by Allan Topol
“I’d like to do something first.”
“What’s that?”
“I’ve never been in your country before. I’ve always heard Marrakech is spectacular. I’d like to take a couple days of vacation there. Tour the area with Elizabeth.”
“It is an amazing place. Let me know what I can do to enhance your visit. You should have VIP treatment. I’ll put a car and driver at your disposal. A guide, too.”
I’ll bet you would. Make it easier to keep track of us.
“Thanks, but we’ll play the regular tourists. I always get a much better feel for a place that way.”
“As you wish.”
At the airport in Rabat, Craig led Elizabeth to an outside fountain. Pretending to admire Moorish stonework with a background of cascading water, he told her what he wanted to do. “Stop in Marrakech, then secretly go to Musa’s camp. I have to get evidence that this is his base.”
She whistled. “Wow. That’s a tall order. Going up there without a military escort will be dicey. If either Farez or Musa finds out…”
He clutched her arm. “Listen, Elizabeth, if you don’t want to go with me, I’ll …”
She pulled away. “You gave me the same crap back in Washington. You don’t have to worry. I’m plenty tough. I not only grew up in a rough neighborhood of Brooklyn, but I had four older brothers. As an investigative reporter, I faced plenty of danger. I was one of the embedded reporters to go with our troops into Iraq. And also into Afghanistan.”
“OK. OK.”
Her face was flushed. “I’m not finished. I know how to fire a gun. Growing up, I was one of the boys. Went huntin’ and fishin’ with my dad and brothers. Bagged my first deer when I was twelve. I even killed a Taliban thug in Afghanistan who attacked me. So don’t give me any more of that male chauvinism. I find it annoying.”
“I care for you. I only meant…”
“Do it again, and I’ll whack you with a baseball bat.”
That was the Elizabeth he loved.
27
MARRAKECH
At Marrakech airport, Craig rented a black BMW with a good GPS. Elizabeth had told him where they should stay: Ksar Char-Bagh, a small luxury inn, formerly a Moorish palace, ten kilometers from the city. Before going to the inn, Craig drove to the old city. From the moment they left the airport, they were followed by a gray SUV. Craig made no effort to lose the tail.
It was late afternoon when they reached the market area. Merchants had reopened their shops. Under a blazing sun, they milled around the narrow streets crowded with shoppers and tourists.
As Craig expected, the two security men from the SUV, both very dark-skinned, one tall, the other short, were following, hanging back, but in dogged pursuit.
While Craig waited in front, Elizabeth went into a shop. The security men took positions ten yards away. Neither going inside. Not too swift, Craig thought. They should’ve split. These guys were not experienced and hadn’t been well trained.
Ten minutes later, Elizabeth returned carrying a shopping bag. “Got it all,” she whispered to him.
They returned to the car and drove to the inn with the gray SUV following. The sun was setting over the desert in a gorgeous red sky.
As a bellman rushed to take their bags, Craig watched the cars. A valet told Craig, “Your keys will be in the box.” He took their BMW to a parking lot in the back. Meantime, the gray SUV parked in the front driveway next to a row of date palms, the only exit from the property.
Craig now understood the setup. One of the two would keep an eye on him and Elizabeth in the inn. The other would remain in the car parked in front. He’d be able to follow quickly if Craig tried to drive away. Not a bad plan, in theory.
Craig immediately searched the room. No bugs.
Before they went to dinner, Elizabeth stuffed the items she’d bought in Marrakech—the video camera, binoculars, maps, two flashlights, duct tape, and rope—into her bag. In case the room was searched, Elizabeth was taking her bag to dinner. Craig slipped his Swiss army knife into his pocket.
When they exited the room, Craig saw the tall security man sitting on a chair at one end of the corridor. The dining room was the other way. He immediately followed them. So far, he had nothing to report, Craig decided. They’d done what any tourist would do. First visit the old city. As they passed the reception desk, Craig picked up his car keys.
