“I should have given it to you a long time ago. I just happened to think about it tonight.”
“Exactly.”
* * * *
All the activity in the lobby of La Mamounia didn’t go unnoticed by the hotel’s guests, including those who were leaving the hotel to enjoy an evening out on the town, as well as those who were spending the evening at Le Marocain with Nikki and me.
A few minutes after glancing down at my watch and noting it was seven-thirty, Nikki and I overhead two British couples seated at the table next to us discussing a rumor Princess Lalla Salma of the Moroccan Royal Family would be attending the opening day ceremonies at the Arab Summit.
The two ladies sounded certain she would be staying at La Mamounia, and the older one insisted that’s why the hotel had stationed extra security at the entrance. She appeared almost giddy at the thought of getting a glimpse of the royal personage.
I wondered how the two ladies would react when Prime Minister Madi showed up, but I didn’t stick around to find out, because a few seconds later, I saw a group of photographers and news people gathering around the entrance, so I decided it was time for me to become a press photographer.
After strapping my camera around my neck, I squeezed Nikki’s hand and said, “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
“I’m counting on that.”
* * * *
As I walked across the lobby, I suddenly noticed the photographers standing around the lobby were all dressed in short-sleeved shirts and jeans, whereas I had on slacks and a sports jacket as required by the management of the Le Marocain restaurant.
Although I briefly considered taking off the coat, I decided to leave it on after I saw most of the on-air news reporters had on jackets of some sort.
I also left it on because I realized having it on made it harder to tell I wasn’t wearing any press credentials around my neck.
No one seemed to be paying the least bit of attention to me when I crowded into a space near the front of the line of reporters and aimed my camera at the half dozen serious-looking Iraqis who had suddenly burst through the massive double doors at the front of La Mamounia.
There was no doubt in my mind these men were part of Prime Minister Madi’s security detail, and I shot dozens of frames of each of them, focusing on their facial features so our Agency analysts could easily identify them.
Once the men had entered the lobby, they fanned out in a kind of semi-circle and began scrutinizing the faces of the media and also the hotel guests who were drifting over to the entryway to see what the fuss was all about.
Then, Prime Minister Abdul Madi entered the hotel.
At that point, a few of the Royal Moroccan soldiers stepped in and prevented the hotel guests from getting too close to the Prime Minister. It was hard to tell if he even noticed the actions of the soldiers. All he seemed to be concerned about were the microphones and cameras being pointed in his direction as he was being greeted by Omar Zahra, the Mayor of Marrakesh.
After Prime Minister Madi shook his hand, the Mayor gave a short speech welcoming him to Marrakesh and La Mamounia Hotel.
While the Prime Minister was responding to the Mayor’s speech, I turned my camera in the direction of the remaining members of Madi’s security detail, the half dozen men who hadn’t entered the lobby with the rest of Madi’s bodyguards but had remained on the portico just outside the front entrance. Their task was to provide a perimeter defense, shielding Prime Minister Madi from any outside threats.
As I took the pictures, everyone else had their attention focused on what the Prime Minister was saying, so I tried not to be too obvious about aiming my camera in the opposite direction.
Once I’d finished taking close-ups of the men, I turned and aimed my camera at Prime Minister Madi and the Mayor once again.
That’s when my cell phone vibrated.
It was a text from Nikki. “Incoming at your two o’clock.”
* * * *
I slipped my phone back in my pocket and glanced over my right shoulder. Sure enough, a couple of Moroccan soldiers were headed straight for me.
I ignored them and pointed my camera at Prime Minister Madi, but I also began backing up, readjusting my position as if I weren’t happy with my camera angle.
Seconds later, I felt someone grab my shoulder.
When I turned around, I came face to face with a soldier in the Royal Moroccan Army. The first thing I noticed was that he had very yellow teeth.
The second thing I noticed was that his partner had come up on the other side of me, and the two of them were escorting me away from the other journalists.
They weren’t very polite about it, but they weren’t very rough on me either, although I did feel the strap holding the Nikon around my neck tighten up at one point when Yellow Teeth jerked on it.
It seemed apparent they didn’t want to cause a scene because Yellow Teeth, who seemed to be in charge, said nothing more than “Come with us” in heavily accented English as they were dragging me away from the crowd.
Once they’d taken me over to a secluded area of the lobby, they released their grip on me, and at that point, Yellow Teeth pointed at my chest and said, “Where’s your press pass?”
I held my hands up to demonstrate my absolute surrender and said, “I’m so sorry. I forgot and left my credentials in my hotel room at the Royal Mansour. If you don’t mind waiting, I can get them for you.”
Yellow Teeth looked at me in a way that gave new meaning to the word sneer. “Sure, we’ll just wait here while you go get your press pass.”
He nodded at his partner. “He’s under arrest. Take care of him.”
Suddenly, when the soldier grabbed my arm, a man appeared from around the corner. He shouted, “Hey, Donovan, I’ve been looking for you. Is there a problem?”
The two soldiers looked startled at Keever Pike’s sudden appearance. Pike, on the other hand, didn’t show any reaction when he saw the way Yellow Teeth had my arm twisted behind my back.
