Page 93 of Red Line

“Okay, I’ll put on slacks and a shirt. I think that will fit your look better than if I keep wearing these tactical pants.”

A few minutes later, they were out the door. Nomad locked up with the heavy brass key and slipped it into his pants pocket. “Where are we going?”

Red pulled out her app. “They’re heading here.” She pointed. “And there’s another roof-top restaurant here with ashared wall. I think that we’ll be close enough to see them. But they will probably only scan their own restaurant if they’re paying attention at all.”

The walk from their riad to the square was a crush of humans. Since cars and trucks were only allowed in the early morning hours for deliveries, the paths were shared with motorcycles that laced through the crowds.

All along their path, vendors in their tiny shops—only about eight feet wide—called out, trying to grab the attention of passing tourists and make a sale.

On some days, Red found the atmosphere to be carnival-like and fun. That night, still recovering, Red found the walk exhausting.

Nomad seemed to realize that and put his arm around her, using his body to carve a path and keep her from the crush.

Still, it was a relief when they found a table that gave them a good view of Elena and her friends through the veil of palm fronds.

The server placed menus in front of them and left them to decide.

Red pulled out her phone. She popped an earbud in one ear, then Red opened the mic on Elena’s phone. Ambient sounds around Elena’s table were picked up, but their group wasn’t talking. They were all on their phones, scrolling.

“Those two are calling themselves Gustav and Simone Delacroix,” Nomad said.

“Gustav. Interesting.” Red popped her brow. “I’ll flag my team and let them know to focus on the contents of those phones for their primary research.” Red could see that the spider software she’d placed on Elena’s phone did its job crawling into the other woman’s phone, giving Langley full access.

With the mic open, Red could monitor their conversation, but so far, all they’d done was order banana juices.

Red wrinkled her nose. “Mmm, not my favorite. When the server comes, I’ll do mango, please.”

Nomad raised a finger, and the server came over. “A mango and a mixed fruit, please. We’ll order dinner in a bit. Oh, and a bottle of still water.” The man bowed and backed away from their table.

“They’re all three on social media,” Red said with her eye on her screen, “doom scrolling.”

“Anything telling?”

Red leaned closer to share her screen. “Cat videos.” His warmth as the night grew chilly was pleasant.

A tuxedo cat came over to their table and meowed insistently. “Sorry, baby,” Red cooed. “We haven’t been served yet.”

The cat meowed angrily. Where was her food? Red knew that would keep up all night.

“The cats are everywhere,” Nomad said. “I’ve never seen so many cats in my life.”

“They’re holy beings. No vet care, probably rabid, eaten up with fleas and diseases.” She held out a hand. “Please don’t pet. But also never shoo a cat away.”

“Walking around the Medina, I’ve seen water bowls at nearly every stand. They’re clean and filled.”

“They never go hungry, either. The cats know they can sit in front of anyone and meow with the expectation that a bit of food will come out of the person’s tote bag. None of them are hungry. One thing I find charming about Marrakech is that the animals don’t cower and scurry. There are no angry kicks or fists. There’s humanity in that.” Red looked around as the server came with a tray. Setting their drinks down and leaving.

Red twirled her glass in her fingers. “I think the cats of Marrakech are prophets here to teach.” She looked up to catch Nomad’s gaze. “I do.” She smiled nostalgically. “One ofthe biggest life lessons I received was at a chicken restaurant in Rabat one night. I was eating outside, and the cats arrived and meowed, wanting the patrons to throw a bit of food their way. Waiting for my dinner, I watched people tossing morsels out. The cats were generally fat and happy. But there was this one cat. He was obviously very sick and in terrible condition. I watched as people happily tossed food to the pretty and healthy cats and ignored the cat that most needed attention.”

Red liked how Nomad listened and that her words elicited emotion in his eyes.

“By the time my dinner arrived, the sick cat was gone. I put some food in my napkin, and as I left to head back to my hotel, I looked for the sick cat but couldn’t find him.”

“That had to have been disappointing.”

“I opened the napkin, placed it on the stoop, and said, ‘This is for you. I wanted to help. I’m so sorry for everything you’re going through, and I broke down crying.”

Nomad took her hand in his.

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