Chapter 2: Catching Up
Marrakesh, Morocco. Wednesday, January 7, 1976.
El sighed as she watched her husband fling on his clothes. After he came out of the shower, he'd barely taken the time to dry himself off. Ever since Neal's abduction into the past, Peter was obsessed with the safety of the young man they'd grown to regard as a member of their family.
Complicating the issue was Peter's lingering guilt over his younger brother's death in Vietnam. Tommy had been an artist. Peter felt he didn't have the right temperament to be a soldier and had argued against him volunteering. But Tommy, like Neal, had a mind of his own and wasn't easily swayed.
Peter was suspicious of Henry's motives, but El was more concerned about Raquel. In Lyon, the Interpol agent had been solicitous on their behalf. After Sara spotted a cult agent, Raquel immediately increased security. But up to Sara's chance encounter, Raquel had assured them the cult wasn't active in Lyon. Shouldn't she have known?
On the other hand, her office could have heard about cult activity in Marrakesh just as Sara's Interpol contact in London had. Raquel was on the cult task force. Dispatching her to the scene was a logical choice.
"For all we know, Henry could be working with the cult," Peter said. "Neal told him about our upcoming trip to Marrakesh. Henry could have alerted them. That's why we were followed."
"Then why did he warn us about Raquel?"
Peter shrugged. "It could have been a devious attempt to win us over. He's sacrificing a pawn to gain our confidence." He put on an ecru linen shirt. "I'm ready," he declared. "Let's go."
She gave him the once-over. "Do you want to button your shirt first?"
He frowned. "I'll finish on the way to the elevator."
When they reached the ground floor, they found Neal having a conversation with Raquel by the indoor pool. Henry was nowhere to be seen, and this was one time El was glad Sara wasn't present. Neal was giving a remarkably good performance of being charmed by her. El hadn't realized he was such a skilled actor or that European bikinis were so tiny.
He waved them over when he saw them enter the pool area. "Raquel and I were just discussing the local nightlife. She's offered to take us to dinner."
Was she the one who suggested all of them should go or had Neal managed to include them in the invitation? Whatever. Peter could relax. No matter what happened, they'd be in a group. El never did spot Henry during their conversation, but later Neal spoke briefly with him by the elevators. El was disappointed they couldn't take Henry to dinner but she vowed to make up for it the next day.
Throughout the evening, Raquel couldn't have been a better hostess. They rode in a horse-drawn carriage to the restaurant which prided itself on serving authentic Moroccan cuisine. Entertainment was provided by local singers instead of the belly dancers El was dreading. She'd learned they only made her want to hit the gym more often.
Raquel's explanation of why she was in town made sense. It was as El suspected. Interpol had dispatched her to check into the cult situation.
Their group had agreed in advance to only discuss the archaeological purpose of their visit with Raquel, but were they being overly cautious? They now had proof of cult involvement. Didn't Raquel need to be made aware? Her inquiry at the hotel desk was most likely completely innocent. Diana might have alerted Interpol about their arrival and simply forgot to mention it.
Only one incident marred the evening. An American tourist who'd had too much to drink jostled Neal's elbow just as he was about to take a sip of his cocktail. The klutz succeeded in spilling Neal's drink on both Neal and himself. He insisted on trying to clean Neal's jacket, but Neal laughed it off, saying the hotel would take care of it.
"What's your assessment of Raquel now?" Peter asked once they were back in their suite. "Do you continue to believe she may work for Azathoth?"
"The jury's still out," Neal said, shrugging off his stained jacket. "But she has another strike against her."
El stepped out of her heels. "Why do you say that? She's an Interpol agent. She's obligated to be circumspect, just like we are." She heard a soft knock on the door. Surely not more fruit and chocolates at this hour. She couldn't manage another bite.
"I'll get that," Peter said, slipping his jacket back on while El retrieved her shoes.
Peter opened the door to see the American tourist who'd crashed into Neal. He had long hair and a scruffy beard. All he needed was a headband to look like a hippie from the '60s.
A delighted grin crossed Neal's mouth. "Hey, Henry! I was hoping it was you."
#
Neal stood back, enjoying Peter and El's astonishment that Henry was the clumsy tourist. Neal had seen through the disguise at the restaurant.
"I'm glad I was able to fool some of you," Henry said, pulling off his wig. "That was my objective."
"Thanks for the save," Neal said, watching him closely as he pried off his beard. Something similar could be useful for him to elude the cult.
"My pleasure," Henry said, rubbing glue off his face. "It was the confirmation we were looking for."
