The Romanov Ransom (Fargo Adventures 9)

JEMAA EL-FNAA,

MARRAKESH

The scent of grilled meat and diesel fuel permeated the air as Sam and Remi neared the open-air market. Soon, the faded orange-red clay buildings on either side of the narrow cobblestone streets were filled with the souk and its covered stalls with vendors hawking their wares, everything from clothing, jewelry, and baskets to the finest spices. Motorbikes sped past, the whir of their engines mixing with the constant beat of drums and rhaita flutes as snake charmers played for their cobras, trying to lure an audience. In the main square, Sam expertly stepped between Remi and a vendor who tried to put a snake around her shoulders. “Trust me,” he told the man. “She’s not interested.”

“Playing hero, Fargo?” Remi asked as they continued on, avoiding a woman who tried to grab her hand, offering to paint henna on it.

“If he knew your aversion to snakes—and how quick you are with a knife—I doubt he’d be so eager to put one near you.” They stopped halfway down the row of shops facing the square, taking a look around. “He did say meet by this café?”

“There he is,” Remi said, nodding in the opposite direction.

Zakaria Koury saw them and waved as they approached. “Mr. and Mrs. Fargo,” he said, then gave a wide smile. Apparently, he’d forgiven Sam for roughing him up. “You found me. Good.”

Sam shook hands with him. “Where’s Durin?”

“He’s on his way. First, some refreshment.”

He drew them past a stall with skewers of meat and vegetables set out to another that served drinks, then, without waiting, said something in Arabic to the vendor, who indicated they should sit at the table along one side. “Better this way,” Zakaria said quietly. “In case someone’s watching. Right now, we’re just a few tourists stopping for coffee. Durin is worried about being followed.”

Sam took a casual look around. No one seemed to be paying them the least bit of attention. “Why would anyone be watching?”

“Durin thinks that Karl and Brand aren’t the only parties interested in this downed plane. He tells me there have been—how should I say it?—some less than savory inquiries.”

“Did he say who?”

“No. And he wasn’t happy that I’d talked to you after he told me not to talk to anyone. It wasn’t until I explained that you were funding Karl and Brand’s project that he relaxed enough to agree to meet with you. He should be here anytime.”

“You think he’ll agree to take us out to the site where he last saw Brand and

Karl?” Sam asked.

“I don’t see why not,” he said, as someone placed cups of coffee on the table in front of them. “He says he tried to talk Karl and Brand from going out alone. Even if they did find it, considering how long that plane’s been up there, and all the weather it’s endured, he doubts there’s much left to find.”

Their strong coffee nearly finished, Zakaria nodded out toward the open square. “There he is now.”

Sam saw a tall blond man about the same age as Zakaria, mid-twenties, smoking a cigarette as he walked. He looked over his shoulder several times as though looking for a tail. When he saw Zakaria, he seemed to relax, slowing his pace.

Sam paid for the coffee, and the three joined him.

“At last,” Durin said as Zakaria made the introductions. He dropped his cigarette, grinding it out with his foot. “Maybe my imagination is getting the best of me. Every person I saw seemed to be watching me.”

“I warned the Fargos that you were worried about being followed.”

“It’s true,” Durin said, taking another look around. “I hope I’m wrong, but it’s best to be careful.”

Sam checked the area he’d seen Durin walking from, his gaze catching on a dark-haired man in a gray-striped djellaba, who looked in their direction as he walked past. He met up with another man in similar garb, and both continued on, never looking back. Though neither had done anything out of the ordinary, the first man’s casual glance, then immediate disinterest, bothered Sam. “What about those two?” he asked Durin.

“Where?”

“Near the stall selling mint tea.” Sam pointed, but by the time Durin focused in the right area, both men were lost in the crowd.

“Probably nothing. I’ll keep an eye out,” Durin said. “So what is it you’re here for?”

“Zakaria tells me you might be willing to escort us out to the site?”

“In the Atlas Mountains, nothing is easy to get to. I can at least take you to where I last saw them. I had to leave early. My sister’s been ill, and I had made plans to be with her.”

“How long do you think it’ll take to get where Brand and Karl thought the plane might be?” Sam asked.