by Roger Weston
What was wrong with this guy?
The man's free hand seized Paul's chin and pulled, twisting his neck.
Paul yanked the hand and the gun out of the bubbling liquid and slammed them down against the scalding edge of the pot again and again. A shot roared out and glass shattered. Again Paul slammed the hand down. Finally the gun fumbled into the soup.
But at that moment a second man stormed into the kitchen and came at Paul with a knife. Paul managed to throw the first man to the ground. He grabbed the big vat of boiling soup and heaved all the contents onto the second man. Soaked from his chin down to his knees, the man screamed in agony. He collapsed to the ground and jerked in blistering misery. Paul turned to deal with the first man but he was already gone. In spite of his anguish and severe burns, the downed man clutched his fingers around the handle of the pistol, which had hit him with the soup. He yelled in pain when the weapon's heat melded against his bare hand, but nevertheless, he swung the gun up and two shots thundered as Paul dove out of the kitchen.
Realizing he hadn't been hit, Paul gained his feet and ran for the front door.
The Mercedes was gone from the portico.
Paul left the compound and ran down the street. On the next street over, he got in the car. “Let's go,” he said to Kelly.
Kelly sat at the wheel with her posture erect and fingers tightly gripping the steering wheel. “What happened? Were those gunshots I heard?”
“We need to leave.” Paul said.
“Where to?”
“Just get moving.” Paul yelled. “Now.”
CHAPTER 13
Back at the hotel, Paul couldn't sleep. Kelly was upset about the shooting, and he didn’t want to get her worked up. All he’d told her was that someone shot at him for prowling. He didn’t tell her that he’d come face to face with the world’s most wanted terrorist. As he lay in his dilapidated hotel bed wide awake, he felt as if the room was starting to close in on him. It was making him claustrophobic; he needed to get out. Walking down the hall, he passed the hotel clerk who was sleeping on a cot behind the desk. When Paul returned, the plump-cheeked clerk was awake and hunched beneath a lamp, practicing card tricks at the check-in desk. His bleary eyes peered at Paul, and he stared impatiently as if Paul was interrupting his concentration. His questioning gaze lingered for just a moment on Paul’s robe.
“How long is the drive to Fez?” Paul asked.
The clerk looked at him like he was stupid. “Don't drive there.”
“Why?”
“It's narrow with many twists and turns. It’s also very remote, but lately the road to Fez has been especially dangerous. Twice last week foreigners were run off the cliffs.”
“By who?”
The clerk yawned in a way that made his jowls quiver. “This is common in the Moroccan mountains.” He fingered his deck of cards impatiently and spoke rapidly. “The road is infested with bandits and drug runners. They force cars off the cliff then pick the bodies clean for their money and valuables. It’s the same thing every week. Nobody ever learns. Like I said, don’t go there.”
“If I had to go, how long would it take?”
The man dropped his playing cards, sighing in irritation. “If the bandits don’t get you, it is certain that the police will. They’re almost as bad as the thieves. They may not kill you, but they still rob you.” The man’s cheeks bulged with a grin. “There are checkpoints every twenty miles. You can't avoid them.”
Paul pulled his wallet from his pocket and sifted through the bills.
The clerk lifted his chin to eye the cash, a curious look settling on his fleshy face. “The safest way to Fez is by bus.”
Paul handed a hundred dollar bill to the man and said, “Don’t tell anyone about us. You know nothing.”
The clerk nodded quickly, extending his thick fingers, his bloodshot eyes fixed on the money.
“Of course not. I know nothing.” He grabbed for the money.
Paul held tight to the cash. “If you betray me, I'll come for you. You understand?”
“I am trustworthy,” the clerk said indignantly.
Paul released the money and went back to his room. He tried to get some sleep, but his adrenaline was racing. He stared at the ceiling. The walls of the cell-like room seemed to be closing in on him.
He wiped sweat from his forehead. What was he doing trying to sleep? He was screwing up big time. They had to get out of Tetouan now. Abu Bakr had seen his face. He went and knocked on Kelly’s door. When she opened it, he could tell she hadn’t been sleeping either.
