Title: As Time Goes By
Fandom: Spooks
Rating: T
Genre: Romance/Drama
Warnings: None
Summary: Casablanca. December 1941. A variation on the classic film. Harry as Rick, Ruth as Ilsa, and Adam as Laszlo with a couple of other characters and changes thrown into the mix.
Disclaimer: I don't own Spooks or any of the characters you may recognise. They all belong to Kudos/BBC. Neither do I own Casablanca, on which this story is based.
A/N: Inspired by a recent re-watch of the classic. I really hope this works and does justice to both the original projects. I also hope there is no confusion over Harry's name in this. I will refer to him as Harry, but other characters (with the exception of a select few, whom I'm sure you can imagine) will call him Henry. This is to reflect the use of Rick/Richard in the original film. :)
Chapter 1
With the coming of the Second World War many eyes in imprisoned Europe turned hopefully or desperately toward the freedom of the Americas. Lisbon became the great embarkation point, but not everybody could get to Lisbon directly. And so a tortuous roundabout refugee trail sprang up. Paris to Marseilles. Across the Mediterranean to Oran. Then by train or car or foot, across the rim of Africa, to Casablanca in French Morocco. Here, the fortunate ones, through money or influence or luck might obtain exit visas and scurry to Lisbon. And then from Lisbon to the New World. But the others wait in Casablanca. And wait… and wait… and wait.
Harry (Henry) Pearce sits in the office at the back of his club. He fingers the receipts already taken today; it is shaping up to be a very profitable day indeed. His bar, 'Henry's Café' is one of the hottest nightspots in the whole of Casablanca. The stylish nightclub and casino attracts a varied clientele; Vichy French, Italian, and German officials; refugees desperate to reach the still neutral United States; and those who prey on them.
As he calculates his profits, Harry listens to the wireless news report that two German officers were murdered on a train and that the murderer is reportedly headed for Casablanca. He's heard the rumours circulating all day, but it's always good to have it confirmed. The rumour is that the murderer had stolen two 'letters of transit'; documents that would allow the bearer to travel freely around German-controlled Europe and to neutral Portugal. Documents that were almost priceless to those stranded in Casablanca, desperate to escape to the United States. The police are in a state of panic; the customary round up of refugees, liberals and other suspicious characters has already started.
Luckily for Harry, he keeps a low profile and has a good relationship with the local law enforcement; he pays them a portion of his profits to be allowed to remain open and operate with a degree of autonomy. It annoys him, but since they have never used any strong-arm tactics, he dismisses it as just another cost of doing business.
Whilst sitting alone, Harry is suddenly startled by a loud knock on the back door. He opens the door slightly to find a small round faced man he recognised as Gary Hicks, a petty crook whose business is selling exit visas to refugees; not out of any charitable urges of his own, but simply to make a profit. He is panting, as if he's been running, and panic fills his eyes.
"Mr Pearce, you must help me!" he insists, pushing the door open further.
"I don't have to help anyone. I stick my neck out for no-one," Harry replies coldly, trying to shut the door.
"Please Mr Pearce. I just need you to hold this." He shoves an envelope into Harry's hand along with several thousand Francs. "The money is all yours if you'll just keep this package for me."
"For how long?"
"An hour. Perhaps a little longer."
"Whatever it is, I don't want it here overnight," Harry says.
"Don't be afraid of that. Please keep them for me?" Harry takes the proffered envelope and Hicks runs off into the night.
Harry looks at the envelope; holding it up to the light. He can't see its contents but feels uneasy about what might be in there. He adds the money to the takings for the day, before returning to the bar.
In the bar his pianist, Malcolm, is entertaining the patrons with a rousing rendition of 'Knock on Wood'. He likes Malcolm; he is warm-hearted and agreeable, and is a fiercely loyal friend. They've been through a lot together and he's like a brother to him. Approaching the piano, Harry slips the envelope out of his pocket and under the top of the piano; onto a small shelf he has fixed there.
He heads outside for some fresh air to find the Prefect of Police, Captain Julien Siviter, sitting at a table all alone.
