How bizarre is Brian and Amina’s situation! Each one had a problem they needed, or believed they needed to solve. The solution was in the hands of the person sitting adjacent. Brian was emotionally tied to finding out more about the journals and he was running out of money. Amina had money on her, literally. Not enough to live like the way she had. But enough to start a life if she needed to do it alone. But that was not the goal. The goal was to meet up with Hanz and they would start, or more accurately, restart their lives. Money was not her problem. Her problem was Hasan’s ability to find and destroy her new life. Hanz was a good manager but once Amina left Hasan, when it became known where she was, his job would be in jeopardy. They planned to leave the business world and open a winery in California or Australia or maybe move to South America.
Brian really wanted to know what was in those Journals and he really wanted to know why she was running. She had said that she was coming to the conclusion that maybe she overreacted to Masood. Brian reminded her that he as there and he was very intent to subdue her. But that wasn’t what she meant. She was thinking that he was acting on his own and not on direct orders from Hasan. Hasan will be furious when he finds out she left him. Of course she will call him and tell him. When she felt safely away. She didn’t really think that Hasan would hurt her.
Amina and Hasan had argued several times about the current business practices. A few times she threatened to leave but he typically persuaded her to stay. A time or two he threatened her vaguely. Brian, of course, new that his men were willing to use force. The guns pointed at him were obviously real. And Masood struck Amina pretty hard. Most people would not continue to pursue their target when in as much pain as he would have been after the kidney punch and cupped ears. Itseemed obvious to Brian that he was as serious as a shark. But he could not comment on whether he was under orders or not.
Whenever Amina spoke, Brian answered in French. He picked up quickly on her accent and lost more and more of his French Canadian accent with each conversation. He also spoke Arabic but not to her. When Amina spoke to him in Arabic he would answer in French. Being thoroughly fluent in both she didn’t really notice. She spoke her mind and he responded. She did not audit herself to see which language she was speaking.
Brian’s desperation for solving the mystery of the journals was held in check by the knowledge of Hasan’s men and Amina’s skills as an assassin. Even though he had traveled through Morocco and found it to be a very pleasant and peaceful place he could not completely rid himself of the Arab stereo types. He saw her Black Widow move from one floor to another in Casablanca. To him, it looked as if Amina “helped” Massood over the rail in Tangier. She responded to the attack and death of the man with calmness and quick action. He did not have the pleasure of knowing her during her teen years when she instinctively acted as the group chaperone. He alternated, uncontrollably between awe and visions of Black Widow and Assassin’s Creed. Maybe the journal’s weren’t hers. Then what was she investigating near the souk?
She could feel it. But she couldn’t put her finger on it. Brian was easy to talk to but he did not give her a lot of information. Do men ever stop being teenagers, with their grunts and short answers. Unless they want sex, then they can talk. But Brian didn’t make a move on her. Was he not interested in her or not interested in women. But he had a wife. She saw his eyes. She could tell when a woman of a certain shape and size walked by whether it ignited a spark. He preferred brunettes with long hair. She talked and talked and talked around the subject but he never offered any information. She thought, that like most men, he was zoned out. Fantasizing about the fruit vendor across the street or the woman by the window. She tested him. But he always knew what she was saying. He nodded. He commented. He laughed. Then why did she have this uneasy sense that he wasn’t sharing with her? Why should he, she argued with herself. She had no experience with this type of man. All the men she had experience with were married, except one, yet they had sex with her willingly, event enthusiastically. Many had mistresses. Even her husband. She was in a competition and didn’t realize that she had thrown her hat in the ring. She competed with his wife, the woman by the window and the fruit vendor across the street. She finally decided that he must be deeply religious and took a vow of chastity until he returned to his wife. This idea made her giggle a little internally. “I must be driving him mad.”
They were eating in a modern restaurant, away from the tourist area and the Muslim community. They decided those two areas would be the most likely to be watched. They chose a table as far back as possible and facing the street like FBI agents. This is why Amina could see the fruit vendor across the street. They discussed their next options. Without any explicit discussion, they seemed to just fall into step with each other. It was not until this moment that the possibility of going separate directions came up. Amina was doodling on a napkin. He had just noticed that she was doodling Chinese characters.
You speak Chinese?
No, why do you ask?
Aren’t you writing in Chinese?
Oh this. No this is Japanese. Well, I guess you’re right in a way. The Japanese borrowed their writing system from the Chinese and some of these symbols may still have the same meaning. I know this one means person in both languages. I don’t know very many more. Maybe a dozen.
Brian recognized not only the symbol for person but her drawing style. Now he was sure the journals were hers. His mind raced. What do I do now?
Brian, I need to get to Geneva.
My destination is Nice.
Oh really, what’s in Nice?
A friend of mine from my days in the military.
You served in the French military?
No, no, no. He met a French woman back home and moved here because they liked the weather.