“No, there’s no problem,” I said. “Like the idiot I am, I forgot and left my press credentials back at the hotel. I was just trying to explain that to these guys.”
Pike stepped forward, pulled his lanyard away from his neck, and waved it in front of the soldiers.
“His press badge looks exactly like mine. Donovan and I are here covering the Arab Summit for the same media outlet. Frankly, I’m surprised you didn’t recognize him. He’s Donovan Bartlett, one of the world’s most famous photojournalists.”
Pike was good; no doubt about it.
Yellow Teeth made a show of studying Pike’s credentials in detail, and then he nodded at his partner who reluctantly let go of my arm.
“It doesn’t matter who you are,” Yellow Teeth said, pointing his dirty finger in my face, “if you forget your press pass again, you’ll find yourself under arrest.”
I straightened the collar of my jacket and adjusted the camera strap around my neck. “Believe me. I’ll make sure I have it with me from now on.”
Pike and I watched the soldiers walk off before either one of us said anything. Once they were gone, he slapped me on the back and said, “How’ve you been, Donovan?”
“Well, one thing’s for sure, I haven’t been Donovan for almost a year, but thanks for the save, Keever.”
“No problem. Let’s go grab a bite to eat, and you can tell me what that was all about.”
I pulled out my cell phone and sent Nikki a text. “I’m fine. Meet me by the Majorelle Mural in five minutes.”
“I don’t mind telling you what that was all about, Keever, but first, let’s go meet my wife.”
Chapter 9
At first, Pike didn’t believe me when I told him I’d just gotten married. Then, after I pointed out I was wearing a wedding ring, he just assumed I’d married Katherine Broward, the Agency analyst.
Katherine and I hadn’t dated for several years, so I had no idea what made him assume I’d married her, and it took me several
minutes to convince him he was wrong.
When Pike made up his mind about something, he was reluctant to change it, even though someone presented him with the facts. In my way of thinking, this personality trait didn’t seem consistent with being a good journalist, but in Pike’s case, it didn’t seem to be a problem.
I’d actually seen this work in Pike’s favor as a covert operative.
When he was faced with a situation where the facts seemed to indicate the objective of the mission couldn’t possibly be achieved, he resisted that reality and found a way around it.
“Where are we headed?” Pike asked, as he followed me down a corridor on the second floor of La Mamounia.
“There’s a ballroom up here that has a famous Moroccan mural on one of the walls in the entrance hall. I told Nikki to meet me there.”
“Why?”
“Because there’s a separate set of stairs at the back of the ballroom that leads out to the alley behind the hotel. I checked out all the exits when we first got here in case I might need it.”
“Of course, you did.”
“I doubt if we’ll have to make a quick exit out of the hotel, but after what just happened, I’m not taking any chances.”
“I wasn’t aware the Agency would let a husband and wife team be assigned to the same operation,” Pike said, as we turned a corner and entered a different hallway.
“Nikki isn’t Agency,” I said, opening a decorative wooden door that led into the ballroom, “and I’m not here in Marrakesh conducting an operation. I’m on my honeymoon.”
“I’ll say this; your situation just gets more interesting by the minute.”
* * * *
The second floor ballroom of the hotel was part of the original La Mamounia, the palace of Prince Al Mamoun from the 18th century, but the mural that took up one of the walls of the foyer outside the ballroom was a recent addition and was painted by the French Moroccan painter, Jacques Majorelle.
Guests at the hotel were encouraged to spend time studying the intricate details of the mural, which depicted scenes from a Moroccan village, and when Pike and I entered the foyer, several guests were taking pictures or sitting around on benches opposite the mural and discussing the colorful panorama.
I spotted Nikki immediately. She was perched on a bench all by herself at the far end of the entrance hall, but she didn’t look to be the least bit interested in the Majorelle Mural.
When Pike and I walked up, she gave me a weak smile, but she didn’t say a word until I said, “Everything’s okay. I ran into a friend of mine.”
“How . . . nice.”
“I’d like you to meet Keever Pike. He’s one of the journalists covering the Arab Summit. Keever, this is my wife, Nikki.”
Pike extended his hand toward her and said, “Nikki, it’s a pleasure meeting you. Titus is one lucky man.”
Nikki seemed to relax a little when she heard Pike use my real name. “Oh, I’m the lucky one.”
As these pleasantries were going on, I glanced over toward the door we’d just entered. A hotel security guard had followed us inside and was standing in the doorway. He appeared to be focused in on the three of us.
Pointing to the door on the opposite side of the room, I looked over at Nikki and said, “Keever has invited us to have dinner with him on his tab. Shall we take him up on that offer?”
“Sounds good to me.”
Pike, who’d also seen the guard, said, “We can fight over the tab later, but I’m of the opinion we should get out of here. There’s a wonderful Mediterranean restaurant just down the street that shouldn’t be too crowded at this time of evening.”
As we slipped out the side door, I glanced back at the guard. He’d taken a seat on one of the benches and wasn’t paying any attention to us now.
When the three of us were inside the elevator on our way down to the lobby, I said, “I think we’re in the clear. The guard was just taking a break, and I imagine the army guys have all left the hotel by this time.”
