by Roger Weston
Finally she looked over at him. “Where are we going, Paul?”
He sighed. “Madrid.”
“Why Madrid?”
“We certainly can't stay around here.” He looked in the rear-view mirror. Seeing no cars, he relaxed a little in his seat, pressed firmly on the gas pedal, and watched as the speedometer rose.
“What about Ryan?”
What a question that was. “I don’t know. For now we need to forget about him and worry about ourselves.”
Kelly nodded and started to close her eyes. Suddenly they came open and she looked directly at Paul. “I won’t ever forget about Ryan.”
“I know you won’t. Either will I.” he said.
She sighed and shut her eyes again. Paul looked at her for a few minutes noticing how lovely she really was. She was just a simple girl from Idaho in search of the man she loved. His head dropped in disgust. If only he hadn’t returned to Madagascar a year ago her fiancé would still be alive.
Returning his concentration to the road, something in the mirror caught his attention. A white vehicle with blue stripes was coming up behind them. As it got closer Paul noticed the word, Policia, splashed across the hood. When the cobalt blue lights started flashing, Paul knew they were in trouble.
CHAPTER 3
By now the police car was right behind them, and Paul began to pull off the road. Careful not to make any sudden movements, he slowly looked down. His shirt looked fine, but there were a couple of small blood spots on his pants. He looked at his hands. They were clean. He glanced in the rear-view mirror as he brought the car to a stop.
He started to laugh.
Kelly gave him an unpleasant look. “You think this is funny?”
“Lighten up,” he said.
“I can't believe this,” Kelly said clutching her travel bag. “You just killed a man, and now we’re being pulled over by a cop and you expect me to lighten up?”
“I didn’t kill him.” Paul glared at her. “He killed himself. Now, you need to stay calm. Put the bag down and relax. There's nothing to worry about. I was speeding.”
“Okay, okay,” she said as she exhaled slowly and put the bag on the floorboard.
Paul didn't know if he had really been speeding, but he knew he needed to say something to get Kelly to calm down. He rolled down his window and cocked the mirror so he could examine his own face. What he saw caused his heart to skip a beat.
There was blood on his chin! Why hadn't Kelly said something?
The cop approached the car. He was a heavy guy wearing over-sized polarized sunglasses.“Sua licenca, por favor.”
Paul smiled at him.“Fala Ingles?”
“Your license?” he responded impatiently with a strong accent.
Paul patted himself down and pulled out his wallet. But when he opened it up, he was momentarily disoriented. Something wasn't right. His credit cards were gone, his license gone, everything.
And then a morbid realization washed over him . . . he’d just opened up the dead man's wallet.
Staring at the unfamiliar leather, he opened up the money pocket where earlier he’d found the stack of cash. He pulled out all of the banknotes and handed them to the policeman. He had no idea how the man would react or what he would do. The cop flipped through the bills, grinned, patted the car and said, “Your driver's license, por favor . . . and your passport.”
“Okay,” Paul said, “passport, passport.” He made a big show of feeling around in his pockets. With wallet in hand he reached into his pockets and switched wallets. His fake passport was also in his pocket. He shoved the identification at the cop.
“Get out of the car.”
“Sure,” Paul said, realizing that he should never have given him the money. He gave Kelly a quick smile in an attempt to reassure her, then opened his door.
The cop unsnapped the thong on his holster. “Put your hands on the car.”
Paul complied.
When the cop patted him down, he reached under Paul's shirt and reached into his shoulder holster. “A pistol?” The cop pulled out Paul’s Colt .45 and inspected it closely. “Interesting. Why do you need a gun? Are you running from someone?”
“I’m a prospector in Africa. I need it for protection.”
“We’re not in Africa,” the cop replied abruptly as he turned the gun over in his hands. “Get back in the car and wait.”
Paul did as he said. The man went back to his car and began to type on his dashboard computer.
Kelly flashed her smoky eyes at Paul. “You have a gun?”
