“Maybe we could pay someone to do it for us?” Cassidy suggested.
“Or steal one of the ore samples they already brought up,” Jemma said.
Bodie thought those both good ideas, but Lucie jumped right on the latter. “It’s impossible to determine if it was collected at the right point,” she said. “Where the ley line intersects. The only way to be absolutely sure is to do it ourselves.”
Her comment also poured water over the smoldering embers of Cassidy’s idea. Bodie grunted and gathered everyone’s options for a room service lunch. A break would do them good at this point.
An hour passed. Sandwiches, tea and coffee came and were consumed. Still, Bodie’s idea of stealing a sub was the best that they could come up with, despite the fact that none of them could confidently pilot it.
“How about this?” Bodie said. “The port at Agadir is a short walk away. After dark, we go take a look. The Atlantis excavation vessels are moored there too since this is the closest port. Maybe physical observation will shake an idea loose.”
Once sunset had fallen, they ventured out, as disguised as they could be without drawing attention. Bodie wore a baseball cap and walked several steps behind on his own; the women donned an assortment of hats and caps and a range of tourist-focused clothing. The night was balmy, warm and sprinkled with laughter and good music, putting Bodie in mind of holidays abroad. The streets were busy and festooned with streamers of lights, the town bronzed against the dark of the Atlantic and the golden beach.
The port area was also ablaze, bright floodlights shining across the waters. Cassidy led the way through several busy streets. Yasmine stayed in the middle of their small crew, head down, making sure she caught no one’s eye.
When they reached the dock, they saw several boats moored in a guarded area, many with submersibles on their decks. The boats were dirty and rusted, the subs in worse condition. Bodie caught up and watched waves lap at the dock.
“Twenty-four-hour guard,” he said. “Even if we could steal one, we can’t get away without being heard.”
The boat decks were crawling with activity too, probably crews getting ready for the morning. The Atlantis excavation was still in full swing, in fact more so than ever. Bodie had visited twice and watched the latest activities on the nightly news many times, and he’d never seen it this busy. Guards patrolled the cordoned off area of the dock, all carrying flashlights and two-way radios. A floodlight swept the entire area constantly.
“It’s a pretty good security set up,” Jemma said with disappointment in her voice. “Stealing one of these is a no no.”
Bodie figured they were standing out, just staring at the boats and continued along the wooden dock, past the Atlantis section and on, to where the private boats were moored. The Atlantic roared to the right, its dark waters heaving. Waves splashed against the supports beneath his feet. The main street blazed to the left, a never-ebbing crowd wandering between restaurants, souvenir shops, pubs and market stalls that sold everything from fake designer clothing to moon rocks. The private boats bobbed and rocked at the far end, most in darkness but some with their owners aboard, kicking back and enjoying the night.
“We do have some insight on where to look,” Lucie said as they walked. “We’ve been there. And the ley line dissects the eastern shelf perfectly, so it’s the closest point to where we are. But there’s no ore excavation without a sub.”
Bodie nodded. That was the hard, inescapable truth. He kept walking, head full of bad ideas and worry.
At the end of the dock, he turned left, heading back to the main road. They were surrounded by shouts and laughter, people’s shoes slapping against the dock’s wooden timbers, the sound of boats knocking against fenders, and the hubbub created by the Atlantis moorage area. It was as Bodie threaded his way along a boardwalk lined by more expensive boats and yachts, that a very large idea entered his brain.
Would it work?
It would take research, but he couldn’t see why not. He turned to Lucie, grabbed her hand, and pulled her forward. The historian blinked and protested, but Bodie pointed to the east.
“Back to the hotel,” he said. “I have an idea.”
“A good one this time?” Cassidy wondered.
“I bloody well hope so. The well of ideas has run very, very dry. The only trouble is—” he looked around “—we’re in the wrong town.”
For once, even Lucie looked stumped. “And where should we be?”
“A bit further up the coast,” Bodie said with a flourish. “We’re going to Casablanca.”
CHAPTER TWENTY NINE
The most cosmopolitan city in Morocco, Bodie knew Casablanca mostly through movie snapshots. He’d never visited before. But areas like the Medina and Old City put him in mind of the old classic and made him wish he had more time to chill and mosey around. With wide thoroughfares lined with palm trees, towering office buildings and the wide, sparkling blue sweep of the Atlantic Ocean, it was a modern day vibrant powerhouse, drawing in not only the tourists but the wealthy and the young fortune seekers.
Bodie took them toward the port, using a large cruise liner moored up near the harbor for line of sight. “Last night,” he told them as they walked in the refreshing morning sun, “when we passed all those luxury yachts moored in Agadir’s harbor. It reminded me of something.”
“A movie?” Cassidy said with a touch of irony.
“No, not a bloody movie. It made me
