by Kathryn Lane
“Surprisingly little. Old mug shots from his days in prison. Arenas is suspected of international weapons trafficking. We already knew he was imprisoned in Colombia for drug charges. After being paroled, he went to Mexico where he’s fallen off the map. Faded away in a puff of smoke.”
“Considered a fugitive, is he?” Eduardo asked.
“Interpol has a red notice on him. He’s a wanted man.”
“Suspected of moving guns?” Eduardo said the words slowly. Nikki thought he was trying to burn the idea into his brain.
“Presumably there’s evidence he’s moved firearms into Europe and the Middle East. Military-grade Kalashnikovs from Russia through Syria into Europe.”
“Smugglers are smugglers,” Eduardo said. “They run guns, push drugs, and traffic in humans. Same business, just different merchandise.”
“You don’t suppose he’s followed us here, do you?” Nikki asked. She felt tired, a weariness beyond simple jet lag.
“He won’t come after us. You know he’d send someone else to do his dirty work.”
“Thanks. You’re so comforting,” she said sarcastically as she monitored the luggage on the conveyor. She moved out of his embrace and pointed toward the carousel. “There’s my suitcase.”
Eduardo stepped forward and removed Nikki’s luggage. His small bag was a few suitcases behind hers. Nikki followed Eduardo as he rolled both suitcases up to customs and passport control.
Chapter Two
Beni Ensar, Morocco, North Africa
Friday Afternoon
A traveler carrying a well-worn duffle bag pushed open a rusty wrought iron gate as he entered the desolate yard of a shabby house on the outskirts of Beni Ensar. The traveler, Taiwo Adebayo, had arrived an hour earlier in the city of Nador, twelve miles to the south. Shortly after landing, he climbed aboard a ramshackle bus to Beni Ensar, which held the distinction of sharing its piers with the Spanish port city of Melilla, a fact of particular interest to him. The map he carried in the back pocket of his jeans showed the two Spanish enclaves in northern Africa—Ceuta and Melilla. The latter was nestled between the Rif Mountains of northern Morocco and the Mediterranean Sea. Beyond Melilla lay the city of Ceuta, opposite the Strait of Gibraltar. Across the strait, the Spanish mainland.
Tired, Taiwo stopped to look around the yard. Shriveled vegetable plants and a few herbs grew in a tiny garden, cordoned off with a flimsy wire mesh that lined up against the iron fence in the shade of a large argan tree. In the middle of the yard, a dozen or so chickens and a lone rooster rested in the shadow of an old European-style bathtub. Its underlying cast iron frame revealed itself through large chips of missing enamel. An idle electric generator on a cement slab stood behind the tub like a battle-hardened watchman. A row of Spanish lavender shrubs grew in the sunbaked ground in front of the tub. Three large spikes with purplish-pink flowers provided a bit of color in the otherwise parched, dry earth.
The rooster crowed and chickens scattered across the yard as Taiwo approached. He dusted off his clothes, stooped to dip his hands into the water collected in the bottom of the tub, and splashed his face and beard. With the back of his hands, he made a feeble attempt to dry the droplets on his face. Wiping his hands on his dirty, faded jeans, he walked toward the battered wooden door of the house, smoothing his beard before he knocked loudly.
A sliver of sunlight splashed on a woman holding a baby as the creaky door opened slightly. Her face showed surprise, and she cast her eyes downward.
“Taiwo? What brings you here?” she asked.
“Business, Olani. Strictly business. Is my brother home?”
“Kenny will come along shortly. You can sit on the bench until he arrives.”
Olani pointed at a wooden bench set against the wall next to the doorway.
“I’ll make you hot tea and bring it out.” She started closing the door, but through the narrow crack she spoke again. “Or do you prefer water?”
“I prefer tea.”
Chapter Three
Barcelona—Eixample District
Friday Afternoon
“Are you ready?” Eduardo asked, tapping his foot. “There’s so much waiting for us out there.” He parted the hotel-room curtains and gazed down at Passeig de Gràcia, a tree-lined avenue with a wide pedestrian walk doubling as a fashionable median.
