“Happy birthday!” he said. “You’re twenty-six on May twenty-sixth. How cool is that? Especially since I didn’t miss it. I thought it was earlier this month.”
“Why?”
“That’s what your file—uh, I mean—”
“You read my file?” I balled his shirt into my fist, forcing his collar past his nose to reveal his gaping mouth. The scent of cherry-flavored bubble gum wafted past, giving my churning stomach a break. Then it was gone and my nose hairs recurled.
“Vayl: read it too,” Cole reminded me.
“That doesn’t make it okay!”
Cole plucked his shirt out of my hand and repositioned it as he asked, “Why don’t you want anyone to know the real date you were born?”
“Because I hate surprise parties. And I’m not interested in sharing my best secrets with snoops like you.” I tapped the thin plastic receiver sitting inside my ear, just above the lobe, activating my connection to: “Bergman? He’s slipped our tail. Have you got a read on him?”
“Gimme a sec, someone’s at the door.”
Our technical consultant’s clear reply confirmed my suspicion that we were still within two miles of him and the Riad Almoravid, where we’d set up temporary headquarters. We’d only left the town square, which locals called the Djemaa el Fna, twenty minutes before. And since the fountain in our riad’s courtyard could probably shoot a few sprinkles onto the square’s crowds of merchants, performers, and shoppers on a windy day, I’d figured we were within the limits of Bergman’s communications gizmo, which Cole had named the party line. Nice to be right about that, at least.
Now, instead of using his own transmitter, Cole leaned forward and spoke into the glamorous brown mole I’d stuck just to the left of my upper lip. “Bergman, today is Jaz’s birthday. We need cake!”
“Ignore him, Miles. Just find—” I stopped when the swearing began.
Cole nodded wisely. “See what happens when people hang around you? Poor Miles probably didn’t even know what those words meant before you lived with him.”
“Nobody should be blamed for the language they teach their roommates in college.”
“Your potty-mouth is gonna get you in trouble someday.” Cole turned his head, like Bergman was skulking in the shadows next to us. “Right dude?”
Bergman growled, “Goddammit, that girl’s back! I thought maids only worked in the morning!” We heard the door open. “I have plenty of towels—”
“Hello, Mr. Bergman, sir.” It was the chirpy voice of the riad’s go-to gal, who’d barely conquered her teens, but oozed the confidence of a woman twice her age. Though Riad Almoravid belonged to a Frenchman named Franck Landry, our girl did it all, from laundry to breakfast. She said, “I finished the book you loaned me. May I borrow another?”
“I’m kind of busy here, Shada. Besides, shouldn’t you be home by now? Your family—”
“My father is happy that I have made many American friends. He likes me to learn new things. What is all that electronics about?” Though Shada had the long dark hair and natural beauty of a native Moroccan, she spoke with a British accent, which made me wonder where she’d gone to school. If I knew, I’d call up the headmaster and let him know that her English teacher had aced second language instruction, but the curriculum hadn’t taught Shada crap about minding her own business.
“We’re doing a study on climate change,” Bergman muttered. “Stay right here. I’ll go get the book.” Shada called after him, “Should you not be at one of the poles? I read that much information can be gleaned from the ice —”
“Climate’s everywhere,” Bergman replied irritably. “Plus we’re close to the Western Sahara. What better place to monitor heat increases than a desert?” For once Shada had no answer. Bergman said,
“Here’s another book I bought for the plane trip over here. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have work—”
“Did you read it? Shall we discuss it when I am finished?”
“I read them all. It was a long flight.”
“Oh, wonderful!” I heard the patter of clapping hands. “I would like to ask you about the story I just finished, okay? I have many questions, such as why any sane man would believe that a bear could talk—”
“Okay, we’ll do that. But later. Because I have to work now. The weather waits for no one.”
“All right then, I will see you tomorrow!” I barely heard the last bit, because it came after the door had clicked shut.
“What a pain in the ass,” Bergman muttered. “She’s like a helpful infection. You want to get rid of her, but she’s so
“Do you want me to take care of her for you?” asked Cole.
“No!” Realizing he’d jumped in too fast and way too loud, Bergman added quickly, “Have you seen her brother meet her for the walk home? He’s bigger than a dump truck. Make a move on her and he’ll crush you like an old metal garbage can.”
“Sounds like you’ve thought this through,” said Cole, grinning at me as he drew a heart in the air with his forefingers.
“Uh,” Bergman cleared his throat.… “Don’t we have more important things to worry about?” I sighed. “Muchly, so get busy, will ya?”
I imagined him checking his satellite maps and hacked surveillance video, not to mention the tracker he’d attached to our target’s right boot heel. While we waited for his pronouncement, Cole reached behind his back and pulled a tranquilizer gun out from under the light jacket he wore. It was a lean, black weapon that blended so
