basement garage.”
“That would be perfect,” Thorakis said gratefully. They shook hands vigorously, and moments later he was gone.
Douaywaited until the elevator had closed on the Greek before opening an attaché case, activating a satellite phone, and entering a two-digit code that triggered a much longer sequence of numbers. The truth was that Al-Fulani was fully aware of the shipping magnate’s identity, which meant Marla Norton had an important job to do. She would have to protect Al-Fulani, or die with him.
Chapter Six
FEZ,MOROCCO
The French called Fez—or Fes— la Mysterieuse, and as Agent 47 pushed deeper into the oldest—and some said most dangerous—part of the city, he discovered what they meant. About a quarter-million people were crammed into a maze of narrow cobblestone streets, busy souks, stately mosques, brooding blank-faced homes, and hidden gardens. And given the local propensity to not onlychange street names, but post them in a variety of languages, it was easy to understand why Fes El Bali, the old town, was sometimes referred to as “the most complicated square mile on Earth.”
Tourists were well advised to hire a guide before setting foot in the area. But Agent 47 was equipped with something more reliable than a human guide. He had a small global positioning device that was preloaded with data provided by The Agency. The handheld GPS unit showed Marla Norton’s location, as well as that of The Agency’s local armory, where he could pick up any weapons he needed.
The security measures put in place over the last few years as part of the worldwide effort to counter global terrorism made it nearly impossible to transport weapons on commercial flights like the ones 47
had been forced to use in order to keep up with Marla. So, with the exception of his undetectable fiber-wire garrote, the assassin was unarmed. A problem he would soon correct. Thanks to its location directly across theStrait ofGibraltar fromSpain , as well as its reputation as the gateway to Africa,Morocco was a favorite with tourists from all over the world.Which was why none of the people who lived along the edge of the old city gave the assassin so much as a second glance as he strode through labyrinthine passageways lined with small stores.
Further on the streets were lined with high walls, the iron-strapped gates that opened onto private courtyards, and the homes that embraced them.
As the faithful were called to prayer, and the melodic sound of the adhan issued from the city’s minarets, the streets filled with locals and there were fewer and fewer European faces to be seen. Unlike the young women who frequented the stores in the French-built Ville Nouvelle (new town), many of whom would have looked at home in New York City, most of Fes El Bali ’s females wore the burka whenever they ventured forth to fetch food, buy clothes, or visit relatives. Men sat on white plastic chairs, stood in doorways, or congregated in open air cafés where many passed the time by playing cards.
Everyone, regardless of age, gender, or station, was forced to share the narrow streets with the heavily burdened donkeys. In the absence of motor vehicles, these beasts were used to haul everything in and out of the medina (city). And it was while he was taking refuge in a doorway, so that one of the sturdy animals could pass, that 47 noticed the scruffy-looking African.
A furtive figure ducked into a side corridor when the assassin glanced his way. A thief most likely, eager to steal a tourist’s wallet, but the agent could imagine other scenarios as well, including the possibility that the Puissance Treize was somehow aware of his presence. The tail was a problem in either case, and would have to be dealt with before he could enter the armory.
With that in mind Agent 47 quickened his pace, passed a tiny shop stuffed with consumer electronics, and took a sharp right-hand turn into a narrow passageway. Despite the heat of the day, some of