Casablanca Blues (2013) (24 page)

Dressed in their jelabas, the hoods pulled down over their heads, Ghita and Blaine made their way through the twisting lanes until they reached the goldsmith’s home.

The door opened as they approached, and he ushered them inside.

‘The arrangements have been made,’ he said, his voice heavy. ‘But in order for the guards to look the other way they will need to be paid something.’

‘A bribe?’

The goldsmith nodded.

‘How much?’

He calculated.

‘Two hundred thousand dirhams.’

‘I understand,’ said Ghita.

‘Good. Now, take this paper and follow the map I have drawn. You must be at the liaison point by the
dhuhr
prayer. If you are late then you will have no hope. And, if you are caught, you must not reveal my identity or that of my cousin. Do you swear it?’

‘I swear,’ said Ghita. ‘On my mother’s grave.’

The goldsmith pulled the curtain from the window and peered out for a moment.

‘Once inside the prison you will only have a few minutes to take your father,’ he said. ‘As soon as you get outside, you are on your own. You must recognize that the entire system will be searching for him... and for you. They will hunt you both, and will stop at nothing until the prisoner and his accomplices have been caught.’

Before setting out for the Atlas, Ghita sat on the balcony of her suite, staring out at the snow-capped mountains in the distance. She had broken down in tears half a dozen times during the night, and now began sobbing again. The sense of despondency came from worrying about her father, as much as it did from self-pity and guilt.

Blaine knocked at the door.

‘All packed and ready,’ he said.

Ghita wiped her eyes. She craved a shoulder to cry on but was too proud to break down in front of the American.

‘I don’t want to be the spectre of doom,’ he said, ‘but you heard what the goldsmith said. Break a prisoner out of jail and they’ll be hunting not only him but you.’

‘I know the risks, but I have no choice.’

‘Do you have a plan?’

‘My father will have one. He always does. But he needs to be free to make it work.’

Blaine touched Ghita on the shoulder. He wanted to hold her but feared that she would lash out.

‘Break him out of jail and neither of you will ever be free,’ he said. ‘You’ll be hunted like vermin. Is that what you want?’

‘It’s a risk, one I have to take,’ Ghita said. She closed her eyes, then blinked. ‘I have to ask you a small favour.’

‘Another one?’

‘Will you teach me to drive?’

Ninety-five

The prisoner in the next cell had been beaten to within an inch of his life. His back had been lacerated, and he lay on the concrete floor, groaning.

Hicham Omary called out to him.

‘Brother, what’s your name?’

After a long silence, there came a frail voice.

‘Saad. My name is Saad. And you?’

‘I am Hicham.’

‘Peace be upon you, brother.’

‘What are you in here for?’

‘For speaking my mind. And you?’

Hicham Omary clenched a fist and touched the first knuckle to his lips.

‘For standing up against a rotten system,’ he said.

‘They will try to break you.’

‘I know.’ Omary swallowed hard. ‘But it takes a lot more than a dark cell and a beating to break me,’ he said.

Ninety-six

On the outskirts of Marrakech, Blaine steered the Silver Ghost off the main road and eased on the brakes. He got out, and walked round to the passenger’s side.

‘Climb over and adjust the seat,’ he said. ‘Now, when you’re ready, turn on the engine.’

‘How do I do that?’

‘Press that button.’

Ghita pushed a thumb to the starter and the seven-litre engine fired up.

‘Look down at your feet and you’ll see three pedals. The one on the far left is the clutch. That’s for engaging the gears. Then there’s the brake in the middle, and the accelerator on the right.’

‘Which one do I press first?’

‘It depends what you want to do. We want to move off. So, you push down the clutch, and shift this lever into first, like this. Then, slowly, you release the clutch and press down the accelerator.’

Ghita thrust her right foot down and the car shot off, slamming hard into a sand bank, where it came to an abrupt halt.

‘Why’s it so complicated?’

‘Because it’s an old car.’

Ghita burst into tears.

‘I’m never going to be able to learn so quickly,’ she lamented. ‘There’s only three hours until I have to be at the rendezvous point. I feel so helpless.’

Blaine got out and walked around the car again.

‘I’m not gonna spring your dad,’ he said. ‘So don’t even think of asking me. I will drive you up there though, but...’

