by Philip Dole
A second man joined Wu. This man was taller and younger. Rather than the ubiquitous djellaba the second man wore a white caftan and keffiyeh. The second man refilled the basin and splashed water on his face.
The second man, who was obviously Abdul, went back into the sleeping quarters, returned with his prayer rug and spread it out on ground. He conversed with Wu, apparently cajoling him to pray with him. Wu declined. Abdul kneeled on his prayer rug and started his devotions as the sun peeked over the farm buildings. The sun’s rise marks the first of Islam’s five obligatory daily prayer periods. Although Tyler respected Abdul’s piety, he wanted Allah to ignore his supplications.
A third man stepped out of stepped out of the same building that Tyler had picked as the men’s sleeping quarters. He was a Moroccan about the right age to be Ishmael’s father. Lei adjusted her camera, focusing and refocusing. She snapped picture after picture. Tyler laid the back of his hand gently on her flushed cheek. She hugged his neck, pulled him close, and gave him a kiss as full of anxiety as triumph. They had their pictures. But now they had to get them to Hacker pronto.
Laying his hand on her arm, Tyler stopped her from taking more photos. He motioned with a nod of his head to retreat into the woods. He responded to her quizzical look with an affirmative nod, and he rose from his knees, holding her gear bag open. She hesitated but after a tense moment folded up the tripod and put everything into the bag. Then they snuck back to the safety of the forest.
“I got it! I got it!” She was breathless. “I could have taken more, Tyler. Every photographer worries something might be wrong.”
“I want to get away. The pictures won’t do us any good unless we get out of here.”
“I was scared they’d hear us.” She slowed to a walk.
“Come on, Lei. Hurry up. Let’s get the hell out of here.”
They backtracked through the woods to Little Bo. He saw Little Bo between the tree branches from twenty-five meters distance. “Yo, Little Bo. Hooray! We did it. Lei got….” he cut himself off as he saw one of their hostages jump at Little Bo. He couldn’t see well as he ran toward the struggling men, but as he broke into the small clearing where the Nissan was hidden, a shot rang out. He saw its flash, and the loud report brought him to a momentary halt. Before he could reach Little Bo, the attacker had wrenched the pistol away from him. The attacker was Ishmael. He had the Colt pointed at Little Bo. Lei stopped in shocked disbelief at their reversed fortunes.
“I’m sorry, Sidi Tyler. When I heard you, I just took my eyes off him for a second.”
“No, it was my fault, my friend. I’m the one who tied Ishmael’s hands. I must have done a shitty job. And I’m the stupid one who distracted you. I never should have yelled.” He could see Little Bo was crestfallen. Damn, I really fucked up. Boy, we’re in deep shit now!
Ishmael told one of his friends to lock the Fiat and for the others to load the trio into the Nissan’s bed. When they pulled into the farm’s barnyard full of donkeys, Tyler saw Abdul in the doorway of the men’s sleeping quarters. His emotionless face sent shivers down Tyler’s spine. Oh God, we’re going to die.
Chapter Seventeen
At Ahmed’s farm
In the Rif Mountains, Morocco
Wednesday, December 8, 2005
7:20 a.m.
“I’m going to ask you again. Who told you?” Wu snarled as he drew back his hand and slapped Lei hard. Blood ran from her nose and mouth. Yet she refused to say anything. Instead Tyler answered for her.
“I told you. We just want hash.” Abdul kicked him again. Twice.
“Who told you I was here? What does that pathetic old cripple Sunny know about our business?” Wu was slapping Lei while Abdul worked Tyler over. “I’m going to beat you until you tell me. Do you want people to look away from your disfigured face for the rest of your life? Now talk, bitch.” Wu paused and took a deep breath.
Lei spat out blood but said not a word.
Wu drew his arm as far back as he could and slapped her again. Her head spun around, pulling her body after it. She lost her balance and crashed into the wall. Her head bounced hard off the concrete, already smeared with blood. She collapsed, unable to break her fall because her hands were tied behind her. “You polluted, half-bred mongrel. You deserve to die.”
