by Nicky Webber
In the center of the town, the majestic Mekenness Palace rose up to the clear blue sky. To the east was Rabat, a harbor city positioned along the Atlantic coast and the capital city of Morocco. The trio had already ridden the camels for nearly an hour on the trek towards the Royal Mekeness Palace.
The magnificent pale rammed earth and clay ramparts of the imperial palace, home to an ancient Sultan centuries ago, stood on the desert floor, growing more significant as the camels drove closer towards the busy town. Their guide helped them climb from the desert beasts and onto the ground near the railway station outside the city. Local cabs, covered in orange desert dust, were waiting to drive them to the Palace.
Ali, the Moroccan tour guide, was a handsome middle-aged man who spent several days showing them historical sites and happily talked about the wonders and unique history of the area. He drove the tourists for the last few miles across town and entered Mekeness through the double archways connected to the tall solid earth, clay colored, fortified walls. The magnificent Palace walls, dating back to the 12th Century, soared towards the skyline to meet them.
The hand-painted and intricately sculptured entryway was an ornate arch covered in tiny mosaics. It surrounded two tall timber double doors supported by heavy black metal rivets with a substantial bolt mechanism. Two elegant date palms flanked the white-washed entry portico and led through a triple-height doorway into the expansive courtyard surrounded by exotic trees. Some of the architecture resembled ancient Roman ruins and Fred made a mental note to ask Ali on the way back to the hotel about the impact of Roman culture on the locals all those centuries ago.
Maddy could feel the history of the place as she looked around at the breath-taking detail throughout the interior of the plastered palace walls. A multitude of heavily decorated Arabic arches supported by massive columns gave way to earlier Roman structures. Many columns, restored to their former glory, seemed to go on forever, dominating one side of the exterior Palace walls.
The informative guide pointed out various interesting aspects with amusing details, explaining the historical significance of the buildings. Logan thought Ali made a vast difference to their experience of the place. Ali told the Americans about ancient legends and inter-tribal warfare, describing the symbolism and significance of various artifacts. He spoke good English too, bringing the history alive for the tourists.
It was amazing what a difference a few weeks can make, marveled Maddy, now back at their modern hotel on Rue Abderrahmann, in Ghafiki, a central suburb of Rabat. Its ancient Arabic inspired, white plastered frontage was adorned with tall palms and trimmed hedges. The wide-open lattice arches of the surrounding verandas added to the tourist’s collective excitement about being in Morocco. They learned that the exotic Arabic country of the famous Kasbah and Casablanca was a fusion of French Colonial and Arabic heritage.
‘It’s been a hot day,’ said Fred.
‘Really, my dear, I don’t give a damn,’ Logan said over their first drink in the beautifully appointed bar area beyond the main tiled foyer.
‘Neither do I,’ laughed Maddy, sipping from her tall glass of freshly squeezed orange juice. ’You know quote is from the old movie Gone with the Wind and not Casablanca?’
‘‘Really?’ Logan frowned, pausing for a moment. ‘Bogart and Bergman, of course. Here’s looking at you, kid.’ He smiled broadly, raising his eyebrows and his glass at Maddy.
Fred grinned. ‘Enough of this arbitrary talk. Let’s get out, walk along the beachfront and get our bearings.’
The Americans strolled towards the coast, agreeing that a short walk before dinner would ease their aching limbs. The ancient ramparts and monuments along the short distance towards the beachfront created an interesting discussion about the history of the area as they made their way to the nearby Hotel Lutec overlooking the Bou Regreg River estuary with an impressive rooftop terrace.
They sat at a small round table, gazing out over the view where moored boats gently rocked in a marina while the harbor buzzed with activity. They enjoyed a lovely tagine of aromatic spiced rice and slow-cooked chicken with fresh vegetables and local wine. The long day and camel rides had taken their toll, and after a gentle stroll back to the hotel, the men passed out into a deep sleep.