“Is that what happened?” Nikki asked me. “Did you have a run-in with one of them?”
“I promise I’ll tell you what happened the minute we get to the restaurant.”
Keever said, “I’ll give you the synopsis right now. Yours truly came in and saved the day.”
* * * *
I breathed a sigh of relief when our elevator arrived on the ground floor, and there was no sign of Prime Minister Madi’s entourage or any members of the Royal Moroccan Army in the lobby.
Even so, as we made our way down the street to the Mediterranean restaurant, I tried to make sure we weren’t being followed.
However, Pike didn’t seem to be paying attention to possible surveillance. He appeared to be much more interested in telling Nikki about the Ben Youssef Madrasa we could see in the distance.
Nevertheless, I didn’t see anyone on the street taking any notice of us, and we arrived at the restaurant without incident.
The Mediterranean restaurant Pike had suggested turned out to be the Dar Zellji restaurant, a highly recommended romantic spot for honeymooners. Although the restaurant appeared full, I took the maître d’ aside and had a word with him—a word that involved a wad of cash—and we were seated at a corner table within a few minutes of our arrival.
As soon as the waiter took our drink orders, I gave Nikki a brief description of my encounter with the two Moroccan soldiers and how Keever had arrived and rescued me. When I finished, I expected her to point out she’d mentioned the need for me to have a press badge on my person before I left her sitting at Le Marocain.
But, she didn’t do that.
Instead, she turned to Keever and thanked him for helping me.
He brushed off her gratitude with a shake of his head. “Oh, believe me, I was just returning a favor. This guy’s done the same for me a number of times.”
Although I could only remember one instance when I’d saved Pike’s hide, I didn’t contradict him. It wouldn’t have done much good anyway because Pike immediately started entertaining us with several amusing anecdotes, and he didn’t stop until our food arrived.
While Pike loved spinning a good yarn, he also loved to eat, and I took advantage of the brief lull in his storytelling and quizzed him about what he was doing in Marrakesh.
“You were on the press bus, so I have to assume you’re here covering the Arab Summit in some journalistic capacity, but are you also here in another capacity?”
“Yeah, I have an assignment at the Summit.”
“An observation assignment or something more specific?”
“Nothing specific; I’m just supposed to observe and report. I can’t really say why I decided to cover Prime Minister Madi’s arrival, other than my instincts told me he might be the big story at the Summit.”
He gestured at my camera, which I still had strapped around my neck. “Were you just taking pictures for the fun of it or was there a method to your madness?”
“I was doing Douglas a favor. He expressed an interest in Madi’s bodyguards, so I promised to take some photographs for him. Believe it or not, Nikki and I’d planned to honeymoon at La Mamounia long before the Arab Summit was even scheduled to be here.”
“Oh, I believe you,” he said, gesturing at me with his fork. “Coincidences happen all the time.”
* * * *
After our desserts arrived, Pike turned his attention to Nikki, and by the time we’d finished eating our riz bi haleeb—a sweet concoction similar to rice pudding—I felt sure he’d asked her enough questions to write an in-depth article about her.
Although she seemed amused by his probing questions, when the waiter brought the check to our table, I could tell she’d had enough, and I quickly offered to pay the bill just so we could leave the restaurant and send Pike on his way.
Pike wouldn’t hear of me paying the check. “No, let this be my treat. Consider it my wedding present to you.”
When we walked outside the restaurant, we decided to take a taxi ba
ck to the hotel. Although Pike didn’t say so, I figured once the driver had dropped us at La Mamounia, he’d have the driver drop him off at the Royal Mansour.
But when we arrived at La Mamounia, Pike got out of the taxi, paid the driver, and walked into the hotel with us. Then he promptly invited us to join him at the coffee bar for a cup of nous nous.
At this point, Nikki took control of the situation and pointed toward the elevator. “You guys can stay down here and talk if you want, but I’m headed up to our room. It was nice meeting you, Keever. Maybe we’ll see you again while we’re here.”
After Pike said something equally pleasant, I walked Nikki over to the elevator. Before she got inside, I leaned over and gave her a kiss, whispering in her ear, “I promise I’ll be up in a few minutes.”
“Keever obviously wants to talk to you alone,” she whispered back.
“You’re a woman of discernment, Detective. It’s no wonder I married you.”
* * * *
Pike was already seated at a small round table at the back of the coffee bar when I arrived, and the moment I sat down, a waiter came over with two cups of nous nous.
“I went ahead and ordered for us,” he said. “That way we won’t be disturbed.”
“Now that we won’t be disturbed, what’s on your mind?”
He pointed at my camera. “Let’s have a look at those pictures you took.”
“Why?”
“Because I believe I know why Douglas wanted you to photograph Madi’s bodyguards.”
“So do I. Our analysts needed to update their databases.”
He chuckled. “We both know that’s not the reason.”
“Enlighten me. What’s the reason?”
“I’m thinking Douglas received intel about an unidentified member of Madi’s security detail who might be a threat to his personal safety, and he needs those photographs so someone can identify him.”
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