Free The Aisha Prophecy by John R. Maxim

that. The robber barons, as you call them, were the men who built your country. It certainly wasn’t the government. It was they who built the railroads and the steel mills and all else. They amassed great wealth, but they used it well. They endowed universities, hospitals, libraries. All considered, they gave better than they got.”
    The media mogul added, “As do most of us, Howard. And none of us set out to have this sort of power. Once achieved, however, it’s a burden we’ve accepted. We regard it as a trust. A sacred trust.”
    “Precisely,” said the Saudi, nodding under his towel. This was the first word he had spoken. He added “It is sacred because God has willed it.”
    Charles Haskell rolled his eyes. He told the Saudi, “Not here.”
    The Saudi looked at him, blinking. He did not understand.
    Haskell said to the Saudi, “That will of God business. Do not say that here. Someone might think you actually mean it.”
    “But, I do,” said the Saudi. “All that happens is God’s will.”
    “And that’s a handy excuse for not making things happen. That’s what we’re here for. Try to keep that in mind. The only will that matters in this place is our own. Save that crap for the rag-heads back home.”
    The Saudi’s eyes turned cold for the briefest of instants, but he forced them to brighten. He grinned. He said to Howard Leland who was visibly ill at ease, “You see that I am smiling? These men are my friends. What is friendship without a little pulling of the leg?”
    Haskell said to Howard Leland, “We, of course, applaud his piety. He’s been known, however, to leave it behind when his aircraft departs Saudi soil.”
    “He leaves his taste in women along with it,” said the banker. He nudged the Saudi with his elbow. “Scandinavians, correct?”
    “I am not undemocratic. English girls are good too.”
    “As long as they’re not much older than twelve,” said Haskell while winking at the media mogul.
    “No, I think you mean his bourbon,” said the media mogul. “It’s his bourbon that has to be older than twelve. A lowly Dutch beer is beneath him.”
    The Saudi said to Howard Leland, “More pulling of my leg. A good Muslim does not drink either beverage.”
    “Except when no one’s looking,” added Charles Haskell. “Drop by his room, you’ll find a case of Jack Daniels. I should know. I had his bar stocked with it.”
    The Saudi shrugged. “You have a saying. When in Rome. For me, this is Rome. I might take an occasional sip.” He said to Leland, “But I will not deny that I chafe at the policy that requires all here to be celibate. We are men in full vigor. Our needs are our needs. Did you know that no women are provided?”
    “I… don’t recall that it came up,” Leland answered.
    “Too late now,” said the Saudi. “We are both out of luck. The only women who have ever been allowed on these grounds are the cooks and the housemaids, none younger than fifty. I have sacrificed much to be here with good friends.”
    Haskell gave Leland a look that said, “Perhaps you now see what I meant.” To the Saudi, he said, “I’ll have a sheep sent to your room. Beyond that, your friends will make your sacrifice worthwhile. You’re going to be glad that you came.”
    A cell phone chirped. Its sound was muffled. It chirped again. All heads turned to the Saudi. The sound came from somewhere on his person. Haskell looked at him, glaring. “Did you bring a phone?”
    “Do not worry,” said the prince as he cupped both hands over it. “I have been careful to keep it concealed.”
    “Concealed? The damned thing’s ringing. Shut it off.”
    “Yes, at once.”
    The Saudi fumbled for the phone that he’d secreted in his jacket. He silenced it and he peered at the read-out. He chewed his lip. He was visibly nervous. “It is one of my cousins. This must be an urgent matter. He knows not to call me unless it is urgent.” He started to tap out a number.
    Haskell said, “Stop