The Alpha Deception (27 page)

“I’ve already seen what they are. I had a sample in my possession until a few days ago. They’re just stones.”

“You don’t believe that. I can tell by your voice. You’re too damned sensitive to be so naive. You looked at those crystals and felt something. I can bloody well tell.”

“Where can I find the reserves, Professor? Tell me that, and I’ll leave you to your misery.”

“It’s not that simple!” Clive blared, nearly spilling his whiskey. “For thousands of years they lay hidden until seismic changes brought them closer to the surface where once again they promised destruction. An entire civilization has already perished from the abuse of the power they hold. Don’t you know that?”

“If you’re talking about Atlantis, I don’t buy it. Myths have nothing to do with what I’m after.”

“They have everything to do with it, old boy.”

“Professor—”

“Just listen,” Clive said rapidly. “Hear me out. What harm can it do you?” He leaned forward and let the glass of whiskey go. “The people of Atlantis harnessed the power of what they referred to as a ‘firestone’. They found that when angled properly in relation to the sun, the stone could harness the sun’s rays and redirect them as a source of incredible energy. The closest thing we have to this process is the laser beam, but in Atlantis they harnessed the power totally. You called the crystal Atragon.”

“Yes, dark red crystals with many ridges—no one section totally symmetrical with another.”

“Yes! And each individual section, dozens on each crystal, is its own reflector. Sunlight channeled through the various chambers of these crystals created an energy source which powered the civilization of Atlantis through domed buildings which served as massive solar receptors. The amount of energy created, stored, was immeasurable.”

“I said I don’t believe in all this—”

“It doesn’t matter what you believe. Just listen; you’ve got to,” Clive pleaded. “The people of Atlantis attained technological heights even we have yet to achieve. But something went wrong. The power of the great crystals you call Atragon was abused. Whether this was intentional or not is not definitely known. It was probably unintentional at first, the reserves overloaded which led to a tragedy. But then the potential of Atragon as a weapon was revealed. Factionalization resulted. Various parties in Atlantis struggled desperately for control of the crystals which alone could assure their unhindered rise to power. The fanatics got hold of them first. Fanatics got hold of the crystals and brought about the destruction of the entire society.”

“And sank the continent into the Atlantic, right?”

“It would not be beyond the power of the crystals. You’ve seen them. You know it as well as I do.”

“What I know has nothing to do with imaginary continents sinking into the ocean. And nothing to do with miraculous reappearances.”

“There was nothing miraculous about it, as I said. Seismic changes occurred. Atlantis, parts of it anyway, became accessible once more. The crystals emerged unhindered by the passage of time, prepared to cause destruction yet again.”

“Or prevent it in this case.” McCracken leaned over the table. “Those crystals, Professor, may be the only thing that can prevent a cataclysm just as bad and maybe worse than Atlantis sinking into the sea. They’ve already cost the life of a woman I loved, and unless I find them she’ll have died for nothing. So I really don’t care if they came from the black depths or some kid’s marble collection, I’ve got to find them and you’re the only one who can help me.”

“I’m not a fool, old boy,” Clive said softly as he poured the rest of his flask into his glass. “Listening to my ravings might lead you to believe I am, but the title of professor is real. I studied gems and their origins for years. My theories about Atlantis are based in fact.”

“The reserves of the crystal, Professor, where can I find them?”

Clive sipped his whiskey and then squeezed both hands around the rim. “I only know the general area: an island in the Bimini chain off the coast of Florida.”

“Which one?”

“None you’ve ever heard of.”

“You just said that—”

“I know what I said, but it isn’t quite that simple. There’s an island in the Biminis with no name. None of the natives ever talk about it, and tourists are steered cleverly away. There’s a graveyard of ships off its coast. Plenty of vacationers and treasure hunters have disappeared after venturing too close.”

“First Atlantis and now the Bermuda Triangle …”

“No, old boy, this time it’s a sea monster.”

“A
what
?”
McCracken asked incredulously.

