The Last Heroes by W. E. B. Griffin

Author:W. E. B. Griffin [Griffin, W. E. B.]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi, pdf
Tags: Fiction, Historical, General, 1939-1945, War & Military, World War, Espionage, Action & Adventure, Men's Adventure, Mystery and suspense
ISBN: 9780515123296
Google: 5J58SQ10G2IC
Amazon: 0515123293
Publisher: Jove
Published: 1998-09-01T22:00:00+00:00

Casablanca, Morocco November 28, 1941

There was absolutely no doubt in the minds of the two agents of the French Sûreté, nor of their adviser, a Sturmführer of the SS-Sicherheitsdienst, that if they could stop the American Cadillac they would find that its occupants possessed nearly three hundred thousand dollars in United States and half that much in Swiss currency. In addition, there was a small leather bag stuffed with investment-quality (that is, heavier in weight than three carats) diamonds and emeralds and comparable jewels. On the open market these were worth about as much as the Swiss and American currency combined.

The problem was that the law made no prohibition against simple possession of foreign currency. Neither was the simple possession of jewels illegal. Such a law would be impossible to enforce.

The other problem for the Sûreté and the Sicherheitsdienst was that one of the two young men was Sidi Hassan el Ferruch, the son of the pasha of Ksar es Souk, and the other young man was an American, Eric Fulmar, traveling on an American passport. Word had come from the Foreign Ministry on Bendlerstrasse itself that confrontations with American nationals were to be handled with the utmost discretion. Roughly translated, that meant to avoid touching Americans unless they’d been caught red-handed.

What the Sûreté and Sicherheitsdienst agents wanted was to catch the two of them in the act of smuggling the money and jewels out of the country. If it was not judged wise to shoot him in the act of escaping, the American could at least be tried and jailed, pour encourager les autres, and Sidi el Ferruch could become a much more valuable chip in the never-ending game played by the French with his father.

The object, then, was to catch them.

None of the agents believed that tonight would be the night that would happen. For one thing, el Ferruch knew the agents were on their trail, and for another—unless they had guessed very badly—the obvious destination of the two (and el Ferruch’s Berber bodyguards, trailing the Cadillac in a Citroën) was a restaurant on the Coastal Highway between Casablanca and El Jadida.

The restaurant, Le Relaise de Pointe-Noire, sat all alone on the rocky Black Point, sixty or more feet above the crashing surf of the Atlantic. There was only one entrance to the restaurant, and there was no way to get from the restaurant down to the beach without passing through that entrance.

The two would never transfer the money or the jewels to someone else at Le Relaise de Pointe-Noire, because that would risk having whoever they gave it to caught with it. Which meant that they intended instead to spend time on one of the chambres séparées overlooking the crashing surf, have their dinner, and then pass the evening in the company of firm-breasted and dark-eyed Moroccan ladies of the evening. Le Relaise de Pointe-Noire had the most attractive poule to be found in Morocco.

It was raining, which meant that the two policemen who had stationed themselves

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