The Last Heroes (Men at War 1)

d his head at one of his men. He had seen Eric Fulmar coming off the hotel tennis courts five stories below. Najib Hammi went to the men’s room, and a moment later appeared to sneak out, thereby attracting the attention of the alert agent from the Deuxième Bureau, who immediately began a pursuit that would lead him up and down stairwells, into the basement, through the garden, around the walls, and ultimately, fifteen minutes later, back up to the roof garden, where he had been instructed to sit down and finish his crème caramel.

The moment Najib Hammi and the man from the Deuxième Bureau entered the stairwell, Sidi el Ferruch boarded the elevator and descended to the fourth floor of the hotel, where he kept a six-room apartment.

Sweat-soaked from his tennis, Eric Fulmar was leaning on his dresser, pulling a sock off his foot.

‘‘I wondered when you were going to show up,’’ he said. ‘‘I’m sorry about your father, Ferruch.’’

‘‘We Arabs say, ‘It is the will of God,’ ’’ el Ferruch said.

‘‘Who did it?’’

‘‘I don’t know who did it,’’ el Ferruch said. ‘‘But I know who ordered it done.’’

‘‘Who?’’

‘‘Your German friends,’’ el Ferruch said. ‘‘I have also found out they were after me, and not my father.’’

‘‘I’m not surprised.’’ He laughed. ‘‘But tell me why anyway. ’’

‘‘Why do you think?’’ el Ferruch said. ‘‘If they killed me, it would have put you and me out of business, and it would have made it much easier for them to get you back to Germany.’’

‘‘Shit, if that goddamned ship had waited until December eighth to sail, I would be in the middle of the Atlantic by now.’’

‘‘What would you do in Argentina?’’ el Ferruch asked.

‘‘Probably the same thing I do here.’’ Fulmar chuckled. ‘‘Play tennis, and try to get laid.’’

‘‘For someone about to be hauled off to Germany, you’re remarkably cheerful,’’ el Ferruch said.

‘‘I’ve been trying to get through to the American consulate, ’’ Eric said, turning more serious. ‘‘The Rabat lines keep going out, but sooner or later they’re going to make a mistake, and I’m going to yell like hell at whoever answers the consulate phone. In the meantime, I’m safe.’’ He saw the look on el Ferruch’s face, and added: ‘‘Aren’t I?’’

‘‘No,’’ el Ferruch said simply. ‘‘Ahmed Mohammed has learned that the Germans’ patience is exhausted. They’re going to come for you probably tonight, and the Sûreté and Deuxième Bureau are going to look the other way.’’

‘‘And?’’ Fulmar said.

‘‘I saw the pasha of Marrakech this morning,’’ el Ferruch said. ‘‘About you.’’

‘‘And?’’ Eric repeated.

‘‘Somewhat reluctantly, he gave me permission to take you to Ksar es Souk.’’ He added, significantly, ‘‘Provided I can get you to Ksar es Souk.’’

‘‘You needed his permission?’’ Fulmar asked. El Ferruch nodded. ‘‘What the hell would I do at Ksar es Souk?’’

‘‘I don’t know, since there’s no tennis court and no women,’’ el Ferruch said. ‘‘None that you could go after, in any event.’’

‘‘Why don’t you get on the telephone, call the consulate, say you’re me, and have them send somebody to get me?’’

‘‘Because I have been told not to,’’ el Ferruch said.

"By the pasha?" Eric asked. El Ferruch nodded. ‘‘Why not?"

‘‘I went to ask his permission to take you to Rabat,’’ el Ferruch said. ‘‘He doesn’t think you should leave Morocco right now. The reason the telephone lines are out for you is that Thami el Glaoui doesn’t want you talking to your consulate. ’’

‘‘Why, that miserable, crazy sonofabitch!’’ Fulmar fumed.

‘‘Don’t say that out loud, Eric,’’ el Ferruch said coldly.

‘‘What does he want from me?’’