by Gabriel Hunt
Gabriel pulled Lucy toward the section where the crowd was thickest, a wall of people facing one direction, watching something. Lucy speared right through them, slipping between a pair of men holding their cameras up to their eyes. Gabriel followed. He stumbled into an open area, in the center of which a performer was busy—
Charming snakes.
The man, wearing an open vest over his skinny frame and a turban on his head, held several serpents in his arms. At his feet several more were coiled—a couple of cobras, a viper, an asp. He sang to the reptiles in a high-pitched voice that Gabriel thought would be enough to make him take a bite out of the guy if he were a snake, but the snakes appeared to be entranced by it.
Lucy had plunged into the circle at top speed and it took her a few steps to come to a halt. She caught herself up, arms windmilling to keep her from falling forward. There was a cobra at her feet. It twisted to face her and hissed. She reflexively stepped sideways, bumping into the covered basket by the charmer’s side. The man jumped up, shouting, reaching for it, but not in time. The lid toppled off and the basket went over, spilling its contents.
Suddenly there were two dozen snakes on the ground, spreading in every direction. The crowd shrank back with a collective intake of breath. Two people screamed and several bolted for safety, though most stayed frozen in place. A few were snapping photos as quickly as they could.
Lucy, meanwhile, had snakes on every side of her—she couldn’t take a step without coming within striking distance of at least one.
“Don’t move,” Gabriel said. He came closer, watching the snakes carefully. He’d have thought the charmer would have milked their venom before putting them in the basket—but betting on that could be a deadly proposition.
The big cobra was still the one closest to Lucy. Gabriel circled around till he was beside it, then aimed a careful kick at its raised head with the toe of his boot. It went flying. The crowd scurried out of its way, and it landed hissing.
Gabriel took hold of another snake—an asp—behind its head just as it darted toward Lucy’s leg. He flung it aside. “Here,” he called, reaching out an arm. Lucy leaped toward him and he snatched her off her feet, carrying her over the snakes between them. One reared up and snapped at her heels, but its jaws closed on air. Lucy clasped her arms around her brother’s neck and Gabriel ran, not putting her down till they were a safe distance away.
“Are you okay? Can you walk?”
Her eyes were wide with fear, but she nodded. Gabriel let her go and they took off. They carefully skirted the edge of another circle of tourists. This one appeared to be watching nothing more venomous than a troupe of acrobats—but you never knew what else might be going on in the center of the circle, and one encounter with the local wildlife was enough for any morning.
Gabriel tried to keep an eye out for the Alliance men, but it was impossible in this chaos. Occasionally he’d glimpse a familiar scowling face or a raised arm with a gun in it, but he was sure there were other men, equally dangerous, that he wasn’t spotting. They, on the other hand, wouldn’t be having much trouble keeping an eye on him and Lucy. The only thing he could do was keep pushing toward the edge, toward a place where they could hide, or a car they could use to get away—
Suddenly, a hand reached between a pair of people behind them and took hold of Gabriel’s shoulder. He tried to shake free, but it clung mercilessly. From the weight, he’d have bet money—if he’d had any money worth betting—that it was Kemnebi’s.
Gabriel bent at the knees and spun, launching a punch behind him. It collided with the rock-hard boulder of flesh that was Kemnebi’s midsection.
The big man reached in and encircled Gabriel with his arms, ignoring the punch as if it had been a pat from a child. He lifted Gabriel off his feet and began constricting, squeezing Gabriel’s chest with the strength of an automobile crusher. Gabriel couldn’t breathe—he felt as if his rib cage was about to snap. He kicked wildly, hoping to land a blow on one or both of Kemnebi’s kneecaps, but it was no use. The man was holding Gabriel so high that his legs dangled in the air.
“Let him go!” Lucy shouted, throwing punches of her own at Kemnebi’s side. He kicked her aside, sending her sprawling.
The pain was excruciating. Gabriel imagined the top of his head bursting from the pressure. Looking around, he couldn’t see Lucy anymore. He hoped it meant she was taking advantage of the situation to get away, at least.
