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  The voices grew louder, and as the volume rose, so did his concern for his friends. It sounded like a heated argument. He heard the scraping of gravel, like someone being dragged across the ground, and he worried the men were dragging Lei and Little Bo toward the pickup. He pulled out the pistol and crept closer to the front of the pickup. He stepped on the hem of his djellaba and tripped. He dropped the pistol as he put his hands down to break his fall, making a metallic clang. Still on his knees, he picked it up and prepared to shoot anyone who appeared.

  In that long moment of anxious waiting to see if anyone had heard the noise, he realized he wasn’t sure the pistol was ready to fire. He searched his memory, trying to remember if he needed to pull back the slide to place another bullet in firing position. He didn’t want to operate the slide if it wasn’t necessary because it made a clicking sound. Doubt paralyzed him for several seconds.

  Then he recalled he’d successfully fired two shots at their pursuers’ van without pulling the slide between shots. He deduced that as one spent cartridge had been ejected, another unfired cartridge had been pushed into firing position from the ammunition clip in the pistol grip. His weapon was ready to be fired.

  He peeked over the hood. The situation hadn’t changed. The men were still arguing. He could see one person with his weapon hanging on his shoulder, muzzle pointed down, was holding Lei and Little Bo’s arms. Two others were spaced out on each side, holding their weapons but pointing them down at the ground. All but one of them was facing toward the pickup, and the fourth man faced the others, standing with his back to the pickup. The last man was closer to the pickup than the others, putting him between Tyler and his friends. That man was speaking, and Tyler identified that voice as the one he had heard the most. He concluded that man was the leader. And although the leader didn’t seem to be armed, the other three had assault weapons. Tyler made a loose fist, kissed it and touched his heart.

  Three long guns versus one pistol were sure lousy odds. But facts are facts. Tyler had to play the hand he’d been dealt.

  Chapter Fifteen

  On the road to Ketama

  Heading toward the Rif Mountains, Morocco

  Tuesday, December 7, 2005

  11:50 p.m.

  Tyler assessed the situation. First, dangerous men had captured Lei and Little Bo. Although their captors hadn’t harmed Lei and Little Bo yet, they were not policemen, and that could only mean his friends were in big trouble. Second, if these men took Lei and Little Bo away, he wouldn’t have any way to help them. He ran a hand over his head and got sticky, coagulated blood on his hand. It startled him, and he wiped his hand on his djellaba. He had to act now.

  An engine started, and he jumped. It was the Fiat. The Fiat’s wheels crunched the gravel as it pulled forward, and its headlights illuminated the pickup as it pulled into the level area. When he heard the Fiat’s door open and close with a slam, he took another look over the hood. One man still held Lei and Little Bo, and another man was climbing into the truck bed. The third man was headed toward the pickup, carrying his assault rifle casually in his hand. And the fourth, the leader, had his back to Tyler.

  I’ve got to save them. His friends were facing an unthinkable fate. The man holding his friends’ arms and the one climbing into the truck bed posed no imminent danger to him. Their weapons hung loose at their sides. But the third man held his weapon with one hand and would have a clear shot at Tyler if that guy aimed his weapon quickly enough.

  The leader of the thugs reached for the pickup’s passenger’s door handle, still facing away from him. The pickup dome light came on as the leader pulled the door open. Tyler tasted the sweet burning of vomit. Time to act.

  He stepped around the front of the pickup and sprang forward with the pistol in his hand. Churning his knees, he ran bent over into the middle of the leader’s back. He was so supercharged with adrenalin he knocked the leader on his face. He wrapped up the much smaller man with his left arm, pulled him to his feet and waved his pistol in the air, yelling in English for the brigands to drop their guns. Little Bo repeated the demand in Arabic while Tyler emphasized his point by jamming his pistol’s barrel against the side of the leader’s head. The leader yelled at his men. Lei and Little Bo jerked free of their captor. The man who had the clear shot raised his weapon. So Tyler fired a round just wide of that man’s feet, and Lei grabbed the rifle from him. The man sitting in the truck bed tossed out his weapon. It made a clattering sound as it skittered across the ground. Little Bo picked it up. Tyler waved his pistol at the man who had been holding Lei and Little Bo. That man hadn’t moved, but now he unslung his rifle and tossed it on the ground.

