by Philip Dole
“Thank you, Siri Tyler. I take comfort in words of the Qur’an that tell me Allah would never give me a heavier burden than I can carry. The Prophet will watch over me.”
“Did your grandfather run a grand taxi like yours?”
“No, my grandfather was an important engineer. He worked with the Allies during World War II. That was how he learned English. Then he sent my father to the American School of Tangier, and my father sent me there, too.”
Tyler let his friend’s sorrow ebb before changing the subject. “Where in the world did you get that .45? It looks old.”
“It’s U.S. Army issue, World War II. The officer my grandfather worked with gave it to him for saving him from an ambush. When my father died, I inherited it. No one has fired it in sixty years.”
“I’ll be lucky if it doesn’t blow up in my face.”
“Oh, no, Sidi Tyler. I take it apart, clean, and oil it every year on my grandfather’s birthday in his honor. It’s as good as it was for him. It’s like new.”
“Good. We might need it. Thank you for bringing it.” He held the gun out to Little Bo.
“No, you’d better keep it.”
“I hope I’ll be able to use it if I must.”
“Don’t hope, and don’t worry. Just trust that if Allah wants you to succeed, you’ll succeed. Enshallah. If Allah wills.”
“Thank you for the vote of confidence.”
“It’s not a matter of confidence. It’s fate. I have always liked Americans and Brits because they are optimistic and considerate. But they worry too much about things they can’t change.”
Tyler smiled. “Yeah, I know I worry too much.” Then he asked Little Bo a personal question. “I don’t want to intrude, but do you have children?”
“Oh yes, humdu’llah. I had twelve daughters but two died as newborns.”
“My gosh, so many girls.”
“Yes. Twelve daughters and no sons. My dear wife cannot have any more children, and so I won’t have any sons. Mustafa has four sons. He is truly blessed. Again you see it’s mahtoub.”
“What’s mahtoub?”
“Fate.”
Tyler made no reply. He respected this self-made man with principles who had helped them when they’d needed it. “Whatever your mahtoub, I respect you, Little Bo, and I am proud to be your friend.”
“Thank you for saying that, Sidi Tyler. I appreciate your words. I believe you have baraka. I sensed it from the beginning.”
“What’s baraka?”
“It’s a kind of power some people are born with. It’s good to have baraka. It brings luck and success.”
He reached out and gripped Little Bo’s shoulder. “I’m glad I have baraka. I have a feeling we’ll need all the luck we can get. Do you think those guys will catch up with us?”
“I don’t know. I’m surprised they haven’t caught up with us yet. This piece of junk can’t outrun their van. I just hope they’re still hunting for us in the medina.”
The distance from Tangier to Ketama was just over two hundred kilometers as the crow flies. The road went through the outskirts of the small city of Chefchaouen. It was the only city on their route, and it marked a little more than halfway to Ketama. When they left Chefchaouen, they were still in the clear.
Outside the city Little Bo spoke up. “We must fill up with petrol. I wanted to see how much we were using, but I am sure now that we will never be able to get back from the mountains with what we have. And I need to add some oil. The light is on. Mustafa told me he was burning oil.”
“No problem. Let’s not run out of gas. But you’re worried about oil, too?”
“Yes. With this tin can I am worried about everything.”
“Okay, let’s stop at the next place.”
A minute passed, and then Little Bo spoke again. “Don’t turn around, but we have someone behind us that could be them.”
Tyler’s heart jumped into his throat. On the nearly empty highway they were sitting ducks for their pursuers.
“How far back are they?”
“About half a kilometer, maybe more. I only see them on the long straightaways. They seem to be keeping their distance. That is what makes me suspicious. They have been back there ever since we left Chefchaouen.”
“How long will it take them to catch up when we stop?”
“I don’t know. Less than a minute I suppose.”
“Why do you think it’s our pursuers?”
“I am not sure it is. The headlamps are too far apart to be anything but a truck or a van. But they do not seem high enough to be a truck. It is hard to tell. They are pretty far back, but it might be the same Citroen van that chased us before.”