He wrenched from side to side, desperately trying to pull free. In his head, he was running through his dwindling options. He couldn’t get to his gun, not with his arms pinned to his sides. A head butt? It was likely to do more damage to Gabriel than to Kemnebi, whose forehead looked about as tender and vulnerable as a cinderblock. Gabriel opened his jaws wide and was about to bend forward, aiming for the cartilage of the man’s nose, when suddenly Kemnebi screamed and released him.
As Gabriel fell to the ground, he saw Kemnebi’s hands shoot up to his throat, which seemed to have something wrapped around it . . .
Lucy ran up to Gabriel, tossing aside the wicker basket she’d been carrying. It looked familiar—and now that Gabriel took a second glance, so did the thing around Kemnebi’s throat. One of the charmer’s snakes. Another seemed to have sunk its fangs into the back of his shirt, and more were writhing around his feet.
Lucy’s face was bloodless and her hands were shaking. Gabriel had never minded snakes himself, but he knew she hated them—absolutely hated them. He knew what it had meant for her to go get that basket.
“Thanks,” Gabriel said, climbing to his feet. “Now let’s get out of here.”
He took her by the arm and dragged her toward an alleyway he’d spotted earlier. It had looked promisingly dark and empty of people. Unfortunately, it also turned out to be a dead end. Gabriel glanced back. If they stayed here, it wouldn’t be long before the Alliance’s men would find them; on the other hand, returning to the center of the square wouldn’t exactly keep them hidden either.
He looked around. Near the mouth of the alley there was a truck parked half on and half off the curb, with a wooden animal trailer hitched behind it. Gabriel went to the rear of the trailer and peered through the slats.
Inside, animals were quietly bleating.
Goats. At least half a dozen of them.
The doors of the trailer weren’t locked. Gabriel turned the handle, opened the door, and held it open.
“After you,” he said.
“Ah, hell, Gabriel—” Lucy hesitantly put a foot up. The trailer floor was covered in filthy straw and the animals stank.
“If you could handle snakes,” Gabriel said, “you can handle goats.” He pushed her inside, climbed in behind her, and shut the door.
“Gabriel!”
“Shh.”
He pulled her deeper into the trailer and squatted against the back wall. The goats were agitated, milling about in the constricted space and bleating angrily at the intruders. But they’d calm down. He hoped.
The smell really was overpowering. He breathed through his mouth and gestured silently to Lucy that she should do the same.
She started to say something in response, but from outside came the sound of men running into the alleyway and past the truck. The men reached the dead end, swore, and came back. Through the slats in the trailer Gabriel saw Kemnebi pass—apparently he’d gotten the better of the snakes, which must have been milked after all.
Gabriel held a finger to his lips and Lucy nodded. They both knew what was at stake.
A shadow darkened as someone approached the trailer.
Gabriel slid down until he was lying on the foul straw. He pulled Lucy down on top of him, and with the toe of one boot he nudged the leg of the nearest goat. The animal bleated complainingly but walked in the direction Gabriel had prodded it, which put its body between the side of the trailer and where Gabriel and Lucy were lying.
They waited in silence, Lucy stretched out along the length of him, her face buried in his shoulde
r. He stroked the back of her head with one hand. With the other, he reached slowly for his gun.
But the shadow departed, and with it came the sound of heavy footsteps moving off. They probably hadn’t actually seen Gabriel and Lucy come down this particular alley; they must have had several more to search.
After a minute had passed without their hearing the men return, Gabriel helped Lucy sit up and then rose himself. “Let’s give it just a little longer,” he whispered to her, “then we can get—”
But at that instant someone started the truck’s engine.
They both put hands out against the trailer’s walls to brace themselves as the truck lurched into motion.
“Gabriel!”
“Shh.” Gabriel crept forward and looked out through the slats at the farthest end, but he couldn’t see who was driving the truck, or where they were headed.
The one thing he did know was that they were leaving the Djemaa el Fna.
