She was on her own. The last time she had felt so isolated, she had been kidnapped, held on an island by an apocalyptic religious cult. But even there, she had been able to rail against her captors. Here, she had only her own thoughts for company.
With nothing else to do, she started for the bus station, taking a circuitous route to minimise her chances of being seen by the police. By the time she reached the long road leading to the terminal, the eastern sky was starting to brighten. Just after seven.
A small shop was already open. She bought some food and a bottle of water, then went down a side street and sat on a wall to eat and drink. She estimated it would take her no more than fifteen minutes to walk to the bus terminal, but she wanted a safety margin to buy her ticket. She finished her unimpressive breakfast, then set off.
The walk was straightforward, and she heard no sirens, saw no flashing blue lights. Maybe she had overestimated the police response. But she was still on alert the whole way to the terminal.
When she finally reached it, to her relief, the ticket counter was open. Even with her limited Spanish, it was simple enough to buy a one-way ticket to Seville. She sat on a bench and waited. Ten minutes to departure, and the bus arrived. She started towards it—
A police car pulled up beside the terminal.
Nina froze, staring helplessly at it, then forced herself to keep walking. The two cops in the car didn’t seem in any rush to get out, but if she behaved in an overtly suspicious manner, she would draw their attention. A couple of people had reached the bus before her, waiting for the driver to open the door. She glanced at the car. The policemen were still inside, one regarding the bus from behind sunglasses. Was he watching her? She couldn’t tell . . .
He opened the door. Nina felt a rush of fear, looking for escape routes—
The cop got out and walked to the shop in the terminal.
She tried not to make her relief too obvious. The cop might not be fulfilling the American cliché of buying doughnuts, but he was definitely stocking up with snacks. Amusement overcoming apprehension, however briefly, she waited to board the bus.
The door hissed open. She filed in and showed her ticket to the driver. He looked up, expression flickering as he saw her face. Another surge of near-panic – had her picture been given to the bus company? – but then she realised it was simple lechery, a dumpy middle-aged man checking out a younger woman. She gave him a thin smile, then found a seat near the rear.
A few minutes later, the bus pulled out of the terminal. If it stayed on schedule, it would arrive in Seville at 11.30. Nina remained tense until the bus cleared Tarifa and started along the highway, then finally allowed herself to lean back in her seat.
Again she thought of her family. ‘Hope you’re keeping Macy’s mind off all of this, Eddie,’ she whispered.
In Tangier, Eddie was trying his best to do just that – but with father and daughter on different continents, he was having little success.
‘I know you want me to come back,’ he said to the distraught seven-year-old over the phone, ‘but I can’t, not just yet.’
‘This is because I took the trikan, isn’t it?’ wailed Macy.
‘No it isn’t,’ he insisted. ‘You didn’t have anything to do with it. It’s not your fault. Okay?’
‘But if I hadn’t taken it, they—’
‘Macy, Macy. Listen to me, love. It wasn’t your fault. And the reason I left last night was because I had to find the person whose fault it was. When I do, I’m going to . . .’ He opted not to tell her what he had in mind if Ana proved uncooperative. ‘. . . make them tell the Emir that Mummy didn’t do anything wrong.’
‘And then Mommy’ll come back?’ Macy asked.
‘Yeah, she will. And so will I.’
‘When?’
‘As soon as I can. Okay?’
‘Okay, Daddy.’ She did not sound happy, but at least now she wasn’t on the verge of tears.
‘Good lass. Can I talk to Olivia?’
She handed the phone to her great-grandmother. ‘Hello, Eddie,’ Olivia said. ‘Have you found Ana yet?’
‘No, but one of my mates is on the case. If anyone can track her down, he can. Did you get off the ship?’
‘Yes, we’re in Spain. Algeciras, I think it’s called.’
‘I know it. Across the bay from Gibraltar. You in a hotel?’
‘We are, yes. I imagine it was quite a feat to find everyone accommodation at short notice – I’m sure five and a half thousand people turning up in the middle of the night isn’t an everyday occurrence, but somehow they managed it.’