Craig and Elizabeth followed the maître d’ to a table in the back. The security man sat inside the half-empty dining room. He ate while they ate. Then left the dining room immediately after they did.
“Let’s get a little air,” Craig said to Elizabeth, loudly enough for the security man to hear. He wanted to confirm the layout.
With his arm around Elizabeth’s waist, they stepped into the cool evening air. The gray SUV was still in front. They walked around to the back. Craig looked at the swimming pool with a grove of date palms on one side. The tall man was still following. Craig had seen enough. Back in the room, Craig checked again for bugs. Nothing. It was eleven-thirty. With their clothes on, they slept until three a.m.
Craig stuffed the tape and rope into his jacket pocket, along with one of the flashlights. He gave Elizabeth the knife and watched her load into a duffel six bottles of water and all the nuts, dates, figs, and candy from the mini bar.
“Meet you in front of the inn in fifteen minutes,” Craig said.
Craig ignored the tall security man at the end of the corridor and ran out of the back door toward the swimming pool. As he expected, the man was right behind. Craig passed the pool and headed into the thick trees. Anyone would think he was going to meet someone.
The ground was soft and covered with leaves. Craig made no effort to keep still as he trampled deeper into the trees. A branch scratched his arm. He snapped it off.
Craig had the advantage of a flashlight. He used it effectively to draw the man deep into the grove, then circle behind him. Swiftly Craig turned around and smacked the flashlight against the man’s head, knocking him out. Craig searched the man and found a pistol, which he took. Then he taped his mouth and tied his arms and legs.
One down and one to go.
Keys in hand, Craig ran toward his BMW.
Clutching her duffel and handbag, Elizabeth quickly walked out of the front of the inn and looked around. The sky was full of clouds, providing the cover of darkness.
Nobody in sight. Perfect.
She raced into the line of date palms alongside the security men’s SUV. Then she crouched low, moving close to the ground, until she was next to the SUV, with the trees providing cover. Now for the hard part. Knocking the driver out quietly, before he had a chance to call for help.
Elizabeth sprang to her feet and looked into the front side window of the SUV. Son of a bitch. The guy was asleep behind the wheel. Every once in a while you catch a break.
With the open knife in one hand and the flashlight in the other, Elizabeth flattened on the ground and crawled under the gray SUV. She turned on the flashlight and looked around until she spotted the fuel line. She reached up with the knife and cut through the rubber hose. Then ducked to get away from dripping fuel.
She scrambled out from under the vehicle, brushed off the dirt, and calmly walked toward the front of the inn, duffel and bag in hand. Seconds after she reached it, Craig was roaring around the corner. He stopped and she jumped into the car. As they passed the gray SUV, the engine started. Craig was looking through the rearview mirror. “He’s coming after us,” Craig said, sounding alarmed. “Didn’t you take care of him?”
Elizabeth wasn’t concerned. “With a severed fuel line, he’ll make it a mile at most.”
“Way to go. You’re great.”
“But I just thought of a weakness in your plan.”
“What’s that?”
“Won’t he call for help?”
“At this hour, it’ll be a while. By then we’ll ditch this car.”
“You’re planning to walk to Musa’s camp?”
“Actually, I prefer a police or military car.”
An hour later, they passed a small Army outpost that was dark, with half a dozen jeeps parked in front. Craig hotwired one with a hard top and told Elizabeth to follow him in the BMW. The road was deserted. Half a mile later, he directed her to drive the BMW into a grove of fig trees. She scrambled out with the GPS in hand and joined him in the jeep.
They were now rising in the mountains. Directly ahead, Craig saw the first rays of sunrise. She was studying maps with a flashlight and fiddling with the GPS.
“What do you figure for our ETA at Musa’s base?” he said.
“Hard to tell how good these roads are. Let’s say noon. More or less.”
28
ATLAS MOUNTAINS
Musa was in the middle of his usual five-mile morning run on mountain trails when the cell phone hooked to his belt rang. It was Prime Minister Farez.
