Chapter 36

"Please remain seated until we've parked in the hangar."

Gibbs looked away from the window and toward Carew. Carew was already sitting up, as if he was just waking up, but he seemed just a little bit too alert. Gibbs was skeptical. However, he said nothing about it. Instead, he raised an eyebrow as the plane came to a stop.

Before Carew could say anything, the door to the cockpit opened and the copilot came out. He had never introduced himself, but he smiled as they looked at him.

"We're safely landed in Marrakech. I've greased the skids for you and you should get through customs with no trouble."

"Oh, really?" Gibbs asked.

The copilot smiled again and shrugged.

"This is a country where bribery can get you places. It seems you need to get places more quickly than the regular channels allow. So if I can help out, why not do it?"

Carew's smile was more than a little cynical.

"I could think of some reasons."

"Well, so could I, but I won't."

Gibbs got the feeling that there was something else going on in this conversation, but he decided that it wasn't important for the situation at hand.

"Will there be someone meeting you?" the copilot asked.

"No, but there will be someone expecting us. We'll just need a rental."

"That can be arranged. There are rental options."

"Any with four-wheel drive? We may need to go off road." Carew said.

"I'm sure there are. I'll ask."

"Thank you."

The copilot got off the plane.

"How does he have so much pull here?"

"I'm not going to say anything about what he does or how he does it," Carew said. "Just accept it, Agent Gibbs. He'll come through."

Within five minutes, the copilot was back and they were led off the plane, through some expedited customs and then to a waiting SUV. Once they were in and on their way, Gibbs tried to get more information.

"Where are we going?"

"To the person who called me."

"And who is that?"

"His name is Daniel Worthing. Does that tell you anything?"

"No."

Carew smiled. "Good. Don't worry, Agent Gibbs. You'll get the answers you need when we get there. It shouldn't be long."

Gibbs took a deep breath and tried to keep himself from getting irritated by Carew. He knew how Carew worked. He knew what Carew wanted to do. He just couldn't give him the satisfaction.

They drove to an area of nondescript shops and Carew parked in front of one that had sign in the window in both Arabic and English script. Gibbs looked at it for a few seconds.

"Anqalaysūn Real Estate?" he asked. "Eels?"

"Clever but not really important for what we're doing, Agent Gibbs. Inside."

They went into the office and there was a man who didn't look like he should be there sitting at a desk. He had red hair, dark brown eyes and pale, freckled skin. He looked up when they came in and his eyes widened.

"Director," he said. "I didn't know you would be coming, personally."

"I'm not the director any longer, Agent Worthing."

"Agent?" Gibbs asked, his heart sinking a little.

"Please, don't bandy that around loudly," Daniel said, quickly. "I've spent five years establishing myself as a real estate guy and tour guide. I'd rather not have this ruin it."

"Who are you?" Gibbs asked.

"Who are you?" Daniel retorted. "I know him, but I've never seen you before."

"I'm Tim's boss."

Daniel looked at Carew who just nodded silently.

"Ah. I see. Well, I'm Tim's friend. You can think what you like of me, but...Levi...Carew."

"Call me whatever, Mr. Worthing," Carew said. "Be quick, though."

"Right. He called me a few weeks ago and asked if I could help someone find a safe place to stay in Marrakech for a while. I agreed, but he said that he would be suspicious if I just offered my services. So I did as I've done for a while. I went to a number of hotels and gave them a little bit of money to recommend me to any American visitors. Tim called me and I helped him find a rental. But I also liked the guy and he needed help navigating the city. So I've spent quite a bit of time with him. Yesterday morning, I was supposed to be meeting him and he wasn't home when I got there. I went inside and he was not there. Youssef hadn't seen him since the night before. I just have a really bad feeling that something has happened to him. Zahara wasn't at the club, either, when I checked there."

"Zahara?" Gibbs asked.

"Tim's...well, he'd be embarrassed to call her that, but she's his girlfriend. He met her a few weeks ago and he's been spending a lot of time with her. She's missing, too, from what I can tell."

Gibbs was shocked. Tim had met someone and was actually dating? He hadn't shown any interest in that for years...not since Bri had used a blind date to take him and torture him. And now, while he was hiding in Morocco, he'd met someone?

