M7 Mike Costa Lives: The Sultan...

The Sultan with the Handlebar Moustache

No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or any other information storage and retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the author. Reviewers may quote brief passages.

This book is a work of Fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and should not be inferred.

Prologue:

“An Occult-Antiquities Shop proprietor bequeaths his shop to a young Arab boy in Cairo, Egypt. The boy learns the contents of the shop are of Mystical origins – a Genie in a Lamp, King Solomon’s Flying Rug, a Greek Cloak of Invisibility, the Holy Grail Cup, etc. – originally donated by the Templar Knights and Freemasons. He is entrusted with these items with the promise to never sell them to anyone. What he does with the items will forever change modern society…”

Chapter 1:

“Ahmed!” I was asleep outside our farm in Giza, southwest of Cairo. Flies buzzed above my face as I tried to retain the comfort of a rope hammock tied between two palm trees.

“Ahmed, dinner is ready!” shouted my aged mother, Fatima. We lived together since my father works overseas in the Emirates. Our pet monkey, Bes, danced a jig on the hammock, awakening me. The smell of burnt incense mixed with overcooked chickpeas, Falafel, and Baklava pastries hung in the still air. The hammock shifted under my weight, so I fell flat on my face. Bes grimaced slightly with his arm raised upwards.

“Ah, finally. Here, you missed the Postman again. Some package from Cairo, or something, and you need to reapply for admission to Cairo University. Do you want to live as a beggar forever?” Fatima said.

“No, I’ll just excavate our basement looking for treasures,” I remarked.

My mother’s sense of humor bordered on paranoia; she waved her hand in rebuke, and then served my dinner. I picked up the package.

“Hmm, it looks important. It has 5 Stamps!” I replied. I opened it carefully. Inside were a letter and a plastic bag containing directions and a key. I looked up.

“Fatima, who owned that old Occult Shop outside the Khan Bazaar?” I asked my mother. She folded her arms.

“Omar al-Sabbah, I believe. Why?” she asked me.

“Did he die?” I asked.

“Why yes, about 2 months ago… What is this about?” she asked, puzzled.

I examined the contents again. It seems I inherited something. The key was a simple brass piece of metal on a key chain. A photograph of the entrance along with driving directions was attached by paperclip.

“I need to visit Cairo tomorrow morning,” I replied.

In twenty minutes, I finished dinner. Our bathroom – a small square of cheap ceramic tiles surrounding a standing shower with curtain, a toilet and sink with cabinets – was just off to the right of the kitchen. I glanced into the mirror to examine my slim goatee and budding moustache. I stopped shaving last week to conserve resources.

My bedroom was upstairs, on the ceiling. I slept under the stars. Most people kept their garbage up there to purify it. I had a simple twin mattress, and a tent shell as a covering in case of sandstorms. Our house was this small mud brick shelter attached to a simple five acre farm along the Nile. I farmed mostly chickpeas and corn. Any extras were sold to the Markets on commission. As is, the Government imported most of the food supply, preferring tourism and US Dollars.

My education was based on farming and some cultural history. Here, you cannot travel two meters without collision into a historical relic. I longed for College, but my meager allowance could not afford it. All of my school mates worked as Conservators or Archaeologists in the field.

The next morning I took a public transit (Camel) to Cairo. The Khan Bazaar was unusually empty today. Normally tourists would flock to the shops, buying trinkets, brassware, papyrus paintings, or replicas. Omar’s Occult Shop was tucked away in the back alley. A faded sign read, “Al-Sabbah’s Occult and Antiquities Shop.” The door was locked, so I tried the key. It fit so I entered.

The room was covered with white sheets on the bulging objects, and dust everywhere else. A door in the back welcomed me with a letter taped onto it. It was for me.

“Ahmed, please excuse my informal approach. You’ve always loved my curiosities, so I decided to mention you in my Will. As is, you now own this Shop, with the promise to never sell any of its contents. You will know what I mean by this upon examination of the items. You may also live in the apartment upstairs; and a monthly stipend of 30,000 Pounds according to my Living Trust Pension in your name. I never married nor had heirs. So I selected you to be my trustee. I hope you will agree. Signed, Omar al-Sabbah, Proprietor.”

