreign charters. Cairo charmed him for the first three visits, but now Mike looked forward to a restful three days in the hotel before flying his passengers and crew back to Washington, D.C.. The state department had booked all of the passengers and crew into the same familiar hotel that could be counted on to serve a substantial menu of American food and drink in addition to Arabian delicacies. Mike had stayed at The Cleopatra several times and enjoyed the Margaritas the bartender had learned to mix. Deplaning after the passengers had left, Mike and Charlie made their way into the terminal. They were surprised to see all the passengers crowded in front of a large television screen with their eyes glued to the newsman who told about the gigantic earthquake that was causing an enormous flood in the Sahara. The news anchor, speaking in English, noted that the report had originated from a reporter in a jetliner heading for Cairo. When the TV anchorman finished the group gathered at the luggage claim area, retrieved their various suitcases and boarded a chartered bus for the ride to the hotel, affectionately referred to as “The Cleo” by those who had become loyal clients. Mike considered himself one of the faithful.
Most, after registering, retired to their rooms for showers and a change of clothes from their traveling attire to more casual ensembles. However, Congressman Daily and his chief aid, Henry Blankenship met in Daily’s room and began trying to reach Loring Lincoln to describe what they had seen happening on the Sahara.
Two of the other congressmen also engaged themselves in contacting developer friends who might enjoy hearing about what looked like an inland sea. The meetings with the president of Egypt took a back seat in the minds of the three. It fell quickly into a predictable routine. The financial backers of the politicians found the occurrence of the fissure and subsequent mass flooding a most interesting phenomenon and concurred with their bought and paid for politicians that they should fly to Cairo and meet the congressmen after the sessions with Mubarek. These decisions happened individually between the congressmen and the financiers. All three congressmen stressed the potential for a huge resort with seaside estates and hotels. They didn’t yet know if the flooding was fresh or salt water. As Daily told Lincoln on his cell phone, “Who gives a rat’s ass as long as it is wet?”
“The people who go there will give a rat’s ass if they try to drink salt water,” Lincoln said.
“Hell’s fire, Loring, we can always desalinate the stuff for drinking and other necessities.”
“See if you can find out about what kind of water we are dealing with,” Lincoln said.
“I’ll call you back as soon as I find out,” Daily said, and turned to Henry Blankenship. “Henry, see what you can do about finding out if that flood in the Sahara is fresh or salt water.”
Henry consulted his Rolodex file of Egyptian contacts and flipped through the cards. He came to one who was a hydrologist with the U.S.A.I.D. Program, and called him while Congressman I. P. Daily retired to the bathroom for a shower.
As it turned out the hydrologist had already heard about the flood and had flown out to the scene to test the water and look over the situation. As Henry talked to him on his cell phone the aircraft was heading back to the airstrip outside Cairo. Henry chatted with the man for a while after learning that the water coming from the fissure was fresh. Henry knew enough about what was going on not to sound enthusiastic about the news in case the hydrologist, too, might be connected in some way to land developers.
Daily came out from his shower in his bathrobe, and upon hearing the report from Henry, called Loring Lincoln again to inform him about the fresh water. Lincoln told Daily that he would be flying into Cairo the following day with his staff.
“I have a meeting with Mubarek tomorrow,” Daily said.
“That is no problem, my friend. We are coming to have a look-see. Thanks for all the information. I hope to see you in Cairo at the Cleo.”
“I’m in room eighty-seven. Leave a message at the desk if I’m not here when you arrive.”
***
The conversation between the congressmen at supper flitted around a great variety of subjects that one or another felt important to take up with the President of Egypt the next morning. Not one brought up the flooding of the Sahara Desert.
They met for an early breakfast to attempt a final statement of purpose for their meeting about the democratization of Egypt. Henry Blankenship listened to the conversation between the Congressmen and decided that none of the four were really excited about their mission. Henry had a feeling about what was really happening, but over the years he had had many feelings concerning the politicians he worked for or had to associate with because his job demanded it. He accompanied Daily to the first meeting. The other aids went with their bosses to sit along the wall listening and taking notes for future consultations. That’s what they always said, but actually the notes would be needed for the aids to write reports to the Congressional committee justifying the junket.
The meeting lasted until noon. Henry could tell that the President of Egypt had spent a boring morning with the American politicians. Mubarek invited them to lunch, but excused himself because “I must look into the recent flooding of the Sahara.”
Henry glanced around at the congressmen and saw their scowls. He figured that none of them wanted waste valuable time having lunch without Egypt’s President. All of them wanted to get in touch with their financial backers to discuss the inland sea that had appeared so quickly and without warning. Of course, there were six courses for lunch. The congressmen and their aids had a difficult time enduring the period as servants kept bringing in various Egyptian delicacies for their visitors’ pleasure.