He returned to where Lucy was half standing and gestured for her to sit again.
“But we’ve got to get out of here,” she whispered fiercely.
“That’s exactly what we’re doing,” Gabriel whispered back.
Chapter 16
Sammi was relieved to finally step off the plane at Marrakesh’s Menara International Airport. She was grateful that Michael had put the plane at her disposal; she only wished she could have gotten in sooner. Enough time had passed that she feared she may have lost Gabriel’s trail for good.
Her instructions from Michael were to meet Reza Arif at baggage claim. She had little idea what he looked like, since Michael had given her only a cursory description; and she assumed he’d given a similarly cursory description of her to Arif. Which left her wandering back and forth along the luggage retrieval claim belts, staring questioningly at the solitary men she passed and seeing no sign of recognition from any of them. She was on her fourth pass when she heard a male voice behind her.
“Mademoiselle Ficatier?”
She turned to see a handsome man in his midforties with black hair and a black beard, neatly trimmed. He wore dark sunglasses, and was dressed in well-tailored clothing, a crisp bespoke suit with a crimson triangle of handkerchief showing at his breast pocket. For all that he seemed to be attempting to convey class and sophistication, though, Sammi was instantly struck with a different impression, one of menace. It was something in his eyes, the way he held himself. This was a dangerous man. She was confident she would have thought so even if Michael hadn’t warned her about him.
“Yes?”
“I am Reza Arif. I am most pleased to make your acquaintance.” He bowed slightly and extended his hand. “You must call me Reza.”
“Sammi.” She took the man’s hand and shook it briefly. He clung to her fingers for an instant before letting her go.
“Are you hungry?” he asked. “Do you want something to eat or drink?”
“No, thanks. I had something in Cairo.”
“Ah, yes. Fine food in Cairo. Not as fine as we have here, but . . . if you are not hungry, you are not hungry. No luggage?” She held up her carry-on, the small gym bag she’d brought along with her from Nice. He offered to take it from her, but she shook her head. “All right. Follow me please.”
He led her to the parking garage, took out a key fob and pressed a button. A black BMW X6 beeped and flashed its lights.
He removed the sunglasses in the car. His eyes were dark, nicely setting off his swarthy skin. He might be dangerous, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t attractive. “It is not much of a disguise,” he said as he put the glasses away, “but it is sufficient for the baggage claim at the airport.” He didn’t speak again until they were on the highway headed for the city. “I have been looking into this Alliance of the Pharaohs that our mutual friend mentioned.”
“And?”
“It is a very difficult organization about which to uncover any information. I have many contacts in the so-called underworld, and I spent most of last night trying to get one of them to tell me something—anything—about this Alliance. I had very little luck. On the other hand, it has only been one night. Perhaps I will find something yet.”
“Nobody knew anything?”
“The only piece of useful intelligence I obtained so far is that the Alliance is believed to use carpet vendors as a front—here, in Cairo, and elsewhere. Their headquarters is allegedly near the Djemaa el Fna—have you ever been . . . ?”
“I’ve never been to Marrakesh.”
“Ah, such a pity. I only wish you had come sometime when you had less on your mind. It is a beautiful city, and you are a beautiful woman.”
Sammi said nothing. No point in encouraging him—but she also didn’t want to make an enemy of him.
“I would have enjoyed giving you the grand tour. Alas, I can no longer enjoy it as I once did myself. I must remain . . . unnoticed.”
“Why?”
“Surely our friend told you.”
“Told me what?”
He shrugged expressively, his hands briefly lifting off the steering wheel. “I am supposed to be an international criminal. At least that is what I have been branded.” He looked over at her and grinned. “Do not worry,” he said. “I am not the villain they make me out to be. It is what you would call ‘guilt by association.’ I think that is the correct term. I happen to know many criminals. I have done business with them. That does not necessarily make me one, does it?”
“Not necessarily,” Sammi said. “Are you one?”