“Of course I do. So did Ryan. We wouldn’t have lasted a day in Madagascar without them. I suggest you get one too if you’re planning on going there.”
“It doesn’t look like I’m going anywhere now,” she said as she ran trembling hands through her hair. “What's going to happen to us?”
“We'll find out soon enough.”
“That man attacked us. We didn’t do anything wrong.”
“Except fleeing the scene of a crime and bribing a cop.” Paul looked in the rear-view mirror. “Here he comes. Don’t say anything.”
“Paul, I'm scared.”
Paul reached over and held her hand for a moment. “It’ll be okay. I’ll take full responsibility. They’ll let you go.”
The cop approached the window and leaned down. He was still holding Paul's pistol. “I see you don’t have authorization from the European Commission to carry a handgun.” He paused, creating an uncomfortable silence. He stared at Paul as though he expected him to say something.
Paul said nothing.
The cop gazed at Paul’s Colt .45 with naked affection. “This is a very nice pistol, very nice.” Then his eyes narrowed as his gaze shifted to Paul.
Paul let that sink in for a moment, then responded, “Why don't you keep it, a gift from me to you.”
A grin split the man’s thick lips. “I will,” he said as he gave back Paul's license and passport. “You know Portugal is a beautiful country. We like when our tourists drive slowly and enjoy it.”
Paul nodded. “Obrigado. Thank you.”
The cop turned to walk away, then suddenly gave Paul a sideways glance. “What’s that on your face?”
“Excuse me?” Paul said.
“On your chin?”
Paul grinned. “I cut myself shaving.” But then he remembered that he’d neglected to shave that morning. “My razor was so dull that I wasn't able to finish the job. If I had, I surely would have bled to death.” He laughed.
“I suggest you buy yourself a new razor,” the cop responded shaking his head. “And remember slow down and enjoy your stay in my country, Señor.” He walked back to his patrol car and got in.
Paul put Kelly’s car in gear and got back on the road, chuckling quietly to himself as he did.
Kelly scowled at him. “This is not funny.”
Paul continued to smile. As they came around a corner, he checked the rear-view mirror, then tossed the wallet out the window and into a ditch.
“Why’d you do that?” Kelly asked.
“What?”
“Why did you throw out your wallet?”
“It wasn't mine,” Paul said as he began to laugh. “The man on the beach, it was his.”
Kelly's brown eyes widened. “You mean the money you gave the cop was…?” Her eyes blinked. “You are crazy!”
“I may be.” He stopped laughing. She was probably right. He was crazy, crazy to meet with her. When he’d left Madagascar he swore he’d never go back.
As they drove on in silence, his thoughts returned to his past. He’d been gone from Africa for a year and thought he had successfully left the past behind when Kelly called asking him to take her to Madagascar to find Ryan. At first he had declined. He’d told her that there was no point in going back, that Ryan was dead, but she refused to believe him. She said that she couldn’t accept the fact that Ryan was gone and wouldn’t until she saw his body. Furthermore, she insisted on flying to Portugal to meet with Paul in person
. She said that it was urgent that she talk to him face to face.
She was a very determined woman, and Paul finally agreed to meet with her. When he did, he immediately understood why Ryan had fallen in love with her. She was a lovely woman. She wore little make-up and had a wholesome look and a fresh smile. It was the type of smile that Paul hadn’t seen in a very long time. It reminded him of his childhood growing up in Idaho. Looking back he realized that he’d had a simple, idyllic upbringing. That was until his adventurous spirit got the best of him and led him to sign up with the Peace Corp. The Corp had shipped him to Northern Africa to work with the Berbers, teaching them how to farm…from there the CIA recruited him to feed them intelligence. The agency apparently put a premium on his ability to learn the local language. When his Peace Corp commitment came to an end, the CIA kept Paul on their payroll, and that was when his work as a deep-cover operative began. His assignment was to work as a miner in the sapphire-rich fields of Madagascar. There he was to gather information on possible terrorist activities and sympathizers. To complete the deception, Paul lured his old friend Ryan to partner with him in his hunt for gems.