Returning to the meeting room, the congressmen sat down at the long oval table waiting for the President. A man who represented the president arrived to inform the American delegation, “The President of Egypt regrets that he is forced to fly over the Sahara to inspect the flooding.” Henry wished he had a recorder to capture the sighs of relief from the congressmen. They hurried back to the hotel to begin communicating with their benefactors.
***
Still in awe at the sight of the flooding, Hadji Ali gazed out at the former desert landscape from his position on the mountain trail that he had taken on occasion. But, always before he had preferred the sands. He couldn’t believe his eyes as the water slithered up valleys and spread over the sand. It hummed as it filled the pores in the sand. He was thankful that the camels had calmed and were no longer threatening to run away to escape the flood. Hadji felt proud that he had forced them to climb on the rough basalt. That had saved them from drowning in the vast sea that opened up in front of his eyes.
He thought that the flooding waters could have dissolved his cargo of contraband had he not been acquainted with the trails that led into the mountains. Then he suddenly realized that the inundation of water was so huge that it blocked his usual route through the desert and he would be forced to find another way to carry his smuggled goods to their destination in Tangier. As he watched the water invade he thought that it might be a good time for him to look for another means to make a living rather than smuggling.
***
The meetings with Egyptian government officials lasted another day but without Mubarek who had excused himself because of “important pending matters”. When the congressmen and their aids returned to the hotel they were astounded to see a group of six well known land and resort developers from the United States sitting around a table in the lounge drinking Margaritas with Mike Bader and his co-pilot.
Daily approached Loring Lincoln and the two shook hands. “Could I have a word with you in my room?” Daily asked.
“Certainly, Ivan. It’s number eighty-seven, right?”
“Good memory.”
“I’ll be up in a few minutes when we get through with this conversation.”
The other congressmen greeted their developer friends and retired to their rooms for showers and casual clothes for the evening.
Daily opened the door when Lincoln arrived. “Come in Loring. Nice to see you.”
“Thanks Ivan, I got quite an eyeful out there today from the helicopter.”
“So you have been out to see the inland sea?”
“Oh yes. I booked the helicopter and went right out as soon as my plane from New York landed. That is quite a sight, I must say. My pilot approached and we circled over the fissure to watch all that water gush out. Then all of a sudden there were four more helicopters joining us. It looked like a bunch of bees rendezvousing at their hive. When we all returned to Cairo we discovered that we were all friends of congressmen who were engaged in discussing democracy with Egyptian officials.”
“I thought I sent you secure messages,” Daily said.
“Of course you did, Ivan. Obviously your colleagues sent secure messages to their friends, too.”
“I suppose this has been an embarrassing situation for you, Loring.”
“On the contrary, we have been discussing forming a consortium to cope with this project. It is far too extensive and complicated for any one of us to tackle.”
“I’m glad it seems to be working out.”
“Ivan, I am grateful for your getting in touch with me on this phenomenon. It is absolutely mind-boggling. All of a sudden an earthquake opens a huge gash in the middle of the Sahara and wonderfully pure and cool water gushes forth. It is perfect for a grand slam as far as developments go. It has everything.”
“Loring, have you considered the complications presented by so many territories that will be involved?”
“Heavens yes, Ivan. You have contacts in State and Commerce as do the others. Certainly there will be a way to convince these North Africans that such a scheme can put many dollars in their Swiss bank accounts.”
“Leave that up to me and the others. I am sure they have the same contacts as I do. These camel jockeys love dollars.”
“Ivan, I am so glad we met when you campaigned successfully that first time twenty-five years ago when you ran for Governor.”
“I can’t tell you how much your support means to me, Loring. But, our friendship through the years matters more.”
“I feel the same way. I’ll fill you in on what this consortium will need when I learn all the particulars. When are you flying back to Washington?”
“Tomorrow. I’ll be glad to get out of this colossal den of banditry and intrigue.”
“Chrisakes, Ivan, what do you think you are going home to?”
***
From their table in the corner of the huge lounge Mike and Charlie watched the big party that the developers put together for the congressmen and their aids. “Makes you wonder who is paying who for what, doesn’t it?” Charlie asked.
“Every time I fly charters for politicians I end up feeling disgusted with the way business is carried on between the guys making big bucks and the politicians who, from their end, make it possible,” Mike said, sipping his Margarita. “I’ve been flying damn near all my life and enjoyed every minute. These politicians and money moguls walk on pins and needles most of the time worrying if their schemes will get scrutiny and that they might get busted big time.”
“I suppose that’s the chances some people are willing to take to get rich,” Charlie said.
“I’d just as soon earn what money I make in these flying machines,” Mike said.
“”I have to agree with you completely,” Charlie said. “I think I’ll turn in. We have a long flight tomorrow.”
“I’m with you,” Mike said. “I am tired of watching this bunch of bullshit going on here.”
***
The following morning Mike and Charlie, carrying their sparse luggage, walked through the terminal glancing around at the people in the waiting room. They arrived at the assigned gate to their aircraft and went aboard to prepare for the flight to Washington. Once settled in the cockpit after getting the preliminary checks underway, Mike turned to Charlie. “Did you see those hung over bastards in the waiting area?”