“What’s your hurry?” Nikki asked. Eduardo turned from the window. She unwrapped the towel she had twisted turban-style over her short, wet hair.
“Adventure. Barcelona beckons us,” Eduardo said. He could hear the edge of impatience in his own voice. “If we hit the street and get a little sunshine, it’ll help us get over our jet lag.”
“Ah, you misled me! You said making love was the best antidote for jet lag.” Nikki laughed and shot a flirty glance at Eduardo. “Or did that not work for you?” She raised an eyebrow and waited for an answer.
“Love-making works wonders.” He looked across the room at her. “But the second phase of overcoming jetlag is soaking up some sunshine.”
“Let me put myself together,” Nikki said. She sat on a velvet-cushioned chair in front of the vanity and fastened a gold chain with its jadeite Mayan world tree pendant around her neck. She’d taken it off only to shower. Eduardo bought it for her in a market in Palenque just the previous day, replacing the one Nikki had given to ten-year-old Bibi, the child whose kidnapping case Nikki had solved in Mexico. The good-luck charm was also known as the tree of life.
She turned the hairdryer on. Using a small round brush, she dried the artificial gray tones of her short, unevenly cropped hair, a haircut and color she’d done herself, the remnants of her undercover persona from the assignment in Mexico. Eduardo knew that Nikki longed for her hair to grow back into its usual full, straight style falling below her shoulders. He wouldn’t mind, either.
“What do you think about me going to light brown?” she asked. “I’ve heard that can give a more youthful appearance.”
Eduardo knew better than to demur, even though he preferred her hair dark and long. But while it grew out, she could at least add some color. He lifted one shoulder in agreement, and Nikki dialed the concierge for an appointment at the hotel’s hair salon.
“We need to call my aunt Carmen,” Nikki said, placing the phone back on the desk. “Let her know we’ve arrived. Carmen and my cousin Paula. I haven’t seen them in years.”
Only half listening, Eduardo moved away from the window and picked up the remote control. He tuned in a news channel and waited for her to finish getting ready. The announcer spoke about Madrid’s ongoing investigation into the pro-independence movement of Catalonia’s toppled regional government. The probe concentrated on Catalonia’s police force, which had created its own secret intelligence service in opposition to the Spanish state.
“Glad to know we won’t be facing separatist demonstrations on the streets,” Eduardo said. Over a video that must have been shot from a helicopter or drone, the announcer pointed out that crowds of over a million had brought the city to a standstill.
Nikki decided on beige slacks and a pastel green blouse. She needed to arrange things in her leather purse. Her boss, Floyd, had given it to her to conceal a Baby Glock, also a gift, when they worked a tough assignment together in Colombia. The handgun remained safely stored at home in Miami. International travel made it impossible to carry a firearm, even for a private investigator. In Spain, she would use that secret compartment for her passport and a very special lipstick case—actually a Taser.
Nikki placed her suitcase on the bed and removed the Taser from a concealed cavity. The secret chamber opened from inside the suitcase and was well hidden in one of the wheels on her luggage. When the hollow space contained the hard plastic Taser, it appeared to form part of the wheel mechanism, thus avoiding detection by routine custom inspections and x-ray machines. A flap in the suitcase lining concealed the opening to the small chamber.
Nikki cradled the little case in her palm. Its powerful defense zapp
er had saved both her life and Eduardo’s in Mexico. She placed it next to her passport in the hidden compartment of her purse, hoping not to need it in Spain.
Chapter Four
Beni Ensar, Morocco, North Africa
Friday Afternoon to Evening
As Olani finished preparing the evening meal, she became aware of a rare camaraderie between her husband Kenny and his twin, Taiwo, as they waited for her to serve dinner. They sat cross-legged on floor cushions reminiscing about their childhoods. The aroma from the kitchen permeated the living area.