"What are you two talking about?" El asked, looking not so much bewildered as frustrated.
"This." Henry reached into his jacket pocket and fished out a bottle containing a small amount of liquid. He handed it to El. "You're a doctor. Can you have this analyzed? I could arrange for it to be tested but it will take longer."
"I assume that's a sample of the drink," Neal said.
"Right. There are trace chemicals on your jacket, but they'll be harder to analyze, plus your jacket may never be the same."
"Neal, did you know Henry was following us?" Peter demanded.
"Not until the incident. When Henry pretended to blot up the liquid, he warned me Raquel had slipped something into my drink. I didn't have a chance to explain till now."
El held the bottle to the light, frowning as she studied its contents. "Thank you, Henry. I don't know how you managed to siphon any off, but we're grateful. Neal was poisoned in an earlier incident. I can test this in a lab tomorrow then analyze it further in Arkham."
Neal knew what she was thinking. One of the components might be ymarite, the chemical that had allowed Azathoth to track him. Whatever it was, he was willing to wager Raquel wasn't carrying out an Interpol directive.
"The skill with which you accomplished it . . ." Peter studied Henry as if seeing him in a new light. "Are you CIA?"
"No, but you're not far off. I realize you have questions about me, and rightfully so. Back when I first met you, Neal was hiding out from enemies. The risk clearly continues. Your wariness is completely justified in light of what happened at dinner. When I left the States, I knocked around Europe. Did some jobs in Africa." He nodded at Neal. "Picked up some skills that you could find useful. In my present job, I contract for a Canadian outfit engaged in covert intelligence."
"For whom?" Peter asked. "The Canadians?"
Henry snorted. "They're the least likely to hire us."
"Then who does?"
"Mainly the governments of smaller countries who can't afford their own intelligence agencies. I've worked with the firm for three years. No point in giving you their name. If you asked them about me, they'd deny my existence. You probably don't find that much of a comfort."
Peter exhaled slowly. "You're right."
"I know you don't trust me . . . yet. And I haven't gone through whatever weird verification process you require for someone to become a member of your club, but you don't have to worry about me." Henry hesitated for a moment. "Do you remember the first time we met in Providence, I asked if you and Mozzie were the Two Wise Men?"
Peter relaxed into a smile. "You were a cocky kid."
"Then you'll recall your reply. You said it was time for me to be the third."
"Back then, you took a leap of faith with two strangers." Peter nodded slowly. "I guess it's my turn."
That moment must have seemed to be in the distant past for Henry but it wasn't for Peter. Henry's image as a twelve-year-old flashed through Neal's mind. Henry had kept him safe and only reluctantly agreed to pass the reins to Peter and Mozzie.
"I'm glad you realize it," Henry said. "I'm still on your side. I've got some free time before my next job and I'm offering to help free of charge." He flashed Peter a smile that could charm anyone. "C'mon, man. I've been training to be a Guardian of the Universe ever since you and Mozzie dropped me off at the home. I won't even ask for a magic ring."
"How are you at burglaries?" Neal asked, taking the bull by the horns before Peter had a chance to raise any objections.
Henry grinned. "That's one of my specialties."
"Then welcome aboard. Someone stole an item Peter bought at the medina and we want it back." Neal explained the sequence of events at the market. "But it's more than just recovering stolen property," he warned. "I need to find a way to sneak inside."
"Why do you have to be present?" Henry asked.
Nothing much, just seal a wormhole. "Reconnoiter," Neal said, hoping the vague explanation would satisfy him.
Henry didn't press for details but dropped onto the couch and extended his arms along the top of the back cushions. "You've been in Marrakesh less than twenty-four hours. The theft could have been a random event, but not what your Interpol agent did. I realize you don't feel comfortable telling me much about what you're into, but do you have a few crumbs you could share?"
"That's the least we can do," Peter said, sitting down on the couch next to him. "We've had a few run-ins with a cult in Arkham."
"What's the name?" Henry asked. "I may have heard of them."
"They call themselves the Church of Starry Wisdom. Their numbers are few but they have a global presence."
Henry shook his head slowly. "Doesn't ring a bell. How dangerous are they?"
"Very," El said. "In Arkham, they were responsible for several murders and kidnappings. Last November, a member of the cult killed a scientist in Lyon, France shortly before we arrived. That's also where we met Raquel."
"Are you open to the possibility she's working with them?" Henry asked.
"We're forced to be," Neal said. "But if she is, she has an excellent cover. She's a member of the cult task force for Interpol."
