The Sins of the Father
by Amanda Rohrssen
Chapter Eight
After a weeklong honeymoon in Paris, the newly wed Jacob and Gail Mallard couldn’t afford a house right away, so they settled on an apartment in one of the nicer areas of Saint Canard which, incidentally, was a few blocks away from The Old Haunt. Jacob went back to work, and every night he returned to a home-cooked meal and a loving wife. This was far from anything he’d ever experienced before. It was much more stable, more satisfying, and it was…nice.
But Jacob found himself getting antsy staying in the city, and was immediately thankful the moment an out-of-country assignment fell into his lap courtesy of Director Bonaparte. He tossed and turned all night, a bundle of excitement that he hadn’t felt in weeks. It was like starting all over again – a brand new agent.
“Mmmm, why do you have to go to Morocco?” Gail murmured into his dress shirt the next morning as he attempted to pull on his coat despite the fact that she had him wrapped up in her arms.
“If I told you that, I’d have to kill you,” he replied slyly.
She smacked him on the arm playfully. “Don’t give me that.”
“A military coup,” he responded with a smile. “But I can’t tell you much beyond that.”
“You told me where you were going,” she said with a raised eyebrow. “I thought that was against the rules.”
“True enough. But you’re my wife, so to hell with the rules. It’s one thing to write it in a letter, but completely another to tell you in the privacy of our own home. Let’s just hope the information I gather from this mission goes better than the one I had in Cuba.”
“The Bay of Pigs invasion wasn’t your fault, Jacob. You didn’t know what President Kenneldy would be using that information for.”
He scoffed. “Idiot.”
She was quiet for a moment, coming back to the realization that she would be losing him soon.
“How long will you be gone?”
“Two weeks…a month at most.”
“A month?!”
“Hey,” Jacob held up his hands defensively, “you knew my job involved a lot of traveling. Besides, I haven’t had a big assignment in weeks, and accomplishing one like this will look pretty good on my resume.”
“But Morocco…?” she said, her voice growing softer. She moved toward him again and laid her head against his chest. “That’s so far away…”
“Write to me,” he murmured fervently as he held her close, “like before. We can still be together while I’m gone, just not physically.”
She pulled her head back and smirked at him. “Will there be beautiful women there?”
“Of course,” he joked, immediately picking up on her playful insinuation. “But don’t worry. Each time I sleep with one of them, I’ll think of you.”
“How sweet,” she replied.
Jacob glanced at his watch as he bustled through Casablanca International, barely paying attention to the lilting voice of Barbra Quicksand that played intermittently over the loudspeakers. The hand of American culture was steadily extending its reach as the years went on, but that meant little to Jacob. He marched to the beat of his own drum; politics were of little interest to him unless he could use them to his advantage, but that is not to say that he didn’t keep up with current affairs.
As he passed near a restaurant set in this particular wing of the airport, he caught a whiff of couscous and felt his stomach grumble wildly. Though he’d flown first class, he hadn’t been very hungry on the flight. He chalked it up to excitement at being back on the job. Now as he left the Moroccan cuisine in his wake, he was lamenting the fact that he had to meet up with his SHUSH contact rather than take the time to sit down and enjoy a real meal.
As he exited the building and stood on the sidewalk to wait for a cab, he didn’t notice the ram come along beside him until he was right next to him.
“The rain in Spain falls mainly in the plain.”
Jacob raised an eyebrow, then smirked, keeping his eyes forward. “Yes. Perhaps an umbrella would be advantageous this time of year.”
A cab pulled up next to them, and one slid in behind the other.
“Agent Jacob Mallard?” the ram ventured cautiously.
“That would be me,” Jacob replied airily. “I take it you’re Amir?”
The ram nodded. Jacob grinned, eyeing his fellow SHUSH agent who was wrapped up in a black trench coat and thick sunglasses.
“Not a very clever disguise, old boy.”
Amir took off and pocketed his sunglasses with a mixed expression, but quickly cleared his throat. “You’re going to need a disguise of your own if you’re going to get the information we need to bring down Fatih’s underground rebellion before there’s an assassination attempt.”
“Relax,” Jacob crowed, “I’ve got a million of’em stashed in my bags.” He glanced up at their cab driver, but he didn’t seem to be giving them the time of day. “Is he…?” he motioned up front, and Amir shook his head.
“No, but most people here don’t know much English, so we’re safe to talk in here.”
Jacob nodded. “So what’s this ‘Fatih’ been up to?”
“You mean you didn’t get the paperwork on the case?”
“Oh, I got it. I just didn’t read it.”
Amir made a disgruntled sound, pursing his fat lips together, but decided not to waste his breath reprimanding Jacob.
“He’s the leader of one of the insurgent groups that is determined to bring about the fall of King Hassan II. His men have been using guerilla warfare tactics to forcibly take control of the iron ore mines near the Mauritanian borders.”
“Ah, you mean the Spanish Desert – a land so rich in iron ore that the Moroccan government overtook it for themselves despite the fact that it was already a part of Mauritania?”
Amir raised an eyebrow. “Ah, so you have done your homework.”
Jacob shrugged in a sly manner, neither confirming nor denying Amir’s remark.