Wu’s blows cut the inside of Lei’s cheek, and she spitted blood. When bloody spittle got on Wu’s clothes, he made a fist and smashed it into her nose, never again to be as straight as a model’s. Blood spurted out of her nose in pulses every time her heart contracted. Tyler recoiled in aversion.
Abdul played with Tyler, kicking him on one side and then spinning to kick him on the other side before Tyler fell. After absorbing a flurry of those kicks, Tyler sank to his knees.
Abdul continued to kick him, and Tyler tried to remain on his knees. But every blow of Abdul’s foot knocked him over. Abdul would haul him back up to his knees before delivering another kick. Alternating legs, Abdul struck these roundhouse kicks as if he was training on a punching bag.
Tyler’s skull was already covered with blood. He had ducked into one of Abdul’s first kicks and reopened the gash he’d gotten bailing out of the Fiat. Head wounds bleed profusely, and several different streams of blood ran down his face, his neck and back. Every time Abdul kicked him, the force of the blow flew red droplets off in all directions. Lei and Little Bo turned their heads away as his blood showered them. When Tyler couldn’t stay on his knees, he crumpled to a fetal position on the floor. Abdul kept kicking him as he lay on the floor wet with his blood.
The scent of blood invaded their nostrils, and Little Bo vomited, adding to the sickening smells. Yet the blood Tyler had spilt belied the harm that had been done to him. His leather jacket under the djellaba had mitigated the worst of Abdul’s body kicks. Nevertheless with every breath his battered ribcage shot pain through his chest. Finally Abdul lost interest and stopped kicking him.
Little Bo rocked back and forth on his heels, saying prayers, awaiting his turn to be beaten. Wu once shouted at him for praying, but Abdul intervened, allowing Little Bo to continue. The small Moroccan was mumbling under his breath, and Tyler hoped he was praying for mercy. Wu and Abdul had few questions for Little Bo. Apparently they realized he had not been more than their driver. But that didn’t spare him a beating. Little Bo told them truthfully he had met Tyler by chance at the airport.
Ahmed stuck his head in the door, and he looked aghast at the bloodbath. He made a brief statement and departed. Alone again with his partner and their prisoners, Abdul retrieved an assault rifle that was leaning against the wall and checked it for ammunition. Tyler looked at Lei, whose head hung limply. She was barely conscious. Little Bo was watching Abdul wield the weapon.
“No. Don’t shoot them.” Wu spoke to Abdul in English, the only language they had in common. In exasperation Wu swore at Lei, “You mongrel bitch, you have no idea how many problems you have caused me. Hung Ho was right. You are less than worthless.” He kicked her in the chest, sending her sprawling against the blood-splattered wall. “We cannot waste any more time on these dogs,” Wu said to Abdul. Then he turned back to Lei, telling her, “We are going to ruin you if you do not take us in as partners. Be sensible. I promise you the Pengs are better as your partners than we are as your enemies. Talk sense to your granduncle. Do not let his grudge against Hu keep us from working together again.”
Then Wu gestured at the bloody trio and spoke to Abdul. “These miserable dogs are no use to me dead. Tell Ahmed to keep them five days and then let them go. By then we shall be long gone. I need her to talk sense into her cursed granduncle.”
Abdul shrugged, stating his position, “I don’t care. They are no problem for me. They know nothing of my plans. But you, my friend, are making a mistake. Listen to me. You should kill every enemy. Dead enemies cannot harm you. Remember that rule.” He looked down at the battered trio
with bloodlust shining in his eyes. Abdul seemed disappointed Wu had spared their lives.
Wu had used plastic cable ties to bind each of them. He bound their arms behind their backs at the wrists and their legs at the ankles. He pulled the loops tight, cutting off the flow of blood to their hands and feet. Lei spit pink saliva in his direction, barely clearing her chin. She smiled a crooked, swollen smile. Little Bo broke into a loud prayer in Arabic, and Tyler inhaled as deeply as his bruised rib cage allowed. Wu shook with rage and kicked Lei in the head. Wu and Abdul left, leaving her motionless on the floor. Then a moan came from deep inside her. Thank heaven. She’s alive.
