Brian was so thankful that they were finally underway. He pondered the possible causes of the panic attack in Casablanca. He went through his years in Afghanistan and the years of competition and couldn’t find a single similar instance. Keeping his wits was critical to his survival not only because of the potential threat from the Blue Turban security guards and their obviously rich employer but because he was alone in a foreign country. It wasn’t that he found Morocco to be dangerous. It was quiet pleasant and seemed secure. But things happen. What made this time different? As he went back and forth through his memory he finally settled on the cause. He had been in dangerous situations before. Twisting the wrong way in a top competitive match could really mess you up. As an MP in Afghanistan, he had many bar fights to break up and faced down a few local gunmen. In all of those cases the threat was concrete, for the most part the outcomes were known and the method to mitigate the threat was was known. His anxiety stemmed from ambiguity. He did not know all the threats. He did not know what role, if any, the woman he saw played in this drama. Is this a vengeance issue? A gang issue? Thanks to the street vendor, he was able to lay everything on the table, figuratively, and construct a plan of action in spite of a lack of details. The plan, in a sentence, is “Spread as much redirection as is reasonably possible then get outta Dodge!”
He called the employer of the security force by different names depending on his mood. Most names were from fiction Vito, Corleone, Blofeld, Moriarty. But there were also historical references like Genghis, or Khan or Capone. The security force wore a type of uniform. The lack of emblems and patches made Brian think that it was part show. To give an illusion of organization. Which, in fact, was true. To use an American expression Hasan was such a penny pincher that he had Lincoln imprints on his thumbs. He wasn’t actually cheap. He was focused. Every expenditure, every movement of resources, must have maximum effect. His men wore khaki pants, a blue tunic and a blue turban. The shade of blue was common in that area of Africa so it was easy to get. The color coordination looked stylish without excessive expense or pretension. But it made his organization look well organized. In reality, a large part of his “security force” were actually part time. They were paid better than average but held to a high standard of cleanliness and fitness. If you got too fat, you were forced to hand over the uniform and fired. Even if they weren’t capable, he wanted his men to look like they could fight a war. He eventually discovered the man’s real name was Hasan. Nevertheless, he still like using Vito, Capone or Khan.
Seeing Khan’s men at the bus station made Brian uneasy. Why were they looking for him? Because of the dead men or because of the journals. “Damn, I wish I knew what was in those journals!” He had FedExed the journals to an Army buddy in Nice. After getting out of the service, Charlie went back home to Middlebury Vermont. There he fell in love with a French woman. After a couple of years both decided they were tired of the cold and wanted to live the digital online life. So they sold everything and moved to Nice, in the south of France, near the French-Italian border. He couldn’t remember how it started, but they had kept in touch through goofy tourist post cards. One had a moose doing something obscene to a tourist. Another said “The weather is here wish you were beautiful.” Charlies comments were terse and full of acronyms. “FU MP-boy” And that was it. Charlie was one of those people that you can connect with and rely on. If he can help, he will. He planned on just keeping the journals with him, but his mind ran to the worse possible scenarios. Maybe they were the ledgers of Colombian style drug lords or a terrorist cell group. It didn’t occur to him that if he didn’t have them on him that they might torture him for the location. He thought, I’ll put these somewhere safe and either go get them later or ask Charlie to send them. He found a couple of other books on his wanderings and put these in his bag. He would claim that he had no idea what they were talking about and these were the only books he had.
Different things are important in different countries. And what makes perfect sense in one country may not make sense at all in another country. The bus schedule gave the time the bus would leave and the length of time to get to Tangier. What they leave out is that the bus may not leave at the listed time if there were not enough passengers. The European idea of treating a schedule as a commitment was incomprehensible here. The schedule just meant that they would not leave before the listed time. They waited for almost an hour waiting for 2 more passengers, including the woman who spun herself on to the bus. They made a stop in Rabat for fuel and a food break. Brian didn’t move. He was not going to expose himself off the bus. If they came on the bus he would decide what to do. This was the last stop for some of the passengers, they picked up their luggage and left the bus. He took the opportunity to move further to the rear. The last row had a seat in the corner with no window. He took it, wedged his bag between him and the wall. About an hour outside of Rabat he relaxed. He covered his face again and leaned back to sleep. He was out in 5 minutes.
