He got to the site of chaos and saw that it was the Union’s building that had been bombed! The berraka was completely gone, replaced by burning rubbish. He could hear sirens approaching, but as the streets were so narrow, the authorities would be running in on foot. A small police cart, however, quickly appeared on the scene. Two officers got off it and immediately began to set up barriers to keep people away.
Bond took refuge behind the fruit barrow he had used earlier and watched the unfolding drama with confusion and wonder. What the hell had happened here?
What was particularly strange, Bond suddenly realized, was that no one was coming out of the burning building. In fact, it appeared to be completely empty.
More officers arrived on the scene and were talking to a few witnesses. Bond recognized the beggar in the crowd of onlookers. The beggar wasn’t watching the building; he was looking right at Bond.
The man then approached one of the officers and said something, pointing at Bond. The policeman spotted Bond and shouted. The other officers looked up and in his direction. All of them drew their weapons and aimed them at him.
Faced with no other choice, Bond slowly put up his hands.
SIXTEEN
CHANGE OF PLANS
BOND PUSHED UP ON THE END OF THE FRUIT CART, CAUSING THE ENTIRE contents to topple to the ground. Oranges, apples, grapefruit, and assorted vegetables spilled across the street. He then shoved the entire cart forward on its wheels, toward the police, blocking their sight lines and giving Bond just the right amount of confusion he needed to make a run for it. A policeman fired his gun, but the bullet zinged off one of the walls. People screamed and parted the way for Bond as he rushed through the crowded bazaar.
Two teenage boys, trying to help the police, attempted to grab him as he ran by. One of them caught Bond’s legs, tackling him; the other one jumped on his back to pin him to the ground. Bond didn’t want to hurt them, but he didn’t want to be captured either. He rolled hard, knocking the boy off his back. He then kicked his legs wildly, preventing the other boy from holding on. Once he had freed himself, Bond got to his feet and continued to run. By now, though, the police had nearly caught up with him.
Bond took a sharp turn through a group of Berber women selling live chickens. The chickens squawked and fluttered, which prompted the women to shout at him and point the way for the police. The Berber men joined the chase, ready to make the rude foreigner pay for what he had done.
Bond ducked into a doorway and found himself in a shoemaker’s shop. The place was covered with all manner of footwear, from Moroccan cherbil slippers to the latest American athletic varieties. Bond looked around quickly and noted a large rack of shoes next to the front door and another door at the back of the shop. The policemen’s shouts were coming closer.
The shoemaker, who was sitting and working on the floor, looked at Bond with bewilderment. Bond said, “Forgive me,” then pulled down the rack of shoes, blocking the front door. He then leaped over the shoemaker and ran to the back door.
It emptied into another part of the twisting medina. Bond ran outside and turned a corner as quickly as he could. Now he was truly lost in the maze, so he simply kept running, turning this way and that, hoping that he could lose the police. Up ahead was a small mosque with scaffolding on one side. Bond tried to go inside the building, but a man standing in front blocked his entrance. Only Muslims were allowed in the mosque.
Bond didn’t have time to argue. He heard the police running at the end of the street, so he leaped onto the scaffolding and began to climb. Another shot rang out, barely missing him, as the police arrived at the foot of the scaffolding. Bond got to the roof and ran across, jumping over a large hole where repairs were being made. At the edge of the building, he found that he could make another leap to the top of the adjoining building.
The horrible smell there was overpowering. It reminded Bond of manure and vomit mixed with chemicals … turpentine or something. A stone staircase led down into a courtyard that was revealed to be part of a small tannery. The pungent odors were coming from the vats where men were up to their knees in red and orange liquids, scrubbing hides. The exotic ingredients used in the process included pigeon dung, cow urine, fish oils, animal fats and brains, chromium salts, and sulphuric acid.
Bond held his breath and leaped over the vats, one by one, causing the men to shout at him in anger. He ran past a wall of hides that had been hung up to dry after they had been scraped of the hair and extraneous flesh and soaked in the putrid dyes. Not seeing a convenient way out, Bond took a running jump and gained a handhold in the cracks in the wall. He swung one leg up and over, but unfortunately wiped the front of his body over one of the wet hides. He dropped down the other side of the wall and was in another street full of people and mule carts.
Bond pushed his way through, slowing his pace so as not to attract too much attention. He could see a horseshoe-shaped arch at the end of the street, one of the medina’s exits. He made his way toward it, but three policemen suddenly appeared there. They were looking intently at the crowd. Bond turned around abruptly and merged with a group of men in jellabas marching in the opposite direction. As soon as he could, Bond rounded a corner and got off the street. Unluckily, it was a dead end, with a wall much too high to climb.
He looked back around the corner and saw that the three policemen were headed his way. Surely they would notice a Westerner emerge from the passageway if he attempted to do so.
A rope suddenly dropped and dangled beside him.
“Up here!” whispered a female voice. Bond looked up. It was one of the Taunt twins! She was standing on the roof of the building and was holding the rope.
“Don’t just stand there. Climb!” she ordered.
Bond did as he was told. He climbed the wall and bolted onto the roof just as the policemen reached the street and inspected it. All they saw was a rope being pulled up the building.
“Am I glad to see you,” he said. She was wearing the same tight blue jeans, but was now dressed in a red silk blouse with the sleeves rolled up.
“Hush up and follow me,” the girl commanded. She ran across the roof to the other side. Bond accompanied her, dazed by this sudden turn of events.
“Which one are you?” he asked.
“I’m Hedy.” She took a sniff and grimaced at the stains on his clothing. “Lovely smell. Come this way.” She took a running start and leaped across the eight-foot gap between buildings, then turned and shouted, “Don’t just stand there. Come on!”
Bond mimicked her action, then they both ran across the second rooftop.
“Where are we going?” he asked.
“Just shut up and don’t stop. We’re trying to save your ass.”
She led him across two more rooftops until she pointed to a fire escape. “Down, mister. Go in the open window, first floor down.”
Bond climbed down the stairs and slipped into the window. He was in a bedroom with Western furnishings. Hedy slithered inside behind him. She led him out of the bedroom, down a hallway, and into what was some kind of office. Heidi was dressed identically and sitting at a desk, looking at a computer monitor. Neither of them wore the red wig. Filing cabinets, a fax machine, a copier, telephones, and other pieces of high-tech equipment dominated the room.
“What the hell is going on?” Bond asked.
“Welcome to the Casablanca headquarters of the CIA, Mr. Bond,” Hedy said.