We hit the road after ten minutes, just south of Douira, where the river valley suddenly lays a rich, fertile area of palm-tree plantations over the dry, yellow sand of the Sahara. We drove for another twenty minutes through dusty, dilapidated settlements, set among palms and cypresses, following the river until we came to an old fortress, half-buried in the sand, and a bridge that crossed the river to Aufous. Here the woodland became pretty dense. So I crossed the bridge and pulled off the road, in among the trees.
Maria was staring at the palms outside the window like she wasn’t seeing them. She said, “We’re in Morocco.”
I climbed out then went around and opened the door for her. I helped her down.
She said, “Now what?”
I said, “Now we get you some decent clothes, check in to a hotel, have a shower, a meal and a sleep.”
She studied my face a moment. “You dare to fall asleep with me around? I might cut your throat, or call Banks or del Roble.” There was an edge of bitterness in her voice.
I half smiled. “I’ll have to take my chances. Let’s go.”
And we turned and walked out of the palm grove and into Aufous, toward the Hotel Maison Vallee Du Ziz—and who knew what.
Chapter Twenty-Two
I told the receptionist we had been robbed. He smiled sympathetically while his eyes thought about something else then asked if we had credit cards. I told him we had managed to hang on to those and we wanted a suite for a week. He engaged his eyes, smiled and inquired whether we wanted him to call the cops. I said no, we’d deal with it ourselves. He made that weird ‘as you wish’ gesture French speakers make with their head and handed over a key.
“Room three-twenty, on zee top floor. Anysing you need, monsieur, just let me know.”
I told him I wanted a bottle of Irish whiskey and two hundred Camel cigarettes. He rang a bell and we left.
The view was like a view of a Martian landscape, with a few palm trees thrown in just to confuse you. There was no air con. I opened the rickety, slatted terrace doors and a small breeze wafted in, didn’t like what it found then left again. The air was hot and dusty and seemed to be paralyzed by the molten light that leaned down out of the near-white sky.
There was an en-suite bathroom that might have seemed new in the nineteenth century, but I didn’t think so. The pipes groaned and rattled like The Canterville Ghost, but after a while, hot and cold water came out of the faucets and it looked mainly transparent. I propelled Maria in and told her to get a shower.
While she was undressing, there was a knock at the door. A young kid with a mustache and over-sized ears handed me a bottle of Jameson and two hundred cigarettes. I gave him a handful of change and he seemed happy and left. I peeled a pack of Camels and poured myself a generous measure of Irish. Then I sat on the edge of the bed, sipped and inhaled gratefully while I watched Maria in the shower, glistening wet with thick suds running down her skin.
She probably had the most perfect body I had ever seen, but right now as I observed, it couldn’t have been less sexy. All I could think was that buried inside that beautiful head might be a transmitter feeding information to del Roble and Banks—because I’d bet they hadn’t been killed, either by Joanna or in the raid. And what else might they have programmed into the chip? It would fit del Roble’s twisted mind perfectly to program Maria, the object of my love, to be my executioner—for me to rescue her and for her to carry the irresistible impulse to kill me.
She came out, toweling herself. She looked a little more alert.
I said, “Hungry?”
She shook her head.
I said, “Get some sleep. You need the rest. We’ll be moving on soon.”
“Is that another lie?”
“Maybe. I’ll play it straight with you when we get that chip out of your head. Now, get some rest.”
I locked the door and took the key into the bathroom with me. I stripped and stood under the hot water, letting it wash away the sweat and the dust and ease the aches from my muscles. I kept an eye on Maria from the shower while she slept. She didn’t move. After I’d dried off, I sat and watched her sleep some more while I had a second whiskey and tried to think.
My killing Joanna had been a game changer for them. They had expected me to take Maria and Joanna back with me. What for, exactly, I couldn’t be sure. I had an idea, but it wasn’t a cert. But now, with Joanna dead, what would they do? The way I read it, del Roble had two aims. First, to implant Maria with a chip and put her and her handler, Dr. Loss—later Joanna—on me. For what reason, I could only guess. And second, to punish and humiliate me.
Now the plan was blown, and I had Maria. No plant, no punishment. And, to cap it all, I’d killed another one of their precious Seraphs. He was going to be mad as a bull at a communist rally. By the time I’d finished my whiskey, I had no doubt they were coming after me. Maria knew where we were now, so I had to assume they did, too. I couldn’t be sure but I had to assume it. Sooner or later, they’d show.
I dressed, stepped out and relocked the door. I took the elevator down to reception and told the guy with the French accent, “I want to rent a car. Can I rent it through the hotel?”
“Of course, monsieur. For when do you want it?”
“Soon as you can get it. This afternoon?”
“Pas de problème.”
He gave me some papers to sign and, while I was doing that, I asked him, “As a matter of curiosity, is there anywhere else in town that does car rental? Hertz, Avis?”
He looked at me curiously for a second then said, “In ze town, there is an ‘Ertz, but we can arrange everysing here.”
I nodded. “Sure.”
We concluded our business and I stepped out into the heat and the dust and started walking into town. As I walked, I pulled out my cell and called Russell. He answered almost immediately.