“Yeah,” Charlie said as he turned two switches on. “I’d hate to feel the way they look even if I didn’t have to fly.”
“It makes you wonder how late they stayed up and how much business they accomplished,” Mike said.
“If they did make any decisions, I doubt they will remember them.”
“Check on the luggage so we can load these idiots and get going.”
Charlie called in to the terminal and asked about the status of the luggage destined for SunAir, Flight 702.
“We’re loaded and secured, Captain,” Charlie said.
“Good, let’s get those party boys aboard.”
Charlie sent word to board and watched as the flight attendants welcomed the passengers aboard SunAir, Flight 702 for Washington, D.C.. They made sure to include the destination in case someone was boarding by mistake.
When the head flight attendant had all passengers accounted for she stepped into the cockpit and informed Mike that they were ready to leave. Mike motioned to the “mule” driver to back the aircraft out of the gate. “Mule” refers to the tractor used for guiding the aircraft away from the gate and onto the tarmac to head for the runway and take-off.
“The runway looks empty,” Mike said. “I hope we don’t have to sit out there and wait for Mubarek’s air force to take off or land.”
“Are you planning on re-fueling at Dakar again?” Charlie asked.
“That’s probably the best insurance I know of. We could probably make it all the way, but I’ve seen headwinds over the Altantic that make these babies suck jet fuel down like it was Margaritas in front of politicians and money moguls.”
At Dakar International Mike decided to refuel without allowing the passengers to deplane because he wanted to get airborne again as soon as possible to arrive in Washington at a convenient hour for the passengers to find their ways home in daylight.
By the time Mike landed the 747 there had been enough hours passed so that the story of Sahara’s inland fresh water sea had made headlines all over the world. The flight to New York with all the developers arrived at approximately the same time. Lincoln had moved to that aircraft because during the long flight the developers had planned to hold a conference to unify in the venture. Loring Lincoln had needed to be there to keep tabs on the plans. They all knew that they had to move quickly to grab permits from all the North African countries that had shorelines along the new sea. Otherwise there were more Europeans who would recognize the financial potential as soon as they read about it or watched the satellite pictures on television. Each man knew there would be a bunch of sleepless nights while the situation got organized. They decided that using conference calls at specified hours of each day would help keep the efforts synchronized. They smiled as they agreed that each knew enough congressmen and senators that they could get them on their telephones to make appointments with those in charge of the North African countries involved with the inland sea.
Each developer agreed that they should form some sort of organization that would carry credibility with the North African politicians so they decided on: Association of Northern Unified States, or A.N.U.S..
The air was full of cell phone activity and Internet messages between congressmen, senators and North African officials. In turn the communications between developers and American politicians kept everyone involved so busy that nothing else saw progress. Programs that the politicians were trying to get passed stayed in limbo. Projects in the United Stated that the developers were in the middle of moved like inchworms. Contractors tried to reach the higher up executives but got put on hold for an hour or more. Nothing else mattered but Sahara Shores.
Mike Bader and Charlie flew many flights to each North African country with politicians, developers and officials from the Departments of State and Commerce. The entire fandango, Mike realized, was great for the charter flight business. Sometimes he thought it might be nice to own the aircraft. Then he got realistic and felt glad and happy that all he had to do was climb into his seat in the cockpit and fly it. And, Charlie was not only a good co-pilot but also a skilled navigator and friend.
The developers and the politicians, most of whom were lawyers before getting elected to office, sought international legal advice. There was so much complicated maneuvering across the Atlantic that none of the principals of the Association of Northern United States could maintain an accurate understanding of the confusion. This monumental task involved negotiating between the developer/politician group and ten North African countries, some of them in political upheaval so that it was never clear who was making decisions and agreements. In addition to those difficulties, a substantial number of European and Asian developers and politicians had fervent desires to have things in North Africa for themselves. As Loring B. Lincoln said to Ivan P. Daily on the phone one day, “Ivan, does anyone anywhere have the slightest idea about what is going on?”
“Loring,
I have State and Commerce reporting in every day,” Daily said. “Algeria is close and Libya will probably go along as well. Mali was once French so they are diddling around with Pierre Rebeil because he seems to have some sort of a hold on Mali’s power boys.”
“All right, let’s try this approach. Promise every country involved that we will build an environmentally sound development wherever we go. There will be no polluting engines, no airports within the area of New Sahara, and all vehicles will be electric. An electric high-speed monorail will connect every resort complex and electric cars like golf carts can be purchased at reasonable prices. You might add the golf carts to the list of franchises we will give to the individual rulers of these countries. That might sweeten the pie a bit.”
“Let’s hope they all like the same pie,” Daily quipped.