CHAPTER 36
Not Just a Nightmare
When Maddy finally finished reading the twenty-fifth chapter of her new paperback, she placed a strip of torn tissue to bookmark her position and closed it before making a mental note to read again while lounging swimming pool tomorrow. Within seconds, she fell into a fitful sleep.
At first, she heard her own footsteps hitting the damp forest floor, almost slipping on the dead leaves as she raced towards something. What? Her breathing quickened with a growing sense of dread pervading her dream. Fear crept closer. She turned to glance over her shoulder. Tendrils of her wet, dark hair obscured her view of the narrow dirt track guarded by tall pine trees, densely packed like a wall of predicted threats foretold.
Their trunks allowed thin shafts of sunlight to streak across the dead vegetation at her feet. She stopped, breathing hard, pushing her hair back from her face. She glanced from side to side and up into the forest’s canopy. Small fragments of ominous gray sky threatened a storm as the tops of the trees swayed. The noise, like ocean waves, grew louder. Maddy squinted at the distant horizon, dark with menacing shadows from low shrubs fringing the valley.
She swung around again and began running faster, but her hiking boots had disappeared, and now her naked feet slammed into sharp twigs and stones. Somehow, she made it to the river’s edge. Racing down the hill, brushing past low branches and perilous shadows, she made it to the roiling river’s edge. Her filthy feet were bleeding and aching, too scared to put her feet into the dark water. Leaning forward, she could see the rim of the shoreline fell away sharply into deep, murky water. A shock jolted her as stumbled backwards, retreating from the dangerous rocky edge. With growing alarm, she estimated the beach fell away for at least thirty feet to the pebble beach below.
Unexpectedly, the beach shrank, falling forward into the water, rolling her with it. She screamed and scuttled towards wild tussock grasses growing along the perimeter of the forest. She tripped and fell to her knees, scrambling away from the ever-expanding water’s edge. Petrified she would drown within seconds, Maddy reached out and grabbed the wild tussock, pulling herself up towards solid ground. It seemed to take forever, time-compressed, drawing out each second into what felt like hours as every frantic breath became harder and harder to suck into her lungs. Gasping, Maddy gradually crawled back into the forest and stood up. Looking from the beach to the woods, she found herself wedged between two impossible scenarios.
An old, decaying log lay strewn on the forest floor nearby. While concentrating on slowing her breathing, Maddy drove herself towards calmness. As she slumped onto the fallen tree trunk, her eyes fell on a strange-looking shape, a dark rectangle, partly obscured by weeds and grasses, at the base of an ancient Redwood. She rose, curiously drawn to the shadowy form, but had to fight for each step, as if walking through glue. Again, distorted time felt as if it took her thirty minutes to cover the four-yard distance.
She squatted down and moved the low vegetation out of the way. It was the same intricately carved teak box where her mother had stored all her private letters and papers under lock and key. She grabbed it, and as she pulled it towards her chest, the lid opened, and a massive monster’s ugly sweating head sprung out at her face and roared.
She screamed, waking up with a violent start. Had she shouted in her mind, or was it real? She lay in the hotel, and Fred lay snoring in the double-bed beside her. Maddy rolled over and inhaled the calm Moroccan air. She felt safe and relieved that it was only a nightmare. A life-threatening dream, she thought to herself, relieved and grateful to be away from the relentless torment and fear.
In the early morning light, she wondered what the dream meant? Am I still stressed and worried about something? What w
as it? She grinned to herself in the darkness. The only change she had noticed in recent months was Fred’s attitude. She couldn’t work out why he had so dramatically improved. Never rude or short with her and often smiling, and more relaxed. Some months ago, he existed permanently in his cave. Angry and disengaged was his default position. Interesting. What was going on?
Later that morning Ali collected the visitors and took drove them in an SUV through the desert to the ancient settlement of Maroc Vu du Ciel, with its orchards, palm trees and impressive buildings shimmering in the heat. Tall archways and curved entries punctuated the historic buildings with their decorated and sculptured facades. The plastered terracotta surface interspersed with exotic minarets, towers, and spires extended up into the vast clear blue skies as the rolling terrain dipped down into a river gorge, exposing a valley with an impressive swimming area in Du Draa. A glimpse of the massive purple snow-capped Atlas Mountains, still faintly visible in the distance, encircled the vast desert region. There were enormous canyons carved out over centuries of rushing mountain water lining the valley and gave the tourists’ a breath-taking series of panoramic views.
