and would be notified by text when the slaughter had been accomplished. Bambang’s name was not on the list. Pilgrims could also elect to butcher the animal themselves, so Majid and the others walked the long suspended hallways above the slaughter pens searching for a slightly rotund Indonesian man in his sixties. There were only a handful of hajjis among the butchers, and none of them resembled the man they were looking for.
A thousand barbers were lined up in Mecca’s streets and stalls, with a horde of customers awaiting them. Colonel al-Shehri commandeered a bullhorn from one of the hajj police and walked through the city calling out Bambang’s name. Young boys danced along with the prince and the others, associating themselves with this inexplicable excitement. Among the children, Mamdouh, the scout, assumed a new air of authority, and he too called out Bambang’s name. The children imitated him, and soon dozens of them were crying, “Bambang Idris! Bambang Idris!” But no one answered.
Majid got a call on his cell phone from his assistant health minister. His staff had examined the records at the twenty-five hospitals and two hundred health centers established for the hajj. “Your Excellency, I assure you, we do not have this man.”
Majid tried to suppress his mounting anxiety. It was evident in the faces of the other men as well. They were all sweating heavily from the heat and the exertion of their rapid march.
Majid finally asked Mamdouh if he knew the way to the morgue. The scout nodded and set off toward the Muaisem, just outside the holy district. When they arrived, Majid directed Mamdouh to return to his duties; he did not want the boy to see what might await them.
It was a comparatively small facility, given the industrial scale of everything else associated with the hajj. When the prince and his entourage entered, the reception area was empty. Prince Majid found himself staring at his own official portrait behind the desk. Colonel al-Shehri walked down a hallway and returned with a sheepish attendant, who had been smoking in another room. He snapped to attention when he recognized the prince.
Majid showed him Bambang’s photo. The attendant shrugged. He wasn’t in charge of admissions, he said, and the director was away at the graveyard.
“Isn’t there a record of those who have been admitted here?” Majid demanded.
“Of course.”
“Well, then, where is it?”
“It is on the director’s computer, Your Excellency.”
“Then look there for this man.”
“I can’t,” the miserable attendant responded. “He does not give me the code. And he and his assistant, they are together.”
Majid demanded to see the room where the bodies were kept. The attendant escorted them down a dark hall with waxed stone floors, passing several gurneys, and then pushed open a double door to a refrigerated room that was completely empty.
“Where are the bodies?” Majid demanded.
“As I told you, Your Excellency. They are buried.”
* * *
—
“THEY DON’T EVEN mark the graves?” Henry asked despairingly.
“It is our custom to bury the dead rapidly,” Majid explained. “We believe the dead are all equal, and so even the king is buried anonymously.”
“Do you know how he died?”
“When we finally talked to the coroner, he said he had been trampled to death.”
Henry sank into his schoolboy chair, completely defeated.
“One other thing,” Majid said. “I hesitate to say this. We have a report from three of our hospitals of a hemorrhagic fever among the pilgrims.”
The news was like an icy shower rousing Henry from his demoralized state. “I have to examine them. Immediately.”
“Henry,” Majid said, “this is a very delicate matter. I understand your urgency, but non-Muslims are barred from the holy precincts. And I fear that the patients are too ill to be moved.”
“I’m sure your deity would rather have his worshippers alive than sacrificed because of some disputed Wahhabi protocol.”
“We have excellent doctors already attending the situation,” Majid said, ignoring the barb. “They can provide you any information you need. Tests, blood, we can even do Skype so you can participate.”
“Yes, we can look at the blood work, we can examine the scans, but we need a diagnosis at once. How much time do we have?”
“The pilgrimage ends tomorrow.”
“I am the only one who has actually witnessed this disease. I must examine these patients.”
“Henry!” Majid exclaimed. “Having you in the country as an unbeliever is already a major transgression, according to many. But to go into the holy region, this is not possible.”