“The fact of the matter is, that land now belongs to the Moroccan regime, not to the rebel forces. King Hassan II has ordered us to aid him in restoring order to his kingdom.”
“So what’s our first step?”
“Why, to introduce you, of course.”
Now it was Jacob’s turn to raise an eyebrow. “Introduce me?”
Amir smiled knowingly. “We’re on our way to meet the king.”
What felt like hours later, the cab finally pulled up in front of the palace, a grand and exotic display of Arab, Spanish, and French architecture. Jacob couldn’t help the impressed look that washed over his face.
“Just wait until you see the inside,” Amir said with a smirk after paying the driver.
The beautiful mosaics that made up the flooring and the magnificent fountains amidst the gardens scattered intermittently throughout the extravagant palace kept Jacob’s jaw slightly ajar as he took it all in.
“Well, he certainly knows how to live,” he quipped as he stared.
Amir beckoned him to hurry up, and a guard standing beside a thick oaken doorway with an intricately carved surface pulled it open for them to enter the palace throne room. The ceiling was entirely made of glass, and steepled at its peak. The room was warm with the trapped Moroccan heat, and extravagant tapestries in deep oranges and reds and golds lined the walls.
King Hassan’s head snapped up the moment they entered.
“SHUSH Agents Amir Jabbaar and Jacob Mallard here to see you, sir,” announced the guard that had let them pass.
King Hassan’s scowl brightened a bit, and he encouraged them with his rolling arms to sit in the ornate wooden chairs facing his profligate ivory desk that was nearly twice Jacob’s height if he’d been lying down.
“I am so glad you are coming to my palace today,” the king declared. His voice was gruff, authoritative, and had an edge to it that Jacob couldn’t quite place. “The rebel forces are growing strong, but I have solution. I have caught many spies in my palace, including two this morning, and I am pleased to be showing you how it is we deal with spies. They will be an example to all that oppose my rule.”
He clapped twice, and two of the guards left the room.
“The Spanish Sahara belongs to me,” Hassan continued firmly. “And that includes the iron ore deposits there. That ore will be helping my government to be prospering like never before, and these ingrate dissenters must be punished for their traitorous deeds. First they were few, but now they are multiplying like the little bugs they are. But I am slowly to be taking care of the problem. No one dares to be standing in the way of King Hassan II. Your job, gentlemen, is to find the rebel base and win me back my iron mines.”
“And how, exactly, are we to do that?” Jacob questioned arrogantly, unimpressed with the monarch’s speech. Amir seemed to turn a paler shade of brown.
King Hassan II scrutinized Jacob with his beady brown eyes before a malicious smile spread across his fanged jaws. “Any way you can.”
At that moment, the oaken doors creaked open again, and in returned the two guards, dragging two scraggly looking prisoners in their wake.
“Ah, here are the spies now,” the king said coolly from his padded chair.
Jacob’s black eyes roved over the two captives, who more resembled peasants or serfs than espionage experts. One was a young girl, who couldn’t have been over fifteen, with illuminating blue eyes that softened her otherwise plain and filthy appearance. Her tangled black hair tumbled across her shoulders and hid half of her face, but she made no move to brush it away. Instead those blue eyes rose toward the king, and Jacob could sense that the fierceness she held in her gaze was merely a bravado to hide the immense fear underneath.
The other alleged spy was taller than her, but had the same skin tone and soiled look about him. His eyes, however, were brown, and the intensity in his gaze was anything but bravado.
“They were carrying concealed weapons and skulking about my palace,” the king explained levelly as he rose from his throne. Keeping his snake-like stare fixated on them, he circled them slowly, haughtily, and his mouth curled back into a sneer as he looked them over like mice. When he reached the girl, he paused in front of her and put a finger under her chin so that he could look at her mud-streaked face.
She bared her tiny white teeth and tried to bite him since her wrists were in shackles, but the monarch was too quick. He narrowed his eyes at her while her companion grinned in amusement.
Though the king’s fiery eyes were boring into the girl, he was snapping at his guards, who stumbled over themselves to follow his commands. Jacob couldn’t understand what the orders were, but both girl and boy looked suddenly terrified.
“La!” the girl shrieked, shaking her head back and forth and trying to kick out as her captors dragged them both away. “La!! Akhi!”
“Do not be worrying,” the king said briefly to both SHUSH agents. “We deal with their kind all the time. Perhaps now that you are here, they will take my laws more seriously.”
Jacob looked back into Hassan’s serpent eyes without expression, the girl’s screams ringing in his ears.
That night the American SHUSH agent slept fitfully in the extravagant guest bedroom he had been given. He, Amir, and King Hassan had made plans for the following day – the agents were to lead a regiment out to the captured ore mines, take any prisoners they could, and force them to give away the location of the rebel headquarters. The king had assumed once the rebellion saw that the United States was getting involved, they would surrender. Jacob wasn’t so sure it would be that simple, and quite frankly, he wasn’t altogether too sure the king was as noble a ruler as he let on.
His thoughts wandered to Gail, and he twisted his gold wedding band between his fingers, glancing to the empty side of the bed. Though they had only been married for a short while, he had grown used to sleeping on one side every night. He missed the warmth she provided.