“Isn’t that a gas station up there?” Tyler pointed at the windshield.
“Yes, it is.”
“Thank heaven. Pull over just before you get there, and let me out. You pull up to get gas. What about oil?” Tyler was scared that their pursuers would waylay them on the deserted stretches ahead. He had the beginning of an idea.
“I think Mustafa carries some oil in the trunk.”
“We will need more. Buy as much oil as you can.”
Tyler shook Lei’s shoulder gently, and she woke from her nap. “Lei, we think the van may be behind us.” She snapped her head around, scanning behind them. “Don’t worry. We knew they’d catch up with us somewhere. It’s better here than out somewhere in the middle of nowhere.” She sat upright, primed for battle.
“When Little Bo stops, jump out and pump gas as fast as you can. Give Little Bo a hundred dollar bill. Little Bo, you give the owner the money and grab as much oil as you can. We need at least two cases of oil. More if we can get it.”
“Where will you be?”
“I’m going to try to throw a wrench in our friends’ plans.” He paused. “I hope so anyway.”
He took the pistol out of the box, located the safety and checked it was on. He pulled the slide back and then pushed it forward, mimicking what he had seen in the movies. No cartridge ejected. He pulled the slide again. This time a cartridge popped into the air and fell to the floor.
He told Little Bo to slow twenty meters short of the building with two gas pumps. When the car slowed to a crawl, he sprang out and ran across the road. Little Bo drove up to the pumps, and he and Lei jumped out. They scurried to do their tasks like a NASCAR pit crew. Little Bo even got two men from the building to lend a hand carrying armfuls of oil. Tyler legged it back up the road another thirty meters in the direction from which they had come and knelt down on the roadside across from where the Fiat was being refueled.
The suspect vehicle approached, but he couldn’t tell if it was the black van their pursuers had been driving. Opening and closing his fingers on the grip of the pistol, he steeled himself. Then he saw behind the headlights. It was the black van. And it was slowing down. The gun slipped in his clammy hands, but he had no time to wipe them dry. He gripped the pistol more tightly. As the van neared, now just ten meters away, he straightened his arms and aimed down his outstretched limbs.
Everything crawled, moving even slower than slow motion. His vision narrowed down to a small circle inside of which he could see clearly. His arm tracked the van for a second, and just before it passed him, he fired once at the front wheel.
His arms flew up. He was surprised by the force of the recoil. But he recovered in time to aim at the rear hubcap as the van sped past. He fired again. The report of the shots hadn’t seemed loud at all, and no other sounds registered with his brain. Of all his senses, his smell seemed the most acute. Before he had fired, he had smelled wood smoke. After he fired, he only smelled the sharp odor of burnt gunpower.
The van pulled to the left and then swerved hard to the right as if dodging the bullets. It crossed the road’s shoulder across from the gas station and continued going farther off the road
, bouncing into the darkness. The brake lights came on, and he didn’t wait to see more. He ran back to the Fiat and dove in.
“Did you shoot them?” Lei asked incredulously as Little Bo drove away.
“No, I aimed at their tires. I don’t know if I hit them or not, but the van went off the road.” He looked behind them to see if he could see headlights. Nothing. The road was empty.
“Good shot.” Lei high-fived him.
“Humdu’llah” Thanks be to Allah! I think you stopped them, Sidi Tyler.”
“If I did, it was a lucky shot. And it might only slow them up. But boy, I bet it pissed them off. I hope you both realize if they catch us, we’ll be in double trouble now.”
Chapter Fourteen
On the road to Ketama
Heading toward the Rif Mountains, Morocco
Tuesday, December 7, 2005
9:00 p.m.
“It’s nine o’clock. We’ve got to call Granduncle,” Lei reminded Tyler. When he made no response, she added, “We promised. He will never go to sleep until we call. He will be waiting up for our call. He will excuse us for missing our three o’clock call this afternoon because he’ll figure we were in the air, but not this time.” She dug through her backpack. She unloaded her camera case, putting it on the floor between her feet. “I packed it in here.”