‘Everything’s easy with money,’ Eddie noted with dark humour. ‘Chuck enough cash around and people’ll find rooms in a hurry.’
‘Quite. Do you still want us to wait here for you?’
‘Yeah, for now. If I can get Ana to confess, that lets Nina off the hook. I’ll let you know as soon as I can, then I’ll get a ferry back to Spain.’
‘It’ll be good to see you.’
‘Glad you’re finally warming up to me after four years.’
‘I was thinking more for Macy’s sake,’ Olivia said, but with humour.
Ending the call, Eddie left the room where he had slept. Karim and his wife Maysa had four children, and the posters of international footballers on the walls suggested that one of their sons had been evicted to make room for the visitor. Loud, tinny music reached him as he descended the stairs. He followed the noise to the kitchen. ‘Hi, Maysa.’
‘Good morning, Eddie!’ Maysa replied brightly. She and Karim had been married for as long as he had known them, and while the latter had become considerably broader over the years, his always energetic wife’s only sign of advancing age was strands of greying hair. ‘Karim went out early, he said to talk to someone for you. He sounded confident.’
He nodded. ‘That’s great.’
‘Would you like breakfast? There is coffee, mint tea, khobz,’ she indicated a couple of round loaves of bread, ‘pancakes, eggs . . .’
‘Eggs sound good, thanks.’
‘I will make you—’ She broke off at a noise from outside and went to the open window, shouting up in irritated Arabic. After a moment, a pair of feet dropped into view and felt their way to the sill. A curly-haired boy in his early teens clambered through the opening and grinned at Eddie. ‘Children!’ said Maysa, shaking her head. ‘One of them found a way on to the roof, and now I can’t keep them off it. They jump over an eight-metre fall on to the next building. Ya lawhy!’
‘Boys will be boys,’ said the Yorkshireman, winking at Maysa’s son as he ran past.
‘Ha! The girls are even worse! How old is your little girl, seven? You will find that out for yourself soon enough.’
He laughed, then checked his phone while his hostess prepared breakfast. The faint hope that Nina might have emailed him was soon extinguished; there were no messages. But before he could put the phone away, it rang: Karim. ‘Yeah?’
‘My friend,’ said Karim theatrically as Maysa turned down the blaring radio, ‘the woman you are looking for? I have found her.’
‘You have?’ replied Eddie. ‘Bloody hell, I knew you were good, but I didn’t know you were that good.’
‘How could you still not know after all this time?’ Karim chuckled. ‘One of my friends at Tangier-Ville port checked her through. He was suspicious – lone women do not often arrive in speedboats in the night – but her papers were in order, so he had to let her in. I called more friends in the taxi companies to find out who picked her up, and where they took her. Then I called the manager of her hotel – another friend of mine, of course—’
‘Of course,’ the Englishman echoed, amused.
‘—and he told me she has arranged a taxi to the airport this evening.’
‘So she’ll still be around during the day?’
‘She has to come back to the hotel to get the taxi, yes.’
Eddie was already formulating a plan. ‘Good. Then let’s get over t
here, because I want to have words with her right now.’
‘Are you sure that is what you want to do?’ The sure was drawn out to an almost comical length.
‘Why wouldn’t it be?’
‘Because I know what happens when you “have words” with people. Like the Algerian, remember? And it would reflect very badly on me if one of my friends killed someone.’
‘I’m not going to kill her,’ Eddie said impatiently. Maysa’s eyes widened. ‘But Ana knows what’s going on, and she’s going to tell me, one way or another.’
‘Then can I suggest something less . . . direct?’
‘Like what?’
‘You said this woman is Brazilian, yes? Then she probably does not have a connection to anyone in Dhajan – it is more likely she has simply been hired to do a job, and now it is over, she has come to Morocco to take her payment before going home.’
‘It’s possible, yeah,’ the Yorkshireman grudgingly agreed.
