The Last Heroes (Men at War 1)

Personally, they had been close friends. And Hassan had been an especially valuable chamberlain, whose intelligence network was beyond price.

As he walked slowly through the mosque, his face hidden under the hood of his burnoose, Thami el Glaoui recalled that Hassan el Moulay had made first report on Helmut von Heurten-Mitnitz and Sturmbannführer Johann Müller not long after their arrival. These two were most likely the people responsible for his friend’s assassination.

The report had given their ranks and titles—minister in the case of von Heurten-Mitnitz (which, el Moulay had told el Glaoui, gave him equal footing in diplomatic protocol with the consuls general of the governments accredited to the French colonial authority and the kingdom of Morocco) and security adviser in the case of Müller. It gave the locations and telephone numbers of their quarters, and the make and license numbers of the automobiles assigned for their use. Within days, their dossiers contained information about their alcohol, drug, and sexual proclivities. Hassan el Moulay had also discovered, among other things, that it was von Heurten-Mitnitz’s intention to stop the flow of jewels and currency from France through Morocco.

The intelligence apparatus set up by the pasha of Ksar es Souk had been extraordinarily capable. Thami el Glaoui wondered if Allah the All-Wise had chosen to strike the pasha of Ksar es Souk down because the pasha had grown too sure of himself.

There were several questions connected with his death. The first and most important of these was whether Hassan himself had been the intended victim, or were the assassins actually after Sidi Hassan el Ferruch? Thami el Glaoui was inclined to believe the latter.

If the assassins were sent by the king of Morocco or by the Germans they would have been after the son, not the father. The son was the smuggler. Killing him would have stopped that immediately and simultaneously warned the father that these activities were known.

The answers would come sooner or later, Thami el Glaoui decided. But for now what would happen was in the hands of Allah.

Since the pashas of Ksar es Souk had been hereditary chamberlains to the pashas of Marrakech for three hundred years, and since Sidi Hassan el Ferruch had become pasha of Ksar es Souk on the death of his father, Sidi now assumed the same responsibility for intelligence his father had carried. The apparatus was still in place, and the files his father had built over so many years would now be his.

Only Allah knew if he would use them as well as his father had. El Glaoui had sought an answer in the Koran and in prayer, and had concluded as he walked around the reflecting pool that if Allah did not intend for Sidi Hassan el Ferruch to serve him as loyally and well as his father had, it would be better to find this out now.

Thami el Glaoui was so far pleased with Sidi Hassan el Ferruch. For instance, after Sidi returned from ‘‘buying horses’’ in France, el Glaoui politely suggested that it was time for him to marry and produce children. And, since the Germans were growing suspicious of his travels, he’d suggested that the boy stay out of the public eye as much as possible.

Sidi went that day into the desert to Ksar es Souk and took two Berber wives, both of whom were now pregnant. And then, so far as el Glaoui knew, el Ferruch had not left Ksar es Souk until the day he buried his father.

Immediately afterward el Glaoui once again ordered Sidi back to the palace at Ksar es Souk, with instructions that he was not to leave without his permission. El Ferruch had not been pleased with the order; but el Glaoui had no reason to suspect that he would not do what he was told to do.

Thami el Glaoui was therefore surprised the day after he had walked in the mosque when one of his guards came into his chamber escorting one of Sidi el Ferruch’s Berbers. The Berber had come by motorcycle from the palace at Ksar es Souk carrying a message.

‘‘Noble Father, my lord begs forgiveness for disturbing you, and prays that you will forgive him for seeking audience on such short notice. He is presently en route, and if you cannot find the time for him, I will meet him on the road and so inform him, and he will return to Ksar es Souk to await your pleasure.’’

Thami el Glaoui sat for a full minute before replying. ‘‘Please let the pasha of Ksar es Souk know that I will be honored to offer him what hospitality is at my disposal. And that I pray to Allah the All-Merciful for his safe journey.’’

El Ferruch obviously had something important on his mind.

Sidi el Ferruch arrived in a three-car convoy. In front there was a 1940 Ford convertible coupe, full of heavily armed Berbers, their faces masked. The pasha of Ksar es Souk himself rode in the backseat of a 1939 Buick Limited open touring car; following that was another 1939 Buick Limited, this one a closed sedan, also full of masked and armed Berbers.

Thami el Glaoui, gazing down through a screen, was surprised that el Ferruch did not—as the pasha expected him to—scurry quickly up the stairs into the villa. Instead, he walked to the Ford convertible coupe. And then Thami el Glaoui saw why. El Ferruch had elected to ride in the convertible, dressed as one of his Berbers. If there had been assassin’s bullets they would have been directed at the man impersonating him.

El Ferruch quickly put on the headdress with the golden cords of his rank and then walked quickly into the villa through a knot of his Berbers, all of whom were armed with American Thompson .45-caliber machine pistols.

Thami el Glaoui pushed himself to his feet and walked toward the narrow private flight of stairs leading to the reception room downstairs.

Three minutes later the gaunt old man in white faced the tall, hawklike el Ferruch in the blue robes of a Berber. They kissed, and then walked hand in hand to sit on the red leather hassocks on either side of a round brass table five feet in diameter.

‘‘Allah the All-Merciful has answered my prayers for your safe journey,?

??’ the pasha said as tea and jellied orange slices were put before them.

‘‘Thank you, noble Father,’’ el Ferruch said, ‘‘for receiving me.’’

The pasha slipped an orange slice into his mouth and looked at el Ferruch, his eyebrows raised in question, waiting to hear what el Ferruch wanted.

‘‘I have come about my guest, Eric Fulmar,’’ el Ferruch said.

‘‘The infidel under your roof,’’ Thami el Glaoui said, ‘‘concerned your father.’’

‘‘When my father was killed, noble Father, Eric Fulmar was in Casablanca, meeting with the master of a ship owned by an Argentine with whom we were in school.’’

‘‘You trust him to negotiate for you?’’

‘‘He suggested the arrangement. In addition, he can move with greater ease than I.’’