Musa continued running with the phone up to his ear.
“You may have a couple of uninvited visitors this afternoon,” Farez said.
“Who?”
“Craig Page and Elizabeth Crowder. He’s the Director of the EU’s…”
“I know who they are.”
“He met with me yesterday in Rabat.”
Musa stopped running and sat on a rock. “What did he tell you?”
“He knows you’re responsible for the Spanish train bombing. He also has satellite photos showing your base. He wanted me to shut it down and turn you over to him for prosecution in Spain.”
Musa tapped his foot on the ground nervously. He couldn’t believe Craig had found him. He’d underestimated the man. “What did you tell him?”
“That the photos were a fabrication. That I know there is no base in the area. But he didn’t believe me. Gave me some phony story about going to Marrakech for a couple of days vacation. I knew he was planning to come up to your base. I had people follow him from the moment he left my office.”
Musa was confused. “Then why are they coming here? Can’t you hold them in Marrakech?”
“That was the plan, but we had a mechanical problem with our following car.”
Musa bristled. Farez was such a fool. Musa had done plenty of research on Craig Page and Elizabeth Crowder. He knew these people never quit.
He had to conceal his anger. After all, his operation depended upon Farez’s acquiescence. His payments to Farez had been substantial, but very secret, having been deposited into the Prime Minister’s Swiss bank account. And while Musa’s forces had grown strong, they were still no match for the Moroccan military, which had an air force. Unlike Musa.
“Page and Crowder are in a black BMW,” Farez continued. “We’re trying to locate them with helicopters as well as military vehicles. If we find them, we’ll detain them. I’ll personally put them on a plane to Paris. However, it’s conceivable they may elude us. So I wanted you to know.”
“I appreciate that. As you well know, the roads are dangerous. The ride difficult, even for someone who knows the area. There are plenty of cliffs and gorges. Wild animals. Fierce mountain natives. Many people have disappeared driving in these mountains.”
There was a long pause. Finally, Farez said, “We Moroccans treat our guests with hospitality. Besides, Page is a high-ranking official of the EU. If anything happens to him, the EU could unleash severe repercussions. The King would not appreciate that. Nor would I. That means it would not be good for you. Am I making myself clear?”
Well, Farez is a fool, Musa thought, but not a complete fool.
“You don’t have to worry,” Musa said. “My ancestors are Berbers. We, too, know how to treat our guests.”
And I know what I will do to Craig Page and Elizabeth Crowder, if I get my hands on them.
“I’m quite serious,” Farez said. “You better not harm them. You must return them to Marrakech. I will make sure they are sent back to Paris.”
29
ATLAS MOUNTAINS
Craig was gripping the steering wheel hard. The mountain air was cold, but his palms moist. He couldn’t ever remember driving narrow roads so treacherous, with hairpin turns and steep cliffs above mountain gorges. Snow-capped peaks towered above. He had to be careful to avoid patches of ice.
Twice they nearly crashed down the mountain as the road gave way because of rock slides or falling snow and ice. Once a mountain goat stood in the center of the road, refusing to budge, even with Craig blasting the horn. Elizabeth got out the car and chased it down the mountain. Craig sensed the brakes were damn near shot. And he never knew what was ahead of the next bend. At least there were very few other vehicles on the road.
Next to him, Elizabeth continually moved her eyes from the map to the GPS and back to the map again. She was an incredible navigator, constantly finding back roads.
“Great scenery,” he said.
“Keep your eyes on the road.”
Suddenly, he heard a helicopter overhead. Oh oh.
“Don’t lean out and look up,” he told her. “Must be the Moroccan Air Force. I don’t want them to see you.”
“You think they’ll fire rockets at us?”
“Possibly, if they found the BMW and believe we took the jeep. But that’s a risky call. They can’t see in the jeep. They must have lots of other Army vehicles on the road. They don’t want to hit one of their own.”
“There’s a rock formation ahead. You want to stop and take cover?”