‘
But
?’

‘But if you give me any grief, I’m swinging round and heading for home.’

A few minutes later the crimson Silver Ghost was heading across the plateau in the direction of the snow-capped Atlas. On either side of the road there were olive groves, the gnarled trees throwing shadows on the dust.

After the frenetic pace of Marrakech, the countryside was soothing to the senses, as though they were travelling back in time.

As they neared the foothills of the Atlas, the groves gave way to rugged little fields planted with maize and wheat. The road forded rivulets and streams as it climbed gently upwards, against a backdrop of adobe villages, each of them sprinkled with laughing children, donkeys and with mud-brick homes.

By early afternoon they had passed the great waterfall of Ouzoud, reached Azilal, and found themselves on the narrowest of tracks.

‘Check the road map with the one the goldsmith sketched,’ Blaine called out, as the Rolls-Royce careened through the dust.

‘There should be a right turn!’ Ghita shouted. ‘A few miles from here. Then after the lake it’s a zigzag all the way down to the meeting point.’

When the dust subsided they stopped to buy pomegranates from a farmer. Crouched in the shade of a walnut tree, he took their money, blessed them, and pointed a wiry old arm in the direction of the lake.

As they picked up speed, Ghita broke open one of the fruit and burst into laughter as she did so.

‘What’s so funny?’

‘I was just thinking about you.’

‘What about me?’

‘That you sold drain-cleaner to old people!’

‘What’s wrong with that? At least it was a job.’

‘Well, you must have been so...’

‘
So
...?’

‘So embarrassed.’

‘At what?’

‘At having such a lousy career.’

Feeding the steering wheel through his fingers, Blaine felt his back warm with anger.

‘I’ve had to pay my own way since I was seventeen years old,’ he said. ‘Unlike some people... I put myself through college, worked three jobs and went to night school – all at the same time.’

‘And after all that studying, the best job you could get was to sell bleach to geriatrics?’

Blaine steered the Rolls round a steep bend to the left, his expression souring.

Suddenly, he slammed on the brakes, clouds of dust billowing out all around.

‘Get out!’ he said in a quiet, even voice.

‘
What
?’

‘You heard me. Get out!’

Incensed, Ghita swung the door open, and climbed down in silence onto the dirt. As soon as she was gone, Blaine swung the car around and accelerated fast into the distance.

He had rounded three more bends before he stopped.

Slamming the brakes on again, he smacked his hands together in anger, swore as loudly as he could.

Then he did another U-turn.

Gliding up to where Ghita was still standing all covered in dust, he leaned over, and opened the passenger door.

She got in without a sound. And they sat there without speaking, without moving.

After a full minute of silence, they looked at each other, their eyes locked onto the other in frozen hatred.

Then, both at once, they threw themselves at one another in a passionate kiss.

Ninety-seven

The boots echoed down the corridor again.

Omary had become expert at working out which guard they belonged to long before he heard the grunt of their owner’s voice. The guards may have all had the same standard issue uniforms and footwear, but they all walked differently.

The most fearful was six foot three, mid fifties, without an ounce of fat, and with hands capable of crushing stone into dust. Having nicknamed him ‘Bruiser’, Omary dreaded him because of the way he dehumanized the prisoners. He treated them worse than animals, and thought nothing of beating them senseless for no reason at all.

Even before the guard had unlocked the gate at the far end of the corridor, Omary knew it was Bruiser. He had slow heavy footsteps, a self-assuredness garnered from three decades of tyrannical rule. It took Bruiser forty-one strides to get from the gate to Cell No. 3.

Omary counted them as he always did.

Counting was a way of keeping oneself sane.

At thirty-seven paces Bruiser stopped. The keys rattled on their chain and the door to Cell No. 2 was opened. Saad groaned for a moment, and was struck for his sins. Then he was cuffed, blindfolded, and hauled away to the interrogation cell.

Crouching on the concrete floor, Hicham Omary coaxed himself to be calm, to believe in the eventual triumph of justice over evil. The worst thing of all was not raw fear, nor the sense of abandonment, but the uncertainty – not knowing how or when it would end.