Ali drove the Americans to Marrakesh the following day and booked them into the popular Medina area where renovated heritage homes are open for tourists to rent while on holiday.
‘This will really give you the local experience,’ Ali said. ‘You won’t ever want to go home!’
‘I want to take you home with me too,’ laughed Logan. ‘We need someone like you at my work. You could take our clients around LA and keep everyone happy.’
Ali smiled, inwardly laughing at the thought of living close to Hollywood and being surrounded by American madness. ‘I’m not sure a middle-aged Muslim would fit into the American dream,’ he pointed out, grinning.
Fred shrugged. ‘Yeah, not worth the risk, Ali. Stick to your place in the sun, right here.’
The next morning Ali guided the tourists to the local Souq, a massive open-air market with everything imaginable on sale across an ocean of stalls in the large town square. The vibrant colors and the smells of the food, the perfume of exotic spices, along with a cacophony or remarkable music from different quarters of the Souq competed with the tourists dedicated bartering as everyone haggled with over beautiful handmade leather items and woven rugs, silks, and brass.
‘Everyone wants to get a good deal,’ Ali explained.
‘But how do you know what price they want?’ Maddy asked, intrigued wanting to barter for a bolt of woven silk she had seen when they first walked through the Souq. There were hundreds of stalls bursting out of surrounding old buildings, displaying goods of all kinds.
‘First,’ explained Ali to his American guests. ‘You ask the stall owner what he wants. If he doesn’t tell you, then you think of a price you would pay, and you halve it and start bartering with that number.’
‘Really?’ Logan said, aghast at the boldness and daring of trying this approach. ‘Will this work?’
Ali smiled and nodded. ‘Of course, Ali will never put you wrong.’ He looked at the three stunned American faces. Ali waved his right hand at them. ‘Go on, and if you’re not happy, you come to get me. I will wait here.’
The three exchanged a knowing look, a silent facial expression, confirming they would compare who got the best buy and who haggled like a pro to achieve it. Ever competitive, the men were already taunting one another about the looser of the day, paying for drinks that night back to their Medina hotel.
As they were about to swing around and leap into the busy crowd, Ali raised his arm. ‘Hey,’ he called. ‘Remember your face.’
‘Our face?’ Maddy asked, confused.
‘Always keep in poker,’ Ali explained in his Moroccan accent.
The three tourists smiled.
‘Poker face, hey, Ali?’ asked Maddy.
Ali chuckled and gave all three of them the thumbs up. ‘You got one hour.’ He glanced down at his wristwatch. ‘Meet you back here.’ He pointed at his shoes.
They quickly disappeared in three different directions, determined to get the bargain of a lifetime.
The paved square was eyebrow-deep, with stalls crammed side by side, some covered with white canopies sheltering the large tables from the sun. Every flat surface, heavily laden with all kinds of goods to entice the tourists and locals alike. There were beautiful hand-woven rugs, brass and stone ornaments, and sculptures, hand-carved wooden boxes with brass and bone inlay, fabrics of all kinds, displays of fresh food, fruit, and vegetables. Juice stands with crushed ice and colorful fruit juices, water, apple tea, and rich dark real coffee. It was overwhelming, and it enthralled the Americans. Beautiful silver and gold jewelry, with semi-precious gemstones and leather shoes to suit any taste and in any desired style and color, were readily available.
Ali watched the trio disappear into the heaving throng and ordered an ice-tea, while he sat and waited at an outdoor café nearby. He held a keen interest in seeing which one of them got the best deal, knowing it was often the person least likely to barter, who presented as the winner.
