Raymond Benson - Doubleshot

The events that morning at the Gibraltar border prompted a major panic in the governments of Britain and Spain. By noon, fingers were being pointed, tempers had flared, and both sides were blaming each other for the catastrophe.

The morning sun had also brought life to the streets of Casablanca. As the merchants and shopkeepers and bankers and beggars went to their respective places of business, the Union subordinates had already been working round the clock, packing various files, pieces of equipment, weaponry … it wouldn’t be long before they had finished.

Le Gérant rose from his magnificent Louis XIV four-poster bed. He reached for and felt the silk robe hanging on the hook by the bed. Putting it over his naked body, he wrapped the sash snugly around his thick waist. Le Gérant wasn’t fat, but he was what is often referred to as “stocky.”

Knowing the exact path to the bathroom, he walked in his bare feet across the tiled floor. Even if something unexpected had been placed in the way, Le Gérant would have sensed the obstacle’s presence and moved around it. He had been able to do it since he was very young. He possessed some kind of sixth sense that allowed him to “see” when he couldn’t do so physically. His mother had noticed that he had a gift, and she believed that he was a messenger from Allah. A Berber woman with a strong tribal heritage, she came from a group of Riffians in the eastern part of Morocco, near the Algerian border. He had lived with her as a child until he was ten years old, when she unexpectedly died. His Corsican father fetched him out of Morocco and brought him to Paris so that he could be educated in theWestern ways. There was also hope that a cure could be found for his blindness.

Le Gérant returned to his mother’s people in the Rif Mountains for a brief period of time as an adult. Even though he had adopted the ways of the West, he was accepted warmly, for many people remembered him.

From the moment he returned, the other Riffians regarded Le Gérant as some kind of divine being. They were amazed that he could navigate his surroundings so easily. Some wondered if he were truly blind. When he was able to call them by name before they said a word, the people were so impressed with “the Western Berber” that they became his loyal followers.

Le Gérant was a man from two countries and two cultures.

In the bathroom, Le Gérant splashed water on his face. He would miss the Union quarters here in Casablanca, but it was time to move on. Discovery of the base was imminent, and it was too costly to maintain the complex. By the end of the day, the Union would be gone. Vanished, without a trace.

Le Gérant had thought long and hard about where to move the central headquarters to. He thought that the authorities would temporarily ignore Marrakesh. That was where they would go for the time being. He thought that perhaps he should move the operations to Europe. But where to? France? He would have to think about it some more. Marrakesh would do for now.

He heard the buzz of the telephone. He walked back through the bedroom to the study. He sat in a large cushioned chair and picked up the phone.

“Yes?”

“ Gérant, it’s Nadir, I hope it’s not too early.”

“I’ve been expecting your call. I trust you are on a secure line.”

“Most secure, sir.”

“Very well. What have you to report?”

Yassasin said, “Everything has worked as planned. James Bond is behaving exactly as we had hoped. He is on his way to Morocco now.”

“That’s excellent news. What about the commandant from London?”

“Mr. van Breeschooten and his colleague Clayton will also arrive this morning, sir. They have instructions to go to the training camp in the mountains, as you wished.”

“And you’re sure Mr. Bond will find them?”

“If he picks up the clues we left for him, he will. He’s smart enough to find them.”

“And Clayton’s cousin?”

“Still in place and under cover. An excellent operative, I must say.”

Le Gérant was pleased. “How is Señor Espada feeling this morning? He must be fairly happy.”

Yassasin allowed himself to smile. “He is thrilled that the confrontation at the border is going as well as it is. Just enough people have died to make the various politicians sit up and take notice. After tomorrow’s events, he is certain that his proposal to the governments of Britain, Spain, and Gibraltar will be accepted. The Governor of Gibraltar has already expressed an interest in hosting the summit meeting.”

“Perfect. Nadir, you continue to amaze me.”

“It is my pleasure to serve you, Gérant. ”

“Tell me, Nadir, does Espada suspect anything?” Le Gérant asked.

“I don’t think so. He isn’t aware of anything but his own selfish dreams. He is becoming careless.”

“I’m not so sure that will matter much in a few days.”

“Oh?”

“I’ve decided that when he becomes the Governor of Gibraltar, his tenure shouldn’t last very long. When we gain control of his operations, it would be best if he wasn’t in the picture.”

“I understand. I have already built that option into the plan. His tenure will last … say … a minute?”

Le Gérant smiled. “You are a genius, my friend.”

“No, sir,” Yassasin said. “You inspire me to do my best. How is the moving going?”

“Smoothly. The next time you see me, we’ll be in Marrakesh.”

“ Ma’ as-salaama, then,” Yassasin said.

“ Ma’ as-salaama as well.”

Le Gérant hung up the phone. He felt very pleased with himself.

Before long, the Union would be as powerful as any country on the face of the earth, and he was its rightful leader. It was he, Le Gérant, who had made the Union what it was today. He had the business sense of a metropolitanWesterner, but the spirituality and tenacity of a Berber tribesman.

As the first phase of the plan came to a close, everything was in its place. Domingo Espada believed that he had employed the Union to do his bidding, when, in fact, he was but another chess piece in the grand game that Yassasin and Le Gérant had concocted.

The best moves were yet to come.

ACT TWO

TERCIO DE

BANDERILLAS

TEN

ON THE RUN

AT NOON, THE ROYAL AIR MAROC FLIGHT TOUCHED DOWN AT TANGIER’S tiny Boukhalef airport, fifteen kilometers southeast from the town center. James Bond disembarked and immediately felt the cultural shock of being on another continent. North Africa was indeed a completely different world from Europe. Sights, sounds, art, food, and religion all contributed to making the way of life in the Muslim world distinctly unique. In many ways, English-speaking Westerners were the least at home in al-Maghreb al-Aqsa, the “land of the setting sun.” They were treated with a certain degree of suspicion, although this was less so in Morocco than in some other Muslim countries.

Signs printed only in Arabic and French pointed the way to baggage claim and the exit. Porters descended upon Bond before he’d cleared Immigration. He waved them away, nearly barking at one persistent one, and made his way outside to the taxi stand. He carried a small holdall containing necessities and a box wrapped in brown paper. Its label was addressed to “Mr. Latif Reggab” at an address in Tangier, and a Customs label claimed that it contained machine parts. The official who had cleared it spoke to Bond in French, saying, “Oh, you’re friends with Mr. Reggab? He’s always importing or exporting something.” In fact, the box contained Bond’s two firearms, carefully masked by X ray–proof material perfected by Q Branch.