"She could be the reason Interpol hasn't made any progress in eradicating the cult," Peter said thoughtfully. "Raquel knew we were here. She could have passed the information onto the cult."
"And there's something else." Neal hesitated. How reliable was his memory? But the scent had been too intense to be forgotten. "Did you notice the perfume Raquel was wearing?"
"I did," El said. "It smelled of sandalwood and had some floral overtones I couldn't identify."
"She wore the same scent the day she took me on a tour of the traboules in Lyon," Neal said. "I smelled the same fragrance in Egypt. At the time I couldn't place it, but I'm sure of it now."
Peter looked at him startled. "The priestess?"
Henry's eyes were darting back and forth between them. "Are you talking about the cult?"
Neal nodded, wishing he could tell him he'd encountered the priestess in ancient Egypt. What was Raquel's connection to the priestess of Isis? They couldn't possibly be the same person, or could they? Was there something special about the perfume?
"I could try to get a sample for you," Henry offered. "She's bound to leave her room sometime during the day."
"She wants to meet us for breakfast," El said.
"Perfect," Henry said. "Did you arrange a time?"
"Eight o'clock."
"I'll come back then."
"No you won't," Neal said firmly. "You'll already be here. I assume you won't mind staying with us. You can have the bed in my room."
Henry narrowed his eyes. "I hope you're not still sleeping in closets?"
Neal chuckled. "I gave that up years ago. I'll be fine on the sofa."
"If anyone is sleeping on a sofa, it's me," Henry argued. "As your security advisor, I insist on being closer to the front door."
Peter didn't fight the suggestion. The worry lines had already faded from his forehead.
Henry nodded with evident satisfaction at not getting any blowback. "Since I'm now a provisional guardian, care to fill me in on the rest of your schedule?"
"We're not going to stay here any longer than necessary," Peter said, "not with the cult aware of our presence. Tomorrow morning we'll meet with my contact. She should have prepared the paperwork for us to visit a cave south of Marrakesh. I hope she'll also provide information about who lives in the riad. We can drop El off at the medical lab on our way to the meeting."
"That will give me a chance to check out the building," Henry said. "Every location has its weak spot, and finding it is in my skill set."
"I'll go with you," Neal offered. "I'm not needed at the meeting."
Henry shot a quick glance at Peter. "For what I'm doing, I'd rather work alone. Besides, the less we're seen together, the better."
Neal reluctantly agreed, feeling he'd been outmaneuvered. Did Henry argue against it because he knew Peter didn't fully trust him?
"See if your archaeologist friend can arrange for you to meet with the riad owner," Henry suggested. "Use whatever excuse you need to. If possible, make it for the afternoon. I'll sneak in while you keep him occupied."
"You don't know anything about the dangers you might encounter," El objected. "We already assume this is the headquarters of the cult."
Henry shrugged. "I bet the guy doesn't want to be exposed. He must have gone to a great deal of trouble to safeguard his cover. Your scholar status should prevent him from taking any overt action. But I can go in at a different time if you'd rather, like, for instance, the middle of the night."
"No," Neal said firmly. "Any attempt must be made in daylight."
Henry frowned. "Those invisible bad guys you were worried about still only come out at night?"
Neal nodded. "You're much more at risk than I am. That's why I'm going with you when you break in." He scanned the group. "That's not up for discussion. Henry doesn't know what to watch out for."
Henry looked as unhappy about the proposal as Peter. "That's not gonna work. I don't take rookies along. Surely you can tell me what the object looks like. I bet you're still an artist. You can draw me a picture."
"That won't help." Neal turned to Peter. "Back me up on this. You know as well as I do that I have to be there."
Peter exhaled, clearly not satisfied but he couldn't argue against it. "Neal's right, Henry. You claim you're an expert. You'll need to prove it by not letting either you or Neal be discovered. Then, assuming you're not in prison, we'll all visit the cave the following day." Peter relaxed enough to give a small chuckle at Henry's grin. "Yeah, you can ride shotgun. It's a couple of hours south of here in the foothills of the Atlas Mountains. I already have a Jeep reserved for the trek."
Now Henry was the one to glower. "You'll be sitting ducks if you take off for the mountains. I assume you don't want the cult following you. We'll need another diversion."
"I already have something in mind," Peter said complacently.
Henry gave him an appreciative nod. "That's what I like to hear—teamwork. And no secrets."
"I'll fill you in on the details tomorrow," Peter promised. "They're contingent on my colleague's cooperation. I'd rather not commit her participation until she's signed off on it."