Amina had remained completely still all the way to Rabat. She too would not risk getting off. If Hasan’s men came on the bus, she would pretend complete indifference. If they recognized her and took her she would accept that this was the will of Allah and go to her fate. Nothing happened in Rabat and she saw no evidence of her husband’s men through the windows. After the bus left the city limits of Rabat she relaxed. She stayed still, praying under her breath. She dreaded the thought of going to the bathroom but she had no choice. She shuffled back to the bathroom and began the laborious process of unpacking all her assets. She relieved herself then had to completely repack. As she went to the back of the bus to use the bathroom she noticed that there was a man in the corner seat, his face covered but obviously asleep. As she left the bathroom she turned to close the door quietly to avoid drawing attention to herself. When she did so, she noticed the scarf had fallen off the man’s face. It was the same man. A stifled scream escaped her lips. She clamped her hand over her mouth but she couldn’t slow her breathing. The little screamed had roused the man. She did not wait for him to completely awaken, she turned and moved back to seat and started to weep. All she could think was that her husband knew everything. Hasan would meet the man with the journals and her in Tangier and extract an accounting from her. Judgement was coming,
She wept and prayed. Then prayed and wept. She argued with God. Why am I being judged and not Hasan or at least why are we not being judged together. He forced her to do what she did and he had done some dirty deals too. Though she believed in Allah, and loved Him, she felt the Muslim religion could be very hard on women. Rape victims were blamed for choosing to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Or their parents were blamed for not being better guardians. Blame was rarely laid upon the shoulders of the attacker. A thought floated through her mind that brought her some peace. She assumed that she knew most of the pertinent facts. She had verified many of them herself but what if she had interpreted them wrong? If her husband knew where she was going and the man was with her why not meet in Rabat? Why wait until Tangier. She began to ponder the possibility that the man was either completely ignorant of the drama or he was also scared and in flight. Maybe he could be an ally? How could she work this to her advantage?
Brian was having a dream about Xena. That’s the name he gave the woman with the black hair who did the ninja move from one floor to the next in Casablanca. In the dream he complemented her skill but asked why she didn’t take the stairs? Her answer was “Because I don’t want my husband to know where I am.” Then she looked over her shoulder and screamed. He awoke. It took a moment for him to reorient himself and remember that he was on a bus to Tangier. He saw the burka clad woman walking toward the front of the bus.
The bus finally pulled into the station and everyone got off. Brian hung back a minute or two to look for Hasan’s men. He saw none so he relaxed and got off. The woman he had noticed was ahead on the left. She wobbled along and soon became part of the people-scape you see at any transportation hub. He saw a building that sort of looked like a mall that might have some food. He climbed the stairs to the elevated bridge. He was groggy, stiff and hungry. He hadn’t relieved himself since Rabat so he went into the bathroom, washed and came back out. He was not expecting the whirlwind that happened next.
The woman he had noticed, had just removed her head covering. It was Xena! His mouth dropped open. At that same moment a man came out of nowhere and punched her in the stomach and cursed. With an “oof” she doubled over. He took the opportunity to grab her brown leather purse. The money she had stashed protected her from the full brunt of the blow; she was more startled than hurt.
You whoring bitch?
She recovered, and screamed and called for help. But the causeway was oddly empty. She threw the head covering in his face which obscured his vision for a split second. She kicked him in the balls. He started cursing at her in French and Arabic. He was trained. He was slowed but not immobilized. Though slightly bent over he turned for another attack. Brian stepped in and deliver a quick jab to the left kidney. He arched backward in paid. Amina cupped her hands and smashed both ears. Not once, but three times hard. Surely at least one of his ear drums was busted. Staggering and swearing he went after Amina again. The purse was on the floor. She grabbed it and tried to move away from the man but he had her blocked in against the railing. He held his left ear with his left hand and with his right hand he reached for Amina. Then he lunged for her but she side stepped and he hit the rail and started to go over. Brian didn’t understand why she did this, and later she confessed she didn’t know either, while he was trying to regain his balance she pulled off his turban. Instinctively he reached up for it and this upset his balance enough to send him over the edge. There was dull sickening crunch. Brian went over to see what happened. “Don’t!” She commanded and covered his face with the turban. They could hear people running up the stairs, she assumed police.
“Come! Over here.” She reached down and removed the black burka, revealing slacks and top beneath. She wrapped the turban in the burka and placed by a plant.
“You’re not moving fast enough.” She pushed him into a corner. As the police came up the stairs she wrapped her arms around him and started to kiss him. He was not getting the hint so she wrapped one of his arms around her.
“We must hide in plane sight.”
He finally caught on and wrapped his other arm around.
Two police came up the stairs that Brian had come up earlier. They looked over the edge and then saw the two of them. They had moved 40 feet from the scene.
Did you see who pushed the man over the edge?
Amina said “What?! What man?”
She smiled at the policeman and said, I’m sorry I was distracted and she rubbed her self against Brian.