“Another point you might drive across to them is something that we have thought out for construction material,” Lincoln said. “One of the guys from Pennsylvania has suggested we build all, or most of the buildings out of Polystyrene. It’s a very strong plastic that can be blow molded and extruded. The guy from Pennsylvania said he knew engineers who can develop a covering that can be painted. This stuff will make great, light weight and insulated walls that the desert heat will have trouble penetrating as long as the buildings are designed properly.”
“That sounds like a helluva good idea,” Daily said. “We might suggest to the decision makers in these countries that they should set up manufacturing plants to make this stuff and sell it to the construction companies.”
“Now you’re talking, Ivan. Along with that idea we should designate industrial zones that are restricted to light industry.
***
For the following six months the developers met with bankers. Politicians met with other politicians and they all met with North African leaders making deals and arrangements so that the gigantic project could start. Meanwhile five hundred survey crews darted around the perimeter of the freshwater inland sea staking out everything from residential lots to large-scale community centers where recreation and shopping would eventually become located. Shortly after the survey had been accomplished work began on the huge electrical generating plant that would use the energy from the still gushing water from the fissure to generate enough electricity for the entire project that would include electric trains for transportation to various cities outside the perimeter of the project which had finally been named Sahara Shores. The various planned communities became Sahara Shores plus the names of the countries in which they sprang up. There would be vast communities made from polystyrene. For example the major community along the inland sea in Algeria became “Sahara Shores Algeriad”. The one in Mauretania became “Sahara Shores Mauretaniad”.
The major reason for the separate nomenclature was to satisfy the “Mother Governments” that those communities would remain politically under the pre-existing governments. Lincoln knew that without such guarantees the leaders would have a more difficult time extracting their under-the-table gratuities. There were times during the negotiations when Lincoln wondered if it was all going to be worth the effort to pull the project all together and whether he would live long enough to enjoy seeing the profit derived from his part of the deal. Congressman Ivan P. Daily looked forward to the day when he could retire from politics and spend his time on his porch overlooking the Sahara Inland Sea sipping Margaritas and reading novels by Jim Woolard, his favorite author. Ivan P. Daily had grown up in Columbus, Ohio near where the great novelist lived.
Four of the countries established polystyrene manufacturing plants and had them in operation within four months, using technology from the United States and Japan. The developers and engineers had decided that a thin metallic coating both inside and out would be the most efficient both for applying colors and insuring that when it rained there would be no seepage around the bases of the buildings even though rain was a rare occurrence in the Sahara. Extruded angles of hard plastic made like PVC pipe was the framework holding the large panels together. Loring Lincoln enjoyed the speed with which the engineers designed all the particulars.
The buildings began springing up after the electric trains were in place. The developers and many of the congressmen arrived for a “sand-breaking” party. Someone had brought a collapsible kayak and entertained himself by paddling around near the shore while drinking single malt Scotch whiskey straight from the bottle. He was one of the politicians who had put a considerable amount of his own money down to speculate on residential lots.
After the ceremonies and speeches they held a meeting with the principal engineers to learn about more detailed plans for systems such as waste removal, water circulation, window shading and basic transportation including the logistics of supply for all sorts of commodities and goods.
Lincoln marveled at the idea for piping human waste outside the perimeter where it would undergo sun drying, packaging and sales to farmers growing fresh produce, fruits and grains for the millions of residents that planners projected. One politician questioned the health safety of such a system and the engineer explained that Japan had used human waste for fertilizer for centuries and they used it raw. The engineer explained how the sun drying process would take ninety nine percent of the dangerous bacteria out of the mass and that radiation before packaging would render the fertilizer risk free.
One politician asked why solar power didn’t seem to be included in the electric systems. The electrical engineer’s answer was in two words, “too expensive”.
After two days when the meetings adjourned all the participants boarded the electric train bound for Bamako, Mali, where Mike stood ready to fly the entire delegation back to Washington and New York.
***
Hadji Ali watched all the activity from a distance as he drove his camels back and forth from Tangier, Algiers and Cairo. The huge inland sea of fresh water made his journeys easier and took less of a toll on his camels so that they could make more trips with fewer rest periods. Before the inland sea they needed to rest after being dehydrated from five and six days without water. With the new water source Hadji could easily water the camels every other day.
One day as he passed close by one of the new buildings made of polystyrene. He waited until the construction crew had left for the day before approaching the structure. Dismounting from his camel, Hadji walked over to the house and felt the walls. He could not understand why the funny looking men who drove around in funny looking vehicles were not making the new houses out of mud. It did not cross his mind that the source for mud was far distant. He again mounted his camel and returned to his journey to Tangier. On his return trip Hadji looked in wonder at the buildings painted different colors and many with pictures and murals painted by various artists that went around drumming up business from newly transplanted residents. The artists found a valuable niche because they all recognized that without the colorful walls on the buildings Sahara Shores could be quite boring. A.N.U.S. contracted with five of the artists to decorate the recreational facilities. Hadji liked the mural on one of the larger structures best. It was a camel caravan.