What’s in Geneva?
A dear friend of mine. Someone who should be able to help me. Although, I’m not really sure I need help. I’m thinking I may have blown the situation with Masood out of proportion. He never liked me. I think he hated me. Hasan would not have told him to treat me so roughly or with such insolence.
I can’t comment on what his orders were. But like I’ve said before, I was right there and he was very, very serious about subduing you.
Not important. We can travel together until Avignon.
But that takes us through Barcelona. That is one of the places you were sure they would look for you.
Don’t you think they would have given up by now?
Masood didn’t give up despite the broken ear drums. Does your husband normally give up easily?
Uh, no. He’s as tenacious as a sea star on a clam.
There you have it.
Well, I refuse to despair. I’ll stay on the train to avoid being seen in the station. While the train is in the station, I’ll stay in the toilet. Could you help me? At least keep watch for me, while we’re in Barcelona? I must get to Geneva.
Was it clear that the friend in Geneva was her lover and partner to be? It was easy to think that Amina was playing the woman in distress card. She complained about wanting to go shopping. She knew she was missing the fashion shows in Milan. She worried about Fatimah and almost started to cry when she realized the problem she may have created for Fatima. In reality, Amina had always had a talent for organizing. Unlike Hasan’s family who were business owners offering basic services, Amina’s family were all managers, professionals or consultants. Everything was about time tables, goals, organization and resource allocation. So, naturally, she was the one that organized group outings and made sure everything was taken care of. Her complaints were just the nervous ejaculations of a caged animal.
They arranged travel by train to Madrid. Unfortunately, they had just missed the last train today. They would have to spend another night in Cadiz. No one was happy. After leaving the station, they walked for a while. Amina stopped suddenly turned her face to a wall, and let loose a string of swears and curses in every language she knew. Then she took a deep breadth and continued walking. Brian still had not reactivated his phone. Amina was without a phone. They stopped at an internet cafe, had something to eat and surfed the web out of each other’s eyesight. Brian looked for information on deaths and murders in Casablanca and Tangier. He didn’t want to do a direct search lest he trigger some kind of tracking algorithm. The source on the two in Casablanca only said it was under investigation. The death in Tangier was attributed to an acute kidney attack caused by the stones, the pain caused him to misjudge and fall off the overpass. It mentioned that the man was visiting his sick mother, who took it very had. And that his employer, in Casablanca had been notified. He looked up the employer. Brian’s uncle was rich. He bought a new Cadillac every year and went to Hawaii the week after Christmas, every year. Hasan made uncle look like someone on food stamps. He had his hand in a variety of pies. There were many photos of him with celebrities and dignitaries at galas across Europe, Africa and the Middle East. Amina was in many of them, always covered, head to ankle. The oldest photo he found, and the only one like this, was a candid shot of her in a very short, strapless black evening dress. An old man was shamelessly inspecting her cleavage, while a sour-faced wife looked on. She was gorgeous.
Meanwhile, Amina used a couple of charitable sites and commented on 1 or 2 recent posts. The messages contained a few key words and misspellings to signal Hanz. Through code, she let him know the basics. She was safe, without phone, no credit cards, and on her way to rendezvous point 1. They had prearranged 5 rendezvous points that they referred to by number. She wanted an immediate response but knew that was not possible. She would have to wait. She found Brian.
Let’s go shopping!
I think that’s a bad idea. Why do women always want to go shopping?
So we can look sexy and alluring for the grumpy men in our lives. And she jokingly laid her head on his shoulder.
He laughed in spite of himself. They went shopping and he endured the standard torture that men the world over endure. With a little twist. Since she had most of her cash in her spanx, she didn’t try on anything form fitting or requiring disrobing below the waist. She tended towards loose tops in bright complicated patterns, or scarves or accessories. His reticence still bothered her. She decided to push it a bit and do a test. She she tried on some bras. The first was an old fashion ‘this is what my grandmother wore’ look to it. Then she modeled a black lacy one that provided some extra lift. His response to the first was “Really? You need me for this too?” To the second, the response was speechless discomfort. His body language was saying I shouldn’t be looking but I really, really want to. He got up and left. She had found a button to push.
She bought several large, cheap scarves then found him looking at sporting goods.
Come on, we have more shopping to do.
I’m about shopped out.
It’s too early to go back.
More underwear?
Worse! she said with a mischievous grin.
She took him into a men’s store and had him try on sports coats and windbreakers. This made him almost as miserable as watching the bra parade. She wouldn’t let him out of it. She complemented hiim on what made him look good and told him what to avoid. She picked an ill-fitting jacket and one in the right size and showed him the difference. She taught him about the fabric and the cut. Before he knew it, he was enjoying himself.
They ate again. A very light dinner with a glass of wine and walked back to the hotel. She put her arm under his. He did not pull back.
Frugal Pilgrim 