Raymond Benson - Doubleshot

The second boy appeared, carrying a tray with two glasses of hot mint tea.

“Please, James, have some tea,” Latif said.

Bond wasn’t a big admirer of tea in any form, but he knew that it was customary to accept the offer of mint tea in Moroccan households. It was way too sweet for his tastes, but he made a show of drinking it.

They sat in two wooden chairs overlooking the medina. Just to the north, they could see the coastline. A European cruise ship had just put in to the port, which they could plainly see to the northeast.

“We’re getting all the cruise ships that were supposed to stop in Gibraltar,” Latif said. “Sticky situation there, eh? Anyway, so tell me what this secret mission of yours is.”

“I need to locate two men who flew here from London last night on the British Airways flight. An Englishman named Michael Clayton, and a Dutchman named Walter van Breeschooten. Can you get on to your contacts at Immigration?”

“Sure, no problems. They can tell us if they passed through Immigration all right. But they could be anywhere in the country by now, you know.”

“It’s essential that I find them.”

“Perhaps they wrote their Moroccan address on their Immigration card,” Latif said facetiously.

“That would be the headquarters of the Union.”

Latif raised his bushy eyebrows. “I see. That’swhat this is about, then.”

“What can you tell me about them? Do you have any idea where the Union keeps its main base?”

“As you know, we have an ongoing directive from London to gather information on the Union. I have a little, not much.”

“Then I’d like to get started as soon as possible.”

“We’ll have some lunch and can talk,” Latif said. “Let me show you to your room.”

Bond found his room modest but comfortable. It was small, with a single bed, a tiny window, and a dresser. The bathroom was down the hall, and he would be sharing it with Latif’s extended family. He didn’t plan to stay long.

He went into the bathroom and stared at his hard face. It didn’t reveal the torment he was feeling inside. He looked tired, but otherwise seemed fit and alert. In fact, he felt like hell. He was still jittery after the shock of discovering Kimberley Feare’s body. He hadn’t had a proper night’s sleep in days. The headache was stable but persistent.

Bond did what he could to make himself look presentable, put on his shoulder holster and PPK, and covered them with a light sports jacket. He also put on the ISP-3 holster for the P99. The handgun was bulky, but he felt it would be better to keep both guns on him at all times. He rejoined Latif in the family room on the second floor, where a woman in a caftan was setting the dining table.

“You remember my wife, Maliza?” Latif asked, gesturing to her.

“Of course,” Bond said. “Thank you for your hospitality,” he said to Maliza. She smiled and nodded at him, then scurried out of the room.

“She doesn’t speak English,” Latif said. “Sit down, my friend. Tell me more about this mysterious mission you’re on.”

Bond sat down in a wooden chair as Latif offered him an ashtray. He removed the gunmetal case that was as much a fixture on his person as his belovedWalther, removed a cigarette with the three distinctive gold bands made by Tor Importers, and held the case open for Latif. The Ronson lighter appeared and lit both cigarettes.

“The Union killed someone close to me,” Bond said flatly. “They almost killed me. They’ve made it personal. I want them. That’s all.”

Latif looked at Bond a long time before saying, “My friend. You realize that when they make it personal, it becomes too dangerous. You lose objectivity. That’s when you need to step back and let someone else handle the job.”

“I hear you, Latif, but I can’t do that. That’s not all. Last night, I’m pretty sure the Union tried to set me up for murdering a woman in London—a doctor.”

Latif’s eyes narrowed. “So let me understand this … you’re on the run?”

“You might say that,” Bond said. “I’m looking for answers.”

“Do you even know what the questions are?”

“I’m making them up as I go along.”

That caused Latif to smile. “My friend, James. Don’t worry. You can trust me. I will help you in any way I can.”

After a bit of silence, he spoke again. “You know, I read somewhere … I think it was on the Internet … that if we could shrink the earth’s population down to a village of precisely one hundred people, with all the existing human ratios remaining the same, the results are quite extraordinary. I was so struck by the revelations that the numbers are permanently imprinted onmy brain. Therewould be fifty-seven Asians and twenty-one Europeans. There would be only fourteen people from the entireWestern Hemisphere, both north and south. There would be eight Africans. Of these hundred people, fifty-two would be female, forty-eight male. Seventy would be nonwhite, thirty white. Seventy would be non-Christian, thirty would be Christian. Eighty-nine would be heterosexual, eleven homosexual. Fifty-nine percent of the village’s wealth would be in the hands of only six people, and all six would be Americans. Eighty people would live in substandard housing. Seventy would be unable to read. Fifty would suffer from malnutrition. One would be near death, one would be near birth. Only one person would have a college education, and only one would own a computer.”

Reggab let that sink in, then said, “When one considers our world from such a compressed perspective, the need for both acceptance and understanding becomes glaringly apparent.”

Maliza brought food to the table and beckoned to the men. They sat down to a meal of chicken curry with rice, served with bottled sparkling water. Bond knew that Latif, purportedly a devout Muslim, didn’t keep alcohol in his home. He wasn’t adverse, though, to slipping into bars with Bond for the occasional drink.

“I’ll tell you what I know about the Union,” Latif said. “Everyone is becoming scared of them. They are the number-one priority with Interpol. The Union have gained a lot of power in the past couple of years.”

“Yes.”

“I think they’re in Casablanca. It makes sense. It’s the financial center of Morocco. It’s a port and has the largest airport.”

“Do you think Le Gérant is Moroccan?”

“Yes. Partly, anyway. I’ve been waiting for some more information before I submit my report on the Union to London. I think I know who Le Gérant is.”

Bond’s heart skipped a beat. “Do tell.”

Latif shrugged. “I’m not sure yet. You see, I’m a Berber. My people came from the Rif Mountains. I have heard talk of a man, a Westerner, whose mother was Berber. He came to the mountains some years ago and was regarded as some kind of prophet. The word was that he had a French father who had once served in the government here during the Second World War. Anyway, this man, they say, is blind, but he possesses extrasensory powers that normal human beings do not have. He had tremendous influence over some of the tribes in the mountains. He took many people with him and disappeared back into Western civilization.”

“Do you know his name?”

“If it’s who I think it is, his name is Olivier Cesari.”

“A French name? Corsican?”

“Corsican. Although he was born into the Berber tribe, he was raised and educated in France by his father. He probably has a Berber name as well, but I don’t know it.”

“How did you find this out?”

“Well … for one thing …” Latif said, smiling devilishly, “I went to university with Olivier in Paris.”

“Really?”

Latif nodded. “It’s true what they say about him. Tremendously gifted. He was an excellent student, extremely intelligent. He studied law, as I did, but changed to economics. And I remember him walking on campus with a stick, never bumping into anything. Once I came into the classroom and he was the only one in there. I didn’t say anything, and after a few seconds, he greeted me by name. Uncanny.”