A muffled stumbling sound caught his attention, and he was immediately alert. His heart beat into his ears as he held his breath and waited to see if it had only been the old palace settling. No such luck. His sharp ears caught the skittering of shuffled footsteps over stone, and as he sat up in the bed a shadow crossed the crack in the doorway.
There was no way he was going back to bed now.
Judging by the amount of moonlight in the hallway, Jacob judged it was a little past two in the morning Moroccan time, and as he softly closed the bedroom door behind him, he noticed that the elegant deep red rug that ran down the hallway had been crinkled in the middle. Crinkled enough that somebody might trip on it if they weren’t careful.
Jacob’s black eyes glittered, and a smirk creased his face as he set off in the direction he believed the midnighter had gone. If he was going to be awake anyway, he might as well see what this person was up to – especially since it apparently required sneaking through the palace. This was going to be fun.
He moved nonchalantly, as if keeping silent were the easiest thing in the world for him. And, indeed, had he an audience, they would have believed it was. Practically anything seemed like a breeze for Jacob Mallard.
He rounded a corner and, just as he was beginning to wonder why there weren’t any guards milling around (after all, the king had given the impression that a large part of the populace disliked him), he felt his toes slide into something wet and gooey. In the darkness it was hard to tell right off what it was, and Jacob made a disgusted face as he shook his bare foot clean. It wasn’t until he glanced up that he saw a heap of a man lying a couple of feet away, silhouetted against the rich and dark atmosphere of the nocturnal palace, silent and unmoving. His eyes followed the puddle of liquid at his feet until it disappeared underneath the man.
His eyes widened every so slightly. Things had just gotten a bit more interesting.
Without bothering to see if the man still lived, Jacob wandered past and soundlessly continued his search for the nighttime creeper. Again he came to a turn in the hallway, and his eyes panned to the opened curtains filtering in the pale glow of moonlight. It was a mistake.
A spindly arm looped around his neck and yanked him backward off of his feet. Jacob hit the marble flooring hard, and now his assailant had moved on top of him with a knife pressed to his Adam’s apple.
He struggled to take in breath as the stars in his eyes faded and her features came into as much focus as the darkness would allow. It was the girl from the throne room. The girl whose screams had haunted him for a long while after she had disappeared.
“You?” he gasped as the blade pressed further into his throat.
“American?” she rasped, her blue eyes wide with adrenaline.
He nodded as best he could without being sliced. “Yes.”
Her expression was wild and predatory, and there was distrust in her stare. “You come. You follow. No sound.”
Having no choice in the matter, Jacob again nodded his head. She crawled off of him, but kept the knife aimed toward him and her eyes fixated on him. He got up slowly, feeling more confident now that she had removed the weapon from direct contact with him, and as soon as he had straightened up, her vicious demeanor melted away and desperation overtook her.
“You come. You help,” she said, reaching toward him and grasping his hand with the one that didn’t hold a weapon.
Quickly and silently she began pulling him through the palace corridors, all the while making sure to keep the knife in front of her in case they should run into trouble. After a few minutes of this, Jacob lifted his head and sniffed the air. His black eyes grew wide, and he pulled the girl to a stop.
She opened her mouth to protest, but he covered it with his hand and took her into the nearest dark room he could find. She glared at him intensely and lifted the knife, but he shook his head.
“Ssssh, sssh, no, no, I’m trying to –“
“The king has ordered a search for the girl. She is to be beheaded on sight, and her head is to be sent to the marauders in the southwest.”
Jacob released the girl who, upon hearing the voices, remained silent on her own. She looked toward Jacob uncertainly, and he made a motion with is finger across his throat and pointed at her. Her startling blue eyes widened for a few moments, and then narrowed hatefully.
Footsteps faded down the marble hallway, and Jacob locked eyes with the teenager. “Where is your brother?”
“Brother?” she repeated. He could see her working the word in her mind, and when it clicked her entire demeanor drooped sorrowfully. “Akhi...dead.”
“Them?” He pointed outside.
She nodded.
“Come on,” he said, holding out his hand toward her.
She took it, and her hand seemed suddenly so small and fragile in his own. He held it gently and led her out of the room.
“This way…” he whispered, drawing her down a narrow corridor toward what looked like a dead end.
She frowned and tried to pull them around, but he shook his head and pulled aside the heavy forest green drapery of the towering window at the end of the hallway to reveal a small tunnel inlaid with bronze at the base of the wall. She blinked at him in surprise.
“My associate Amir told me a thing or two about the structure of this palace,” he smirked. “Plus I did a bit of my own homework…”
Seeing the completely lost expression on her face, Jacob realized she hadn’t understood a word he’d said. Smiling, he chuckled to himself and motioned for her to go first.
She shook her head swiftly and aimed the knife at him again. He shrugged. “Okay, we’ll forgo the formalities,” he consented before lowering himself down on his hands and knees and crawling forward into the small, disused tunnel.
“All right, we made it past the hard part,” Jacob remarked as they rode away from the castle grounds on the backs of two stolen Arabian horses. “Now…where are your friends at?”