A minute later they heard shouts mixed with the incessant braying of donkeys. The racket kept up uninterrupted for at least a half an hour. Then for at least a hour the sounds grew fainter as the donkeys moved farther away. The din subsided while the beaten trio’s wounds clotted. Tacky to the touch, coagulated blood covered them head to foot.
Tyler curled up on the floor. He lay still, lessening the throbbing pain. Shooting pains flashed up and down his nerve paths. He squeezed his eyes hard enough to see white light. And for the brief moment he bathed in that light, he didn’t feel pain.
Lei leaned against the wall, splattered with her blood. Little Bo’s wife’s hijab, niqab and abaya were ruined. The left side of Lei’s mouth was twice the size of the right side, and her left eye was swollen shut. Her perfect skin was a mottled abstract of pink, red, and purple. Her nose lay over slightly to the left.
Spared the worst of the beatings, Little Bo was dazed but not seriously hurt. His lip had been spit where Wu had kicked him, and blood had poured from his mouth.
“What are we going to do, Sidi Tyler?”
“I don’t know. But we’re not going to lie around here.” He stretched himself out on the floor and rolled over onto his back. That painful exertion sapped his strength. “We’ve got to get out of here. After what we did to the guys in the van, they’ll kill us no matter what Abdul says.”
Tyler took a breath, held it and tried to sit up. He almost made it before his trunk muscles contracted. His back went stiff as a board. He toppled over, smacking his head on the floor. Electricity shot throughout his body. Gasping shallow breaths of air, he marshaled the will for another try. This time he made it upright, but he nearly fainted. He looked at Lei.
“What are we going to do, Tyler?”
“We’re going to get out of here. I don’t know how, but we getting out. ”
Then Little Bo cried out.
“What happened?” asked Lei.
“I bit my tongue. I think I cut it.”
Lei straightened up. “That’s it. Little Bo, you’re a genius. Hurry, scoot over here. I want to try something.”
“What are you thinking, Lei?”
“Watch.” She moved toward Little Bo and gave him directions. “Stand up in front of me with your back to me.” And when he was in that position, she leaned forward and put her mouth on his wrists.
“What are you doing?”
“I am going to bite through the cable tie.” She used the side of her mouth that wasn’t as swollen and hurting. “This might work,” Lei said.
And after a minute and a half biting the tie with her incisors, the one on Little Bo’s wrists broke. Whooping with joy, he rubbed his reddened wrists. He leaned over, and she kissed him gingerly on the top of his head with her swollen lips. He grinned bashfully. He retrieved Tyler’s Swiss Army knife out of his djellaba. After he cut his own loops, he cut Lei’s and then Tyler’s.
But danger remained. Ishmael was loose and probably armed with at least Little Bo’s pistol. They didn’t know if any of Ishmael’s friends had remained at the farm. If they had, they might be rearmed. And their pursuers could appear any moment. They had to get off the farm pronto.
Tyler heard noise and wanted to peek into a window of the building where the noise was coming from. He ran across the farmyard to the corner of the building. All the windows were glassless openings hung with sturdy wooden shutters, and he pressed himself close against the shutter. He smelled wood smoke. He heard a female voice speaking. He hadn’t heard two voices, but he assumed the speaker was talking with someone.
If two persons were there, the other might be Ishmael, because it was unlikely Ahmed would have left three hostages in the hands of the farm’s two women. Swallowing with difficulty because his mouth was so parched, he peeked into the window. The woman had her back to him, bending over a low table. Although her body partially blocked his view, he could see that a second person was sitting at the table. He could only see that person’s hand and arm, but he knew it was Ishmael.
Tyler wanted to act before Ishmael finished his meal, and so he dashed back to Lei and Little Bo with the information. They agreed they should try to overpower Ishmael. Tyler thought they could use a distraction to gain the advantage.
“Lei, I need you to distract Ishmael.”
“How? What do you want me to do?”