  “Little Bo, search these meatheads for hidden weapons.” He checked each while Tyler held his pistol’s barrel tight against the leader’s temple.

  “Get into the truck. Now.” When they didn’t move fast enough, Tyler fired a round into the air. And for the fourth time in six hours he smelled the distinctive trace of burnt gunpowder that lingers in the air after a firearm has been discharged. He was getting accustomed to its sharp smell. He liked it.

  “What should we do with those rifles?” asked Little Bo.

  “I’ll take care of it.” Lei picked the rifles up and tossed them into the dark abyss beyond the road’s pull-off.

  Not even knowing if he even understood English, Tyler asked the leader, “What’s your name?”

  “Ishmael. What are you going to do with us?”

  He thought the young man couldn’t be older than twenty and more likely was in his late teens. None of the other brigands were much older.

  Tyler slapped him hard. “You go around, armed with assault weapons, stop cars full of strangers, and take hostages for who-knows-what-reason. Shame on you.”

  Tyler slapped him again. Then turning to the huddled men in the truck, he added, “Shame on all of you.” Little Bo repeated Tyler’s condemnation.

  Standing nearly a foot taller and twice his weight, Tyler asked Ishmael, “So you want to know what we’re going to do to you, do you? Well, tough luck, you punk. Why don’t you tell me what you were going to do with us.” He gestured at Lei and Little Bo. “Right now. Now!”

  Ishmael said nothing, and Tyler raised the pistol again, pressing the end of the barrel against Ishmael’s forehead. “Don’t make me ask one of your buddies that same question because you will never hear his answer. Do you understand what I’m saying? Tell me what you were going to do with me and my friends. Now. Last chance, you pitiful punk hooligan.”

  “We have orders to bring you back.”

  “Back where?”

  “To my father.”

  “Where’s your father?”

  “On our farm. It is called Azila.”

  “Where’s the farm?”

  “On the other side of the mountain.”

  “Who told you to catch us?”

  “Ahmed, my father. He just did what Abdul and the Chinaman wanted. They want you. I don’t know why. They gave my father money. If we could not take you back, we were to make sure you didn’t reach Ketama.”

  Tyler and Lei looked at each other. Ishmael had just confirmed they were closing in on their target. Tyler decided the first thing to do was get off that road. The second thing was to get their business done; and the third thing was to get the hell out of Ketama. He was convinced the longer they stayed in this dangerous no-man’s land, the longer their lives were seriously at risk.

  He asked Little Bo and Lei to follow him in the Fiat while he forced Ishmael to lead them to his father’s farm. He didn’t know how they would get Wu’s picture, but he was learning how to figure out things as they came up. After all, they had succeeded making it to Ketama and may have found their prey. They’d made really good progress in a few hours, but the most dangerous tasks lay ahead.

  “Follow us in the Fiat,” Tyler said to Lei and Little Bo. “Yo
u, punks, in the truck. Anyone who gets cute, gets dead. Understand?”

  Little Bo translated it to make sure.

  Tyler poked Ishmael with the pistol muzzle.

  “You’d better make sure your crew behaves? You would be awful sorry if I killed someone by mistake.”

  Ishmael spoke briefly to his friends.

  “Question time, Ishmael. Will you take us to your father’s farm, or do I toss each of you over the side of the road, bound and gagged? Who knows how long you’ll be down there? Your choice.”

  “I had to do this. Ahmed was doing Abdul a favor.

  No one refuses Abdul.”

  “Who is Abdul?” Tyler brandished the Colt .45. “Better if you tell me on the way to Ahmed’s farm. Get this truck moving.” Ishmael climbed in, backed up and headed for Azila. Little Bo and Lei followed them.

  “Abdul and the Chinaman have been there about two weeks. They’re buying hashish. My father says Abdul is a warrior, but why a warrior wants so much hashish I don’t know. They are buying all the hashish we have and all the hashish a couple of other farms have. It’s the biggest business we’ve ever done.”