He shook his head. “That’ll give us away. Then we’ll have the whole Moroccan military after us. We have to keep going. You OK with that?”
“Your call. You’ve done a lot more of this stuff.”
The chopper was circling overhead. Craig reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out the gun he took from the agent he tied up at the inn. He was straining his ears to hear through the open window. If they came close or he heard anything that made him think they would be firing, he was ready to fire back.
He held his breath.
Elizabeth grabbed his thigh and dug her fingers into his flesh through the cloth.
The helicopter pulled up. Moved away.
“Well done,” she said. “I figured the odds were long of our escaping the chopper. Maybe I’ll take you to a casino.”
“It’s not over yet. They may not have wanted to risk killing us with rockets. Now that they know our location, they may cut us off on a road ahead.”
She groaned. “Thanks a lot. Just when I was feeling better.”
“How long to Musa’s base?”
“I figure another hour.”
“Tighten your seatbelt. I intend to pick up the pace.”
“On these roads?” she asked with alarm.
And he did. After forty-five minutes of white-knuckle riding, Elizabeth guided Craig up a steep, dirt, mountain road. “This should give us a vantage point high above Musa’s base.”
“Perfect. Exactly what we need.”
He pulled over to the side of the road and parked. They took large gulps of water before getting out of the jeep. Craig had the binoculars in his hand, Elizabeth the video camera.
They moved up to the edge of a precipice, then stretched out on the rocky earth. Elbows on the ground. Craig raised the binoculars to his eyes.
“Holy shit.” Satellite photos were one thing. Being this close was far more dramatic. They were looking down at a full-scale military base. Stone barracks to house several thousand. Armored cars, tanks, mobile grenade launchers. A landing strip with relatively fresh concrete and piles of snow along the sides. Next to the strip, he saw wooden crates being unloaded.
He increased the magnification on the binoculars to the max and focused on the men’s faces. One of them looked familiar. Omar!
He recognized the man’s face from his picture. Here was absolute proof that this was Musa’s base for the Spanish Revenge. He told Elizabeth to capture Omar on her video.
He kept looking around. Many were Arabs or Berbers, but others were Chinese!
&nb
sp; He turned his head to the left, to a firing range. Berbers were practicing with automatic weapons.
Behind each shooter was a Chinese instructor.
He knew the Chinese government had supported rebel groups in a number of African countries, but never Morocco. What the hell was going on? Were the Chinese supporting Musa to take over the Moroccan government? Or perhaps Algeria on the other side of the mountains? Either way, Beijing would gain a foothold in Northwest Africa, a dagger close to the heart of Western Europe.
He glanced at Elizabeth who was filming. “You getting all this?” he asked.
“Unbelievable. I assume you saw the Chinese. I’m filming a group working with Berbers to unload rocket launchers. That’ll make good viewing.”
“I’d sure like to know how Musa hooked up with the Chinese.”
Craig focused on a large stone building, which he guessed was Musa’s house and headquarters. He zeroed in on the front landing. Two men were standing and talking. He immediately recognized one of them as Musa from his picture.
“Quick.” He said to Elizabeth pointing. “I see Musa. Get him on film.”
She aimed the camera. “Got him. Just before he walked into the building. Now let’s get the hell out of here.”
Craig wasn’t ready to leave. “I want to capture Musa. Drive into Algeria and find a way to take him back to Spain so he can stand trial.”
“That’s the craziest idea I’ve ever heard. And since I’ve known you, I’ve heard lots of wild ideas.”
“Most of which succeeded.”
“No, really, Craig. This one is absurd.”
“I appreciate your candid assessment. But I had a similar situation in Yemen, and I was able to abduct an Al Qaeda leader from his compound. Let me tell you how it’ll work.”
“I’m a captive audience.”
“OK, smart ass. We now know where Musa hangs out.” He pointed to the large stone building. “We wait until evening, which is what I did in Yemen. Then, under the cover of darkness, I sneak down the hill and into the base while you remain up here.”