“So if we need to get out of here in a hurry,” Lea said. “Where are we going?”
“No idea, darling,” Scarlet said. “The boy here and Alex are nerding their way through various ancient clues and think it might be something to do with the Pillars of Hercules. I think not letting Kruger slip the net might have been a better…” without warning she stopped talking and pulled her gun, firing a shot into the gravel between Ryan’s legs. A cloud of rock dust flew into the air and Ryan nearly jumped out of his skin.
“What the fuck was that for, you nutter?” he yelled.
“Cobra, boy — about to crawl up your trousers and bite your nuts.”
He spun around and searched for the offending creature. “You’re kidding?”
“No, I’m not kidding. I shot him to spare him the disappointment of what he might find.”
“Oh, very drole,” Ryan replied.
“I have a sneaking admiration for snakes you see, and I think letting him endure the inside of your trousers only to discover the contents of your Y-fronts would constitute animal cruelty.”
They all fell about laughing, including after a few seconds even Ryan, and turned to march back up the track on their way to the chopper. Back on board the mood soon sobered when they realized they were once again well behind Dirk Kruger and had only the vaguest reference to the Pillars of Hercules to point them on their way. Alex had contacted them again to explain there was no runway where they were headed so they decided to take the chopper north. As they flew away from the canyon, Hawke’s mind began to focus on how he was going to end Kruger’s quest for Atlantis if their luck didn’t change.
It looked like some early snow was more than likely judging by the look of that sky, and the wind had already started to strip a lot of the leaves off the ash trees outside Davis Faulkner’s office in Langley, Virginia. Such was life, he considered mildly. A circle, from birth to death to rebirth. It went around and around treating some a lot better than others. But idle metaphysical speculation would have to wait because he had his orders.
He had thought carefully about the Oracle’s words since their last conversation, and he knew his loyalty was being weighed for quality like gold with an unknown provenance. He couldn’t let the Oracle down. It simply wasn’t done, but then he had sworn loyalty to something else — what was it called now? Ah yes, he remembered — the United States of America.
It was impossible to divide loyalty. That was obvious and the truth was any indecision he felt was his conscience playing tricks on him. He knew where his heart belonged and it was with the greater force. His work as Director of the CIA was child’s play compared with the Oracle’s divine vocation. In his mind there was no question about who he served.
He snatched the cell phone off his desk and spun around in his leather swivel chair as he waited for the other end to pick up.
“Yes, sir?”
Faulkner smiled. This particular number was only ever called by him so there was no need to waste time with introductions and how-d’ya-dos. He lit his cigar and blew a vast cloud of silvery smoke into the confines of his plush corner office. “Agent Kelly I have some wetwork to put your way.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I need a small package put together in the Caribbean.”
“Yes, sir.”
“We’re looking at maybe a couple of Apaches and a small ground force of, say, a dozen specialists. It’s a covert invasion of a small private island down there. Called Elysium. Leave the infrastructure if possible but kill anyone and everyone you see. I’ll send more details later but start putting it together right now.”
“Yes, sir.”
Davis Faulkner hung up and recalled one of Aesop’s fables that his mother used to read to him when he was a child. The Fisherman used to play his pipes by the water to catch the fish, but none appeared. One day he threw his net into the water and hauled it to shore full of fish, and then he played his pipes again. This time they danced and hopped in the net. Faulkner knew that he was dancing to the Oracle’s tune, but the promise he held in his hand was irresistible.
He glanced outside as he slipped his phone in his pocket. Yes, certainly snow was a possibility.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
They crossed the High Atlas Range and flew over the sunflower and tobacco crops in the agricultural lands in the north of the country. The Eurocopter approached the town of Chefchaouen form the south and Lea almost gasped when she saw the setting sun lighting up the dazzling azure walls of the town below them. She saw at once why the world called this bewitching place the Blue Pearl.
“I’ve never seen anything like it in my life,” she said to herself.
Hawke turned to her. “What was that?”
“I said I’ve never seen anything like this. It’s incredible.”
No one disagreed as they watched the late sunlight illuminating the walls, houses and shops of Chefchaouen — all painted in bright, neon blue, and nestling in the safety of the breathtaking Rif Mountains.
They touched down and made their way north into the town. Khatibi’s house was in the Souika District, and it was only thanks to Ryan’s basic grasp of Arabic that they were able to follow the road signs pointing to their destination.
As they cruised through streets still busy with traders and tourists, Lea noticed handfuls of locals standing here and there, chatting and smoking and the occasional man walking along in a djellaba — a long robe with a pointed hood.
“Look like they’re out of Star Wars,” she said.
“Eh?” Hawke said.
“Those guys.”
“Or maybe,” Ryan said, “Star Wars looks like it’s out of here?”
As they made their way deeper into the town and cruised past the Medina, Hawke cursed. Heavy rains in the last few days had caused some subsidence on many of the local roads and he struggled here and there when the sealed top crumbled under the weight of their vehicle.
Lexi sighed and ran her hands through her hair. She wasn't sure where home was any more, but she knew she was far away from it.
“Problem?” Scarlet asked.
“Blue is all they have…”
“It’s bloody amazing!”
Lexi sighed a second time. “On the way here I was reading about El Badi Palace in Marrakech.”
“And that is..?”
Ryan interrupted. “A highly impressive ruined palace ordered by the Sultan Ahmad al-Mansur in the late 1570s. Today it’s one of the country’s most popular tourist attractions, drawing thousands of visitors each year, all coming to see what was once a luxurious palace, built of gold, onyx, cedar wood and ivory.”
“I can answer for myself, Ryan,” Lexi said with a scowl.
“And your point is?” Lea asked.
“All we get is blue.”
“Well why don’t you ask Mr Khatibi why he doesn’t live in Marrakech?”
“I might.”
“This place is supposed to be amazing for kif,” Ryan said, peering inquisitively through the car windows as if in search of something.
“What’s that?” Camacho asked.
“A very finely chopped local cannabis. This place is pretty much the cannabis production capital of the entire country.”
“So what?”
“So, if you see anyone selling the stuff, give me a bell.”
An eye roll from Lea. “Ryan — over there by the crossroads.”
“What?”
“There’s a big shop with DOPE written over it. I think you should go in there.”
“Very drole,” he said as they reached their destination.
Khatibi’s house was on a steep road which approached the eastern limits of the town and gave an impressive view of the mountains beyond.