“I want you to go around the other side of that building and pull the wooden wedge holding the shutter open. Then slam the shutter shut, yank it back open and jump in front of the window.”
“What will you two do”
“We’re going to be outside the doorway opposite your window, and when we hear you slam the shutter, we’ll rush in and grab Ishmael. Hopefully when you slam the shutter, he’ll look toward you, and we can grab him.”
In Tyler’s experience even good plans didn’t work as designed, but this plan proved an exception. It worked like a charm. They overpowered Ishmael the second time in twelve hours without opposition. The old woman started to wail until Little Bo spoke at her very harshly and raised his hand. She swallowed her wail and whimpered as Tyler frisked Ishmael. It turned up the Colt .45. Putting the pistol to Ishmael’s head, Tyler demanded, “Where’s the Chinaman?”
Seeing the gun pointing at Ishmael, the woman wailed again until both Little Bo and Ishmael barked at her. This time Lei led her to a corner and forced her to sit. Ishmael spoke curtly to her again, and she dissolved in tears. She hid her tears by holding her droopy sleeves over her face.
Finally Ishmael answered, “He is gone. With Abdul and my father. They left this morning.”
He had figured out as much when he had heard the donkeys’ braying fade away that morning. “Where did they go?”
“To the coast.”
“With the hashish?”
“All of it. And you will never find them.”
“Shit! Wu’s gone. So is Abdul. They’re taking the hash to the coast on the donkeys. Where on the coast?”
“I don’t know. I never heard where they were going. But I would not tell you even if I knew.”
Tyler slapped him twice for being uncooperative and obnoxious. Wu was gone, but how long before his henchmen would catch up to them to get their revenge?
Chapter Eighteen
At Ahmed’s farm
In the Rif Mountains, Morocco
Wednesday, December 8, 2005
8:50 a.m.
Tyler was confused. “Why donkeys? Why not a truck? Why don’t they drive to the coast?”
Lei theorized, “It must be either because there is not a road to the rendezvous spot or else the road would not be safe. What do you guys think?”
Little Bo spoke up, “The police put up roadblocks all the time to search for hashish shipments. With donkeys you don’t need roads. That’s probably why.”
“Damn. They’re not on a road.” Tyler stamped his foot in frustration. “We’ve got to catch up with Wu and can’t even use the bloody car. Great, that’s just great.” Ishmael was smiling. “I wouldn’t smile if I were you, farm boy. We’re not done with you. Where are your friends?”
“They went home because they didn’t sleep at all last night.”
“Who’s still here on the farm?”<
br />
“Just me and my mother and sister.”
“Where’s your father?”
“He went with the donkeys.”
“How many other people are with the Chinaman and Abdul?”
Ishmael counted on his fingers, and finally announced confidently, “Four.”
Tyler assumed all six were armed, making the odds very long for him. “When will Abdul’s men get here?” He pointed at his watch to get the point across.
“I don’t know anything about other men.”
Lei pointed out, “They might head straight to the rendezvous.” And she asked, ”Did anyone call Abdul?” She pantomimed holding a telephone up to her ear. Ishmael merely shrugged his shoulders.
Tyler doubted there was any cellular coverage in the mountains anyway. “Where’s our car?”
“Down by the wall.”
“Little Bo, check it out. Take him with you, and shoot him if he tries to pull anything. Do we need to worry about the women?” Tyler asked.
“No, Sidi Tyler. They will not get involved.”
“Warn them to stay out of this. Or else we’ll hurt their men.” He motioned for Ishmael to get up, and Little Bo led him away. Lei had already started to inventory what in the kitchen might come in handy. And Tyler was lost in thought.
They were facing a momentous decision, and he was torn. The beatings had hurt. And although they had begun their hunt for Wu with good reason, it had already almost cost them their lives. At this moment they could escape the danger they still faced. They could get in the Fiat and flee with the photos they had. They had received the reprieve Tyler had prayed for just three hours earlier.
But it would take them a long time to drive somewhere they could send the photos to Hacker, and by then they would have no better idea where Wu was than “headed toward the coast.” That wouldn’t help Hacker much.
