Emphani watched Jason scrape his bowl clean. “The hunger of my friend Jason is that of one who has not eaten in a long time. The soup pot may have a few more drops in it, should you desire.”
Jason drained the dregs of his glass. “Thanks, but the hospitality of my friend Emphani has been more than sufficient.”
He watched Emphani produce a blue box of Gitanes and proffer it.
“No thanks.”
Emphani struck a wooden match on the sole of his shoe and lit his cigarette. “You still do not have the tobacco habit, I see.”
Jason was looking at a no smoking sign. The government required no smoking areas upon request of patrons. “I have enough of the others.”
Emphani got up and turned the sign to the wall before returning to the table. “You have come to see me for more than my excellent fish soup, I think.”
“You mean your wife’s excellent fish soup and, yes, I have.”
“Tell me.”
Jason did.
When he had finished, Emphani lit another Gitanes. “You will contact each of the men you will need? It sounds as though you do not have the time.”
“I don’t,” Jason admitted. “But I wanted to speak to you personally.”
Emphani stared at the tip of his cigarette. “Because I am Moslem, you fear I will not fight these heaps of camel dung?”
“Mainly because you speak Arabic. But, yeah, the thought entered my mind.”
Emphani spat. “Moustaph! May the womb of the bitch dog that bore him be cursed! He and his fellows disgrace the name of the Prophet, may it always be honored! Would you not fight fellow Christians such as the cowardly jackals that bombed the building in your Oklahoma City? Or the son of a dog that set a bomb at your Olympics?”
“Just asking.”
“Moustaph, Bin Laden, Al Qaeda leadership! Like the cowards they are, or were, they hide while they bid others to die attempting to kill women and children. No true believer in the Prophet, may glory be upon him, would do such things. We leave mass slaughter to those of your religion such as Hitler.”
Jason was unsure how much of a Christian the late German dictator had been, but he did not pursue the matter. “So, you’ll be with me?”
Emphani shrugged. “If the pay is good enough and there is, er, action as you call it. I grow bored as well as old here.” He smiled. “Besides, I will add diversion to your plan. You Americans love to mix many different races to your enterprises, your schools, and your government. Sometimes you do so even if it means the better-equipped man is not included. I am both black and Moslem. Diversion.”
“Diversity?” Jason asked. “You may add diversity, but what I’m interested in is that you’re the best man with a knife or garrote I know.”
Before Emphani could answer, a young girl came out of the building. She was toffee-colored, a beautiful blend of Emphani’s ebony skin and the whiteness of his wife. Her eyes were a deep brown, evenly set in a round face that was split by a smile. Like most young European women, she wore skin-tight jeans that displayed her figure to advantage. She said something in a tongue Jason did not understand.
Emphani rose to embrace her. “The flower of my garden, the sun of my sky, my daughter, Margot.”
Jason stood and nodded. “A pleasure.”
Recognizing the men were speaking English, Margot switched to that language. “Mother says if you want dinner for the customers tonight, you need to stop sitting around drinking and go to the market.”
Emphani gave a theatric sigh. “As you can see, unlike my Moslem forebears, I am no longer the head of my house, nor the terror of my children.”
Margot leaned on tip toe to kiss his cheek. “But you are the sweetest papa in all of Marseille, perhaps all of France.”
Jason was fairly certain that had it been possible to detect a blush, he would have seen one.
“Tell that woman, your mother, that I am discussing business with an old friend, one she would also like to greet into our home.”
Margot was scrutinizing Jason. “You are an American?”
“I am.”
“Do you know anyone at Harvard near Boston, Massachusetts? That is where I wish to go to school when I finish the academy here.”
Jason could not miss the sadness in Emphani’s eyes, the look of a parent who knows his child’s dream will never come true. “I’m afraid not, not a single one.”
Clearly disappointed, she managed a smile. “No matter. I will find someone who can help me gain admission.”
Jason stood, aware that traditional Moslem hospitality would require an invitation to a festive dinner, one that could take hours he did not have to spare. “I fear I must go, though it saddens me that I will not be able to see your beautiful wife again. I must be satisfied I have met such an attractive child.”
Emphani held up a hand. “Wait but a minute longer. I will go with you.”
“Not necessary. I have a few more things to do. I’ll give you a destination and an airline ticket in a day or two. In the meantime, you can explain that you will be gone to your wife.”
Emphani shrugged as he led Jason through the bistro. “They understand. My… er… other businesses frequently require sudden absence.”
“You are blessed with an understanding family. But then, I suppose were you not, you could take another wife. Does not your religion allow this?”
Emphani grinned. “It does. If your culture permitted it, would you have taken a second wife?”
Jason smiled at the thought of Laurin’s reaction to a polygamous relationship. “Are you kidding? Laurin would have made my life miserable.”
“Just so. And why do you think wives of Moslems are different?”
“Mohammad took multiple wives.”
“Possessing the wisdom and patience required to live under the same roof with more than a single woman is why he is the Prophet and ascended into paradise. I am but a man. Come, we will drive you to the airport.”
From the rear door, they entered a car park that extended behind the adjacent buildings. Margot was already in the driver’s seat of an ancient and diminutive Peugeot Junior, a box with a tiny wheel at each corner.
Emphani climbed in beside his daughter leaving Jason to squeeze in behind them. “The airport,” he informed her.
Jason was trying to get comfortable in less square feet than his body occupied. “Yes. I’m headed to…”
Emphani somehow found the space to turn around, a finger across his lips. “One cannot unintentionally tell what one does not know. We must act as though the enemy has ears everywhere.”
Good advice.
30
The beach at Gouverneur is a three-quarter mile crescent of golden sand embracing turquoise waters. At the moment, it was populated by winter visitors in various states of dress and undress at the eastern tip, to the more avant-garde at the western, where the sand ended in a sheer hundred-foot hill, and swimwear was notable only for its absence.
In swimsuit and T-shirt, and with a beach bag containing his weapons, Jason was not interested in the lithe, nude, and semi-nude bodies frolicking within a few feet of the beach blanket he had borrowed from his hotel in the hills above Saint-Jean. Instead, his eyes were fixed on a pair of burly men in black shirts and shorts who were busily planting beach umbrellas in a twenty-foot square.