Black Diamond

The blood traced a path down my arm and dripped from my finger, the wound is just a flesh wound, but I need to find somewhere in this soukh to strap it and stop the bleeding. Marrakesh is much hotter than last time.

“Have you found the mark?” Him again, he’s always in my ear. I never miss a mark, I always get my man and today would be no different, it may take a little longer than Henry expects.

I replied to the wire in my hooded djellaba. “Not yet Henry, the mark has run into the soukh.”

The bustling of people and colours, assaults the senses. “Hey mister how about a jacket? Keeps you cool on the inside and hot for the ladies on the outside?”

So much for ‘blending in’, I must look like a turd at a costume party to the locals. I ignored the constant assault of sales pitches in every lane of the soukh, all in English, I was fooling nobody. The spicy aromas dancing in my nostrils, as I moved from one stall to the next, remaining focused, looking for the mark, ‘the black diamond’.

He is small in stature, but incredibly fast. I would have had him if that idiot FBI agent hadn’t pushed me into the mirror that cut my arm? FBI (Fat Brained Idiot), I almost had the little twerp, but he escaped when the Fat Brained Idiot restrained me, by mistake! What a clown, so much for agencies working together.

I had only been briefed about ‘the black diamond’ the day before, but his name was bandied about the agency for a few weeks prior to my flight to Morocco. The instructions were clear. “Do not harm or kill him, capture him. He is the goose that lays the golden egg, the key to major strategic military intel.”

How the hell was I meant to capture the little bastard unharmed? I want to obliterate the terrorist, but if I harm him I will be imprisoned for life. He is highly valued, hence his name. Meanwhile here I am running around in a long dress. I can’t stride in this bloody thing, and what’s more, none of the locals are falling for my attire. My complexion is completely wrong. I probably look like a geisha. I might as well be a geisha, shuffling along with little steps. It’s pathetic, Henry’s dumb idea. I hate Henry! The bastard sits in his air conditioned car monitoring a screen and directing me like a Pac man, a geisha Pac man in a soukh.

I’d never had a mission like this, normally I infiltrate, assassinate and evacuate.

Now I am daydreaming about Sandy, my beautiful wife and her athleticism as an Olympic gymnast, we married a year ago. I really miss her, that tight body.

Back to reality in a stinking sweat drenched dress, a cacophony of voices and a confusion of colours surround me, as the sweat trickles into my butt crack. The blasted dress has now cling-wrapped my buttocks.

“He has been located two lanes away at the carpet stalls, two hundred and fifty metres northwest of your position.”

“Henry, I will try again. Tell the FBI to stay out of it. This dress sucks Henry! Henry are you listening? Do you hear me? I can hear you snigger!”

“Roger that! The FBI will leave you alone.”

“Forget that Henry! This dress, your idea, it sucks ok! Do you roger that up your fat air conditioned arse!”

I walked behind a group of men, for cover. ‘Crowd cover’ as it is called in the industry. Oh great! Now some weirdo dude is following me and admiring my cling wrapped backside.

There he is, the mark is trying to act like the owner of a stall, clever, well not clever enough dickhead! I launch myself at him to grab him, but he evades me, and opens a trap door that reveals steps leading underground.

I chase him down the stairs, which lead to a tunnel, then up flights of stairs, so many flights of flipping stairs! He knows I am slow, climbing the stairs like a granny in a night dress! He taunts me at the top of each flight, doing sexual type hip thrusts, in his stupid purple pants. I hate that little bastard in pants.

I follow him through a doorway, into the hallway of a magnificent hotel. He performs backward handsprings down the hallway before entering room 787, now I have him.

I open the door cautiously. Sandy is standing there naked, with a black face, “Hello darling, have you enjoyed our first day of holiday in Morocco? Sorry about the wound.” She removes the wig to reveal her golden cascading hair.