***
Within a year there were enough communities finished that video people and producers arrived to film the enterprise for advertising on television around the world. A.N.U.S. wanted international sales for an international population to prove that human beings could live in peace once they understood each other, a gesture to balance their greed. They could also sell to people all over the world.
The success of the initial sales campaign staggered the imaginations of the planners. Sales departments added personnel to take care of the flood of orders. The chief of sales remarked to his number two man that with this kind of success they might not have to give away chartered flights to show the project to potential buyers.
Construction crews began double shifts and more people logged in for training and transportation to the Sahara Shores communities to put up the polystyrene buildings for residences and community centers.
A university sociology professor sought permission from Loring Lincoln to study the reasons for such a popular development so far away from either New York or Los Angeles. Lincoln was only too happy to have such a study made and offered to send the professor to Sahara Shores on the next chartered aircraft to get an idea why his buyers were almost gobbling up the contracts. Loring also wrote a letter for the professor to the sales department so that he might find addresses and telephone number for contacting his interviewees.
A month later the professor sent Lincoln a letter telling him that there had been only one disappointed interviewee out of nearly two hundred thus far in the study. He also thanked Lincoln for the kind hospitality he had shown him. Lincoln met with the marketing department to tell them about this favorable opinion of the project gleaned from the academic study.
***
Within two years the resort complexes, residential areas and some of the industrial zones had begun to fill. There were twenty-four models for homebuyers to choose from. The resorts had separate designs to enhance individuality. A sailboat maker had set up a production line complete with a heavy-duty filter to keep odors from fiberglass to a minimum inside the plant and let none of it escape to the outside the same as the polystyrene plants located outside the developments.
A company from Phoenix that had made a bountiful harvest of dollars bottling White Mountain spring water set up a bottling plant and accompanying warehouse where the cases of bottled Sahara Shores Water could be kept waiting shipment by air worldwide. The ban on internal combustion engines hampered the logistics, but once an electric freight train began operating they maintained a steady flow to their international customers.
Not everything ran smoothly. There was a constant necessity to deal with the various leaders of the North African counties. Many thought they deserved more of a slice of the pie and found different ways to make their demands. It kept Daily and the other congressmen busy making sure none of the resort complexes got invaded by North African troops. After a while this particular problem sort of reached a plane of equilibrium, but there were always other challenges to solve.
One particularly vexing problem for Loring Lincoln became the evolution into ethnic neighborhoods. From the beginnings of Sahara Shores Lincoln, a true idealist, had envisioned multi-ethnic neighborhoods with the opportunity for people from all over the world living together and getting along with each other without zealous politicians and religious leaders encouraging adherence to political leanings or religious dogma to cause friction between the residents. The other developers enjoyed the idea but met it with skepticism. Therefore the contracts for the sale of the lots and houses had written in stiff penalties should anybody want to trade. The contract explained that a house would have to sell as used at a lower price. Sahara Shores could not actually sell the lots because every North African country would only issue ninety-nine year leases.
By the time all the costs got added to the land, the lots averaged about one hundred thousand U.S. dollars, a pittance to the many Californians who flocked to Sahara Shores selling their expensive real estate and escaping the smog, crime, horrible traffic and high taxes. Many New Yorkers arrived for similar reasons. Most arrivals had either retired or were close to it so there was no need for a school system. Should younger families settle in Sahara Shores, their children could take advantage on an excellent education via satellite to their computers.
Because of the dominant age group A.N.U.S. built a medical facility staffed with doctors and nurses who could handle most complaints. Should someone require more intense hospitalization he or she could be transported to one of the major cities outside the perimeter of Sahara Shores.
At the end of three years of sales there were ten thousand souls living in Sahara Shores. The seven resorts that were sprinkled around the new sea had a comfortable one hundred thousand visitors over a one-year period with the average stay per guest at six days. Most of the resorts hired help from the nearby cities. Travel agencies the world over advertised the new idea, and received slightly higher commissions than they enjoyed from other resorts in the world.
At the beginning of the fifth year of Sahara Shores Ivan P. Daily decided not to run again for Congress and moved to his spacious house by North Africa’s inland sea of fresh water. The house had a large porch from which Daily spent hours looking out over the water as he read Jim Woolard novels, sipped his Margaritas and wondered why his wife of thirty years had divorced him three years before. He looked out at the vast expanse of water and gave a chuckle and a smug smile as he thought about his congressional pension that amounted to as much as his salary.
The following year saw further changes. The board of directors decided they wanted new blood in the CEO’s chair so they forced Loring Lincoln to step down. Lincoln had enjoyed the five million dollars a year for his expertise in development and putting Sahara Shores on the map. He wasn’t disappointed in the board’s decision. Instead of fighting his removal he resigned completely and retired to a ranch he had purchased many years before in the White Mountains of Arizona. He left A.N.U.S. with only one regret. He had wanted to see ethnic mixing work, but in the long run he realized that he might have been naîve.