“The natives who talk at all call it Dragon Fish. Legend has it that the Dragon Fish protected the island’s shores from pirates centuries ago and apparently hasn’t lost its appetite yet. True or not, the legend’s done wonders at keeping all curious parties away.”

“And this unnamed island contains the Atragon?”

“More specifically, its coastal waters do. The crystals were discovered relatively recently in the wake of those seismic changes I mentioned. They were forced up from the ocean floor, them and some sort of structure housing them.”

“Where’s this island, Professor?”

“That I can’t tell you. Would if I knew, old chap, but the specific coordinates were never made known to me, nor did I especially care to learn them if the truth be known. It would take you days at the very least to find the island on your own. The Biminis stretch further out than you may think.”

“But somebody must have the precise coordinates. Maybe this Sadim you spoke of earlier.”

Clive nodded reluctantly. “Abib El Sadim, the most mysterious man in all of Morocco. Nobody knows much about him, and I know more than most. From what I can gather Sadim not only discovered the reserves of the crystal but was the only man brave enough to challenge the Dragon Fish in its home waters.”

“You don’t really believe there’s a sea monster, Professor, do you?”

“Don’t be confused by my bloody title, old boy. I had an open mind for these things long before the booze turned my brain to mush.”

“Let’s stick to reality,” Blaine told him. “Where can I find this Sadim?”

“You’ll never get close to him. No one does.”

“But there’s got to be a place, a means of contact.”

“Indeed. His bar in Casablanca: the Cafe American.”

McCracken stared across the booth in disbelief. “If the piano player’s name is Sam, I won’t be able to take any more of this.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if it was. Sadim has recreated the bar almost entirely from the classic film. It’s become one of Casablanca’s hottest spots, especially this week with all the festivals taking place. He has quite a sense of humor, I’m told.”

“You’ve never met him?”

“No, never. I’m sure you’ve learned that after discovering the potential of his find he sought to sell it to the highest bidder. I fielded offers for him from terrorists and cutthroats alike. Sadim wanted to remain out of the picture. I received bids and simply passed them on to him.”

“Were any ever accepted?”

“Not to my knowledge but, then, I would have no way of knowing what happened after I passed the bids along or how far along the process had gone before I came on the scene. Nor did I want to know.”

“Spoken like a man not exactly happy with his work.”

“I wasn’t a fool, old boy. I knew that the groups represented by men like Fass were bidding purely because of the crystal’s potential as a weapon. It made me realize how low I’d sunk. Didn’t care much about the cancer after that. I just stayed here and waited for Sadim to send someone out to kill me.”

“Which you thought was my role.”

Clive nodded. “Better this way, eh? You’ve given me my chance at redemption. Sadim’s the only man who knows exactly where the crystals can be found. You’ll know what to do with them. You’ll do what’s best. It’s the kind of man you are. It almost makes me hope I’ll live long enough to see the results.”

“I appreciate the support.”

“You’ll need a bloody hell of a lot more than that to succeed, old boy. Getting in to see Sadim in Casablanca isn’t going to be easy, convincing him to cooperate even less so.”

“In which case,” Blaine winked, “I’ll just have to round up the usual suspects.”

“Then you’d better know something else about the man you’re after,” Clive told him. “Sadim wasn’t always known as Sadim. He had another name for the better part of his life: Vasquez.”

Chapter 25

IT WAS TOO LATE
to leave for Casablanca by the time he finished with Professor Clive, so McCracken submitted to his exhaustion and spent the night in Marrakesh. He overslept slightly Monday morning but was unbothered by it; he needed to be at his best if he planned to face Vasquez.

Blaine had been to Casablanca only once before in his career, and his impressions of the vast Moroccan city had been formed mostly by the classic Bogart film. Arriving at the airport after flying in from Marrakesh, he still half expected to see characters with resemblances to Peter Lorre and Sidney Greenstreet, but he would be more than happy to settle at this point for sight of a different fat man.

To think that somehow Vasquez was behind all this.
McCracken wasn’t surprised. There was plenty of money to be made from the crystals, a fortune, and money had always been the fat man’s first love. The problem at this point was how to gain access to him, and Blaine could cover that only after inspecting the layout of his headquarters.