“Kelly, we have to go.”
“Why?” she said.
“I didn’t tell you everything that happened at the house.”
“What?” She looked at him angrily.
“They will be looking for us. We’ve got to go.”
Kelly slipped on her shoes and stood up, clutching her travel bag. She glared at Paul. “I’m ready.”
Paul grabbed his backpack, and they walked down the dim hallway, their footsteps resonating in the dank corridor. The clerk was asleep again. They stepped outside and started walking. A block from the hotel they turned down an unlit side street. After they'd walked half a block, two silver Mercedes sped past on the street where the hotel was. Kelly started to run.
“Wait,” Paul said. He turned and walked back to the corner. He saw the two Mercedes parked in front of the hotel. Several men got out and rushed into the lobby.
Paul ran back to Kelly and tugged on her arm. “Come on.”
They started jogging, turned down the next block and got in their rental car. Paul drove until they were outside of town. He found an access road that led into an orange orchard. Turning off his headlights, he backed the car through the trees. Once out of sight from the road, he turned off the motor and inhaled deeply.
***
Kelly sat frozen with fear. She looked over at Paul who didn’t say a word. Finally she couldn’t stand the silence any longer. “They were coming for us, weren’t they, Paul? Who was it?”
“Abu Bakr’s men.”
“Abu Bakr?” She put trembling hands to her forehead. “The terrorist?”
“Look, everything’s gonna be okay.”
She shot him an icy glare. “Are you crazy? They came after us at our hotel. Now we’re hiding in an orchard and you’re telling me everything is okay!” She clutched her travel bag against her chest. “We’ve got to get out of this town,” she said as her whole body started to shake in fear.
“We’ll go to Fez in the morning.”
“I’m not going to Fez. I’m getting out of the country.”
“That’s just what they’ll expect us to do, Kelly. They’ll be waiting for us at the ferry dock tomorrow. The one thing they won’t expect us to do is go deeper into Morocco.”
“Deeper…?”
“Fez is the only safe route out of here. It’s the only way to find Ryan. Listen to me. Abu Bakr is the key to finding Ryan. He’s the one who’s been preying on the foreign prospectors in Madagascar.”
“Anything could have happened to Ryan. He told me it’s like the Wild West down there. There is no proof that this has anything to do with Abu Bakr.”
“Don’t forget the man who attacked us on the beach. He was a fanatic and I guarantee you he was connected to Abu Bakr. The photo I found in the man’s pocket was taken in Fez. We need to find that man. He will lead us to Abu Bakr. It’s the only way we are going to find out what happened to Ryan. It’s the only way we can save our own lives. These men are after us, Kelly, and they won’t stop until they get what they want.”
Kelly sighed deeply and crouched down in her seat. She realized that she was totally dependent upon Paul. She had to trust that he knew what he was doing. Her very survival depended on it. She was in a foreign country and terrorists were after them. She’d never get away without Paul. She sat up in her seat. “Alright, I’ll go with you to Fez. But that’s it. After Fez I’m leaving and then I’m going to Madagascar wit
h or without you.”
“Okay,” Paul said. “In that case we need to get some sleep. It’s going to be a long trip and we will need to stay alert.”
Kelly nodded at Paul then closed her eyes. She thought of her life back in Idaho. Her mother had pleaded with her not to take this trip, but Kelly believed that she was doing the right thing by trying to find Ryan. Now she wondered if she would’ve been better off just waiting in Idaho for him. No. The more she thought about it, the more she realized that if she didn’t take action, no one would. Even if she was scared, she would continue to search for Ryan. She had to find him.
CHAPTER 14
Abu Bakr sat at a round teak table on the sunny back deck of his 200-foot yacht. Through droopy eyelids he watched his helicopter approach through binoculars. The helicopter was en-route from the Moroccan mainland, which rose on the distant horizon.
“Tell the doctor to hurry up,” he said, lowering the binoculars with his un-bandaged hand.
His stoic bodyguard hurried inside.
