Gabriel Hunt - Hunt Through Napoleon's Web

He looked around. Near the mouth of the alley there was a truck parked half on and half off the curb, with a wooden animal trailer hitched behind it. Gabriel went to the rear of the trailer and peered through the slats.

Inside, animals were quietly bleating.

Goats. At least half a dozen of them.

The doors of the trailer weren’t locked. Gabriel turned the handle, opened the door, and held it open.

“After you,” he said.

“Ah, hell, Gabriel—” Lucy hesitantly put a foot up. The trailer floor was covered in filthy straw and the animals stank.

“If you could handle snakes,” Gabriel said, “you can handle goats.” He pushed her inside, climbed in behind her, and shut the door.

“Gabriel!”

“Shh.”

He pulled her deeper into the trailer and squatted against the back wall. The goats were agitated, milling about in the constricted space and bleating angrily at the intruders. But they’d calm down. He hoped.

The smell really was overpowering. He breathed through his mouth and gestured silently to Lucy that she should do the same.

She started to say something in response, but from outside came the sound of men running into the alleyway and past the truck. The men reached the dead end, swore, and came back. Through the slats in the trailer Gabriel saw Kemnebi pass—apparently he’d gotten the better of the snakes, which must have been milked after all.

Gabriel held a finger to his lips and Lucy nodded. They both knew what was at stake.

A shadow darkened as someone approached the trailer.

Gabriel slid down until he was lying on the foul straw. He pulled Lucy down on top of him, and with the toe of one boot he nudged the leg of the nearest goat. The animal bleated complainingly but walked in the direction Gabriel had prodded it, which put its body between the side of the trailer and where Gabriel and Lucy were lying.

They waited in silence, Lucy stretched out along the length of him, her face buried in his shoulder. He stroked the back of her head with one hand. With the other, he reached slowly for his gun.

But the shadow departed, and with it came the sound of heavy footsteps moving off. They probably hadn’t actually seen Gabriel and Lucy come down this particular alley; they must have had several more to search.

After a minute had passed without their hearing the men return, Gabriel helped Lucy sit up and then rose himself. “Let’s give it just a little longer,” he whispered to her, “then we can get—”

But at that instant someone started the truck’s engine.

They both put hands out against the trailer’s walls to brace themselves as the truck lurched into motion.

“Gabriel!”

“Shh.” Gabriel crept forward and looked out through the slats at the farthest end, but he couldn’t see who was driving the truck, or where they were headed.

The one thing he did know was that they were leaving the Djemaa el Fna.

He returned to where Lucy was half standing and gestured for her to sit again.

“But we’ve got to get out of here,” she whispered fiercely.

“That’s exactly what we’re doing,” Gabriel whispered back.

Chapter 16

Sammi was relieved to finally step off the plane at Marrakesh’s Menara International Airport. She was grateful that Michael had put the plane at her disposal; she only wished she could have gotten in sooner. Enough time had passed that she feared she may have lost Gabriel’s trail for good.

Her instructions from Michael were to meet Reza Arif at baggage claim. She had little idea what he looked like, since Michael had given her only a cursory description; and she assumed he’d given a similarly cursory description of her to Arif. Which left her wandering back and forth along the luggage retrieval claim belts, staring questioningly at the solitary men she passed and seeing no sign of recognition from any of them. She was on her fourth pass when she heard a male voice behind her.

“Mademoiselle Ficatier?”

She turned to see a handsome man in his midforties with black hair and a black beard, neatly trimmed. He wore dark sunglasses, and was dressed in well-tailored clothing, a crisp bespoke suit with a crimson triangle of handkerchief showing at his breast pocket. For all that he seemed to be attempting to convey class and sophistication, though, Sammi was instantly struck with a different impression, one of menace. It was something in his eyes, the way he held himself. This was a dangerous man. She was confident she would have thought so even if Michael hadn’t warned her about him.

“Yes?”

“I am Reza Arif. I am most pleased to make your acquaintance.” He bowed slightly and extended his hand. “You must call me Reza.”

“Sammi.” She took the man’s hand and shook it briefly. He clung to her fingers for an instant before letting her go.

“Are you hungry?” he asked. “Do you want something to eat or drink?”

“No, thanks. I had something in Cairo.”

“Ah, yes. Fine food in Cairo. Not as fine as we have here, but . . . if you are not hungry, you are not hungry. No luggage?” She held up her carry-on, the small gym bag she’d brought along with her from Nice. He offered to take it from her, but she shook her head. “All right. Follow me please.”

He led her to the parking garage, took out a key fob and pressed a button. A black BMW X6 beeped and flashed its lights.

He removed the sunglasses in the car. His eyes were dark, nicely setting off his swarthy skin. He might be dangerous, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t attractive . “It is not much of a disguise,” he said as he put the glasses away, “but it is sufficient for the baggage claim at the airport.” He didn’t speak again until they were on the highway headed for the city. “I have been looking into this Alliance of the Pharaohs that our mutual friend mentioned.”

“And?”

“It is a very difficult organization about which to uncover any information. I have many contacts in the so-called underworld, and I spent most of last night trying to get one of them to tell me something—anything—about this Alliance. I had very little luck. On the other hand, it has only been one night. Perhaps I will find something yet.”

“Nobody knew anything?”

“The only piece of useful intelligence I obtained so far is that the Alliance is believed to use carpet vendors as a front—here, in Cairo, and elsewhere. Their headquarters is allegedly near the Djemaa el Fna—have you ever been . . . ?”

“I’ve never been to Marrakesh.”

“Ah, such a pity. I only wish you had come sometime when you had less on your mind. It is a beautiful city, and you are a beautiful woman.”

Sammi said nothing. No point in encouraging him—but she also didn’t want to make an enemy of him.

“I would have enjoyed giving you the grand tour. Alas, I can no longer enjoy it as I once did myself. I must remain . . . unnoticed.”

“Why?”

“Surely our friend told you.”

“Told me what?”

He shrugged expressively, his hands briefly lifting off the steering wheel. “I am supposed to be an international criminal. At least that is what I have been branded.” He looked over at her and grinned. “Do not worry,” he said. “I am not the villain they make me out to be. It is what you would call ‘guilt by association.’ I think that is the correct term. I happen to know many criminals. I have done business with them. That does not necessarily make me one, does it?”

“Not necessarily,” Sammi said. “Are you one?”

He dismissed the idea with a wave of his hand. “The truth is beside the point. They would gladly imprison me if they caught me, so whatever I am or am not, I must live as if I were a criminal. I make my home in the mountains now.” He pointed toward the horizon. Sammi could see the ruddy silhouette of the range in the distance. “It is a simple life. I have no complaints.”