"Where to, first?"

"I thought I'd follow the path that Tim usually took to the club. I just don't want to draw too much attention to myself. I'm trying to maintain my cover, but I do want to help Tim, too."

"All right. Let's go to it," Carew said.

Daniel nodded and grabbed his things. Then, they left the office and followed him to an alley.

"This is the riad where Tim has been staying," Daniel said, gesturing to an unassuming door. "There's nothing in there to give any clues. I already checked. The club is this way."

They began to trace what may have been Tim's steps, taking it slowly and Daniel's eyes were everywhere. Gibbs noticed that Daniel was very skilled. While he put off a rather innocent, almost naive, vibe, his dark eyes were keenly intelligent and he missed very little.

In fact, five minutes into the trek, he stopped and knelt down.

"There's blood here," he said, softly.

Carew and Gibbs joined him. Sure enough. It wasn't a lot, but it was enough that the daily foot traffic hadn't worn it away yet.

Daniel looked around and then got to his feet and hurried across the alley to a man sitting alone on a low stool. He knelt in front of the man and started speaking rapidly. It was Arabic, but it was a dialect Gibbs didn't know and he only caught a few words. Then, the man started speaking, his words, more mumbling, less enunciated. He pointed off in another direction. Daniel grabbed his arm and spoke some more.

"Hal wāthiq?" Daniel asked.

"Na'am," the man said.

"Shokran," Daniel said and gave the man some money.

Then, he walked over to them.

"He says that he saw a white man and a woman get taken away from here by four men last night. He says that the man was hurt, but he thought he was still alive when they took him away."

"Who are they?" Carew asked.

"This is where it gets a little dicey. Based on his description, I think that Tim and Zahara got mixed up in something beyond them. The men he described are some I've known about for a while. They're hotheads, advocating military force to kick the Spanish out of Melilla and Ceuta. They're two cities on the coast. Spanish territory. On their own, these guys aren't going to be dangerous on a large scale, but if they can get the right backers..."

"But why take them?" Gibbs asked.

"Maybe they heard something they shouldn't have," Carew suggested.

"Do you know where they would be?" Gibbs asked.

"I know where we can start," Daniel said.

"Good. Let's get my car and go," Carew said.

"Okay," Daniel said, but he didn't look exactly thrilled.

Carew noticed, too, but he said nothing as they got into the car.

"What are your plans, here, Worthing?" Gibbs asked.

"To help you find Tim and Zahara, but you have to realize, Agent Gibbs, that this could ruin all my work here, if the wrong people see me and make the right conclusions," Daniel said, bluntly. "I wouldn't be doing this if I didn't think it was worth the risk."

Gibbs appreciated that Daniel was being honest, at least.

Daniel gave Carew directions to another part of Marrakech, closer to the outskirts of the city, away from the historic center.

"Stop here," Daniel said, finally. "That door, there."

"You coming in with us?" Carew asked.

"Yes. I'll need to be there. At least for the language, unless you two know the Moroccan dialect."

"All right. What's the plan? We go in force?" Carew asked.

"Not in force, but ready for force. I don't know how many will be in there. Please, no guns unless it's necessary. That will draw way too much attention."

"Understood," Carew said and then looked at Gibbs. "You coming?"

Gibbs just raised an eyebrow and got out of the car. Daniel and Carew did as well. They walked to the door and Daniel took the lead. He tried the knob and nodded. It was unlocked. He strode inside without a pause, his pace taking him across the room to where a single man was just getting up from a couch. Daniel grabbed him by the arm and started talking.

Gibbs stayed ready for when the man was able to try fighting back. He was sure he would.

"Are you following this, Gibbs?" Carew asked in a low voice.

Gibbs shook his head.

Then, the man regained his feet and started pushing back against Daniel, shouting angrily, clearly threatening. Gibbs instantly moved in and grabbed the man by the arms, pinning them behind his back. The man struggled to escape, but Gibbs had him securely. Finally, he pulled the man close enough that he could speak right into his ear.

"I won't hurt you unless you do something stupid," Gibbs said in a low voice. "Do you understand me?"