‘Lovely jubbly. So she is a freelancer – and with freelancers, there is always the possibility of negotiation. I can contact her through my friend at the hotel, tell her I would like to meet her about a job, a job with good pay. He will confirm to her that I am well known in Tangier. If I ask her to meet at a place where we have, as the Americans put it, the home-field advantage, we can put pressure on her to tell the truth – hopefully without violence.’
‘Sounds like you’ve got somewhere in mind.’
‘My restaurant. You remember it?’
‘Up near the Kasbah? Course I do. Best kebabs I’ve ever had.’
‘Thank you! But if I invite her there for lunch, she will still have time to catch her plane later, and hopefully be intrigued enough to come.’
‘And if she isn’t?’
‘We still know where she will be later today.’
Eddie was dubious, but made a sound of agreement. ‘So she turns up at the restaurant. Then what? I can’t exactly interrogate her in front of the lunchtime crowd.’
‘Everyone on the floor where you meet her will be a friend of mine. I know many people who will drop what they are doing for a free meal.’
‘Very generous of you.’
‘Very generous of you, Eddie. I take cash or credit cards!’ Karim laughed. ‘But the witnesses will be on your side if something should happen – which I would prefer it does not.’
‘We’ll see how it goes,’ Eddie told him. ‘You really reckon you can get her to come?’
‘I shall call her now, and will tell you what she says. In the meantime, there is something I would like you to do.’
‘What?’
‘Go to the Medina and buy some new clothes. I do not want to be rude, especially to a guest in my house, but . . . Eddie, you smell bad. You smell of the sea. And the sea between Morocco and Spain is not very clean.’
‘No offence taken, mate!’ said Eddie in mock affrontery. ‘But yeah, that’s probably a smart idea.’
‘I will text you the best places to go. If you tell them I sent you, they will give you a very good price.’
‘Thanks. Okay, you’d better call Ana. Talk to you soon.’
He hung up. Maysa put the plate of eggs in front of him, then turned the radio back to its original volume. ‘I told you he was confident,’ she said, smiling.
‘You did. Thanks.’ He started eating, then paused. ‘Maysa? Do I stink?’
Her expression, trapped between politeness and honesty, told him everything. ‘I would not say so,’ she managed.
‘I would,’ he said, grinning. ‘I’ll take Karim’s advice and buy some new clothes. Right after I’ve had breakfast.’
Twenty minutes later, Eddie left the house and headed for the steep, maze-like streets of the Medina, Tangier’s old market district.
Someone watched him go.
Musad, al-Asim’s scar-cheeked lieutenant, lurked at a corner. He waited for the Englishman to approach an intersection, then started after him, making a phone call. ‘Chase has left the house,’ he reported. ‘I’m following.’
‘We intercepted another of Chase’s phone calls,’ al-Asim told him. ‘His friend claims to have found the Brazilian – he’s going to ask her to meet him at a restaurant he owns. Chase will be waiting there.’
‘Are you going to warn her?’
The reply had a cold edge. ‘She’s a loose end, and so is Chase. If they’re in the same place at the same time, you can deal with them both.’
‘Understood,’ said Musad. He ended the call and followed Eddie through the tangled streets.
Karim was as good as his word. The shops he had recommended to Eddie were all tucked away in obscure corners of the Medina, hard for the typical day-tripping tourist to find without help, and on dropping his friend’s name he had been treated both to first-class service and a hefty haggle-free discount on the prices of his new clothes.
He emerged from the last shop, now clad in his standard uniform of jeans, a dark T-shirt and a black leather jacket. There was a mirror at the entrance; he regarded himself in it. ‘Not bad for an old git,’ he said. He had reluctantly accepted being middle-aged after passing forty-five two years previously, but had no intention of letting himself go to seed.
He retraced his route back uphill through the confined but brightly painted streets. His phone rang. ‘Yeah?’
‘It’s Karim.’ The Moroccan sounded even more enthusiastic than usual. ‘She said yes! She has agreed to meet at my restaurant, at one o’clock.’
Eddie glanced at his watch; just under two hours away. ‘She did? Bloody hell, you really are persuasive.’
‘Did you doubt me? Once she is at her table, you can step out and . . . surprise her.’
‘And you’re going to get some mates to sit around us?’
