by A. D. Winch
“Are you listening?” asked Alexander irritably, as Johan studied one of Ingrid’s designs.
“Yes,” Johan replied. “Please, continue,” but he did not look up.
“I’ve finished,” Alexander said abruptly, “Do you think you can repair her?”
Johan thought that the repairs would take him less than a day which relieved him. His son had been thorough and methodical, which would mean the final parts of the repair would not be overly difficult.
“You have already completed some admirable work; the necessary pieces have been acquired, the plans are understandable and you have given me clear instructions. I think I will be able finish the repairs. If you could just put the body on the dining room table tomorrow, I would be very grateful. I am too old to work on the floor, unlike you young intelligentsia.”
Alexander promised he would, but felt that he was being flattered by someone who had paid little attention to what had been said. He wondered if he was making a mistake in letting Johan work on Andrea while he was away. There was no way Johan could do the job as well as him, and the old man may undo his good work.
Johan saw the worried expression on Alexander’s face, “You can trust me, you know.”
Alexander paused too long before replying, “I know.”
“Okay, you do not have to trust to me,” Johan said, throwing his arms in the air. “But trust me when I say that my knowledge has been formed by more years of experience than you have lived.”
“Sorry,” blurted Alexander, “I didn’t mean to offend you. I just don’t know you or what you are capable of and…”
“…and what?” Johan asked angrily. He did like having his capabilities doubted.
“This is not how I imagined, or expected it would be like… Meeting you… My father.”
“What did you expect, Alexander?” Johan tried to take the edge out of his voice. “That we would meet each other with wide open arms and talk like old friends. We do not know each other. We were denied that privilege. But we have time, not as much as either of us would have liked, but we have time. In the meantime, trust in my ability as a scientist. I have been at the cutting edge of science since before you were born. Android Una will not be an easy task, but I look forward to it, and I am not daunted. Please do not doubt me again.”
Johan left the room before Alexander could reply and headed out onto the landing.
“I thought I heard you,” Eric said, sticking his head out from behind another door. “Will you join us for a couple of minutes? Ursula has a question for you.”
Eric had chosen the master bedroom. Flowery wallpaper covered the walls and matched the bedspread that Ursula was sat upon. She had an envelope in her hand and was writing an address upon it.
“Did it work?” Johan asked nervously, when he saw where the envelope was going.
“Yes,” Ursula replied.
Johan sat beside her and immediately sank down into the mattress.
“Can I ask you something?” Ursula questioned, wrapping a letter around a small object and placing it in the envelope.
“Yes, of course.”
“What do you think of Sasha?”
Johan looked from Eric to Ursula.
“I think she makes good Stroganoff. I think she spends too much time with her phone and worrying what is happening elsewhere in the world. I think she says what she thinks. I think she is direct. I think her past is probably not something to bring up, and I think she means a lot to Alexander. Why do you ask?”
Eric shuffled in front of him and said, “You didn’t mention that she’s your daughter.”
“No, Eric, I didn’t. It is not natural for me yet.”
“Eric doesn’t like her,” Ursula blurted out.
“I know. And you? What do you think?”
Ursula shrugged her shoulders.
“You have only known Sasha for two days. I think you should give her a chance. Is this why the two of you have hidden yourself up here? What have you been doing with your time?”
Eric answered, “You know on the boat from Mexico, I told you that I could feel what Ursula was feeling. And that when we got off in Cádiz, I knew she was on top of that building. Well, this may sound stupid, but we’ve been trying to focus on Ursula’s grandparents. We’re trying to build pictures in our minds.”
“That does not sound stupid at all. In the nineteen seventies, Stanford Research Institute did much research on psychic phenomenon that the CIA and Defense Intelligence Agency funded. They called it ESPionage and conducted experiments into telepathy and remote viewing. I got to see their findings, and it was compelling reading. If I remember correctly, they now call it all Quantum Entanglement.”
“What is telepathy and remote viewing?” asked Ursula.
“Telepathy is communicating messages or information to someone else using your mind. Remote viewing is when you use your mind to describe something or somewhere that you cannot possibly see.”
“We can do that,” Eric said hesitantly.
“I do not doubt you. I could open the pods that you fell to Earth in, using just the power of thought. One of the aliens entered Ingrid’s mind and one tried to enter yours, Eric. Tell me, what could you see, when you focused on Ursula’s grandparents.”
“Ursula described to me the room they are in. It sounds identical to the cell that I was kept in but bigger.”
“And they’re fine,” Ursula added.
“Good. Here is a test for you. Could you tell me where Sasha is right now?”
“She went out to use her phone,” Eric answered.
“Not like that! Remote view,” laughed Johan.
Ursula and Eric closed their eyes and concentrated for about a minute. When they opened them again, Johan made Ursula leave the room and made Eric whisper the answer. Ursula then came back again.
“Where is she?” Johan asked Ursula.
“Standing on the last bend in the road, above the village. She is next to the barrier that stops cars going over the edge,” replied Ursula without hesitation.
“Fascinating. What did you just say to me, Eric?”