I was astonished. The pension would pay for the shop’s rent, and our farm in Giza. But… what was upstairs?

The door creaked open. Inside a slim wooden staircase spiraled up to a large living room, furnished with Asian openwork nesting tables, a long dressing mirror of gilded Mahogany, Persian rugs, a digital television with night stand, two leather sofas, a marble coffee table, and Egyptian Papyrus paintings framed with gold leaf. Two closed doors on the right, one door on the left, and a staircase was in the front near a window. I approached the door on the left. It led to a small Kitchen with walk-in Pantry. The doors on the right led to two medium bedrooms, fully furnished. The staircase led up to a library and study; and down to a locked Storage room, wine cellar, and garage where two cars were parked. Each bedroom had its own full bathroom. I entered the locked Storage room below.

A filing cabinet dominated the room. White cloths draped about the contents mostly. Underneath were a variety of objects ranging from suits of armor, computers and laptops, locked chests, stacked furniture, rolls of carpets, boxes, cabinets, and museum display cases with some artifacts.

I retraced my steps back upstairs.

“Now what did he want me to know about the Antiquities?” I asked myself. “He said not to sell anything. I wonder why?”

The Antique Shop was closed for business according to an official document found on a table in the Living Room. My pension was credited to the Bank of Cairo. I looked about the shop for a light switch. I found an old mega switch and it was clamped shut. So I lifted it and this ignited four rows of Fluorescent Lights in the ceiling. Everything was covered in white drapery. It took me ten minutes to uncover the items.

From an onlooker’s perspective, this was a room full of junk. On closer examination, this was something else. I tripped over a golden spear jutting out from a box of 18^th Dynasty Shabtis. The box was labeled, “Remnants of King Ramses the Great’s tomb.” The spear was from Khaemwaset, his son. A brassy lamp that could easily have passed as an Arabesque item was labeled, “Lamp of Iram.” It needed some polishing due to heavy tarnishing. I took it out of its box and retreated back upstairs to the Living Room. I found a dust rag and some oil. I rubbed it for a few minutes until this murky fog emanated from the lamp.

The fog appeared as a spirit of some kind with a turban. It scared me for a second, until then I realized this was no ordinary lamp!

“Greetings, bearer of the lamp: do not be frightened. I am Abbas, the Genie of this Lamp. I am your servant. What would you like me to do?” Abbas asked me.

My jaw dropped an inch. “You’re kidding. No, you’re real,” I said.

“Master? Abbas asked. The spirit floated about in the fog.

“All right then, make me into a millionaire,” I said.

“A Million what?” he asked.

“Ah yes, modern lingo… Create a coffer of ten million Pounds,” I replied. “Of gold coins.”

“Do you wish ten million pounds of gold coins? I do not think you can lift it,” he said.

“Sarcasm,” I thought. I must be precise. “Make me a coffer full of gold coins.”

“As you command, Master,” the Genie remarked as he fashioned a chest of gold coins with his hands moving so fast it seemed incredible.

I looked over the chest of coins. Each coin was either a square with a square hole or a circle with his face on it. But each was solid gold, some 24-Karat in content.

The Genie was still floating there. “Am I limited to my number of commands?” I asked him.

“I am here to serve you, Master,” he smiled. “Unlimited wishes!”

“Ahh… Make my Mom’s Farm into a Palace, and give her fine clothing.” I thought this would suffice.

“As you command, Master,” the Genie disappeared for an hour.

I filtered through the gold coins in the coffer, then scooped some into a pouch and placed it on my belt. I placed the lamp back into the Shop where I initially found it, then closed the shop and locked it. I just had to go home, to see what was happening…

I took a Taxi Cab to my home in Giza. The driver especially liked the gold coin tip. On exiting the car, I found myself at the front steps to a magnificent palatial estate. The ground was fashioned of a tile mosaic of gold and turquoise shapes. Waterfall fountains graced the entrance flanked on both sides with Pharaonic statues of seated Kings and Queens. The house exterior reminded me of a hotel resort. This radiant red carpet met me on the doorsteps leading back to the entrance with small rivers on opposite sides, where waterfalls cascaded near the windows. The front double door opened, leaving me speechless. The interior was richly decorated with ancient and modern art, noble furniture, and Pygmy servants dressed in rich brocade and velvet. Then I saw my mother.