The lenses of the binoculars were spotted with sea spray, so he wiped them on his agate-brown silk shirt, but by then the helicopter was visible to the naked eye. He set down the binoculars, stood up and tucked his shirt into linen pants, which was a nuisance with only one hand.
Suddenly, his vision began to go white and he grasped the railing. His sight slowly returned but brought with it a wave of pain that began in his head and tumbled down his spine. Abu Bakr clenched his teeth. He clung to the rail tightly until the worst of the suffering passed.
He gently fingered the cleft on his forehead and thought of the man who would soon die for this wound. Why had Allah abandoned him and willed this cruel punishment on that evil day? But there was no use in asking. The will of Allah was final.
Abu Bakr reached down to his abdomen, above his belt line, and gently pressed his fingers until he felt the implanted disk. Thanks be to Allah for the pain pump. It had changed his life after a six-month period where he’d been ineffective due to fatigue and the side effects of the drugs that were prescribed to him after his horrific injury. The pump was kicking in now and the throbbing dulled. He slipped a little tin box from his pocket and popped two amphetamines into his mouth. He washed them down with a can of Coke, which he finished and set on the table.
The doctor hurried out on deck and apologized for the delay.
Abu Bakr didn’t look at him. “Don’t make me wait.”
The doctor's face twitched, his eyes shifted rapidly. “I'm sorry, it won't happen again.” He set down his medical bag.
The noise from the helicopter increased as it hovered over the yacht.
The water rippled around the stern of the yacht as the helicopter touched down on the circular landing pad. The door slid open. Otto Kroucher and Ali Awad stepped out and hurried over to him. Otto limped slightly and the material of his checkered head-cloth flapped in the rotor’s wind. Abu Bakr stared at them morosely as he gave them a limp hand gesture to come closer.
“Wait here,” he said, as the loud helicopter engines began to die down.
He went inside and washed down a couple more amphetamines with whiskey this time.
He looked into the mirror at the scar on his forehead and pressed his palm against his abdomen. He could feel a slight numbing sensation from the medicine as it oozed out of the catheter tubes in his body. Although feeling the pump under the skin had no affect on its operation, he took comfort in this ritual. He sat down and spent several minutes mentally reviewing plans for his sleeper cell in New York.
After ten minutes had passed, he got the large camel's jawbone off a shelf and went back outside.
Otto's bulging eyes darted around nervously as his bony fingers flipped his checkered head-cloth away from his hollow cheek. When he looked away, the muscles protruded in his long neck. Smooth-faced Ali Awad saw the jawbone in Abu Bakr's hand and boldly looked him in the eye.
Abu Bakr put the relic on the deck table and sat with his back to the sun. “Stand there,” he told the men, pointing across the table to where they'd have the sun in their eyes.
“About the safe house,” Otto said.
“Shut up.” Abu Bakr held out his hand for Doctor Zahedi.
The physician got down on his knees and began removing the bandages.
“Put on your plastic gloves, doctor. I don't want your fingers infecting my burn. What took you so long to get out here anyway?” The doctor's face flushed. He glanced at Otto and Ali Awad, then quickly reached into his bag and got his plastic gloves on, then went back to work on the hand. Abu Bakr waited for the helicopter rotors to stop spinning so he wouldn’t have to talk over the whining noise.
“Otto,” he said. “Ali Awad told me you've been smoking American cigarettes. You know that is forbidden. A man who cannot be trusted in the little things cannot be trusted in the bigger things.”
Otto narrowed the lids of his bulging eyes and shot a wicked glance at Ali Awad, the muscles in his long neck tensing. “It won't happen again.”
Ali Awad squinted against the glare of the sun in his eyes, but continued to look Abu Bakr in the eye, his smooth expression revealing pride and self-confidence.
“Good,” Abu Bakr said, “and from now on, you wear the shoes I gave you.”
Otto nodded. “I'm sorry, but they did not fit.”
“Take them off.”
“What?”
“Take your shoes off and throw them overboard.”
As Otto followed the order, Doctor Zahedi stripped away the last of the bandages from Abu Bakr's hand.