“She’s behind a barrier on a bend in the road.”
“Fascinating. Do not ignore this new sense. The vast majority of the people on the planet have only five senses - they can see, hear, smell, touch and taste. You, and there are a few others like you, have a sixth sense. Use it and trust it, especially in Morocco.” Johan’s smile faded away. “Can you do something for me?”
Eric and Ursula nodded.
From his pocket, Johan took a folded piece of paper. It was the picture of Ingrid that Buddy Angel had given to convince him to stay in Roswell. The ink had already started to fade, and where the paper had folded it was smudged. Despite this, Ingrid could still be seen in the street.
“This is Ingrid, my wife,” said Johan sadly. “Could you find her for me?”
“Now?” asked Eric.
“Yes, please.”
The two children looked at the picture and then closed their eyes. They focused for a minute, then two, three and four. After five minutes, Johan stopped them. The children’s faces looked blank.
“You could not find her, could you?”
Eric and Ursula shook their heads.
“It is as I expected but thank you.” Johan walked slowly towards the door, “Tomorrow, I will teach you to shoot with a catapult. Goodnight.”
He tried to smile as he closed the door behind him.
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Chapter 30 – Three Days to Go
The journey from Benerraba to Algeciras began on a crowded local bus. It was market day in the next village, and many Benerraba residents were on their way to see what they could buy. The bus whizzed around the bends without any apparent regard for safety. The locals did not notice, but the four foreign passengers were only too pleased to get off in Gaucin. From there, they took another bus to San Roque and then one final one to Algeciras.
They were drop
ped right outside the port. The smell of diesel from the ships lingered in the air, and there was no sea breeze to blow it away. Apart from the white tail of an aeroplane high above them, the sky was completely clear. After three bus journeys, Alexander had been hoping for some wind to cool him down.
Between the port and the large apartment blocks, they found a small building covered in bright red signs that read ‘Tanger, Cueta, Tickets.' It was partially hidden by palm trees, and they almost walked past. While Alexander and Sasha went to buy the tickets, Eric and Ursula sat on the pavement next to the passenger entrance and enjoyed the hot sun.
A few minutes later, Alexander and Sasha re-emerged.
“Plan B,” said Alexander. “They wanted our passports, so I left. We’ll have to hire a private boat.”
As they walked away from the main port, they saw a slick catamaran leaving for Tangier. Above a high, red hull were long, thin windows that led to a sharply pointed bow. They watched as the catamaran slowly left its dock. On the open sea, it rose in the water and zipped across the Strait of Gibraltar to Morocco. By the time it was out of sight, they were standing next to a harbour that was full of much smaller boats.
They walked up and down the pontoons looking for ‘hire’ signs. As they were reaching the end of the harbour, they found one stuck on the side of a white motorboat named the ‘Bella Rose.' A rotund sailor lay on the bow, in denim shorts, sunning his hairy chest.
“Hello,” shouted Alexander and the man jumped up as if he had been shocked.
He was delighted to hire out his boat, and immediately agreed on a day long cruise across the Strait of Gibralter and back. A price was agreed, and they set out as soon as everyone was on board.
The boat ploughed through the choppy waves, and Alexander found himself sat by the stern, vomiting into the deep blue sea. Meanwhile, Sasha and Ursula sunbathed on the bow, and Eric sat next to the Captain.
It was not long before Morocco was in sight. Hills surrounded a large town and nearby was a long, crescent shaped beach. Their bare-chested Captain agreed to take them towards it and dropped anchor two hundred metres from the beach.
“We would like to go to shore,” Alexander mumbled weakly.
“No, Señor,” the Captain replied.
Alexander took out a large roll of notes and handed the Captain some of them.
“If anyone asks, we made you do it and we overpowered you.”
The Captain considered the offer and then went below deck. He returned with a blow-up dinghy which he proceeded to fill with air from an electric pump.
“Two hundred for the dinghy,” he said and held out his hand.
Alexander paid, and the Captain put the dinghy in the water. The four of them got in, and Eric and Ursula rowed them to Morocco while the ‘Bella Rose’ returned quickly to Spain.
After dragging the dinghy onto the beach, they walked towards the city. Tangier was bustling. Cars, motorbikes, bikes and people all fought for space on the roads. Somehow they all seemed to avoid each other. Alexander led them safely through the chaos towards the tourist information office. Inside the cool room, he asked about buying cars but was met with baffled looks
After much confusion, he was told that it was impossible to buy a car in Morocco without the correct permits and was directed towards the car rentals.
Every rental office wanted to take Alexander’s details and input them into a computer, but he refused. In the end, they were left with no vehicle.
“Don’t worry,” said Ursula, trying to comfort him. “We can try again, when we arrive in Temara.”
As they walked back into the street, a man greeted them in French, “Welcome to Tangier, gateway to Africa, where East meets West. How can I help you?”
“No, thank you,” said Alexander gruffly, weaving around him.
Ursula stopped by the man and spoke in French, “We are trying to get to Temera. Do you know how we would do that?”
“You can take a bus or train to the nearest city, Rabat, but I would recommend the train. I can take you to the station in my taxi.”