Everything seemed to have worked out quite well for Loring Lincoln except his wife contracted breast cancer and didn’t discover it until it was too late. She demanded that she be allowed to go to live on the ranch in Arizona for as long as she had to live.
After she passed away, Loring overdid on ranch work and suffered a massive coronary during the fall gather. He never made it to the hospital in Show Low.
***
Hadji Ali prospered. He now drove twenty camels. The demand for hashish had increased and the prices in Tangier he received for his favorite commodity had tripled. He was still able to purchase the hashish at a price that gave him a substantial profit. The lengthy treks across North Africa were far easier with the abundant water even though he had to sneak his camels to the shore during the night because the shoreline was crowded with buildings and Hadji had no desire to be caught and try to explain what he was doing with twenty camels drinking their water and crapping on their sand. He became aware of the newcomer attitudes toward his camels when he started bringing in Berber rugs on his return trips. The rugs sold quite well, but he decided that the hassles from the various “Environmental Enforcers” complaining about his camels discoloring the sand were not worth the effort he had to go through to make a small profit compared to what he earned from the hashish trade. After selling two hundred rugs he withdrew and resumed “dead-heading” back to Cairo.
***
Harry Atwater the new CEO of Sahara Shores had an array of degrees. He had earned a Bachelors and Masters in engineering from M.I.T. and a PhD in Geography and Area Development from Arizona State University. Atwater listened to the board of directors as they went through the reasons why they had replaced Loring Lincoln. The principal factor was the strong complaint from the Sahara Shores Water Company Ltd.. One of the hydroelectric generators burned a bearing and the subsequent shutdown for repair had caused a brownout and the freight train that hauled the cases of bottled water to the outlying airports didn’t have enough power to operate. The result was warehouses overflowing with outgoing cases of Sahara Shores Water.
The following week Atwater met with the big wigs of the water company and offered to set up emergency procedures to use diesel-electric engines that would be housed outside the perimeter until needed if that need ever arose again. Atwater’s offer included Sahara Shores Water’s fifty percent contribution toward the purchase of the engines. The water company executives complained that there were other companies and industries that used the freight trains.
“You people are the only ones who are complaining,” Atwater said.
The new CEO of Sahara Shores shoved the agreement papers that had already been prepared by Sahara’s lawyers across the table for their approval and signatures.
It took a year before the emergency engines arrived at their terminals, but fortunately nothing drastic happened with the generators.
People continued to arrive with the money they had made from selling their expensive real estate in California, Arizona, New York and Illinois. There were also a few hundred from the Denver/Colorado Springs area.
The latter proved troublesome because they insisted on building evangelical churches. Harry Atwater met with them in the auditorium and put his position bluntly on the table. Having had to make a special flight to deal with the problem, Harry scowled as he tapped the table on the stage with his index finger. “Ladies and gentlemen, I am sorry to disappoint you but there is no provision whatsoever for evangelical churches in Sahara Shores. However, I am able to offer you complete refunds so you can return to Colorado Springs where your churches are already well established.”
“What about our furniture and the airfare?” said a woman carrying a Bible in her hands.
“I suggest that you sell your furniture to incoming residents. As far as your airfare is concerned, I hope you didn’t spend all your money getting here because Sahara Shores is being extremely benevolent to extend the refund since there is a clause in your contracts that states your rights and privileges, which do not include the right to build churches of any sort. Even if you were American Indians you would not be allowed to build sweat lodges.”
“We never saw anything like that in our contracts,” the woman said.
“I have one last suggestion,” Atwater said. “If I hear one more complaint from any of you I will cancel my offer to refund your purchase prices. Thank you, and have a nice day at Sahara Shores.”
Harry Atwater rose from his chair, started for the entrance to the executive offices, but turned around before opening the door. “You may sign those agreements or not. Leave them on the table and I will have my secretary pick them up in exactly ten minutes.”
He heard the papers rustle as he went through the door to his office. He left Sahara Shores that evening on the train and flew back to New York the following afternoon.
After ten years sales began to flatten considerably. Harry and the board decided it must be because real estate prices had slumped in the areas that had provided most of their clientele in the United States. In other parts of the world the economy continued to slump because of the inescapable deficit accumulated by the United States during President Sage’s eight years. As Harry looked back he was astounded that that administration had had no clue as to the globalization that was occurring so rapidly. At one meeting of the board they were discussing that situation.
“They must have thought that the United States was an island and invincible to world conditions and vice/versa,” Harry said. “It is an absolute wonder that Sahara Shores has survived and even prospered. I never knew Loring Lincoln well, but I certainly admire his foresight.”
“I have to agree with you,” Preston Ageton said. “But you must remember the earthquake that made this all possible.” Ageton had been on the board since the beginning of the project. His bushy white hair was always rumpled from his habit of running his fingers through it as if he were checking to feel if it was still there.