"Good evening Henry." Harry has always used his proper first name in Casablanca; the softer version of his name holds too much pain for him.
"Good evening, Julien." As they greet each other a plane flies low over their heads; jut having taken off. "The plane to Lisbon," Siviter observes. He also observes Harry watching the plane somewhat wistfully. "You would like to be on it?"
"Why? What's in Lisbon?"
"A way out of here; to America. From there I'm sure you could get back to England. I've often speculated on why you don't return to England. Did you abscond with the church funds? Run off with a politician's wife? I like to think that you killed a man; it's the romantic in me."
Harry will not be drawn on the subject so merely gives a perfunctory answer. "It's a combination of all three."
"But what in heaven's name brought you to Casablanca?"
"My health. I came to Casablanca for the waters."
"The waters? We're in the desert."
"Clearly I was misinformed," he deadpans.
Thankfully for Harry, their conversation is curtailed by the appearance of one of his croupiers, advising him that one of their patrons has won a considerable amount of money and they need access to the safe. Harry returns inside to retrieve the cash, leaving Siviter to enjoy the night air.
He returns to the bar after handling the gambling room problems to find Siviter has decided to come inside.
"Henry, there's going to be some excitement here tonight. We're going to make an arrest in your café."
Harry sighs. "Again?"
"Well this is no ordinary arrest; a murderer no less."
"How do you know he'll be here?" Harry asks.
"Come now Henry, your club is the most popular hang out in Casablanca. Everybody comes to 'Henry's'. If you are thinking of warning him; don't put yourself out. He cannot escape."
"How could I warn him when I have no knowledge of his identity?"
"Hmmm," replies Siviter, eyeing Harry suspiciously. "We'll also have an important guest here tonight; Major Masel of the Third Reich. We want him to be here when we make the arrest as a demonstration of our efficiency."
Harry nods, but Siviter hovers as if he wants to say something. "You clearly have something on your mind Julien, so why don't you spit it out," he says, pouring them both a brandy.
"I wanted to give you a word of advice. There are many exit visas sold in this café but we know you've never sold one. That is the reason we permit you to remain open."
"I thought it was because I let you win at Roulette," quips Harry.
"That is another reason," agrees Siviter. "There is a man in Casablanca on his way to America. He'll offer a fortune to anyone who'll get him a visa."
"What's his name?" Harry enquires.
"Adam Carter."
Harry's eyes widen. "Adam Carter?"
Siviter smiles. "Henry, that is the first time I've ever seen you so impressed."
"Well, he's succeeded in impressing half the world." Adam Carter is a nationalist writer and anti-Nazi partisan who sees defeating the Nazis as his raison d'ètre. He is somewhat of a guru to the members of the Resistance.
"It's my duty to see that he doesn't impress the other half," Siviter informs him. "Carter must never reach America. He stays in Casablanca."
"Well if nothing else it'll be interesting to see how he manages his escape. I mean, he escaped the concentration camp. The Nazi's have been chasing him all over Europe."
"This is the end of the chase."
"Twenty thousand francs says it isn't." Harry has heard of his escapades; he is confident in his assessment of Carter's skills.
"Is that a serious offer?"
Harry nods. "I've just had to pay out twenty; I'd like to get it back."
"Make it ten. I'm only a poor corrupt official after all."
"Done."
"You won't win y'know; no matter how clever he is, he still needs an exit visa. Or should I say two."
"Why two?" Harry asks.
"He is travelling with a lady."
"He'll take one," Harry comments, for that is what he would do these days. There may have been a time when he wouldn't but well, things change.
"I think not. I've seen her. And he did not leave her in Marseilles or in Oran, so he certainly won't leave her here. But it doesn't matter. There is no exit visa for him."
"Whatever gave you the impression that I would be interested in helping Carter escape?"
"Because my dear Henry, I suspect that under that cynical shell; you're a sentimentalist at heart."
"Maybe I was once," replies Harry solemnly.
A/N: So, what do you think?