Daniel looked at the man.

"Qul!" he said. "Speak. In English. I know you understand."

"I do not know who you mean," the man said, with a little less bravado than before.

"La tukathib 'alī," Daniel said, sounding angry himself. "I will not ask again. The American and the dancer. Where did they take them?"

"Al-sahrā'."

"Where?"

"I do not know where! To the desert. That is what they said to me."

"Over here or the real desert?" Daniel asked.

"The real desert. They have not come back yet."

"What do you want to do, Gibbs?" Carew asked from his position at the door. "Kill him?"

The man suddenly seemed to realize that this was not an idle question. There was fear in his eyes. He started to struggle again, but Gibbs didn't let him go.

"There's no reason to kill him," Daniel said, looking at the man. "If he tells them that he talked, they'll likely kill him. If he tries to report us to the police, he'll have the problem of us telling the police what he's been involved in. All we want is to find our friend. Do you understand me?"

The man nodded.

"So you know that telling anyone about this will be a bad thing...for you, right?"

The man nodded again.

Daniel spoke in Arabic again. Gibbs caught enough words that he knew Daniel was saying the same things in the man's native language.

"What road did they take?" Daniel asked. "Toward Ourzazate or Beni Mellal?"

"Ourzazate," the man said.

Daniel looked at Gibbs.

"Let him go."

Gibbs hesitated, but he had to acknowledge that Daniel was the expert here, and he had shown his level of control of the situation. He loosened his hold on the man, ready to grab him again if he bolted.

The man tensed slightly, but then relaxed when no death appeared to be forthcoming.

"Remember," Daniel said. "I will remember you. The American is my friend. He is the friend of these men. We do much for our friends. Hal tafham?"

"Na'am."

"Good."

Then, suddenly, Daniel showed just how intimidating he could be. He reached out and gently patted the man on the cheek, but his dark eyes were hard as a rock. Without saying a word, he delivered a major threat and the man understood it as such. Then, Daniel jerked his head toward the door and Gibbs nodded. He eased around the man and followed Daniel out to the street. Carew brought up the rear, keeping his eye on the man as the others left.

"Will that have ruined your cover?" Gibbs asked.

"Maybe. Maybe not. I wasn't kidding about what he might be facing if he lets them know that he talked. I'll just have to hope that I'm right. Let's go."

"Perhaps you should do the driving, Mr. Worthing," Carew said. "After all, you know this region much better than I do."

Daniel just nodded and got in on the driver's side. Gibbs reluctantly got into the back seat and they headed out of Marrakech, toward the mountains.

"This might be a hopeless case, I hope you realize," Daniel said.

"Why?" Carew asked.

"Because it's about eight hours just to get over there. Then, it's hundreds, maybe even thousands of square miles that they could be in. And we're supposed to find two people in all that?"

"We might be able to get some help if necessary," Carew said. "But only if necessary. We'll try our best."

They fell silent and Daniel drove as fast as he could.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

At some point, they left the road. Tim only knew it because it suddenly became a lot bumpier and that meant a lot more painful for him. The bleeding had slowed, but he knew that he'd lost a lot of blood and that he wasn't going to be good for anything. He could feel how weak he was. A couple of times, he'd tried to persuade Zahara to say whatever they wanted just to get her away, but she had refused and, somehow, it had fallen out that he was lying on the seat, his head in her lap, his eyes closed and her hand covering the stab wound on his back, keeping as much blood inside him as possible.

It was nice of her, but Tim figured that this really was going to be his end. He hadn't said that, but he was pretty sure that his attempt to escape had only brought his own death closer than it might have been already. There was no way to look at this as a positive thing. He hated that he was going to die because of something that had nothing to do with him.

A sudden bump jolted him more than he'd expected and he couldn't suppress a moan.

"I am so sorry, Tim," Zahara said.

"Stop...apologizing," Tim whispered. "It's...not your fault."

Then, the car jolted to a stop. The two men in front got out and opened the back door. Tim felt them grab him and pull him away from Zahara, in spite of her protests. Then, they dumped him unceremoniously on the hot, baked ground of the Sahara. He landed on his back and couldn't hold back a scream that time. He rolled over onto his stomach and lay there, his face on the ground, trying to will away the pain.