***
On May 10th, two months after the board meeting in New York, Roy Sanchez kissed his wife of thirty years and wished her “Happy Mother’s Day”. Mexican Mother’s Day always fell on May tenth. They had moved to Sahara Shores from Los Angeles eight years before, after selling their small house in the San Fernando Valley for five hundred thousand dollars.
Maria Sanchez showed her husband the Mother’s Day cards their four children had sent. All four had moved from California to Arizona and New Mexico. Roy looked at the cards and smiled. “We are lucky,” he said.
He went to the kitchen, made two Margaritas and brought them out to the porch overlooking the great inland fresh water sea. “Sometimes I wish we could see the kids more often,” Maria said.
“I know, I feel the same way, but they have their own lives.”
“It wasn’t this way when we were young,” Maria continued. “Our families lived close by and we all gathered for holidays.”
“That has all changed since people started moving around so much.”
“Que lastima,” Maria said.
“I have to agree that it is a shame,” Roy said.
“Maybe we should move to Arizona or New Mexico to be closer to the grandchildren. They barely know us.”
“”You have a good point,” Roy said. “Let’s find out if we can afford to make another change.”
It was 11:16 PM. They had been in bed for two hours and Roy was snoring. Maria had awakened with the noise and lay thinking about moving back to be close to the children.
Suddenly the house began to shake. It was a little at first, then the shaking increased. Maria heard a strange sound coming from outside. It sounded like a giant toilet flushing. She poked Roy. He awoke with a snort. “What?” He asked sleepily.
“Can’t you feel the shaking and hear the funny noise outside?”
Roy sat up, cocked his head and listened. “What in hell is going on?”
“I don’t know, but I’m scared,” Maria said.
Roy reached over to turn on the lamp on the bedside table. The switch only clicked. “The damn lights are out,” he said.
“Go outside and see what is making that horrible noise.”
Roy got out of bed, pulled on his “Chino” trousers and walked barefooted to the front door that led to the porch. He went to the edge of the porch and squinted to sea what was making the sucking noise. It was louder than before and seemed in the direction of the generators that were somewhere in the neighborhood of ten miles away from the shore front house. There was a strange smell that he detected before returning inside to report to Maria.
“The noise sounds like it is coming from the generators, but there’s a funny smell outside,” he said. “I’ll bet it has to do with the generators burning bearings like they did a few years ago and we had that brownout.”
“I hope the power doesn’t stay off too long. Our frozen food wouldn’t like that a bit,” Maria said.
Roy sat down on the edge of the bed. “While I was out there on the porch I got to thinking about our conversation over the Margaritas,” he said. “I think we have plenty of money left in the mutual funds that we bought after selling the house in San Fernando to move back even if we have to take a beating on selling this place.”
“You know more about that stuff than I do. When can we move?”
“I see you have already made up your mind,” Roy said.
“I was thinking it all over before the shaking started and I really want to go back. It has been fun, but it really is time to get back with our family.”
“I agree. Speaking of the shaking, it seems to have stopped.”
Roy had no more spoken the words when the shaking increased until they thought the polystyrene walls would disintegrate. “I think we should get out of this house before it collapses,” Roy said.
Maria had already gotten dressed. Roy put on the rest of his clothes and they went out to the porch. In addition to the sucking sound a distinct rumble came from the same direction. The house continued to shake for another fifteen minutes. “To hell with this crap,” Roy said. “I’m going inside and make us another Margarita.”
“I think you had better hurry, so forget the salt,” Maria said.
Roy hurried into the house and came back with two glasses containing the Margaritas without any salt on the rims. They gazed into the darkness listening to the sound of a giant toilet flushing.
The house didn’t collapse, and Roy made another pair of Margaritas with salt. A breeze had begun blowing from the community center and the resort. They could smell polystyrene but didn’t give it much thought. They went back to bed.
Roy awoke with early morning light. Without thinking about his trousers he walked out on the porch. His jaw dropped as he looked out over what had been the beautiful inland sea of cool fresh water. In the far distance he could barely see the faint glimmer of a rippling surface of water. The sea had emptied to almost nothing. Roy turned abruptly and dashed into the bedroom.
“Maria, get up and come outside! The water’s gone.”
He returned to the porch and again looked out at what was once the attraction of Sahara Shores. He stood there incredulous at the sight. Maria had dressed and joined him.
“Madre de Dios!” she exclaimed. “Where is all the water?”
“I would like to know that, too,” Roy said.
Sunrise would be in five minutes. Maria looked over in the direction of the community center and resort. The main buildings of both had collapsed.
“Look, Roy,” she said, pointing to the once elegant structures. “That’s probably why we smelled that plastic smell a while ago. Should we go over and see if anyone is hurt?”
“I say we stay here and I will keep trying to find out something on-line on the computer.”