She grabbed the Iridium phone and punched in the numbers. She got through at once and held a five-minute conversation in Chinese. She was beaming when she handed Tyler the phone.
“He wants to talk to you.”
“Good evening, sir. Yes, four men were waiting for us at the Tangier airport, but we eluded them.”
“Yes, my grandniece told me you lost them in the marketplace. That was clever.”
“Don’t credit me. It was our taxi driver’s idea. And he snuck Lei out in her wife’s clothes.”
“Again quite clever.”
“I know. He’s really been the key to getting us this far. He had a pistol that belonged to his grandfather who got it in World War II that I used to stop our pursuers.”
“Guns mean trouble, and I want you to keep Lei out of trouble, my brave young man.”
“I understand. That’s exactly what I want, too. I might have only hit a tire, but they aren’t right behind us at the moment.”
“Hitting a tire on a moving vehicle is excellent marksmanship.”
“Then it was pure luck because I’m no marksman.”
“Your I Ching hexagram foretold good fortune. Heed its counsel. Be mindful of looking deep into others’ hearts. Appearances might conceal the truth.”
“Yes, sir.”
Tyler sat back and resumed working on an idea to buy them much more time, perhaps enough to get to and back from Ketama. Little Bo had placed the two and a half cases of oil he had bought on the rear floor. Tyler counted thirty plastic bottles. He loosened their tops and wondered how much to leave for the engine. He decided to leave two liters for the Fiat and reminded himself to check if Mustafa had more in the trunk. This won’t work if it’s too cold. And if this drizzle picks up, we’re in trouble for sure.
They were climbing into the mountains, and the temperature was dropping as they wound their way higher into the foothills. After weaving and bobbing around curves for another half hour, they came to the intersection where the road to Ketama split off from the main road to Fez. And shortly after they had turned off onto the spur for Ketama, he saw what he wanted.
Tyler told Little Bo to pull over and stop. They had just completed a curve to the left that was on a slight up-incline. At the top of the rise the road made a short, steep down-incline. That drop preceded an up-incline with a sharp curve to the right. Little Bo parked the Fiat on the right shoulder at the bottom of the down-incline.
Tyler hopped out and examined the roadway where the road’s rising right-hand curve began. He disappeared into the darkness off the left side of the road. In thirty seconds he reappeared and walked back to the Fiat. Little Bo and Lei were standing next to the car, taking the chance to stretch their legs. He plucked up several oil bottles out of the car and gave one each to Little Bo and Lei.
“Follow me,” Tyler ordered as he walked up the up-incline. “What we’re going to do is booby-trap the road,” he announced. “We’ll do it like this.” He walked to the beginning of the steep down-incline and started pouring oil. He poured oil across the whole road. “Space out your strips about a foot apart. Like this,” he said, demonstrating what he wanted. He watched them pour ribbons of oil a foot apart from the middle of the road to both of its edges. He checked to see if the ribbons of oil were bleeding together.
Tyler mumbled, “This might work.” They continued all the way down and slightly onto the up-incline. When they had emptied twenty-eight liters, the road surface was completely covered with oil for twenty meters.
“Is this going to work?” Lei asked.
“I hope so. When those guys head down the incline, they’ll hit the oil. Their tires will get covered with oil and lose traction. Then they’ll get to the curve and won’t be able to turn. They’ll fly off the road into the ditch. I checked it out. It’s ten or fifteen meters wide and a couple of meters deep. If they crash into that ditch going twenty or thirty, it ought to smash their van up big time.”
“Enshallah” added Little Bo.
The flaw in his plan was he wouldn’t ever know if it had worked. His trap might succeed in catching their pursuers, unintended victims, both or neither. He hoped the first and only victims of his trap would be their pursuers. He echoed his friend, “Enshallah.”