The Cafe American was located in a quarter of the city reserved for hotels, shops, and exclusive clubs. Almost there, the taxi became snarled in traffic.

“The festivals,” the driver shrugged.

“I’ll walk from here,” Blaine told him, adding a generous tip to the amount tallied on the old-fashioned meter.

He climbed out and started down the street. Vasquez’s establishment was just three blocks away, but those blocks were jammed with people watching the festivities. The streets had been closed off to traffic and were now filled with various displays of Moroccan culture, from Arab acrobats to Berber horsemen riding with both hands on their long rifles, firing occasionally into the air in demonstration of their famed
fantasia
rituals.

From the outside the Cafe American was a perfect reproduction, right down to several exclusive canopied tables on the sidewalk. All that was missing were the Nazi spotlights combing the area with their crisscrossing beams. It was mid-afternoon, and Blaine had no problems in gaining entry.

The building’s interior was even more detailed. There were several rooms, separated by majestic archways. Private tables, undoubtedly available only at a premium rate, sat apart in the many alcoves, and the soft light of regularly spaced imitation candelabras cast the rooms in the kind of murky haze that might have been called atmosphere. The tapestries and artwork were detailed replicas, the squat white piano a twin of Sam’s with a young black man sitting behind it playing his hourly rendition of “As Time Goes By” minus the lyrics. McCracken half expected Ingrid Bergman to come sauntering in at any moment.

He took a seat at the bar and continued to gaze around him. The backmost room lay beneath a balcony accessible by a small flight of steps which undoubtedly led to what had been Rick’s office in the film and what was Vasquez’s now. The only things missing were the gaming tables so crucial to the movie’s flavor. Gambling had been permitted by Captain Renaux, but obviously his real-life counterparts had more scruples.

Blaine ordered a club soda and sipped it while considering what his next step should be. The staircase held his best chance for reaching Vasquez, but how could he know the fat man was even here? His eyes fell upon it once again. How to get up the steps without being seen? McCracken knew a number of the patrons seated at the tables were actually the fat man’s soldiers. Vasquez left nothing to chance, and under the circumstances, he would be prepared for McCracken’s expected intrusion. Accordingly, Blaine kept his face turned toward the bar, concealing it as much as possible.

He turned again only when the impossible appeared in the mirror in the form of a woman being escorted across the floor toward the staircase by two beefy guards. It wasn’t Ingrid Bergman.

It was Natalya!

Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, she had to walk into this one … .

McCracken’s feelings were mixed. He was overjoyed to see Natalya. Clearly, though, she was here as a prisoner, and that was a dangerous situation for both of them.

A change of strategy was called for, and to pursue it Blaine headed for the door.

Two hours had passed with Natalya’s handcuffed form seated before the huge desk of the equally huge Vasquez.

“He won’t come,” she told him again. “He’ll know it’s a trap.”

“Ah, dear lady,” began the fat man, patting his cheeks with a handkerchief that was already grimy with sweat, “my sources place him in Casablanca, and he will come because I represent the end of the trail he’s been following.”

“The crystals …”

“Remarkable, aren’t they?”

“You don’t know—”

“I know when McCracken arrives I will have you to use against him to provide me the advantage I need.” He sighed mightily, his bulbous stomach stirring beneath his suit jacket. The fat man’s receding hairline made even more prominent the excess flesh which seemed to stretch out his jowls. He breathed noisily. “I’m starting to feel, though, that this is not the best of places to bait a trap for my old friend McCrackenballs.” He nodded to the four guards gathered around her. “I will have these men escort you to another of my establishments, eminently less cultured than this but better for our purposes.” He nodded to himself. “We’ll wait a few more hours. After that, I promise you a quick death since I remain a gentleman.”

The guards led her from the room and Vasquez followed them down the hallway to the top of the landing that overlooked the back section of the Cafe American. Natalya knew her move would have to come quick, but she also knew that Vasquez’s guards would be scattered among the cafe’s customers. And who knew how many there might be in addition to the four she could identify?