  “How much?”

  “Two thousand kilos. Black Gold. Zero-zero.”

  Tyler had never heard of those terms. He did know hashish was much more expensive than marijuana, and that two thousand kilos equaled nearly four thousand five hundred pounds.. That was a lot of hash. He’d seen in the window of an Amsterdam “coffee” shop that the retail price of hash was twenty euros a gram. Quick math told him the retail value of the hash was more than fifty million dollars, and even if the wholesale price was one-half of retail, that was still more than twenty-five million dollars.

  “And you said the Chinaman is at your father’s farm also?”

  “Yes.”

  “He’s there right now?”

  “He was there when I left after dinner last night.”

  “Can your buddies back there in the bed bouncing over all these potholes confirm the Chinaman and Abdul are there?’

  “I think so.”

  “Then pull over right here.” When he had stopped, Tyler motioned for Lei and Little Bo to come to him.

  “My friend, you speak the lingo. Ask those punks in the back who are the guests at Ahmed’s farm. Ishmael claims Wu was still there yesterday.”

  Little Bo only took half a minute. “They said a Chinaman and a Yemeni warrior have been at the farm a few days and are buying everyone’s hashish.”

  “OK, start the engine, you hooligan. Next stop Ahmed’s farm and Wu Peng. Humdu’llah.”

  Lei smiled ear to ear.

  Chapter Sixteen

  On the way to Ahmed’s farm

  In the Rif Mountains, Morocco

  Wednesday, December 8, 2005

  1:58 a.m.

  “Is the Chinese man Abdul’s partner?” Tyler asked.

  “I don’t know.” Ishmael looked around to see if his friends were watching him talk to Tyler.

  “If you or any of your buddies try to run, I’ll shoot them. And if I miss, I’ll shoot you. You’d better make sure your boys don’t do something stupid, or else you’re the one who’ll pay.”

  After a jarring twenty-five minutes bumping over potholes, Ishmael indicated they had reached Ahmed’s farm. He swung off the road onto a rutted dirt track.

  “Wait. Stop here. Turn off the engine and lights.” Tyler opened the passenger door and stepped out, keeping an eye on Ishmael and his friends all the time. “Where’s your father’s farm? I don’t see a thing.”

  “It’s down there about a half kilometer.”

  “I’ll check it out.” He turned to Lei. “Do you think you could shoot these guys if they try to escape?”

  She didn’t hesitate a moment. “Sure. I once put a classmate in the hospital after she teased my best friend for wearing thick glasses. I got suspended for the rest of the year, but guess what? That was the last time she teased my friend.”

  He didn’t know if the story was true, but he wouldn’t bet she was making it up. He gave her the gun, and she pointed the pistol at Ishmael and his colleagues.

  “Of course, I might have to shoot them twice. After all, I am just a woman.”

  Tyler thought they were probably more scared of her than him. Then he put his arm around Little Bo’s shoulder, who surprised him by hugging him tightly.

  “Would you please walk up the main road, my friend, and see if there’s any place where we can hide these vehicles?”

  Tyler headed to the farm. Four hundred meters down the rutted track he could make out several low-rise buildings. But he turned back, worried about rousing a dog and waking everyone up.

  Rejoining his friends, he and Little Bo stepped out the range of eavesdroppers while Lei guarded Ishmael and his crew.

  “I think I saw the farm,” Tyler shared. “What’s up the road? Is there anywhere to hide the vehicles?”

  “Maybe, Sidi Tyler. The road just goes on. There are woods on both sides.”

  “I want to check out the farm closer. Why don’t you take over from Lei?”

  “The gun works good, doesn’t it?”

  “It works perfectly, my friend. You took excellent care of it. Your grandfather would be proud.” Little Bo kissed his right hand’s fingers and touched his heart at the reference to his grandfather.

  The main road around the northeast flank of Mount Tidiquin rose gradually. Cedar and bristlecone pine trees crowded both sides of the wide one-lane road. The earth was firm but strewn with rocks hidden by dense underbrush.

  “Lei, why don’t you lay out a route into the woods and direct Ishmael where to hide the vehicles? Little Bo, watch the hooligans.”