“Where are you?”
“I need you to do something. Get Hook to Google Hertz Aufous, Morocco. Reserve a car for me. Something with a bit of grunt. I want it today, as early as possible. As soon as you’ve booked it, let me know at what time it’ll be available. I’ll collect it from the office. Tell him he needs to make the booking as dark as he can. Untraceable. You understand me?”
“Of course, I understand you.”
“Good. It’s great to hear your voice.”
He was about as stiff upper lipped as the Brits can get, but he knew what I meant. He was silent for a moment, then said, “Be careful,” and hung up.
The town wasn’t big, and I soon found the Hertz office on a street corner with a handful of cars on a parking lot. There were a couple of big French saloons and a Merc sports model. I don’t like German cars, but I guessed out of what was available, the Merc would suit me best.
I headed back to the hotel.
I checked on Maria. She was still asleep. I locked her in again and headed back downstairs. The receptionist from last night had gone off duty, so I told the girl who’d relieved him to let me know if my wife called down from room three-twenty, then I went into the dining room and had a lamb tajin and two ice-cold beers. Russell’s message came through as I was sitting over coffee. The earliest the car would be available was four-thirty that afternoon. I swore under my breath. That was too late. It was cutting it too fine. If Maria was in touch with them through some bio-chip, that would give them plenty of time to reroute and get to us here. But there was damn all I could do about it. I just had to play the hand I had been dealt.
I finished my coffee and returned to the reception desk.
“I ordered a hire car this morning. Can you tell me when it will be available?”
She tapped something out on her computer and told me it would be available from three in the afternoon.
I smiled my most charming smile and asked her, “How long would it take to drive to Rabat from here?”
She batted her long eyelashes at me. She was kind of cute if you weren’t expecting intellectual stimulation. She cocked her head to one s
ide and said, “Maybe sree hours?” Like she was asking me.
I held her gaze a little too long then asked, “Is it worth a visit?”
“Oh, many monuments and much ’istory.”
“How about interesting things that are not historic?”
She leaned her elbows on the counter and held my stare right back. “Many interesting sings in Rabat. What kind of sings you are looking for?”
I gave a small laugh. “You know what? My wife is into history, old things. Me? I’m more interested in young things, interesting experiences. You know what I mean?”
She gave a cute laugh to go with her cute eyes. “’Istory can be very boring.”
I pulled out a Camel and lit it. Through the smoke, I said, “You got that right, sister.”
She watched me a minute, still smiling, “You can’t smoke in here, Mr. Murdoch.”
“Call me Liam.”
“You can’t smoke in here, Liam.”
“I have to take my wife to see a bunch of old stuff in Rabat this afternoon. But tomorrow she’s going to visit friends in Casablanca for a few days. How about I take you to Rabat and you show me all the interesting stuff? You could be my guide. What do you say?”
She gave me the once-over before she answered. “I say you are a very bad man, Liam. My name is Yasmine. I’m free the day after tomorrow. Can you wait zat long?”
“I’m sure it will be worth it. I’ll have a couple of cold showers in the meantime. I’ll be down at three to collect the car.”
I went back up and found Maria in the shower again. When she stepped out, I threw her a towel and said, “Get dressed. We’re going out for lunch.”
She dried herself and put on her clothes in silence.
As we were leaving the room, I said, “We’re going to Rabat.”
She looked at me like I was crazy as we waited for the elevator. When she stepped in, she said, “We’re going to lunch in Rabat? How far is it?”
I punched the button and the door closed. I said, “No, I told the receptionist we’re going for lunch. But we’re going to Rabat. I hired a car. I told her we’re touring the area. You’re into history. We’re going out for lunch, have a drive around and back for dinner. But actually, we’re going to Rabat.”
We stared at each other till the elevator stopped, competing for blank expressionlessness.
As she stepped out, I said, “I’m trusting you. Okay?”
She paused then and looked up into my face. I was serious, like I really meant it.
She nodded and said, “Thank you, Liam. I won’t let you down.”
I stood close over her. As the elevator doors closed behind us, I smiled and pecked her on the lips. “I know.”
I caught Yasmine’s eye as we went out and winked at her. She smiled back like she was a real bad girl. I felt a twinge of regret that I would never find out just how bad.
I linked Maria’s arm in mine and we walked through the sweltering glare of midday heat like we were a couple of totally besotted lovers who were fascinated by Moroccan history and loved nothing more than baking in desert sand for their holidays. I led her to a teashop I’d seen on my previous walk. It was dark inside, with a warren of rooms leading off a large, central patio where a fountain played endless wet music into the heat of the afternoon. The owner and his wife were a little too solicitous and courteous, but as long as they remembered us, I could live with that.
I had a light second lunch of skewered lamb and sweet mint tea, but Maria was famished by now and had a chicken tajin with enough couscous to bury Casablanca. When the owner came over to clear away our plates, I asked him if he had a map. He said he didn’t, but where did I want to go. I noticed Maria go stiff and I smiled at her and put my hand on her knee.
I said, “Chill. No one knows we came here.” To him, I said in my worst schoolboy French, “Nous voulons aller à Rabat.” We wanted to go to Rabat.