CHAPTER 37
Sniffing Around
The strident sounds of ringing phones, men talking, alongside the low murmur of the air-con weren’t enough to interrupt Bruno hunched over his computer keyboard. His workstation sat opposite a small window in a drab police station. Each of the eight desks in the cluttered room were positioned close enough for everyone to read his screen. Bruno, deeply uneasy, never undertook any private work on his computer.
Focussed on his potential promotion Bruno maintained a strict business attitude. He hated other staff walking past, glaring at his screen, but he had learned after a few months to ignore it. Occasionally he caught the eye of a fellow officer striding past, gawking at his work, taking more than a cursory interest.
‘Hey. Why not pull up a seat and check for mistakes?’ Bruno said, irritated, and pushed himself back in his seat, staring directly at the nosey team member.
‘Sorry, Bud,’ the officer smiled awkwardly. ‘I err… it’s a bad habit.’
‘Sure is. Make sure the others know it’s rude and I don’t appreciate it.’
The inexperienced officer swallowed, his face blank as he stepped away.
Nearly every day Bruno had to suppress his anger at working with so many nosy teammates. Maybe they didn’t trust him and were surreptitiously checking on him. Twice, when he checked his laptop’s search history, there were files and other online sites accessed and noted with date stamps and times when not actually in the office. This ramped up his anxiety, disturbed by who used his computer in his absence and why. He considered complaining to his Sargent but knew even senior police offices may be the perpetrator. He needed to catch them in the act without raising suspicion. It irked him, but he had done nothing wrong. What did they hope to gain?
He swung back to his screen and focused on the open spreadsheet. His Sargent had discussed a potential fraud at a couple of financial institutions in the city. ‘Get your feet wet,’ his boss had said after running through a complex array of instructions. ‘Anyway, I’ll give you a few days and if you see any anomalies in the data, come and talk to me. It’s likely we’ll need forensic finance specialists on the job. They think it’s insider activity so cannot use their internal team. I need to know the potential…,’ he held Bruno’s eyes in his gaze and inhaled. ‘You know, the size of the fraud, if any.’
They pulled Bruno into a meeting with his boss and several other senior police staff to discuss the unscrupulous activity with the Managing Director and his associate from the investment bank. Bruno watched them both closely and knew they were cagey about explaining the situation. None of the experts in the room could understand how they committed the violation. Both bankers, trussed up in dark suits, seemed unclear about what they meant too. At first, Bruno assumed there were elements of banker’s standard paranoia. But his initial review of the data looked suspicious. While hard to explain why or how it happened, the fear amo
ng the bankers about the full extent of the fraud, worried them all. He explained to the men around the table that he needed more than a few days to drill into the screeds of information handed to him.
As the others worked through the systems and security risks inside the bank, Bruno’s mind drifted to the numbers. Follow the dollars, played through his mind. Feeling confident, Bruno knew he was close to understanding the criminal activity. He had already spent the previous evening crawling through mountains of data and marking up the inconsistencies, but no recognizable pattern emerged. A critical piece of the puzzle seemed within reach. With ongoing and excruciating investigation, the answers would eventually show themselves. To add further stress and pressure Bruno’s Sargent requested a report around the findings and his recommendations by the end of the week.
‘On my desk, officer, before noon Friday,’ his middle-aged boss with a gut that looked like the full gestation of triplets. Oddly, the rest of his body remained slim. His stick legs and thin arms were almost feminine, an image exacerbated by his small hands and delicate fingers. His deep, gruff voice contradicted his urban maternal appearance as he remained uncomfortably wedged in an office chair during the meeting. When the Sargent peered across the table Bruno noticed the reduced size of his boss’s head, a little chubby face perched above his enormous stomach, pressed against the edge of the oak timber table, his shirt-buttons straining against the girth of his nnon-existent waistline.
Friday’s deadline loomed and with precious little time to finish his report, Bruno attended a meeting at the bank. An independent forensic team from their head office in New York found a series of random adjustments in the figures, with small accumulative amounts disappearing from their secure system. After reviewing a few months of transactions, the bank’s senior forensic analyst discovered close to $237,000 which had simply evaporated.