And now here he was with Kelly who was demanding that he return to Africa to help her find Ryan. He had cut his ties with the CIA a year ago after the incident with Ryan and had told himself that he wouldn’t ever go back to Africa. Now he couldn’t believe he was actually contemplating doing so, but he realized that he hadn’t been able to shake the guilt he felt over what had happened last year. If it wasn’t for him, Ryan would still be alive. He figured he had to help Kelly after what he had done on that terrible day in Madagascar. Not only that, but part of him wanted to believe Kelly was right. Maybe Ryan was still alive. He desperately wanted to believe that that day was just a terrible nightmare, that somehow Ryan had survived the attack.
He glanced at Kelly. “I’m sorry about what happened to Ryan. I don’t know what Ryan told you about me, but I want you to know that he was the best friend I ever had.”
Kelly’s smoky brown eyes fixed on him. “He told me that you used him. He didn’t go into details, but I know he wasn’t happy about it. He said you betrayed his friendship.”
Paul’s shoulders slumped. “I made a lot of mistakes in Africa. I’m sorry.” He looked in the rear-view mirror, wiped the blood from his chin, and then continued, “That’s why I’m here in Portugal. I’ve given up prospecting. It brought out the worst in me. I promised myself that I would never go back.”
Kelly closed her eyes for a moment then locked on Paul’s. “You mean after we find Ryan, right?”
Paul slammed his hand on the steering wheel. “I told you he’s dead. Why can’t you accept that? I’m not going back to Madagascar.”
“He’s alive. I know he is. Please, Paul, help me.” She reached over and squeezed his arm. “I need you,” she said as she began to weep softly.
There was nothing that Paul hated more than to see a woman cry.
He took a deep breath. “Look, the first thing we need to do is turn in this car,” he said gently. “That cop may decide to change his mind about our stay in Portugal.
She nodded as she continued to cry softly.
As he drove on, he thought about what they would do after they returned the rental car. He fished around under the car’s seat, his fingers gliding over the smooth surface of the photo he’d taken off the dead man. He brought it out and looked at it.
It was a picture of the man who had committed suicide on the beach. Next to him was an elderly bearded man standing in front of what looked to Paul like the entrance to a medina. Paul examined the medina closely. Then his eyes shifted to the bearded man. The old man had a long white beard and wore a full-length, flowing, white robe with a pointed hood. Weird white eyes peered out from under the hood.
Paul flipped the photo over. On the back was an address. Under the street number: Tetouan, Morroco. Paul turned to Kelly. “After we turn in the car, we can catch a train to Gibraltar. From Gibraltar we'll take a boat to Tetouan.”
“Morocco?” Kelly stiffened. “Why there?”
Paul didn't respond. His thoughts drifted to Albert Razanamasy, his Malagasy friend from the mining fields of Madagascar. Paul had helped to support Albert’s family after a thug killed him when he refused to give money to finance Abu Bakr’s Holy War. Paul remembered watching Albert’s widow fall to the floor and weep violently after he had brought her the news of her husband’s death. Paul realized that Abu Bakr was the ultimate cause of everything that had happened in Madagascar. The man needed to be stopped, and now Paul knew where to look for him. He told himself that the million-dollar bounty on Abu Bakr’s head had nothing to do with his sudden change of heart to return to Africa.
He handed Kelly the photo. “The man in this picture, he’s in Morocco.”
Kelly looked at Paul as though he truly was crazy. “And you want to go to Morocco to look for this man?”
“Yes. He might be able to help us figure out what happened to Ryan.”
Kelly shook her head in disagreement. “Ryan is in Madagascar. I want to go there to find him.”
“Nobody has seen Ryan in a year. Why do you think the man on the beach attacked us? He knew exactly what he was looking for. He was after the sapphire and you. Someone sent him.” Paul pointed at the man in the picture. “This man can answer those questions, and that’s where I’m going because that’s the only way I can help you.” He grabbed the picture from her hands. “But you know what? You’re right. I think it would be best if you don’t come with me.”