Ninety-eight

The road descended through a forest of green oaks before climbing steeply. Then, winding to the right, it fell away on the other side, revealing the dazzling waters of the lake.

Cross-checking the goldsmith’s directions with the road map, Ghita pointed to the distance.

‘There will be a little turning on the left,’ she said. ‘We go past it, and there should be a road on the right. We take that.’

She looked down at the map again, turning it in her hands. There was the sound of a car honking from behind.

The American glanced in the rear view mirror.

An immaculate black Range Rover with smoked windows was flashing its lights, honking wildly.

‘How the hell does he think he’ll pass?!’ Blaine roared.

‘Pull over and let him.’

‘There’s no space. Not here. I’ll have to get round the bend.’

Suddenly, the Range Rover rammed the Silver Ghost. It slowed and, accelerating, it rammed a second time.

‘Jesus Christ!’ Blaine screeched, as he recoiled from the force.

‘Oh my God!’

‘What?!’

‘It’s the guys from Marrakech!’

Blaine changed down into third.

‘We’ve gotta get out of here!’

The Range Rover gathered speed.

It rammed again, and then a fourth time, its sleek engineering more than a match for a 1925 Silver Ghost.

‘What are we going to do?’ Ghita shouted.

‘Outrunning them’s not an option!’

The Range Rover pulled back.

And, revving ferociously, its driver manoeuvred the vehicle into the on-coming lane, and slammed into the side of the Rolls.

‘He’ll push us off!’ Ghita screamed.

‘That’s what he’s trying to do!’

Blaine jerked the steering wheel to the left. He changed down again, to second, flooring the accelerator.

Feeding the wheel fast through his hands, he managed to cut the Range Rover off.

But, as the road evened out, it came again, slamming the Rolls harder than before.

‘They’re going to kill us!’ Ghita cried.

Blaine waited for the next turn.

As he expected, the Range Rover drew up alongside again. Just before it smashed into them, he braked full force.

The Range Rover braked, too.

Accelerating through the gears, Blaine pulled out, ramming his attacker on the rear left side, forcing it over the edge.

It plunged down into the abyss.

The American didn’t stop.

‘I don’t want to see,’ he said. ‘I don’t want to know.’

‘That was amazing,’ Ghita said, overwhelmed.

‘It was kill or be killed. There was no choice.’

Struggling to keep focused, Blaine took the road on the right. He saw himself from above, and heard his grandfather’s voice asking what the hell he thought he was doing. Rather than embracing the daydream, he forced it out of his mind.

‘Make a left here,’ Ghita said.

Quite unfazed by the certain death they had left in their wake, she sensed that her coldness worried Blaine.

‘It was what they deserved,’ she said pointedly.

‘
They
? You think there was more than one?’

‘Who knows? Who cares?’

The American glanced over and looked at Ghita, whose face was locked forward on the road. He couldn’t believe she was so uncaring. But then it was he who had driven the Range Rover off the road.

‘We have to pull up when we see a single eucalyptus tree.’

‘Like that one?’

‘Yes! Stop here.’

‘Now what?’

‘We wait.’

‘I can’t believe there’s a prison anywhere out here,’ Blaine said, turning the engine off. ‘It’s the middle of nowhere.’

‘That’s the reason they chose it. Nowhere to escape to.’

‘I guess so, but in the movies it’s never like this.’

Ghita pushed her hands back through her hair, combing it with her fingers.

‘Your love of the movies,’ she said, ‘it’s...’

‘
Stupid
?’

She leaned over and kissed him.

‘It’s the sweetest thing,’ she said.

The winter sunlight playing softly on the landscape, Blaine and Ghita waited at the rendezvous point. They arrived at twelve forty-five. There was half an hour until the
dhuhr
afternoon prayer.

‘If my life in New York hadn’t fallen apart I wouldn’t be sitting here now in this raincoat,’ Blaine said, ‘in a Rolls-Royce, with a beautiful woman...’

‘...in a rocky field, in the mountains of a distant land?’

‘Maybe it
is
like out of a movie,’ said Blaine.

‘As for breaking into a jail?’

‘Well, that’s pure Hollywood. Worthy of Humphrey Bogart himself.’ Blaine swallowed. ‘I’m sure he would have approved,’ he said.