El stood up, holding her hand in front of her mouth as she yawned. "It's been a long day and I'm still on Arkham time. Henry, we have extra pillows and blankets in our closet. I'll bring them out for you."
"I'm heading for bed too," Peter announced.
Neal suspected their sudden sleepiness was a convenient excuse to give him time alone with Henry, and he appreciated the gesture. After retrieving the bedding, he asked Henry, "Would you like a beer? The mini-fridge is stocked with Casablanca lager. Peter's the beer-drinker of the group and he claims it's quite acceptable."
"Something he and I have in common." Henry retrieved a bottle. "Do you want anything?"
"There's a small bottle of Chardonnay. I'll take that, thanks."
Henry tossed it to him. "I figured you had to branch out to something besides coffee." His smile faded. "We've got a lot of catching up to do. Is everything about your life a closed book?"
"Not everything," Neal hedged. "How about you?"
"There are a few safe subjects I can think of offhand. We'll probably find others."
They stayed up late into the night, swapping stories while steering clear of sensitive areas. As far as Neal was concerned, anything up to the time when he saw his first ghast could be discussed. For Henry, the non-quarantined areas appeared to be centered around the home in Providence.
In some respects, they were opposites. Neal used to escape from the problems at his foster home by spending as much time as possible at school or in the library. Henry enjoyed the shelter but did everything he could to avoid studying.
"I wish I'd been there for you back then," Henry said. "It doesn't sound like you had many kids to play with."
"I wish I'd known you too, but I managed. Mozzie made a big difference once he entered my life. He helped me escape the home by sponsoring my early admittance into Miskatonic." Neal stood up and retrieved another beer for Henry from the fridge. "I gather you took off for Europe after high school."
He nodded, popping the cap off the bottle. "The States had become an unfriendly place."
"That was during the war. Several of my friends went on to grad school to avoid being drafted." Neal figured he was venturing into sensitive territory, but he wanted to show Henry that he was okay with whatever decision he'd made.
"You were too young for it to be an issue," Henry commented, not answering him directly. "By the time you were of draft age, the war was winding down. It was different for me. I had a high draft number and probably wouldn't have been called, but I wanted to serve." He shrugged. "If they would have let me."
Neal stared, at a loss for words. He hadn't considered that a health issue could have prevented Henry from serving. His mind leaped through a score of nasty scenarios. "Medical condition?" he asked, bracing himself for bad news.
Henry gave a bitter chuckle. "The Army thought so. I'm gay. Realized it when I was in high school. I would have had to lie in order to enlist. I know some who did, but that's not me." He relaxed back on the couch and gave Neal an appraising look.
Neal admired the way he handled it. Henry was at peace with who he was. Neal should do the same, whatever he turned out to be. "That's not a problem in Arkham. Several of the faculty members are gay. Mozzie started a club for non-straight students a few years ago."
"Is he gay?'
"He refuses to be confined by binary restrictions—that's a quote, by the way. Mozzie's not alone in that attitude. "
"He sounds like some people I met in Amsterdam."
"You'd find Arkham a welcoming place," Neal said. "We've got a little of everything there." Even extraterrestrials. "Live and let live is pretty much the attitude around town. So do you have a boyfriend?"
"Nope, but I'm glad you brought up the subject. You never answered my question about that redhead I saw you skating with."
"I'd call her my girlfriend, but that doesn't seem fair to her. She's working in London, and I don't get to see her very often. Sara's looking forward to meeting you."
"So you told her about me!" Henry said, looking delighted. "Wait, is she a member of your secret club too?"
Neal winced. "Sorry."
Henry sighed. "Man, you're killing me."
#
Judging by the amount of coffee Neal glugged over breakfast, Peter assumed he and Henry hadn't gotten much sleep. At some point, Henry must have retrieved his bag since he was no longer dressed as a beatnik tourist.
The breakfast with Raquel was uneventful, but it served its purpose. Henry was able to collect a sample of her perfume while she was downstairs. Meanwhile, Peter's opinion of him was improving steadily, especially after Neal's positive report. He decided to hold off on further questions. If Henry returned with them to Arkham, there'd be plenty of time. Personally, Peter looked forward to Henry being subjected to Lavinia's peculiar form of cross-examination.
El postponed an analysis of the samples. At this point, they assumed Raquel was at the very least a cult member. If there were alien substances in the liquids, only the Meropian equipment back in the lab would be able to detect them. But the decisive factor was that El's presence at the meeting was essential for the plan Peter had devised the previous evening. He remembered Hayat Boutella as a woman who thrived on the unconventional approach. He hoped she still was.