All three adults ignored the simple fact that hot-headed Taiwo and quiescent Kenny had little in common despite being identical twins. They never had been close—not even as children growing up in Nigeria. Kenny, the studious one, fell back on diplomacy to resolve disputes. Taiwo used bullying tactics to solve conflicts, and when that did not work, he unleashed his wrath on those who opposed him. Different as their personalities were, they had fallen in love with the same woman. Olani had refused the hot-headed one. Instead she had chosen the quiet, unassuming Kenny.
Olani moved serenely between the brothers as she served. Her homemade garri—a mashed cassava dish—and an okra-spinach soup, both cooked with pungent spices, made the men ask for seconds.
The twin brothers had straightforward Yoruba names indicating which one came into the world to claim the honor of being firstborn. That was Taiwo. Kehinde, meaning the second-born, had left the comfort of their mother’s womb twelve minutes later. Their names were hardly unique, since the Yoruba have always experienced a high incidence of twin births.
An oil lamp in the corner of the living room provided light. Olani’s tall, sinuous body cast dancing shadows on the walls and floor as she placed food on the men’s plates.
When she brought the main course, a communal dish of chicken with vegetables slow-cooked the Moroccan way in a clay tagine, Olani sat with them to partake of the meal. Not comfortable with Taiwo, she kept her head covered and her eyes cast downward, even while eating. The brothers, like Olani, had light skin. And for the same reason—their ancestors included either British explorers or British missionaries. Yet Taiwo’s skin seemed a shade darker, possibly due to being out in the sun more than his twin brother, who had a clerical job in the Spanish city over the fence.
Kenny, with his full beard, looks so much like his brother it scares me, she thought. Only their personalities are different. Olani sensed Kenny’s increasing anxiety as dinner progressed. She also knew his anguish was not on the grounds he’d married the woman his brother had wanted for himself. Nor was it owing to the fact that her husband had not seen his twin in five years. No, Kenny’s discomfort, she knew, came from his fear of Taiwo’s temper. Whenever he encountered his sibling, the normally tranquil Kenny always ended up trading punches with his twin—yelling, screaming, and kicking as he dodged Taiwo’s fists.
As dinner drew to a close, Olani took the plates to the kitchen where she washed them in a small sink by the light of another oil lamp set in an open cupboard. She boiled water for tea as she cleaned up. Mint tea, made with fresh leaves she’d cut earlier from her garden and placed in a glass of water where she had kept them crisp, was the drink of choice. As soon as the boiling water hit the leaves, the entire house smelled of fresh, sweet mint. She added raw cane sugar to the tin cups and swirled the hot liquid with a spoon to dissolve the sugar. She tasted it before serving. She’d barely set the cups down in front of the men when Dayo, who had been asleep, started crying in the young couple’s bedroom at the back of the house. Olani took the oil lamp from the kitchen to light her way as she went to tend to her daughter’s cries. The house was small. Only a wooden screen separated their bedroom from the living area. She put the lamp on a table in the bedroom and comforted the child. With her daughter in her arms, Olani stood close to the wooden screen to watch the men in the living area and listen to their conversation.
Taiwo sipped the hot tea and took advantage of Olani’s absence to change the subject.
“Brother, I need to borrow your passport so I can get into Melilla tomorrow.”
“My passport?” Kenny asked. “Why?”
“To get into Spain. I have a job lined up. I’ll mail the passport back when I get on the mainland.”
“So you take my passport,” Kenny said, glancing toward the screen that concealed Olani, “and if you get in trouble with the law, I’m the one who gets fucked over.”
“I’m not going to get in trouble. I’ll make sure of it.”
“Look, Taiwo,” Kenny said. Taiwo saw the chance of concession in his eyes. “I have a family. If you go off and do something crazy, it’d be my name, my address, and my life they’d come after. Besides, if you take my passport, tell me how I’ll get into Melilla every day to work?”
“Take a week of vacation,” Taiwo suggested. He made his voice sound serious and commanding. “That’s all I need. One week.”
“Jump the fence or take a swim in the sea to get in the way other people do,” Kenny said. He should have known that Taiwo was serious.
“I need to get into Spain. And that’s no joke.”
