Free Tier One Wild by Dalton Fury Page B

clapped his hands together. “That was a fabulous speech, Doc. I bet that goes over well at the UN or at UC Berkeley or pretty much anywhere in Europe. But, brother, you are in Tripoli at the moment, and ‘all mankind’ around here isn’t so appreciative of your efforts. Look, we are glad you are here and doing what you are doing. But that’s us. The two vans that followed you here into the Old City and the three goons in the lime-green four-door outside the café are a subset of mankind who don’t take kindly to your nosy nature.”
    Marris looked out toward the courtyard for a long moment. Only a sliver of the street was visible through the entrance of the café. “I don’t see them.”
    “You will when you go outside. Big guys in bad blue suits, one eyebrow each. You need to start opening your eyes when you leave the sanctity of the Corinthian.”
    “I’ve been followed before. It is part of my work. You followed me here yourself, did you not?”
    “I did,” the man conceded. “But not to slide a knife across your throat. You need to take my word for it. Tripoli is not safe for you anymore. Not safe for you or your investigators.”
    Marris swatted away the comment with an annoyed hand, but the American continued his pitch.
    “You are doing good work, but you could be doing more good. If you had a little more money, more physical and capital assets helping you out. We want to get the rest of the loose munitions off the market. Just like you.”
    Marris just rolled his eyes. “Do you think you are the first American spy to try this pitch on me?”
    “I know that I am not. I am, however, the first to tell you this while in a position to protect you from immediate harm.”
    “Are you threatening me?”
    “Warning you. Know the difference. They will kill you. The guys out front or men just like them.”
    “It sure sounds like a threat.”
    “It is an informed observation, Doc.”
    The Canadian finished the dregs of his coffee, all but slammed the little cup back on the plastic table. “I don’t want to see you again.”
    “It might be safer for you if you did. I think I will just follow you around for a while. For your own good.”
    Marris looked back over his shoulder at the crowd in the courtyard café. There were easily seventy-five people there, all male. “Mr. Meriwether. I am calling you that because I do not know what else to call you, not because I am so naive that I think you gave me your real name. All I have to do is shout out to the room, in Arabic, in French, or probably even in English, that you are an operative of the CIA, and then, I am quite certain, you will be otherwise engaged from following me through the streets for the rest of the day. Maybe for the rest of your life.”
    The African-American did not seem fazed by the threat at all. Instead he just smiled. “My real name is Curtis. And you might want to think first about how badly you want to draw even more attention to yourself right now, because I have friends who can get me out of any jam I might get into today. You … on the other hand, only have me.”
    Renny Marris did not speak. Instead he collected his satchel, stood from his thick cushion, and headed back through the courtyard café toward his car.
    *   *   *
    The big Canadian made it back to the parking lot by the Old British Consulate. The early afternoon pedestrian traffic had tapered off to almost nothing, so after he unlocked the door to his car and looked back over his shoulder, he had no problem picking out the black American crossing the street toward him.
    He tossed his bag in the backseat angrily.
    Curtis called to him as he approached. “Dr. Marris? One more quick thing.”
    Renny sat down in his car. He reached to close the door but first said, “No! I told you! I do not want to talk to you.”
    “Then don’t talk. Just listen.” Curtis grabbed the door and held it open.
    “I certainly do not want to listen to anything you have to say.” Marris