Tangier

Suddenly she pushed her mouth against his ear. 'After you and Janet leave, drop her at the Consulate and double back. Park at the traffic circle at the end of the street. After everyone's gone I'll tell Foster I'm going out for a jog. Then I'll meet you, and we'll talk.'

Even as he nodded he knew he was making a mistake. But something about her, something aroused and voracious, had suddenly jerked his lust. She wiggled her nose and patted his knee. He stood up, went around to Janet, and motioned that it was time to go.

Janet ripped off her earphones. 'I thought you'd never ask.'

'Sorry to break things up, Foster. But we've got to be getting back.'

The others rapidly stripped off their headsets, grateful for the chance to get away.

'But-but it's not over yet.' Foster pointed at the turntable. Now they were all on their feet.

'Good-by.'

'Good night.'

'Thanks.'

'But there's more-the whole second side.'

They were all tearing toward the door.

Driving back to the Consulate, Lake banged his fist against the wheel. 'What an evening! Glad to be out of there.' He glanced at Janet. 'Have you ever felt so trapped?'

'Gosh, you're critical, Dan. I thought you liked Willard and Katie at least.'

'Not anymore I don't. I'm sick of them. All that crap about Fort Lauderdale-you'd think it's Eden over there.'

Janet sighed. 'Sometimes I just don't understand you, Dan.'

Well, that was something-he didn't understand himself.

He dropped her at the residence gate, told her not to wait up. He was going to his office to plow through a stack of paperwork. She left him without looking back.

He pulled around to the side of the building, waited until their bedroom light went on. Then he drove slowly through town to kill some time before his rendezvous with Jackie Knowles. It was only a little after eleven, but the Boulevard was empty, just a few straggling tourists in the cafes. He knew the action at this hour was down in the medina, but he felt depressed by the emptiness, the flashing neon, the Arabic banners he couldn't read. One of their damn holidays again, he thought. There was always something going on-King's birthday, anniversary of his coronation, Arab Unity Week. He turned left and drove along the beach, listening for the faint music of bellydancer bands playing in the nightclubs of the big hotels.

Back in the suburbs he slowed as he passed the Knowles‘, then drove on to the traffic circle and parked. He turned off his headlights and lit a cigarette. There was no one about.

It was another twenty minutes before she appeared, jogging around the corner at a rapid pace, the white stripe of her sweat-suit flashing light from the dim street lamps. She loped around the circle, waved at him as she passed, then raised three fingers and started around again-meaning, he supposed, that she was going to run the circle thrice.

He watched, becoming dizzy as he followed her with his eyes. On her third pass she suddenly stopped, then leaped beside him into the car.

'Hi!' She smiled, leaned forward, planted a long, wet kiss on his lips. Her forehead was sweaty and so was the rest of her-he could feel the moistness as they embraced.

'Can I call you Dan, Mr. Lake?'

'Sure, Jackie. Sure.'

'Well, Dan-'

She reached for his tie, loosened it, unbuttoned his shirt at the neck. Then with a single stroke she unzipped the front of her sweatshirt. Her breasts popped out. She was naked underneath.

'I'm horny, Dan. It's not healthy to keep urges bottled up.' She placed her hand on his crotch. He couldn't believe it. She started fumbling with his fly.

'Jackie-'

'Shhh!'

'Jackie!'

'Don't talk, Dan. We've only got a few minutes. Foster will worry if I'm gone too long.' She kissed him again, struggling with his zipper. 'I want you, Dan. I want you inside of me. But not tonight. It's really impossible to ball in a car.' She got the zipper open then and started to fondle him through his shorts. 'Drop them, Dan. I want to suck.'

She mopped her forehead on her sleeve, then lay her head across his lap. She was sucking him, humming while she did it, the vibrations of her clinging lips bringing him alive.

He felt frightened at first, then hopelessly aroused, the object of fellatio in a diplomatic car. It was crazy the way she lay across him like a vixen, body contorted, straw hair strewn across his lap. But suddenly he was delighted by the danger, and slipped down in his seat. He forced her head against the steering post, and with terrifying spasms shot off in her mouth.

The whole thing had taken less than a minute. When he opened his eyes he saw her making obscene swallowing motions with her throat.

'God! What if someone saw?'

'Never mind, Dan. It's over now.'

She sat up and cupped her breasts. There was a radiant, triumphant expression on her face. He reached for her, but she pulled back.

'No, Dan. Not now. Next time you'll have me. I'll call you tomorrow as soon as Foster leaves for work.'

She zipped up her sweatshirt and backed out of the car. From outside she blew him a kiss, then jogged around the circle and disappeared. He sat alone then, his limp cock oozing onto the plastic seat.

What, my God, have I done?

For a while he drove around the city, losing all track of time. He drove the Boulevard again, and Avenue d'Espagne, then turned and twisted through the maze of narrow streets that ran between the Grand Socco and the beach. He drove up through the old Jewish quarter and into the Casbah, madly honking his horn. He passed beneath the arches, the narrow street along the walls, until he arrived at the Place de Casbah and pulled to a screeching halt.

He looked about. The great square was deserted. He got out, walked to the battlements, stared down the cliffs at the moonlit bay.

What's happening?

He knew now he'd never get to sleep. His head was on fire, though he was sure he was no longer drunk. The encounter with Jackie had taken care of that, and now he felt caught up by something, some passionate force that had seized hold, and to which he'd relinquished all control.

Am I going to snap? Is this the night I'm going to break?

He didn't think so. Despite all that had happened he felt a new, clear vision taking hold. He was a man of the night, a man who acted while others slept. There was a destiny for him in Tangier. Z! Z was the quarry, the man he must begin to hunt.

In Dradeb there were still people in the streets, but he felt no fear of them as he drove through. He'd heard much lately of their vicious taunts and flying rocks, but tonight he felt invincible, the master of Tangier.

After he crossed the Jew's River he slowed down, searching for Zvegintzov's car. He saw it, a rusting old Peugeot. He parked behind it and looked about. The shop was closed. The grill was down, but he could see light coming from a window off the side. He'd never been in there, the room behind the store. He knew it was where Peter slept.

He locked the car, crossed the street, then moved carefully, pressing against the side of Zvegintzov's house. There was a window ahead that cast out light. He stooped beneath it, rose slowly, and peered in through the glass.

He saw Peter then, sitting on his bed not a dozen feet away. He was talking-Lake could hear the sound, though he couldn't make out a single word. He ducked, fearing he might be seen, then realized he was in darkness, invisible to those inside. He backed off a bit, then rose again. He had to see who else was there.

It was the girl, the one living with Ouazzani, Kalinka, Zvegintzov's wife. She was standing, facing Z, at the