The color drained from her face. She closed her eyes and put her face in her hands for several minutes without saying a word. Then she looked up slowly and ran her fingers through her thick red hair. “Alright. If you think going to Morocco will lead to Ryan, then I’m coming with you.”
CHAPTER 4
Tripoli, Lebanon
The sound of Ishmael’s footsteps, the soft soles of his shoes, hardly reached his own ears as he walked timidly through the domed, vaulted prayer hall of the Great Mosque. Afternoon prayer time was over and the mosque was empty, but Ishmael was tempted to pray anyway. He had never been comfortable with these meetings, and he dropped to his knees and spent several minutes in prayer. Twice he looked up from his prayers. His fallen features surrounded his sad eyes, but despite his anxiety, he tried harder.
“Ishmael.”
Ishmael stood bolt upright on his kneecaps, which rotated uncomfortably on the stone floor. “You startled me.”
Abe al-Bitar almost passed for a real Muslim in the dim light of the great mosque. In fact he was a liberal American Muslim of Jordanian descent and currently an employee of the American embassy in Jordan. Ishmael had met him during his college days when he gave the spook a day-long tour in his taxi.
“You were expecting me, weren’t you,” Abe said.
“Of course.” Ishmael stood up, chewing on his lip. “I’m just a little jumpy. I have something big, and I’m not sure I should even be meeting you.”
Abe raised his thick black eyebrows. “What is it?”
“Actually, I’m not the one. My father told me he’s learned about an attack against America that is going to occur within the next couple of days. He wouldn’t tell me any details, but he said it was big. He was very upset about it.”
Abe looked around, stepped closer to Ishmael. “But he told you, right?”
Ishmael shook his head in feigned frustration. “He wouldn’t. He said he didn’t want to put me in danger.”
“So what do you have for me then?”
“I thought you should know about this.”
Abe sighed. “Can’t you get me more details than this? Certainly you could get your own father to tell you what’s going on.”
“No, he’s convinced that he’d be putting me in danger by telling me.”
“Would he tell me?”
Ishmael acted as though the idea had never occurred to him. “I don’t know. How could I explain to him that I know yo
u?”
Abe hissed and paced across the stone floor a few times. “Look,” he said, “I don’t like doing this at all, but if what you’re saying is true, a lot of people could get hurt or killed, isn’t that right?”
Ishmael nodded. “I’ll try. Meet us here tonight after prayer time when the mosque is empty.”
Abe looked around. “What will you tell him?”
“I’ll think of something.”
Abe looked away for a minute considering the arrangement. “Okay.”
Ishmael nodded. “I’ll see you tonight.”
CHAPTER 5
Portugal
For a long time Paul and Kelly drove in silence. Verdant mountains rolled past with the occasional almond grove breaking up the serene countryside.
Paul glanced over at Kelly. “Everything's gonna be okay,” he said breaking the silence.
She ran a hand through her wavy red hair. “How can you say that?”
Paul’s shoulders slumped.
Kelly took a deep breath then looked at Paul. “My mother always said I should find someone more settled then Ryan, that money wouldn’t change a man like him, that he'd always be an adventurer and a drifter.”
“What about your dad?” Paul said.
Kelly averted her gaze out the passenger window. “My father died when I was young.”
“I'm sorry about that.”
She shrugged.
Paul was quiet for a minute. “Ryan told me you're from Shoshone, Idaho.”
“Yeah, it’s a great place and after we find Ryan, I’m never going to leave it again. Sometimes I wish…” She sniffed and wiped moisture from her eyes. “Ryan used to fly me to Europe and we’d meet and travel around. I wanted to see him so badly that I’d go, but I liked it best when he came home. When he did, we’d go out to his parents' ranch to visit with them and check on his bees.”
Paul laughed. “He once told me that he wanted to keep bees in Madagascar. He said that he was going to use them to protect his mine and that nobody would be able to get past them. I told him he was nuts.”