Do you not have ears? Did you not hear the man go over the side?
Amina blinked her eyes. What sound does a man make when he goes over the side? The side of what?
The police was getting exasperated.
Did you hear or see anything?
Not really, we were a little distracted. I heard a woman scream or shout. I’m not sure.
Which way did she go?
I think she went down those stairs. She pointed at the ones she came up.
Or maybe those. I have not seen my boyfriend in a month and my mind was elsewhere. She rubbed his chest with her free hand. Brian just nodded. The French was flowing just a little to fast for him.
What did she look like?
All these Muslim woman wearing the burka and head covering look alike to me. It’s all so dark. And she shuddered.
The other policeman called.
“They know nothing” He referred to them, in Arabic, as tourists with some offensive adjectives thrown in. He went to his partner and they started examining the rail.
Amina picked up the burka bundle, grabbed Brian by the hand and said “Let’s go.” in French.
Why was that man after you?
Not me. Us, mon amour! We must hurry. There is good news and bad news.
Before leaving the area, Amina circled back to the area below the balcony. She could see a pool of blood between the legs of the bystanders. That was all she needed. She rejoined Brian and they took off in the direction of the ferry. As they walked they came across a peddler selling traditional rugs, scarves and trinkets. While pretending interest in a rug, she dropped the burka under the counter. She asked the price of the rug then responded with shock and walked away. She had unwound the blue turban and wrapped it around her waist under the over sized blouse. Brian was mystified but followed along like a hungry puppy.
You said there is good news and bad news. Tell me.
The good news is that was one of my husband’s best men. But he will have nothing to report. The bad news is that the most logical path is to leave Morocco by ferry and go to Spain or France. That’s what he will expect us to do. I took his turban so that if he appears on the news it won’t be immediately obvious that he was one of my husband’s men but someone may recognize his face. If we’re lucky it will take a 2 to 3 hours before my husband finds out. The bad news is that we must get to the ferry which might take us half an hour. If we can quickly get on a fast ferry we can be in Spain in about an hour. If we have to take a slow ferry it will be 2 hours. That will give him time to call ahead.
What if we don’t take the logical path?
What do you mean?
Instead of going straight to the ferry; we stay here a night or two. Then take the ferry from here or Cueta?
They passed another stall selling the kind of stuff that appeals to tourists. She asked him to buy her a scarf. She hung on his arm and pointed at a tan one. He paid and they left. As they walked she wrapped the scarf around her in the fashion of the more moderate Muslim women. She didn’t look like a local. She looked more like a tourist trying to respect the customs of modesty.
They found a hotel. She sent Brian in to get a single room for him. Try to sound like an American and not a French Canadian. Ask in English if you can. Brian just blinked and said ok. They arranged to meet at a restaurant up the street. While Brian got the room, she walked around the block and located alternate entrances to the hotel. Then she went to the restaurant and ordered beer, brochette and bread. She mentally decided that she would not reveal anything about the journals and as little as she knew about his involvement. She would have to say something but it would not come freely.
They made plans to stay in Tangier for 1 night. Get to Ceuta as quickly as possible. Spend the night there and take the earliest ferry possible to get to Spain. They did not discuss what they would do in Spain. Brian neither offered nor asked for any information. They ate and left. He went in the front entrance to the restaurant and she took the servant entrance and met him at the room. As expected they did not have a room with a single bed. Only queen sized.
Do I have to worry about you attacking me in my sleep?
He laughed. I just saw you take out a trained guard and push him off a balcony. Then you hid us and completely fooled the police. I think I should fear for my life.
I did not kill him. He fell over the balcony trying to grab me.
Then why didn’t you tell that to the police.
Her brow furrowed in anger. We would both be taken to the police station. And you may have to explain why you killed those two men in Casablanca and why you’re here, in disguise.
That slapped the smile off Brian’s face.
I didn’t kill anyone. And I’m not in disguise. I’ve gone native.
I don’t know what that means. Nevertheless, do I have to worry about you. I refuse to sleep on the floor and I won’t try to make you.
He thought for a moment and his demeanor softened. I would frequently roll over in the middle of the night and wrap my arm around my wife. I never remember doing it. But every morning that is where I awoke. No guarantee I won’t do that.
She thought of all the things that men had done to her over the last few years. That was not one of them. Even her husband never hugged her during the night.
I can live with that. But don’t get any ideas about going further.
You’re kidding, right? He looked at her from top to bottom. I cannot promise thoughts won’t cross my mind. But I promise I won’t try anything.
She stuck her hand out for pax-shake and said “Peace”.
Frugal Pilgrim 