***
Hadji had watered his camels just after sunset and had driven them about nine miles to a place he had been using as a camp for more than ten years. He walked among the camels when the shaking began, trying to calm them as best he could. The shaking felt stronger than he had experienced ten years before when the water arrived. The sucking sound didn’t help his concern about the camels. With twenty, he had to trot up and down the strung out line to touch them and talk to them. One by one he had them go down to the sand. He was glad that he had trained them well. No longer standing the camels were in less position to run away. Hadji cocked his head to listen to the strange sound. His campsite was just beyond a large Barchan dune. He soon gave up trying to figure out what was making the noise and rolled out his bedding, a nice Berber rug large enough to fit his five foot ten inch body.
The sound persisted when he awakened at first light. Before heating his morning tea he climbed the dune to see what he might discover. “Alla is at it again,” he murmured. “First He sends the water and now He takes it away.”
He returned to his camels. “Well, my friends, it looks like we will have to go to Abuul Daba Oasis for water from now on. It was good while it lasted.”
***
Roy and Maria read the notices on the computer together. All residents and visitors to Sahara Shores would be evacuated as soon as the freight trains had hooked up to the emergency diesel/electric engines. Everyone should be advised that only basic clothing would be allowed aboard because space was limited and speed was needed to get everyone out before the bottled water ran out.
The announcement began to repeat telling that an earthquake of immense proportions had caused the inland sea of fresh water to drain back into the fissure from whence it came ten years before. The generators were no longer functional and that everyone should remain calm to facilitate the exodus from Sahara Shores.
“Well, all I have to say is we should have left a month ago at least,” Roy said.
“You got that right, my man,” Maria said. “I suppose we should get the clothes we like the most and go to the station.”
“I just want to get out of here and I want to be in the first train or those jokers might forget to fill the engines with diesel,” Roy said. “When I saw all that water heading for the fissure I wondered if we made that happen by wanting to leave.”
“Aren’t you important,” she said, and laughed. “For some reason I don’t give a damn about anything except getting out of here as soon as we can.”
“I am taking this great little laptop and try to communicate with the kids,” Roy said.
“You saw what the announcement said, only basic clothes.”
“I am wearing that Mexican Guayavera shirt and it is big enough to hide this little gem of a laptop.”
They got themselves ready and left the house that had cost them a hundred thousand dollars and the furniture that they had bought at the community center eight years before. Roy stuck his computer under the Mexican shirt and it was hardly noticeable. After closing the house they walked to the train station where they joined the line of Sahara Shore residents and tourist visitors who all wore worried looks on their faces.
Roy and Maria stood behind Ivan P. Daily who had a valise in his hand and a sterling silver flask in his shirt pocket. “I don’t think they will let you on the train with that suitcase, sir,” Roy said.
“Don’t be concerned young man,” Daily said, slurring his words. “I was on the first board of directors of Sahara Shores and A.N.U.S..”
Roy said no more but he noticed that when the train finally arrived the man was not allowed to bring his suitcase, although the conductor let him take the bottle of tequila out before leaving it on the platform.
The news of the earthquake and subsequent draining of the inland sea hit the New York offices of Sahara Shores like a bombshell. Harry Atwater called an emergency meeting of the board of directors. They were able to assemble by the following morning. One man had to come in from Boston on his Learjet.
Most of the concern was about lawsuits. Harry called on Moses Fruchtender, Sahara’s chief attorney. The lawyer pointed out that each contract had a clause that the company could not be held liable for acts of God.
“Since this all happened in North Africa, “ Atwater said. “Does the clause apply to acts by Alla as well?”
Fruchtender shrugged. “I expect we will find out,” he said.
***
A month later Hadji Ali drove his camels down to the former Sahara Shores and looked around. He saw no people and there were still no lights as had once sparkled in an early evening. He dismounted next to the house that had been Ivan P. Daily’s Sahara Shores residence, walked over and tried the door. It opened. Hadji walked in and looked around. The place looked like the owner would return at any minute for supper. Hadji walked over to a cupboard and opened the glass door through which he could see a number of bottles. He took one out and looked at it. He had seen the label before and recognized it as tequila. Hadji never drank spirits, but way out here with nobody to witness his transgression, he decided to partake. He hoped Alla would understand. He took the bottle out to the porch and put it down next to the comfortable chaise lounge that by now had an accumulation of sand on it. He brushed the sand away, but before sitting down he went back to his camels and had them go down to spend the night. He told them that he would load the Berber rugs from the houses and take them back to Tangier and sell them back to the rug merchants.
Returning to the porch he sat down and looked out over the sand of the Sahara that the wind had started blowing into dunes again. He wondered how soon the looters would arrive to haul all the furnishings away to the cities. He took off the top and lifted the tequila bottle for a drink. The strong spirits burned his mouth. He winced and took another swallow. Putting the bottle back on the floor of the porch, he took out a small packet of olive brown hashish, cut off a small chunk and stuffed it into his hash pipe. Lighting the pipe with his butane lighter he took a long pull and holding his breath as long as he could, muttered, “I wonder what happened to all that water.”
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