Page 12 of Afraid to Hope

“Are you staying in Rabat before we begin our mission?” Rafiq asked, watching them with interest.

Natasha wanted to squirm under the scrutiny. Instead, she chose to pay attention to Bane.

“No. Casablanca,” Bane responded smoothly. “We realize it requires some extra driving at the outset, but Natasha was raised here, and she inherited her family’sriad.”

“Very nice. My wife and I reside in Casa as well.” Rafiq’s next question, to the director, allowed Natasha to relax. “How is your family, Emmet?”

“Stella, my daughter, had another child last month. A girl this time. I haven’t seen her in person yet,” he said wistfully. “My wife thinks the baby looks like Stella, who is thrilled to have a girl after two boys. We plan to head back to England at the end of the year.”

“For a holiday or permanently?”

“Permanently. I’m retiring. I took this post for two years, as a favor to my boss. We will miss our flat in Bouznika, wonderful friends and colleagues, and the genial Moroccan culture.”

“It has been a pleasure to work with you, Emmet.”

“I feel the same. I hope to finish on a high note with this assignment.” The director passed the folders around. “Let’s give it a go, shall we?”

Natasha glanced at her folder. “Rafiq, fill me in on your background so that we understand better how we can assist you and benefit each other. My last assignment had some challenges I’m still dealing with.”

His eyebrows knit together. “You and Bane were not together in Guatemala?”

“No.” She shook her head.

“I assumed you were in Guatemala together. I heard that assignment was quite revealing,” he said, holding her gaze steadily.

Wariness made her cautious. Director Cantrell had not briefed Bane or her on what Rafiq knew. She glanced at Emmet.

“Rafiq knows you apprehended Eric Schaus at the illegal site in Petén,” Emmet assured her.

“I’d like to hear more about it,” Rafiq said enthusiastically, leaning forward and resting his forearms on the table. “The details may provide deeper insight into the American’s operation here. Schaus’s apprehension was quite a coup and a vexing blow to the network. They vanished immediately, and their activity has only resurfaced quietly in the past week.”

“You and me both. My wife still hasn’t talked too much about it.” Bane reached over, leaving a trail of sparking heat where his fingers grazed the thin fabric of the shawl covering her shoulder and arm. “Pretty traumatic…”

God, she could barely think when Bane touched her. How did he know her experience was traumatic? Natasha considered how Bane knew anything about her experience in Guatemala. The director must have told him. She’d ask him later, but right now she wanted her earlier inquiry answered. “Circling back to my question, what do you do specifically, Rafiq?”

Rafiq watched them closely as he spoke. “I am part of DSGN, Morocco’s national police. I am a forensic anthropologist, focusing on the preservation of Morocco’s cultural heritage, which is why I also report to and partner with the Ministry of Culture and Communication, the MCC, and AFRIPOL.” Rafiq sat back suddenly, his hands clasped on the table, approval evident in his dark eyes. “The cover should work, Emmet. Natasha traveled to Guatemala on a different passport, under her maiden name, and her exposure was limited to Schaus’s apprehension.”

“I’m happy you concur, Rafiq. I feel it’s our best option.”

Natasha’s hand flew to her chest. “You knew?”

“Yes. Emmet and I worked on your covers together. With a little more practice, you and Bane will do great.”

Emmet looked at Rafiq, Natasha, and Bane, then at his watch. “I have an afternoon appointment in Fes, and the Ruas have some last-minute things to take care of. Let’s dive in. Markets exist for every commodity. Similar to many countries and cultures around the world, Morocco’s cultural heritage is under threat.” Emmet pushed the nosepiece of his glasses up to rub at the bridge of his nose. “What was recently uncovered in Guatemala proved to be brilliant, terribly insightful.” He inclined his head at Natasha. “Thank you, Dr. Rua.”

He continued. “We are dealing with profit-driven looters, specifically the American, which was confirmed through questioning Schaus. The American is highly organized in its complexity and capacity, from excavation to sale, if you will. An enormous international nexus of professionals spanning areas in archaeology, curation, military, paramilitary, government, and more. They glean their initial and supporting information from satellite-based navigation systems such as LIDAR and drones as well as academic and popular publications and national and regional registries, which is how they target archaeological sites.”

Bane shed his field vest and roll up the sleeves of his shirt, exposing his powerful, tanned forearms. Natasha’s eyes were drawn to where his movements caused his shirt to stretch tautly against his shoulders, biceps, pecs, and abs. Everything about him was lean, hard edges and coiled strength. What would those arms feel like wrapped around her? What would it feel like to have her breasts pressed against his solid form?Natasha sighed deeply and then blinked in shock.What in the hell am I doing? I’m in a goddamned meeting. I am not some prepubescent girl pining over her first crush.

Emmet glanced at his open folder. “Rafiq and I provide this information so that you understand the scope and depth of the American. The network has tentacles everywhere. The American’s activity seemed to come to a standstill after Schaus was apprehended in Guatemala in August, yet only two weeks ago the Moroccan Navy seized a fishing vessel before it was able to pass the breakwater in Casablanca. The navy was on heightened alert after impounding close to four hundred kilograms of cocaine in sealed containers aboard a South American ship over a year ago in June.” He spread a dozen black-and-white photographs in front of the group. “The fishing vessel was smuggling two crates of prehistoric rock engravings that had been chiseled from the Draa River region in Southern Morocco. The engravings were Tazina-style art, dating to 5000 BP. Photos taken by the excavation team helped to identify and repatriate them quickly. There was another crate packed with stone tools and human bone fragments.”

Natasha braced herself on the table with her elbows and massaged her temples, trying to absorb what the photos in front of her represented. Her words were clipped and rushed. “Were the tools and fragments from the Jebel Irhoud site?”

“Possibly. Which is what the General Directorate of National Security fears. Forensic archaeologists estimate the dates to fall in the range of other bones and tools excavated from Jebel Irhoud. That is still being determined.”

She knew the answer but was compelled to ask anyway. “Is Jebel Irhoud closed?”

“No,” Rafiq said. “Despite the vandalism and the fact that several of the guards went missing, the site remains under excavation. The artifacts recovered from the site are greatly significant to Moroccan culture and history. New guards have been hired; they are assisted by rotating shifts of Moroccan police.”

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