‘I will make some calls as soon as I get home. I am on my way there now, then I will go to the restaurant. I will meet you there in . . . an hour, we shall say. At noon.’
‘Great. See you soon.’
‘Lovely jubbly.’
Eddie smiled. It would take him twenty minutes to make his way through the maze to Karim’s restaurant. Forty minutes to kill in the Medina – not exactly a hardship. He continued leisurely up the hill.
Behind him, unnoticed, Musad maintained his discreet pursuit. He followed the bald man for a few minutes, then his own phone rang. ‘Musad,’ said al-Asim. ‘I have another update. The woman is going to the restaurant, and Chase is setting a trap. You must be there too.’
‘I’m following him now,’ he replied. ‘Our local contacts can get as much backup as I need.’
‘Get plenty. Chase is former SAS, so he’s dangerous, but the Brazilian isn’t helpless either. And you’ll need to make Chase’s friend cooperate.’
‘I thought we would. I’ve already taken care of that.’
‘Good. Get as many people as you can. I don’t want those two to leave the restaurant alive.’
‘Don’t worry,’ said Musad with conviction. ‘They won’t.’
11
Seville, Spain
Two hours of sleep had not been enough. Despite her best efforts, Nina dozed off not long after leaving Tarifa, waking to find the bus already entering Seville.
The additional slumber had not overcome her tiredness, but she couldn’t let that stop her. She still had to devise a plan of action. The head of the archaeological museum was a man called Emilio Merlo, whom she had met before. It had not led to a firm friendship; she found the Spaniard arrogant yet oddly defensive about his achievements, as if offended that she was considerably better known than him. There was, she suspected, no small amount of sexism behind his attitude.
But he was the person who could best ensure the second marker’s safety. Once she convinced him to increase security, then she could consider how to save herself.
It was a hot day, and also busy – she saw banners proclaiming Holy Week, the Semana Santa de Sevilla. The city’s heart would be packed with people watching the day’s various processions. Lucki
ly, the museum was on the centre’s fringe at the southern end of the large Parque de María Luisa, so she doubted the event would inconvenience her directly once she was on foot.
She still had to endure delays on the roads, though. Seville was a large city, with all the traffic problems that entailed, and the street closures for the processions aggravated them still further. The bus finally stopped almost an hour late. With relief, Nina disembarked, trying to remember Seville’s layout. She was at the Plaza de Armas terminus, on the eastern side of the river bisecting the city. If she walked south along the riverbank, that would eventually take her to the Parque de María Luisa, and hopefully avoid most of the Holy Week crowds.
She considered calling Merlo to let him know to expect her, but decided against it for two reasons. The first was simple enough: she didn’t know his number. There was also a second, more ominous reason not to forewarn him. Merlo would have been told by now about the theft of a valuable item from his museum’s collection – and who had been blamed. If he knew she was coming, he would call the cops. But if she turned up out of the blue, she might be able to talk her way out of trouble.
She hefted her bag and struck out into the blazing sunlight.
The sun was even stronger in Tangier.
Ana Rijo squinted into its glare as she got out of a bright blue Dacia taxi. The straining cab had brought her up the hill overlooking the port to the southern wall of the Kasbah, the old fortress that once contained the palace of Morocco’s last sultan. Her destination stood between steep, narrow streets, a stepped three-storey block of white plaster and elaborately patterned tiles. Like many of Morocco’s buildings, most of the windows were covered by ornate bars, even on the higher floors. A sign above the door announced it as the Restaurant Vue Magnifique.
She went inside. A young waiter immediately approached her. ‘I’m afraid we are full, madam,’ he said in worried apology.
Ana frowned. ‘Mr Taysir asked me to meet him here.’
‘Oh, you are here to see Karim! Okay, I get him. Come, this way.’
She followed him into the ground floor of the restaurant. It was indeed full, men eating at every table. Some looked up as she passed, the glints in their eyes suggesting their thoughts towards her were far from honourable. She ignored them, unfazed.
The Spear of Atlantis (Wilde/Chase 14) Page 13