After a few seconds, he felt Zahara lift him gently and roll his head onto her lap once again. He tried to open his eyes, but the sun was so bright that he felt like he couldn't see a thing.

"Now...what?" he asked, trying to look toward their captors. It didn't work. His eyes kept closing.

"Now...you die. Here in the desert. It will kill you and no one will find your bodies. Bismalla," he said, mockingly.

"No. Please, do not..." Zahara began to plead.

Tim heard the doors close and then the sound of the departing car. For a long moment, that was the only sound. Their last chance of survival receding into the distance. They were stuck in the middle of the Sahara with no way of getting out and no hope of rescue. Even if they were only on the edge of the Sahara, it was hopeless.

"How...far are we from the...the road?" he asked.

"I do not know, Tim," Zahara said. "Many kilometers."

Tim nodded.

"You should leave me here," he said. "I can't make it, but you could."

"No. I will stay with you."

Tim shook his head wearily.

"Zahara...that's only...letting yourself die."

"I will not leave you," she said, tearfully. "I wish I had told you everything before."

"It wouldn't have mattered. I didn't tell...you everything, either," Tim said. "I've gone through worse than this. I've almost...died before. At least...I was happy...before all this happened."

"You weren't?"

"Not...for a long time. Dying...would have been easy to...accept." Tim got his eyes open, finally. He smiled a little. "This time...I have you."

"I will not leave," Zahara said again, more firmly this time. "We will be here together."

"I'm thirsty," Tim said.

"I have no water."

"I know." Then, he smiled again, remembering little Samia. "I told you...before that...I only knew a few words in Arabic. One is ma'a. Water. Ma'a, min fadlik. Not...fadlak."

"No, and I wish I had water to give you."

The pain surged and Tim tensed, breathing heavily as he tried to get the pain to leave or at least recede a little. Suddenly, he realized that he had shade. He opened his eyes again and saw that Zahara had removed her head scarf and was using it to shade them both from the harsh sunlight.

"It is good for something," she said, smiling at him.

"Yes," he said. His eyes closed again.

Before he knew it, he was talking, talking as he never had allowed himself to do before, talking to a person who was wholly unconnected with everything he'd gone through, knowing that it was unlikely either of them would live to regret it.

"Her name...is Samia. Her father...is the head of a bedouin tribe in Saudi Arabia and Yemen," he said. "They saved me from a group who was torturing me for information. They wanted me to help them. I couldn't do it. They were going to keep...torturing me until I died. Then, Suhayl came in the middle of a sandstorm and saved me. His daughter wanted to help me, even when I was dying. She brought me water in a cask almost bigger...than she was. It took me so...long to recover from that. But my mind was worse. I felt like the worst person in the world. Blood on my hands. Innocent blood. Other people's blood, Zahara."

His breath ran out and he lay there, just breathing.

"You are not guilty. I do not see a killer in your eyes," she said, softly, stroking his hair.

"I did. Every day. Then...the CIA psychiatrist forced me to confront it all, helped me to see...more. And I've tried...to be worthy of the...chance I've had...to live when so...many others have died." He opened his eyes again. "You are the best thing that's happened to me...in a long time, Zahara. It made me feel that...maybe I'm not as bad as I thought."

"You are not a bad man, Tim," Zahara said. "You are a good man."

"It hurts," he whispered. "But physical pain is better than the pain in my soul. All I wanted was to escape from that." He laughed weakly. "Go figure that...I'd die physically after I healed spiritually."

"You will not die, Tim. You cannot give up. There is still hope."

"No, Zahara. We both know it. There's no hope for me. There is for you. I might...as well be dead already. You should leave me here."

"No!"

Tim closed his eyes.

"I love you, Zahara. I never thought I'd fall in love. I didn't think I could, not with the life I have. But I do. I love you."

As before, she did not reciprocate, but that was all right. It didn't really matter at this point. The silence fell and Tim lay there, his head in Zahara's lap, staining her clothes with his blood, enjoying the little bit of shade her scarf could give them as the sun passed through the sky on its way to the horizon.