  Tyler glanced at his watch. The sooner they got the vehicles hidden the better. Anyone who might pass by would wonder why two vehicles were stopped in the middle of the road.

  The sound of the engines wouldn’t reach the farm. Lei directed the Nissan pickup driven by Ishmael into the forest first. After fifteen meters it was impossible to see anything of the pickup but its taillights. A minute and another ten meters later the forest had swallowed up the Nissan’s taillights completely. She guided Ishmael behind the wheel of the Fiat as he backed it into the trees, and Little Bo guarded Ishmael’s cohort. If the trio could drive the Fiat out going forward, they could make a faster getaway. Soon both vehicles were out of sight.

  There was nothing more to do but wait for enough morning light to take photos. For warmth Ishmael cuddled with his friends in the back of the pickup. Tyler and Lei got their sleeping bags out, and although he was sore from bailing out of the Fiat, he stood guard first. Ahmed’s farm would be wide awake at the crack of dawn, and they must be ready and waiting. Tyler paced back and forth next to the pickup while everyone else slept.

  “Hey sleepy head, rise and shine. You’re on guard duty.” He shook Little Bo’s shoulder vigorously to rouse him. Tyler had shown them how to scrape together a bed of leaves to soften the hard ground. It worked because the small man remarked he had slept well. But Tyler had watched Lei toss and turn and doubted she’d gotten much sleep. At least she’d had it better than Ishmael and his friends lying on the cold metal of the pickup bed without blankets.

  Little Bo crawled out of the top of the second sleeping bag and walked into the woods to do his morning toilet. Tyler touched Lei’s cheek and stroked her hair. The feisty woman had proven her determination. After he explained wilderness toilet paper, Lei disappeared into the forest with a handful of her bed leaves.

  Lei’s assignment was to take the pictures, and Tyler’s job was to carry her gear and keep an eye open for danger. They were counting on Peng Wu coming outside long enough for Lei to get the crucial photographs. At least that was their hope. He crossed his fingers. “Enshallah.”

  Tyler and Lei headed for Ahmed’s farm while Li
ttle Bo guarded Ishmael and crew. The going was easy in the early light, and after a few minutes of fast walking they had Ahmed’s farm buildings in sight. In another ten minutes they had made a semi-circle around the buildings. The one-story buildings were made of masonry blocks set on concrete slabs, topped with corrugated metal roofs.

  The duo crept closer and hid behind a clump of bushes. The distance from the bushes to the buildings was about sixty unobstructed meters, easily within the range of her telephoto lens. Lei assembled her equipment and ran it through a dry run.

  “Wow, that film-winder is loud. Can they hear it?”

  “Not likely,” Lei assured him. Nevertheless Tyler craned his neck, looking for a spot farther away. But he saw none.

  No one stirred for the first fifteen minutes. Then the farm began coming to life. A woman wearing a colorful headscarf tossed liquid out of a doorway of the building Lei thought was the sleeping quarters. A much younger woman stepped out, balancing a flat pan filled with a bundle of laundry on her head and carrying a white basin holding a plastic water jug. She put the basin on a washstand, filled it and disappeared around the corner with the laundry.

  Two farm dogs wandered by the buildings, causing Tyler a anxiety attack. He ran both hands over his head and winced when he touched his scalp wound. He tried to gauge the direction of the wind, but there was too little to tell. Damn, I hope those dogs don’t catch our scent.

  As they watched the farmstead, a man stepped out of a second building. He was Asian. Humdu’llah. It was Peng Wu in the flesh. Lei gasped at the sight of their prey and aimed her camera. They had a clear view of him. He definitely resembled the pictures Sunny had given them. Of medium height and weight he paused just outside the door to stretch. He walked to the washstand. Suddenly he swiped the basin off the washstand, cursing and obviously upset.

  Long black hair fell loose to his shoulders, framing a round face. From their vantage point his eyes looked nearly closed, hooded by a fold of skin. As he turned his face up to the warming morning sun, Lei took picture after picture. In a minute she had exhausted her first roll and had put it another.