by A. D. Winch
Eric leant forward and rested his chin on the back of the driver’s seat, “Andrea.”
“Yes, Eric.”
“If we are not going to be able to escape the OSS, what are we doing now?”
“Johan and I have made arrangements in the city of Fes Al-Bali. When he told me your plan to free the Benjamins, I could not understand that there was no escape plan. This is our escape plan.”
“What’s in Fes Al-Bali?”
Johan smirked, “It’s not what is in Fes Al-Bali that matters. It is what is not there that is important.”
“Okay, if you want to cryptic.” Eric smiled happily. “What’s not there?”
“Roads,” said Johan with a twinkle in his eye.
He knew that he shouldn’t have, but he had thoroughly enjoyed the last few days. It was such a radical departure from everything he had ever done before that he felt energized and more alive than he had felt in a long time. The icing on the cake, however, was the thought of getting revenge on Buddy Angel.
“Fes Al-Bali has a population of one hundred and fifty-six thousand people but no roads,” Andrea began. “It is the largest car-free area in the world and a UNESCO world heritage site. Some of the streets are only sixty centimetres wide. Even scooters or bicycles cannot use these. The OSS spy satellites will be unable to see us. The passageways are too narrow and too irregular. They are also shielded by two and three storey buildings that line the streets. It will not be possible for them to track us until we want them to. For this, we will, fortunately, have use of the sleeping woman’s phone. This is not an eventuality that we planned for, but will serve our needs perfectly. In addition, it will be almost impossible for them to take any of us captive without being seen and a perfect place for a trade.”
“What are we trading?” Ursula asked.
“The woman in the trunk for your grandparents.”
“They’ll never go for it,” Alexander replied with a defeated air.
“They will weigh up the alternatives and decide that it is the best move. There is no other way for them to limit the damage to themselves. They will have to trade.”
“Only if they fear the alternatives. What are they?” Alexander asked. “All we have is Sasha. What if they don’t want her?”
Andrea overtook a long line of lorries as she replied, “They will want her. We will make it known that a memory stick will be placed around her neck. This will contain copies of the data that Johan secured from the OSS network. In her hand will be a note. The note will state that she has been attacked by a terrorist organization called the OSS. In addition, the note will give details about the OSS and state that they are intent on world domination. The memory stick will support her story. If the OSS do not agree to our instructions then, we will leave her at a specified location that will cause major damage to their organisation.”
Alexander shook his head, “It won’t work. If you leave her in a building or on the street, the police will be called and once that happens she will pass back to the OSS. They will be able to cover it up.”
“That is why I said, ‘we will take her to a specified location.’”
“Where?”
“We will leave her outside the house of a chosen journalist who has contacts to media channels around the world. However, we will not tell the OSS which one.”
“She won’t play along with this,” Alexander argued.
“She will not be given a choice,” Andrea answered. “Until we have no further use for her, she will remain asleep.”
Alexander continued to remonstrate, “They won’t just hand the Benjamins over.”
“I agree. You have just avoided capture, and they will view this as a defeat. They will be desperate for revenge, but they will have no choice. They must agree to the switch – the Benjamins for Nastya and the data. This will make them angry, emotional and dangerous. These are all to our advantage. They will be more likely to make mistakes.”
“I don’t agree,” Alexander concluded.
The rest of the journey continued with Alexander saying nothing. Eric, Ursula and Johan engaged in idle conversation, but no more was said about the escape plan. Andrea knew they were being watched from satellites, but she was calculating whether they would outrun the three OSS vehicles. All they had to do was reach Fes Al-Bali without incident, and she knew that their probability of success would significantly improve.
One hour and fifteen minutes later they arrived on the outskirts of the Medina at Fes.
“What do you mean you lost them?” bellowed Agent Angel and angrily lit a cigarette. “Tell me where they are again!”
Agent Hoover pointed to the screen, “They are in there.”
On the screen were hundreds, possibly thousands, of buildings. They were all bunched so closely together that it was hard to make out where one finished and the next began. The streets were virtually impossible to spot. In places, thin lines could just be seen but they would inevitably vanish amongst the buildings. It looked like an impossible labyrinth. The only clear road was the one on the surrounding hillsides that ringed the ancient walled city.
“Jeez, its rabbit warren. Can we send our agents in?”
“Only on foot,” Hoover replied.
“Goddam! Bring up a map.”
Agent Hoover did as he was ordered, and a plan of the medina appeared on the screens.
“This gets worse,” Agent Angel fumed, scanning the map. “Where are our agents?”
Agent Hoover pointed to a wide road just outside the city walls called Tour de Fes Nord.
“They’re on the closest point they could reach in their SUVs.”
“How many?”
“Six agents and two soldiers, but they are with Black Queen’s grandparents.”
“And we know the targets are in there somewhere?”
“Yes, Sir.”
A message appeared on Agent Hoover’s computer, ‘incoming call.’ At the same time, Nastya’s signal appeared right over the medina. Information appeared next to it, ‘Market Area’.
Agent Hoover took the call and put it through the speakers so Agent Angel could participate too.