He dismissed the idea with a wave of his hand. “The truth is beside the point. They would gladly imprison me if they caught me, so whatever I am or am not, I must live as if I were a criminal. I make my home in the mountains now.” He pointed toward the horizon. Sammi could see the ruddy silhouette of the range in the distance. “It is a simple life. I have no complaints.”
“Is it dangerous for you to come into Marrakesh?”
“Only if I am recognized by a policeman.” He laughed. “Don’t worry. I visit the city all the time. I just have to be careful.”
Sammi couldn’t see how driving a car this conspicuous and dressing in an outfit that was the car’s sartorial equivalent counted as being careful. But he apparently knew what he was doing. She didn’t see any police cars in the rearview mirror.
Perhaps, she thought, he paid them off, splitting with them the bounty from the Hunt Foundation.
“We will go to the Djemaa el Fna,” Arif said, “and together we shall visit each carpet store. Of course, searching every carpet store in Marrakesh is a bit like searching every boîte and café in your country. A daunting task, eh? But perhaps we will be lucky and find the right one before our friend’s siblings come to a bad end.”
And he smiled at her, in a way that was clearly meant to be reassuring. Instead, it left her with the distinct sense that this man had something up his handsomely tailored sleeve.
But she needed his help.
“Sounds like a plan,” Sammi said,
The truck took the better part of a half hour to get out of Marrakesh. As the road became rougher, the trailer rattled and bounced with increasing vigor, troubling the goats into louder and more nearly continuous bleating.
“How much longer do you think?” Lucy asked, keeping her voice low.
Gabriel looked out between the slats. “We’re in the desert,” he reported. “Nothing for miles. We’re not stopping anytime soon.”
“What do you say we get out,” Lucy said. “Just kick open the doors and jump. Every goat for himself.”
“Not here,” Gabriel said. They were in the middle of nowhere, with no landmarks he could recognize. Not a place you wanted to wander on foot.
“Remember the food they gave me,” Lucy said, “that rice and hummus?” Gabriel nodded. “It was terrible,” she said. “Practically inedible. But right about now, I wish I’d eaten more of it.”
“There’re some carrots over there.” Gabriel gestured to a trampled pile in one corner.
One of the goats was nosing at it.
“Thanks a whole lot.”
“Salad,” Gabriel said. “I don’t think they’ll mind sharing.”
“Want to bet?”
She settled back into the straw and let her eyes slide shut.
An hour later, they felt the truck turn onto a pitted dirt road. The ride became even bumpier. Gabriel peered outside. After several minutes of bone-jarring bounces, the worst of which threatened to overturn the trailer, Gabriel said, “I see something. Looks like a farm.”
The truck pulled to a stop on a barren driveway next to a farmhouse whose walls and roof were made of lashed-together planks of wood with whitish mortar sealing the cracks in between. An angled roof cast a bit of shadow, just enough to shade one side of the trailer. Chickens wandered freely across the ground, clucking and bobbing their heads. More goats were penned in a wooden corral. A woman wearing a niqab stood beside the corral, tossing feed to the birds. She greeted the driver in a language Gabriel didn’t understand—Berber?—when the man got out of the truck.
“I don’t suppose they’ve got a shower,” Lucy muttered.
The driver and the woman had a brief conversation and then the driver went inside the house.
Lucy took the opportunity to rise to a crouch and press her way to the back of the trailer, shoving goats aside. She raised the metal bar holding the doors closed, swung them to either side and dropped to the ground. Gabriel followed close behind.
The woman let go of her canvas sack of feed and called for the driver in a voice that rang with fear. The driver came running out of the house. He grabbed a long-handled hoe that was leaning against the doorframe.
“It’s all right!” Gabriel said, first in English, then in French, his palms extended outward, open and empty. “We’re friendly.”
Lucy said something as well. Gabriel couldn’t understand a word of it, but the driver’s stance relaxed a bit, and he answered her warily in the same tongue.
“When did you learn Berber?” Gabriel whispered.
“Had some time on my hands a couple of years back,” Lucy said. “My cellmate spoke it.”
