BLACK HEART OF BADARA: CHAPTER ONE
SULTANS OF THE SANDS
Nashida Harroun, reporter for Sawt-al-e-Badara
Desert near Misul
26 July, 5489
The shifting sands in front of her glimmered in the setting sun as Nashida Harroun, reporter of Sawt-al-e-Badara, turned to face Nadheer Soleimani, member of the magnate family.
"My father once told me sand was dharab - gold." said Nadheer Soleimani, turning to the reporter behind him. "Not the sand itself, mind you. The gold lay beneath - the black blood which pumps through the veins of Badara, supplying every organ and limb with the sustenance it needs."
"Oil, you mean." said Nashida .
Nadheer smiled slyly.
"Yes. For centuries it powered Badara's economy, propping it up against the ravages of an uncaring and ever-changing world." he said. "Until it didn't."
"The de-petrolization. I assume this had a significant effect on your family?"
"Oh indeed. Though we survived, obviously. A good businessman knows how to be flexible, to adjust." Nadheer replied. "Ores, groceries, housing - you name it, we own it."
Nashida cleared her throat.
"And now, with Vamaj?"
Nadheer smiled widely, looking out over a vast field of oil wells before him.
"Now, our nation's heart pumps once more."
Nashida narrowed her eyes, writing quickly in her notebook.
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Nashida arrived at the warehouse shortly after midnight, pulling the car up to the side entrance.
The whirs of the machinery could be heard outside, even through the closed door of the warehouse. The door opened slowly, a head popping out and looking quickly in both directions, freezing once it spotted Nashida.
"Al-Fajr, friend." said Nashida.
A slight nod was the response from the stranger, holding the door open as they stood aside.
Nashida slipped into the warehouse, a massive room full of loading and unloading bays with looming industrial cranes as far as she could see.
"So this is the overland hub?" she asked.
The stranger, who Nashida could now tell was a middle-aged man, nodded.
"Most of the oil comes from way out in the desert, here in Samaria and in Baharia as well. It's got to get to al-Buqiyaa or Ras al-Harem to get shipped. But," the man said, stepping closer to Nashida. "There's something going on. Shipments are
down, but profits are up. Whispers the Soleimanis made some kind of deal with the Tzafrirs, to end the de-petrolisation programme."
"Any source for that claim? Evidence?"
The man shook his head wearily.
"If they are up to something, they're good at hiding it." he said.
Nashida ventured further into the factory.
"Is it empty?" she asked.
The stranger shook his head.
"They're all down at the unloading bay, is all. I should head back before they notice I'm missing." as he left, he handed her a key. "It's a master. If anyone asks, I've never met you and will recommend calling the authorities."
Nashida nodded.
"Thank you."
The man left quickly, and Nashida looked around the room that was visible to her: long walkways of linoleum and metal padding on which the workers' boots pinged and ponged in the distance in a soft chorus of annoyance. Stacks of pallets of oil drums, some empty, some full. On them labels; in Majatran, in Yeudi, and in the many languages of the Vamaj countries.
Nashida rounded a corner between two stacks of pallets, finding herself in front of a wooden door marked "MAIN OFFICE" in gold lettering.
Through the frosted glass, Nashida could tell the lights were off.
She slipped the master key into the lock, turning it open and popping the lock open with a soft click. Pushing the door open, she saw two rows of desks and, behind those, the much larger desk indicative of a boss's seat.
Nashida walked swiftly to the back, turning on her phone's flashlight and rustling through the documents left atop the desk. Picture after picture, Nashida meticulously compiled a collection of documents.
The master key worked in the locks of the desk, and Nashida grabbed more and more documents and folders, ransacking the desk and all of its contents.
The door swung open, and Nashida ducked beneath the desk, her heart pounding in her ears. A heavy set of footprints made their way to the desk, stopping in front of it. From under the desk, just out of the person's line of sight, Nashida held her breath tightly and listened for any more movement.
A sigh.
"Goddamn it, Eli. Clean up your shit for once," the voice said, sifting through papers. "Here," the voice continued, exasperated, and Nashida once more heard the heavy footprints, exiting the room.
She let out a sigh of relief, her chest burning as she took deep breathes to calm her heart.
Quickly, she got up and carefully made her way back to her car, speeding off back to her apartment.