“Nastya?” asked Hoover.
“No,” replied a familiar croaky voice. “Professor Johan Schwarzkopf.”
The reception was poor, and his voice came in and out.
“I hope you can hear me. Please confirm.”
The phone crackled, and Agent Angel answered, “You have a nerve, John.” As he spoke, he directed Hoover to send the agents towards the location of the phone. “You have caused me no end of trouble, and I don’t take too kindly to what you are putting me through. Give yourself up, bring me White King and Black Queen, and I’ll forgive you your mistake.”
Hoover had already relayed the location to Team Col, and they were on their way.
“That’s a very kind offer, Buddy, but I will politely decline. Instead, I would like to tell you what you are going to do for me.”
“I don’t take orders from defectors!” barked Agent Angel.
“You will,” Johan told him. “First, you will stop the agents who are currently heading towards our position. You will send them back to the Yukon to collect the Benjamins. They can then head to this location with Mr. and Mrs Benjamin, where they will be exchanged for your operative, Nastya.”
“I don’t think so, John.”
Johan could not keep the glee from his voice, “In that case, Nastya, will be delivered to a journalist in a comatose state. She will hold a letter stating that you are a leader of the terrorist organization called the OSS and...,”
“No one is going to believe that, John,” laughed Agent Angel, taking a drag from his cigarette. “We don’t have a deal.”
“Don’t interrupt me, Buddy. I hadn’t finished,” Johan coughed before continuing. “Around Nastya’s neck will be a memory stick. It contains gigabytes of files from the OSS database. Before I left with Eric, I made sure I took out insurance. Once the journalist opens up the files, I doub
t the terrorist story will then hold up. However, this new story about a secret American agency… well … This is going to be everywhere, don’t you think?”
Agent Angel could feel his blood boiling. All the years he had spent ensuring the OSS remained under the radar were about to be blown out of the water.
“Are you still there, Buddy? I can’t hear you,” Johan laughed.
“I have no proof that you’ve done this,” said Agent Angel through clenched teeth.
“And you have no proof that I haven’t. But, I can promise you that I have. To be honest, I’m hoping that you don’t bring the Benjamins then I can leak the files and ruin your cherished organization forever.”
Buddy Angel’s breathing was so strong that Johan could hear it down the telephone.
“I don’t know where your agents are now, but from the city walls to my current location took me about twenty minutes, and I am an old man. I will be generous and give them twenty-five minutes to get here with the Benjamins. After this time, I will switch the phone off and we will all vanish. I would give it two days after that before the world knows about the OSS. Goodbye.”
“You ba…”
“Don’t,” Johan interrupted forcefully, “or I’ll hang up and never turn the phone on again.”
“You…,” began Agent Angel, but the call went dead before he could finish.
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***
Chapter 35 – Magic Carpet
Team Col followed their orders and returned to the Yukon. Agent Hoover had been clear, and Granddad Benjamin and Mémé were taken from the car. Liaison Officer Oakley and the plain-clothed soldier accompanied them. They stood close to the Benjamins and told them not to run.
Granddad Benjamin translated the warning.
Mémé glared at Oakley and stated, “I don’t run!”
“Where are we going?” asked Granddad Benjamin, as they walked through a stone gateway and into the medina.
“Classified,” Oakley replied, killing the conversation dead.
Three agents led the way, and the remaining three brought up the rear. They looked like an unhappy group of tourists. Agent Hoover directed them from his surveillance room. The satellites were useless. Only by following Team Cols’ trackers, and an online map, was he was able to guide them through the maze of the medina to the last known coordinates of Nastya’s phone. It was possible that the targets could have moved from this spot, but it was all he had before Professor Schwarzkopf had cut the call.
They walked on, down tightly-woven streets. Some streets were so narrow that they had to walk in single file, brushing against old walls as people pushed past them. Shops encroached on the already cramped spaces and their wares spilled out onto the walkways. They continued through tunnels created by rooms built over the streets and under awnings that were somehow secured to crumbling bricks. Where the streets were slightly wider, make-shift roofs or large pieces of material had been tied to the facing buildings to provide shade.
Mémé was fascinated. She saw items that she had not seen since she had left Africa many, many years ago. Beautiful rugs, elegant crockery and foods, which were exotic back in France, lay on the ground and in shops around her. Yet every time she tried to stop and look, Oakley would pull her away. She repeatedly scolded him, but he knew no French and her words fell on deaf ears.
Shop keepers were keen to advertise their goods to the tourists. They shouted after the fast moving party, but they were ignored. Hawkers stepped in front of them and tried to sell souvenirs, but Team Col brushed them aside without breaking step.
“Take the next right, and you’re there,” Hoover directed in their earpieces. He could see where they were on the map. Unfortunately, the signal from Nastya’s phone had remained invisible since Professor Schwarzkopf had hung up. Hoover feared that they were being taken on a wild goose chase. Even so, Team Col followed his instructions without questioning.