For the fourth time in fifteen minutes since they had resumed driving, Tyler checked his watch.
“Relax, Sidi Tyler. I am going as fast as this piece of junk will go.”
“I’m sorry, Little Bo. I’m not complaining. I’m just nervous. First, it was those guys chasing us, and now it’s this crappy road.” The “paved” spur to Ketama was a rutted, endless succession of potholes.
“Please tell me if you want someone else to drive. If you’re tired, I can take over.” Little Bo had been driving for more than five hours.
“No, thank you, Sidi Tyler. I’m the driver. That’s my job.”
“What’s that? Up there!” Lei pointed. To get a better look she leaned forward, and Little Bo craned his head over the steering wheel.
“It’s someone in the middle of the road, waving a flashlight. I think they want us to stop.” It was either the police or more bad guys.
“Little Bo, quick. Turn off the interior light switch. Can you do that without turning off the headlights?” Tyler breathed easier when he heard a faint click, and the headlights kept shining. “Good. I’m bailing out. Slow down, but don’t stop before you must.”
“Where are you going?” Lei was alarmed.
“To give you some cover.” He locked eyes with her and groped blindly for the door handle. “If everything’s okay, I’ll meet you up there, just past the roadblock. If there’s trouble, I’ll be able to help more out there.”
He turned his back to them and opened the left rear door. He was sitting on his right leg folded under him, and his left leg was dangling out the open door. He gripped the top of the door with his right hand and had his left hand palm down on the top of the back seat. He planned to put his left foot down and push himself in the same direction the car was moving as forcibly as he could. He realized his body would tumble the same direction and at the same speed as the Fiat. So he figured the more he could equal his speed with the speed of the car, the less forceful the impact would be.
Little Bo was going about twenty kilometers per hour. “Enshallah” sprung into Tyler’s mind as he leaped out. Little Bo had slowed down, but Tyler didn’t manage to get any push off his left foot at all. It flew out from under him as soon as it hit the road. All he had time to do was tuck into a ball. He grasped his knee
s with both arms and squeezed them as hard as he could. He pressed his head into his knees. He landed mostly on his right side somewhere near the middle of the road. He tumbled and rolled in the direction the Fiat was going. He took a violent blow on his right hip and shoulder, but he didn’t break any bones. His back hit the road next. He rolled a full revolution and most of a second. He struck the crown of his head on a loose rock, gashing the top of his skull. He didn’t jam his feet in any potholes, and the second revolution slowed him down a great deal. He came to a stop just off the road, curled up on his side.
He lay still and assessed his condition. He hadn’t been knocked unconscious. He had pain in his left ankle, but he didn’t think it was broken. He was wearing his leather jacket under his djellaba, and it had protected him against any serious abrasions. As he stretched out his legs, he felt for the pistol. It was still in the waistband of his underpants. “Humdu’llah,”
He struggled to his feet. He saw four men in djellabas surrounding the Fiat. He looked for Lei and Little Bo as he moved off the side of the road. He could see they were still sitting in the car. He limped toward it, crouched over to be less visible. He moved closer, keeping on the left shoulder of the road. He got a good look at one man who walked in front of the Fiat, illuminating himself in its headlights. He wasn’t a policeman.
Tyler moved farther off the road to the forest’s edge, never taking his eyes off his companions. Then the Fiat’s headlights went out, and the interior dome light came on, showing Lei and Little Bo getting out.
He was twenty meters distant, hidden by the forest. A man led Little Bo and Lei toward a dark-colored pickup parked off the right side of the road, while two other men pointed assault rifles at them. Where the pickup was parked, the road’s shoulder spread out into a level area about twenty meters square. Several large boulders made a partial wall around the level pull-off area.
Tyler ignored his ankle, confident it was not seriously injured. He hustled toward the level area where he could see his friends and four other people. He was ten meters from the level area and strained to hear what was going on. He moved closer, crouched down behind a boulder. But the pickup blocked his view of the group in the middle of the level area.