Ali Awad glared at the blisters dripping with pus and tried to hide his obvious disgust.
Doctor Zahedi began applying cream to the burns, which covered the hand up to the wrist. Abu Bakr could feel little pain or discomfort now that the morphine had kicked in.
Ali Awad swallowed hard, his smooth face showing a hint of discomfort before he looked away.
“Ali Awad, what else can you tell me about Otto?”
Ali Awad shook his head, but held Abu Bakr’s gaze.
“Did he tell you about his sister?”
Ali Awad shook his head.
Abu Bakr laughed. “I wouldn't guess so.”
Doctor Zahedi finished applying the cream and began stripping off his plastic gloves.
Abu Bakr held his hand up to Ali Awad. “Does the sight of blood bother you?”
“No,” Ali Awad said with a smirk. “Nothing bothers me.”
“I hope not. After all, the revolution requires little more than the spilling of blood.”
Doctor Zahedi pulled on new gloves and started wrapping the hand in a fresh bandage.
After Otto tossed his shoes overboard, he limped back to stand in front of his leader.
Abu Bakr glared at him. “I hope that sister of yours that whore of the Gaza strip doesn't ask you to visit her again. I can't afford sending you off and I won’t.”
Otto nodded, and his head fell shamefully.
“Are you having a hard time adjusting to the outside?” Abu Bakr said. “Maybe you need to spend a few more months in jail.”
Otto's head rose abruptly. Fear and dread swarmed in his eyes. “Please, no. No! I want to serve you. Nothing matters but Allah and the revolution.”
Abu Bakr touched the big camel's jawbone with his free hand. “That's what I like about you, Otto. Don’t let your revolutionary purity get polluted. Ali Awad might not like what he sees.”
Otto nodded quickly.
“It's hard to believe you could be so worthless.” Abu Bakr looked over at the doctor as if he too were implicated. Doctor Zahedi finished wrapping the hand and stood.
“You may leave, Zahedi. We no longer have need of your lingering presence.”
“Yes, I'm sorry, yes.” The doctor's face twitched as he hurried inside.
Abu Bakr glared at Otto. “I trusted you two to set up the safe house in Tetouan.” He looked at his bandaged hand. “It was not safe.” He noticed Otto’s fingers were shak
ing. He picked up the big bone and stood. “One of you has betrayed me to the Mossad.”
With bulging eyes, body stiff with fear, Otto glared at Abu Bakr. His fingers stretched out like fans and they shook. Ali Awad showed no signs of stress. His confident gaze followed Abu Bakr’s every move.
Abu Bakr gestured with his bandaged hand to the helicopter pilot, who got out of his bird with an Uzi submachine gun at his side.
“What do you know about the American assassin, Eric Smith?” Abu Bakr said.
Otto cleared his throat. “He’s credited with killing several leaders and bomb makers in other organizations. Nobody knows his true identity. Is that who attacked you in the safe house?”
“He checked into the hotel under a different identity,” Abu Bakr said, “but I’ve learned that Smith has a contract on me. The boldness of the attack fits his pattern. I think he’s working with the Jews.”
Otto nodded. “As you’ve said, there’s no difference between an American and a Jew. But it’s the Americans with a price on your head.”
He glared at Otto. “And the Jews who’d do the hit for free.” He paused. “What more do you know about Eric Smith?”
Otto shook his head first, then Ali Awad.
Abu Bakr dragged his fingers across the cleft in his forehead. Slowly he began walking a tight circle around the table and the men. “What else can you tell me about Otto?”
“Nothing,” Ali said. “I’ve told you the bad, and there is no good.”
“Otto, confess the truth to me right now or prepare to die.”
“I have not betrayed you in any way.”
“The Mossad ordered you to marry my niece, didn't they?”
“No, it is not true.” Otto's eyes locked onto the big teeth on the camel jaw in Abu Bakr's hand.
“This is my favorite weapon,” Abu Bakr said. “It is symbolic of the first blood shed in the name of Islam, when Mohammad's cousin wounded one of an angry mob attacking the first Muslims at prayer in Mecca.”