Taiwo stared at his brother with hatred. “Have it your way. You always did—with mother, with father, with Olani. Especially Olani.” He slammed the tin cup on the floor, spilling its contents. He stood to leave, kicking the metal cup halfway across the room.
In a conciliatory tone, Kenny explained that with a Nigerian passport, his brother could apply for a visa to Spain. Kenny even offered to help Taiwo find work in Melilla.
“I have a job. It’s waiting for me in Barcelona. I can’t wait for a bullshit visa.” Taiwo took aggressive steps toward the door, grabbing his duffle bag.
Standing stiffly, Kenny said goodbye, holding his right hand over his heart in a gesture of sincerity. Taiwo pushed past him and thundered out of the house without looking back.
Behind the screen, Olani felt tense. She could see Kenny’s pained expression over the altercation with his brother. Holding Dayo, she stepped into the living room. She wondered what had transpired in their childhood to make them so different. Kenny turned away to close the door. Still holding the baby in her arms, Olani approached her husband and hugged him. He put his arms around her and their daughter and held them tight for a couple of minutes. Olani could tell Kenny felt remorse over failing, once more, to communicate with Taiwo.
Outside, Taiwo strode to the gate. A full moon lit up the yard. Instead of leaving, he turned and glared at the house, noticing his brother had already closed the door. Angry thoughts seethed in his head as he doubled back to the electric generator. Two cats ran out from under the bathtub as he approached. They darted behind the house. The recoil starter, he noticed, was broken. He realized why they lived with oil lamps. Enraged over his brother’s obstinacy, he took a pocketknife from his pants pocket and cut the rope of the recoil starter and threw it on the ground. Now they will not be able to fix the generator so easily, he thought as he picked the rope up and tied it loosely around his waist.
For a couple of minutes he paced around the moonlit yard. Considering his next move, Taiwo walked to the side of the house. He took the narrow space beyond the small garden for himself. The area lay between the reinforced concrete house and the wrought iron fence running along the perimeter of the property. The nearest wall adjoined the living area where they had eaten Olani’s dinner. Without windows where his brother and sister-in-law could see him, it was a place he could spend the night.
Using the heel of his boot to loosen the hardened ground into a softer bed, Taiwo pushed the excess dirt into a mound. As he worked, his wrath intensified. His brother was lying on a comfortable mattress in the bedroom at the back side of the house, sleeping next to the woman who should have been his. He figured Kehinde had only married Olani to rile him. He spat on the ground. He hated his twin, hated him for having been their mother’s favorite, hated him for getting it all, including a passport with a work visa to Spain stamped in it.
A mosquito buzzed about him. It landed on his nose. Taiwo slapped at it. He was too late. The insect had already bitten him. In the process of slapping himself, he accidentally poked his right eye. Seething with rage, he banged his head into the top rail on the wrought iron fence. As the firstborn, Taiwo knew he deserved more power and prestige, and resented his brother for never respecting his birthright. Another mosquito bit him.
As rancor filled his heart, Taiwo felt his chest throbbing. He thought it would burst. He doubled over in pain. He coughed. Violently. And he coughed again. That action brought the rhythm of his heart back under control. Steadying himself against a fencepost, he listened to make sure the noise from his movements had not alerted the occupants of the house. He wiped the sweat on his forehead with the sleeve of his shirt and reached for the duffle bag, throwing it on the soft dirt as a pillow.
Chapter Five
Barcelona—Eixample District
Friday Early Evening
Nikki and Eduardo stepped out of the elevator, his hand supporting her elbow. As they approached the wide doors leading to the street, white-gloved, uniformed porters, one on each side of the arched entrance, opened the glass doors for them.
“I feel like a queen,” Nikki said as they walked through the grand doorway.
Soft, late afternoon sunshine bathed Nikki and Eduardo in pleasant warmth as they stepped over the threshold. A few feet away, she stopped and glanced back at the porters.
“They look so distinguished in their uniforms,” Nikki said, admiring the Majestic Hotel’s spectacular chamfered entryway. Holding hands, they took in every detail.