Ursula translated.
“We go with him,” said Sasha, and they all got into the man’s taxi.
The drive through Tangier was short but interesting. Arabic architecture stood beside modern curved skyscrapers which in turn stood beside white-washed buildinga and those built by former colonists. Ursula and Sasha had never been to Africa, and they sat glued to the windows. Alexander and Eric were not as interested. Alexander was too busy worrying about what was going to happen. In his experience, a lack of planning led to mistakes. Eric was trying to deal with the constant travelling. After being locked up for so long, it was an assault on his senses.
The station was near the edge of the town, and a long boulevard led up to its entrance. The taxi circled around a traffic island with palm trees and a pond, and stopped against a red and white painted kerb. Like many of the buildings around them, the station was painted white. Its curved roof was terracotta, and four tall towers were positioned at its corners. They entered below one of these, and the taxi driver led them to the ticket desks before wishing them ‘bon voyage.'
The trains to Rabat were hourly. They did not have to wait long until the next one departed, so they went straight to the platform. A new orange train with ONCF written along its side was already there, and behind it were a long line of red and yellow carriages. They boarded and took their seats around a table.
Not long after, the train pulled out of the station and gathered speed as it left the city behind. They were soon travelling through rolling hills. The sun had faded the countryside and the greens from the carriage window were muted or yellowing.
Everyone was hungry, and they ate fast food from the dining car as the train travelled south. It was a pleasant journey but, even so, by the time they arrived in Rabat, they were weary from their travels and wanted to rest. When they got off the train, they were greeted by many people offering rooms for the night. After so much travelling, they had no energy and followed the first person who approached them out of the station.
They were taken to a small Riad and herded into a central courtyard decorated in blue and white patterned tiles. In the middle was a fountain in the shape of an eight-pointed star. The sound of running water was making them feel even sleepier. They waited for the receptionist to find them keys and then were taken underneath ornate arches to their rooms. Within an hour, they were all fast asleep.
Next morning, Alexander rose before anyone else. He sat at the breakfast table looking dejected. He had already been around the town trying to find weapons to buy and cars to rent but had failed in both tasks. Eric was the first to enter the dining room after him. He looked at the breakfast buffet, avoided the Moroccan food and took a croissant, before joining Alexander at the mosaic table.
“Didn’t you sleep well?” Eric asked, looking at Alexander’s glum face underneath the mirror sunglasses.
“What makes you say that?”
“Your face and your sunglasses.”
“I did not sleep well but worse was that I couldn’t find any cars to rent or…,” he mimed a gun with his fingers.
“We have three days until the seventh,” Eric replied. “We have time.”
Sasha arrived next. She was wearing the bikini that she had bought in Spain with a see-through wrap knotted over it. Finally, Ursula, came down for breakfast. She was followed by a man in a fez with brown, leathery skin. He sat down with them.
“My name is Hassan. I am the owner,” he said in English. He played with his moustache as he spoke. “How long are you staying?”
“Three or four days,” Ursula answered, placing mint tea, Bissara and a selection of Moroccan breads and pastries on the table.
“I will need your passports. You did not give them to my receptionist last night.”
Alexander jumped in, “We left them at the hotel we were staying at in Tangier. They have promised to keep them until we have finished our tour, is this a problem? I
can pay for the rooms in advance.”
He pulled out a roll of Euros and passed Hassan more than he needed to.
“I am sure we can solve this,” smiled Hassan, pocketing the notes. “Now, what would you like to do while you are here in Rabat? I can arrange a tour of the city, the medina and Kasbah. You could take our new tram to Salé, visit our museums and art galleries or relax on the beach. Or I could arrange a tour to the Atlas mountains, only two hours away. Or to Casablanca, only one hour away. Whatever you like?”
“I would like to go to the beach,” Sasha said.
“This is a good thing to do, Madame,” smiled Hassan, “but Morocco is an Islamic country, and you must be more discrete.”
“Discrete?”
“He means you need to wear more clothes,” Ursula explained.
Sasha did not know what to say.
Alexander saw an opportunity an asked, “If Sasha wants to go to the beach, would you be able to take the rest of us on a tour of Rabat?”
“It would be my pleasure.”
“I’ll come too,” Sasha said.
“There will be a cost for the four of you,” Hassan said.
“Of course,” Alexander smiled and handed over some more Euros. “Is that enough?”
“I will bring you change,” said Hassan and left the dining room.
“We are not here to sightsee,” hissed Eric quietly.
Alexander adjusted his sunglasses, “And nor are we here to arouse unnecessary attention. We need to act like tourists. Otherwise, people will get suspicious.”
Hassan found an English-speaking guide for them, and they spent the day under the hot sun. During their tour of Rabat, they walked down palm-lined boulevards and past impressive colonial architecture. They visited the narrow alleyways of the Kasbah and admired monuments from the times of the Phoenicians, Romans, Almohads and Merenids, according to their guide. It was not a bad way to pass the day, but there was an overriding feeling that they were just killing time and that there were more important things to be done.