He explained at length the best way to get there. Maria was real tense and I noticed that he noticed. When the guy had cleaned the plates away, I checked my watch. It was three.
I turned to Maria, “Try to relax, will you? I’ll order you another mint tea. Wait for me here. I’m going to get the car.”
She didn’t answer but I felt her eyes on me all the way out.
I collected the car from the hotel, gave Yasmine a very handsome tip and told her I was looking forward to our trip the day after tomorrow. She seemed to be happy. I climbed in the car and drove a couple of minutes down the road, following the river upstream. The afternoon was at its hottest. The whole world seemed to be composed of glaring heat, yellow sand, panting dogs and flies that were too hot and tired to fly. They just sat there waiting to be swatted. There were no people in this world of heat. So there was no one to see me turn off into the palm grove and lose the car in the thickets on the river bank.
It was a slow, hot walk back and I’m pretty sure I lost about ten pounds just through sweat. I made it to Hertz. A generous surcharge ensured I got the Merc. Before driving back to the tea shop to collect Maria, I drove down to the river and parked a couple of hundred yards from the Maison Vallee Du Ziz. I smoked three cigarettes and nothing happened. No black Audis turned up. No Golika-Rinpoche. No del Roble. No Banks. So, I drove back to the tea house by way of a supermarket where I bought a rucksack and filled it with provisions for the journey ahead.
She was still at the table. She watched me come in and pay the bill at the bar without reacting.
Then I walked over to her and said, “Okay, let’s go.”
We headed out on the Madkhal Meski road, following the river upstream. I drove fast, not because I wanted to escape anymore, but because suddenly I was sick of the game and wanted to get back to my own turf. Maria seemed more alert now but kept her eyes on the desert, like she was waiting for me to say something or do something.
After a while, I spoke. I said, “Are they coming after us?”
She stared at me a while, chewing her lip. She said, “Yes. He has to punish you and eliminate me. But more, he knows you have evidence. The photographs, the films…”
How did he know that? He could only have gotten that through Joanna.
I thought for a minute, then shrugged. “They prove nothing. Who’d believe they were real? Even without Photoshop, any special effects man could make up those sets—even more believable ones…” I glanced at her. “What would I do with them? Take them to the cops? The MOD? The Pentagon? Would I post them online? Upload them to some conspiracy theory website? He knows as well as I do that I’d join the ranks of celebrated nuts like David Ike and Steven Greer before you could say ‘gray alien.’ And that would be a more effective way of silencing me than killing me ever would.”
She shook her head. “Then why did you take them in the first place?”
I nodded. “That’s the question, isn’t it? That’s the million-dollar question.”
She turned away. “What do you mean?”
I barked a laugh. That had been the game all along. “Come on, Maria! I know, you know and they know that those pictures and videos are useless on their own.” I glanced at her again. She was still staring out of the window. “Unless I have somebody to look at them, who will believe them? And the million-dollar question is, who? Who did I take the pictures for? How did I find this damned place, anyway? How did I track the container? Who sent me?”
She was real quiet, staring at the scorched desert.
I went on, “You were both plants, designed to gain my trust and get on the inside, find out who was behind me, who their enemy in the shadows was, who screwed up Çalares’s operation. That’s what Joanna hoped to find out. That’s what you’re here to find out. And when you do, that’s when you’ll kill me.”
We drove in silence through the sweltering heat for maybe fifteen or twenty minutes.
Finally, I said, “That’s the billion-dollar question for them. The billion-dollar question for me is, is that bio chip in your head just a program or does it also act a
s some kind of radio transceiver? Do they hear everything I say to you? Have we been left alone because they don’t know where we are? Or have they just been holding back, giving you time to draw information out of me?”
She didn’t answer for a long while, but eventually she said, “The honest answer—the only answer—to all your questions, is that I simply don’t know.” She turned to face me. “I don’t know.”
I thought about the elaborate set-up I’d left behind me. If they turned up at the hotel, the receptionist would tell them we had gone to Rabat. They’d find we’d hired and collected a car for that purpose. If they dug deeper, they’d find another layer—that I had misled the receptionist into believing we were coming back. A simple misdirection. While they wondered whether I was coming back or not, they forget to wonder whether I actually went to Rabat.
But no one had turned up at the hotel by the time we’d left. There had been no black Audis. No search party. Was that because Joanna was the transmitter and I was the smartest son of a bitch in the valley, or because they had me hooked, and they were playing me? Whatever the reason, it was about to become irrelevant, because the whole game was about to change.
I figured we had about four hundred miles to go. On good roads, the Merc could get us there in less than four hours. But about two-thirds of the way was winding mountain roads—winding Moroccan mountain roads. It was going to take us eight hours to get back to Ceuta—at least. I could keep her guessing about our destination for about half the way. But as soon as we hit the Rabat turn-off at Meknes, she would know. She would know we were headed for Ceuta again.
I glanced at my watch. It was coming up to five. That put us at Meknes at about ten and Ceuta about one or two in the morning. If they were coming after us, that’s where they’d do it.
But something was telling me they weren’t—and they wouldn’t. They were after a bigger prize than me.
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