“What ‘business’?”
“They found you in Nice—they won’t stop hunting just because you’ve gone somewhere else. Not now. They’ve got a score to settle now. Besides,” Gabriel said, “if that stone’s out there like they said, I can’t just let it fall into their hands.”
“Why? For god’s sake, Gabriel, what does it matter who’s got some old stone? Haven’t you got enough old stones already?”
“Not one like this,” Gabriel said. “Not if what they said about it is true.”
She shrugged, let her eyes slide shut. “All right. Do what you have to,” she said.
“What,” Gabriel said, “you’re not going to insist on coming with me?”
“Not a chance,” Lucy said. “I just want to get the hell out of here.”
It didn’t take long for people to start filling the square. Gabriel heard the first loud calls that indicated the water sellers had arrived. Sounds of shops opening and people greeting each other.
The door to the grain shop opened and, peeking up from behind the sacks, Gabriel saw the shopkeeper put down a bag and strap on an apron. The first customers entered directly behind him, a pair of women in Moroccan dress, followed by a gray-haired husband and wife with matching cameras around their necks. Gabriel and Lucy stood as the couple walked past and casually exited the store behind them.
The sun was bright now and the square was full. The same complement of acrobats, musicians, mendicants, and food sellers were in place and at work. A pair of early morning tour buses had parked nose-to-tail on the less populated side of the square and were disgorging passengers dressed in knee-length shorts and shirts with resort logos printed across the front. They fanned themselves with folded pamphlets, sweating already even though the real heat of the day was still hours away.
Lucy blinked in the glare and ran her fingers through her hair, which was standing up in spiky green clumps.
“You want me to blend in,” she muttered.
“Come on.”
They walked toward the group of tourists behind the nearer of the buses. A Moroccan guide was speaking to them through an electric megaphone.
“We are now going into the older portion of the Djemaa el Fna. Please to walk along this side of the square. We will stay another thirty minutes. Please to buy what beautiful souvenirs you find. Please to return to the bus by nine o’clock. As soon as everyone is back we will leave and travel to the beautiful Majorelle Garden.”
Gabriel and Lucy merged into the crowd, most of whom appeared to be American judging by their accents.
“Can’t we just get a taxi?” Lucy whispered
“I’m afraid all the money we’ve got is what your friend Chigaru had in his wallet. And the Alliance doesn’t seem to pay its people very well.” On the plane ride into Morocco, Amun had made Gabriel empty his pockets—less, Gabriel figured, as a matter of theft than to reduce his mobility if somehow he managed to get away. It was working.
The tour group stopped at a basket shop, a jewelry shop; they spent some time at a fruit stand. Then they walked toward a familiar street. At the far end Gabriel saw a sign that brought him up short—NIZAN’S CARPETS.
“Let’s slip away, Lucy. Slowly and quietly.”
But it was too late. Nizan stood in front of the shop, one hand raised to greet the morning’s customers. His eyes fell on Gabriel, and his smile abruptly vanished. He turned and shouted something in Arabic toward the back of the shop.
“Go. Go,” Gabriel said, pushing Lucy into motion. They took off across the square, threading between the knots of tourists and muttering apologies on the run for the occasional collision. The square was crowded enough already at this hour that it was difficult to move with any speed. The only good thing about the congestion was that it made things equally hard for their pursuers.
Gabriel looked back. Kemnebi and two other men had come out of the carpet shop. Nizan pointed in Gabriel’s direction.
Gabriel pulled Lucy toward the section where the crowd was thickest, a wall of people facing one direction, watching something. Lucy speared right through them, slipping between a pair of men holding their cameras up to their eyes. Gabriel followed. He stumbled into an open area, in the center of which a performer was busy—
Charming snakes.
The man, wearing an open vest over his skinny frame and a turban on his head, held several serpents in his arms. At his feet several more were coiled—a couple of cobras, a viper, an asp. He sang to the reptiles in a high-pitched voice that Gabriel thought would be enough to make him take a bite out of the guy if he were a snake, but the snakes appeared to be entranced by it.
Lucy had plunged into the circle at top speed and it took her a few steps to come to a halt. She caught herself up, arms windmilling to keep her from falling forward. There was a cobra at her feet. It twisted to face her and hissed. She reflexively stepped sideways, bumping into the covered basket by the charmer’s side. The man jumped up, shouting, reaching for it, but not in time. The lid toppled off and the basket went over, spilling its contents.
Suddenly there were two dozen snakes on the ground, spreading in every direction. The crowd shrank back with a collective intake of breath. Two people screamed and several bolted for safety, though most stayed frozen in place. A few were snapping photos as quickly as they could.
Lucy, meanwhile, had snakes on every side of her—she couldn’t take a step without coming within striking distance of at least one.
“Don’t move,” Gabriel said. He came closer, watching the snakes carefully. He’d have thought the charmer would have milked their venom before putting them in the basket—but betting on that could be a deadly proposition.
The big cobra was still the one closest to Lucy. Gabriel circled around till he was beside it, then aimed a careful kick at its raised head with the toe of his boot. It went flying. The crowd scurried out of its way, and it landed hissing.
Gabriel took hold of another snake—an asp—behind its head just as it darted toward Lucy’s leg. He flung it aside. “Here,” he called, reaching out an arm. Lucy leaped toward him and he snatched her off her feet, carrying her over the snakes between them. One reared up and snapped at her heels, but its jaws closed on air. Lucy clasped her arms around her brother’s neck and Gabriel ran, not putting her down till they were a safe distance away.
“Are you okay? Can you walk?”
Her eyes were wide with fear, but she nodded. Gabriel let her go and they took off. They carefully skirted the edge of another circle of tourists. This one appeared to be watching nothing more venomous than a troupe of acrobats—but you never knew what else might be going on in the center of the circle, and one encounter with the local wildlife was enough for any morning.
Gabriel tried to keep an eye out for the Alliance men, but it was impossible in this chaos. Occasionally he’d glimpse a familiar scowling face or a raised arm with a gun in it, but he was sure there were other men, equally dangerous, that he wasn’t spotting. They, on the other hand, wouldn’t be having much trouble keeping an eye on him and Lucy. The only thing he could do was keep pushing toward the edge, toward a place where they could hide, or a car they could use to get away—
Suddenly, a hand reached between a pair of people behind them and took hold of Gabriel’s shoulder. He tried to shake free, but it clung mercilessly. From the weight, he’d have bet money—if he’d had any money worth betting—that it was Kemnebi’s.
Gabriel bent at the knees and spun, launching a punch behind him. It collided with the rock-hard boulder of flesh that was Kemnebi’s midsection.
The big man reached in and encircled Gabriel with his arms, ignoring the punch as if it had been a pat from a child. He lifted Gabriel off his feet and began constricting, squeezing Gabriel’s chest with the strength of an automobile crusher. Gabriel couldn’t breathe—he felt as if his rib cage was about to snap. He kicked wildly, hoping to land a blow on one or both of Kemnebi’s kneecaps, but it was no use. The man was holding Gabriel so high that his legs dangled in the air.