“Ahmed! What the hell did you do?” She demanded. “What happened to our house? I left the garden for ten minutes to ask a neighbor for a pint of sugar, and then I return home to this! Did you see our Farm? Well, I will tell you. There is no Farm! This monstrosity covers all 5 acres!”

I smiled slightly. “Uhm… Hello, Fatima. I have some good news. Did you remember that old Antique store in Cairo? I, umm, inherited it,” I replied.

“Well I see. That still does not explain this house!” She was upset. “A man from the Government visited here ten minutes ago. He was a Tax Man. He wants to upgrade our tax rate to 500 Pounds. 500 Pounds! We can never afford that…” She said.

I reached into my pouch and took out a coin, flipping it in her direction. “Now we can,” I said as I entered the Palace. Fatima’s mouth dropped upon handling the gold coin.

“Ahmed, Ahmed! Explain this!” Fatima barked.

I showed her the letter from Omar al-Sabbah. She read it slowly. Then her eyes welled up with tears. “I didn’t know. I thought he always had children. I remember how children would be glued to his display cases, admiring the antiques, and commenting on their mysterious origins. But… why doesn’t he want to sell anything?” she asked.

“The items he sold are priceless artifacts now. No one can know about this. Don’t tell anyone,” I warned.

Fatima breathed a laugh, “Yeah, tell that to this house!”

I looked around the Palace. “I have to return to the shop. There is an apartment I can live in nearby; it has room for both of us. If you want, you can come with me. Or remain here and answer the neighbors. I am sure they have questions,” I answered her. “Quickly, before the Media and Gossip TV visit.”

Fatima looked around herself a few moments. “I have to gather my things, personal effects mostly, keepsakes. The rest of this place can go.”

An hour later we arrived in the Antique Shop. I dug through the clutter and found a small ring kept in a tight resin box. I placed it in my pouch. Fatima dug through a cabinet of old clothing. She found a cloak and put it on, and then she screamed.

“Ahh!” She yelled. “What happened? My arm – it’s invisible!”

I read the caption on the Cabinet. “It’s a Greek artifact, a Cloak of Invisibility.” I smiled and then I took it off of her.

“I knew that, I was just testing myself,” she shrugged. “What an interesting staff…” She picked up what appeared to be a solid gold rod shaped like a Cobra on the top. “Ah snakes!” She tossed the rod to the ground where it changed into a snake and slithered under a box of items.

In retaining the snake, I found it wrapped about a rug. I picked up the snake’s tail, and it returned into the shape of a rod. The rug was more interesting.

“Hmm… it’s written in Ancient Hebrew. The Rug of Solomon the King, it says,” I pulled the rolled up rug into the light. “I wonder what it does?”

I unrolled the rug. It immediately hovered in the air about one foot up. I jumped onto it, and the rug sustained my weight. I ordered it to levitate up to the back wall where a bookshelf had items on top that I wanted. Fatima was on the ground watching when she saw a glint of brass in a small wooden box.

“Oh no, the Genie!” I said as I was near the bookshelf.

Fatima rubbed the tarnished lamp with her hands. A murky fog emanated from it and beheld her presence like it did for me.

“Greetings, bearer of the lamp: do not be frightened. I am Abbas, the Genie of this Lamp. I am your servant. What would you like me to do?” Abbas asked Fatima.

Fatima thought a moment, and then smiled. She whispered into the Genie’s ear. The Genie clapped its hands and disappeared.

I gathered some things from the bookshelf and ordered the rug to the ground where I dismounted and rolled it back up. “What?” I asked her.

I entered the Living room and turned on the television. A camera crew had just visited our home, but there was something amiss. “What happened to the Palace?” I demanded.

In its place was our original farm with an upgraded building shaped like the Cairo Tower on Gizera Island. The farm was full of produce. Camera people were there taking pictures amid estranged neighbors who complained about instant development in their district. A Tax Man visited and reduced his original claim by 200 Pounds.