His Moroccan colleague had a small office at Cadi Ayyad University. Like archaeology professors everywhere, the space was crammed with a mixture of journals, potsherds, and mugs half-filled with a stale beverage—tea in her case.
Among the photos on the wall was one of him and Hayat in the Atlas Mountains. Peter had met her on that earlier dig. Hayat was roughly his age, one of the new generation of Arabic archaeologists. She specialized in the Paleolithic rock art that was increasingly being discovered in Morocco.
"Are you sure of the address?" Hayat asked, her dark expressive eyes looking troubled when Peter inquired about the owner of the riad.
"Positive," Peter confirmed.
"I asked because the riad is owned by Saalim Kattan," Hayat explained. "He made his money in the mining industry and is a member of the Cabinet. He's said to have the ear of the king." She paused for a moment, her eyes drifting to the collection of potsherds. "That said, he is also rumored to have a finger in the illicit sale of archaeological treasures. It's of particular concern since he's a close friend of the Minister of Antiquities. Do you believe one of his employees stole the artifact?"
"I wouldn't go that far," Peter said smoothly. "From the sound of it, the thief may have simply thought Mr. Kattan would be interested in purchasing it." He wished he could warn her about Kattan. The man held a position of authority within the government and could use his connections to exert influence over the king himself. Lavinia suspected that the cult was seeking to undermine political stability in order to pave the way for a future invasion. This could be the first concrete example.
Peter nodded at Neal. "Professor Carter has never seen the cave we explored, but he's assisted me at other Neolithic sites. We're preparing an assessment for our university. Miskatonic may fund a dig if we can document sufficient potential. I'd like to ensure that we're not followed to the cave."
"You fear thieves are tracking your movements," she said. "In light of what happened earlier, I don't blame you. How can I help?"
"Are you still leading an excavation team at El Badi Palace?"
She nodded. "I'm meeting my students there tomorrow."
"We'd like to offer our assistance, or at least the appearance of it."
A half-smile crossed Hayat's lips as she surveyed the three of them. "What do you have in mind?"
#
"Hayat said she'd obtain traditional Moroccan clothes for us," Neal told Henry. "We'll all be in djebellas and El will wear a hijab. No one will recognize us." The loose robes had attached hoods that could be used to further conceal their appearance.
They'd returned to the hotel after meeting with Hayat. While waiting for Henry to return, Peter called Kattan to ask for an appointment. He was able to schedule it for later in the day. They'd assumed the man was in town since the thief had entered his home, but that he agreed so promptly to an appointment was telling. To Neal, the inference was clear. He already knew who Peter was and was curious to find out what he wanted.
Peter and El planned to use the same cover they had with Raquel and Hayat, namely that Miskatonic University was interested in mounting an exploratory expedition to Morocco.
Henry listened to them with an amused smile when they told him about the deception. The ruins of El Badi Palace were only a few blocks from their hotel. Neal, Peter, and El would arrive at the site in their western clothes and enter an interior section of the palace. There they'd change into their Moroccan garments. Henry would meet them at the prearranged time with Peter's Jeep. They'd drive straight from the palace to Scorpion Hill.
Peter believed they'd have plenty of time for a preliminary inspection. Laban Shrewsbury had directions in one of his journals for a cave at that location. The purpose of this trip was to see if they could relocate it and if it was worth a full-scale expedition. The site Peter had excavated on an earlier trip was in the vicinity. The rock art in that cave included the distinctive starfish, but there were no depictions of the tentacle-crowned Elnath.
"Don't spend much time in the riad looking for the statue," Peter said. "It's not worth the risk."
Neal didn't dispute the point with Peter. The real reason he was going in was to seal the wormhole, but how would he explain that to Henry?
Henry recommended that they disguise themselves as employees of the power company. He'd seen maintenance workers in his morning surveillance and had already obtained the uniforms. The power lines ran from poles onto the roofs of the buildings, providing a handy justification. No one asked Henry how he'd acquired the uniforms. They were just glad he was on their side.
Notes: Henry and Peter's friendship appears to be on the right trajectory after a few hiccups. Henry's been accepted as a provisional member of the band, and Peter sympathizes with his reason for not serving in the military. The Vietnam War was over by the time Arkham Files began, but the lingering effects are still being felt. I wrote about the "Shadow of Vietnam" for the blog this week.