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“You have an address on the guy?”
“Two. One’s in Germany. Locally, we show an address in Marrakesh.” He read it to them. “Current as of three months ago.”
“That’s pretty recent.”
“Look, Sam. You shouldn’t be involved in this. Too dangerous.”
Remi raised her brows at that. “You do realize who you’re talking to, Rube?”
“I do,” Rube said, his voice filled with resignation. “Just hoping that he might listen, for once.”
“Appreciate your concern, old friend,” Sam said as he started the car and shifted it into drive, pulling into traffic. “But Zakaria was kidnapped on my watch. And unless you can miraculously come up with a rescue team in the next ten hours without going through all the red tape, the least we can do is check out that address.”
“Just be careful.”
“Will do,” he said, disconnecting the call. He glanced over at Remi. “You’re okay with that?”
“I’ll check my calendar and see if I have anything more important scheduled.” She picked up her phone, typing something on the screen.
He glanced over, saw she was actually entering the address into the map. “Any luck rescheduling that manicure?”
“Very funny. Make a right at the next intersection.”
—
DURIN KAHRS lived in a four-storied apartment complex about twenty minutes south of the hotel. Typical of the buildings in the era, the only windows facing out were high, to allow a breeze in, and narrow, to protect against the desert sun. In other words, there was no chance of breaking in from the outside. Sam drove past the address twice, checking the area, before parking down the street. They entered through a wrought iron gate that led into a fairly large courtyard in the center of the complex where children played under the watchful eyes of their mothers. Each apartment door faced into the courtyard, the upper floors accessed via two enclosed staircases in opposite corners. Sam and Remi smiled at the women, then climbed the nearest flight of stairs to the second floor, walking around the balcony until they came to Durin’s apartment.
Sam knocked on the door, not expecting anyone to answer, more to determine what sort of lock was installed and if there was an alarm. There was not. “Let’s go,” he said, taking note of the rest of the complex as he and Remi walked toward the staircase. No way to get into that apartment without being noticed. Not in the daylight at least.
“See what you needed to see?”
“So far.”
“And?”
He smiled at her. “Date night. Dress in black.”
Remi linked her arm through his as they took the stairs down. “I love date night.”
15
Sam and Remi returned to Durin’s apartment complex after ten that night, parking far enough away not to be noticed but close enough to watch and get an idea of who came and went from the building. This time, Remi drove, since she’d be keeping watch while Sam broke in. Both were armed with handguns. They planned to communicate using Bluetooth earpieces and their phones.
It was easy to pick out Kahrs’s apartment. The two slit-like windows were the only ones not lit. As the night passed, the surrounding lights went out one by one until there were only a few stragglers still awake, two on the ground floor and one on the third floor. Finally, after midnight, all was dark. Sam waited another twenty minutes just to be sure.
Remi called Sam.
He pressed the button on his earpiece. “Let’s get started.”
“Have fun.”
He leaned over and kissed her before getting out of the car, gently closing the door. Once he crossed the street, he kept to the shadows as he walked toward the complex. “See you in a few.”
“Do you think other couples have this much fun on date night?”
“In their dreams, maybe.” That was one of many things that had attracted him to Remi. Dinner and a movie was what other people did on dates. He and Remi were more likely to be climbing mountains or trekking through jungles in search of treasure. Or, in this case, breaking into someone’s apartment on their way to rescue a friend who was in trouble. Looking back, he tried to remember if there was a time when they’d ever had a normal date. Well, besides the night they’d met at the Lighthouse, and, of course, the times they’d returned on the anniversary of that meeting . . .
He pushed through the wrought iron gate, the courtyard lit only by a dim light at each stairwell. Just before he entered, he glanced back toward the car, barely able to make out the silhouette of Remi, watching from the driver’s seat. He gave a nod, quietly closing the gate behind him, listening to the sounds, determining what was normal, before proceeding up the stairs. “Still there?” he asked, putting on his gloves and slipping a lockpick from his wallet.