They arrived in a street covered in tiny hexagonal paving stones and Moroccan rugs. It sloped slightly away from them and was wider than most of the other streets they had walked down. A long, red piece of material hung from the top of the three storey buildings and providing shade. It cast a pink glow onto the yellow shops and the street below. In spite of this, the vibrant colours of the rugs still shone out to the shoppers and tourists who passed.
“You want to buy a rug?” shouted a man from inside his shop. “I’ll give you good price.”
Team Col ignored him. Behind them was a left turn into the road they had just come from and ten metres in front was an archway. Apart from the open shop fronts, there was no other exit point.
They scanned the street but saw nothing that they could class as out of the ordinary. Men were drinking mint tea, and the aroma wafted around them. Shoppers bartered with salesman leaning against dark wooden doors and rugs were being transferred between shops. Agents Brae and Lip walked down the street and positioned themselves below the archway. Agents Crag and Peak guarded the way they had come, while Agents Cairn and Scree walked up and down in front of the shops.
“You want to buy a rug,” the shopkeepers asked as they passed back and forth.
Granddad Benjamin and Mémé stood in the middle of the street with Oakley and the soldier.
“I don’t like this, Jerome,” Mémé whispered and held tightly to her husband’s arm.
Oakley felt her moving away from him and roughly pulled her back.
“Get your hands off me, you monster,” Mémé shouted in French.
An African lady being disturbed by a white man attracted the attention of the people around them. The shopkeepers and shoppers turned to stare. Oakley assessed the situation and decided that it would be sensible to move away slightly from Mémé. She was an old, fat lady, and there was no way she could outrun him. He stepped a few paces back. The street returned to normal, but the soldier did not move from her husband’s side.
Granddad Benjamin had watched the reaction of the locals and said loudly to the soldier in French, “And you can let go of me, too!”
People turned to look again, and the soldier did the same as Oakley.
In the distance, the mosques of the medina began to call people to prayer, and a few of the shopkeepers placed prayer mats down on their shop floors. The wailing echoed around the street.
A shopkeeper wearing a leather waistcoat ignored the call and greeted the Benjamins. He walked towards them, shook their hands and then pulled Mémé towards his shop. The Benjamins moved forward but stopped after a few paces when Oakley ordered them to stay put.
The call to prayer continued, but many people were still moving down the street. Most walked round the Benjamins, who were standing like statues in everyone’s way. Some ignored them; some tutted and others were simply rude. Suddenly, a male tourist in a blue cap barged into the back of Mémé and knocked her forward.
Granddad Benjamin moved instantly towards his wife and just caught her before she fell to the ground. He shouted at the man, using words that Mémé did not approve of.
“Now you are on my rug, you must have tea with me,” said the shopkeeper in French, adjusting his waistcoat.
The Benjamins looked down. They were standing on a blue patterned rug.
“We’re very sorry,” apologised Mémé. “We didn’t mean to.”
The man smiled warmly, “Madame if I wanted to sell it, I would not put it in the street. I will get you some tea. Now stay there.”
He walked back into his shop, leaving the Benjamins standing uncomfortably on his rug. Above their heads, the red material was cut from its ties and floated down silently towards them. At the same time, two men on one side of the street decided to move two large rugs out of their shop. On the other side of the street, the same thing happened. Rather than carry the rugs rolled up, they were carried flat like moveable walls.
The men with the rugs pushed the soldier and Oakley to one side, complaining that they were in the way.
“If you want to buy, then buy
. If you don’t want to buy then go,” one said as they stepped between Oakley and Mémé. On the other side of the street, the other rug carriers had stepped between the soldier and Granddad Benjamin. They cut them off from view just as the red material reached head height. It draped itself over the carried rugs, the people in the street and Team Col.
At this point, Nastya’s phone appeared on the map in front of Agent Hoover and on the satellite images.
“Targets are there,” he told Team Col, but he had no idea what was happening on the ground.
Oakley and the soldier tried to get past the rugs and to the Benjamins, but they were lost in the red material. The four Team Col agents, who were guarding the exit points, did not move but remained vigilant. Shoppers and tourists under the sheet were laughing. Oakley and the soldier were not. By the time the large sheet had come to rest, shapes of people could be made out, and there was a small mountain where the rugs were being carried.
Nastya’s phone was calling Agent Hoover.
“Put it on speaker, now!” commanded Agent Angel.
“Are you there Buddy?” asked Johan.
“What do you want, John?” Agent Angel sounded impatient. He had no idea what was going on in the medina. His only goal was to keep Professor Schwarzkopf on the phone long enough for the agents to get to him.
“I underestimated you, Buddy,” Professor Schwarzkopf said with an air of defeat. “I thought we could escape but I was wrong. We’re surrounded, and I would like to negotiate our surrender.”
“You have nothing to negotiate with, John,” barked Agent Angel.
“I do. If I offer you the memory stick with all the data I took and..,”
As Professor Schwarzkopf spoke, Agent Hoover saw a flash of light where Nastya’s phone signal was coming from. The sun was reflecting off something on the roof and as Hoover zoomed in he could make out someone in a red cap. Beside this person was someone hunched over wearing a Sombrero and someone else in black leather. Black Queen and White King were not visible.
