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He pointed through the potted palms into the lobby. “That man in the blue shirt talking to the girl at the desk.” Albert accessed the pictures on his phone and showed them a photo of three young men sitting on a rough-hewn wooden bench, each lifting a beer mug in a toast. “My nephews,” he said, pointing to the men seated on the right. Sam eyed the photo, noting the two boys, one wearing a red jacket, both with sun-streaked brown hair and brown eyes. “This man on the left,” Albert said. “That’s who they hired to take them out to the Berber Villages.”
Sam compared the photo to the dark-haired man at the desk.
“Definitely him. Let’s find out what he knows.”
The three got up and walked toward the desk. When the man saw them heading toward him, he bolted out the doors.
3
Sam gave chase. Remi was right behind him, ignoring the curious stares of the other guests milling about the lobby. Sam ran to the right, across the cobbled drive. The man darted around the corner, then down a side street, racing toward a red Renault as he dug the key from his pocket. He held out the key, and the doors beeped as the car unlocked. Just as he opened the door, Sam caught up to him, grabbing the back of his shirt, then swinging him around, slamming him against the car.
“Please!” the man said in French. “I don’t know anything.”
Sam shot his hand up to the man’s neck, gripping it. “You speak English?”
He nodded. “Some.”
“Your name?”
“Z—Zakaria.”
“Zakaria. We’re looking for Karl and Brand Hoffler.”
“I—I’ve only spoken to them on the phone.”
“We have a picture that says otherwise.”
“A very old picture. I swear, I don’t know anything.”
Remi wandered closer to the faded-red Renault. She peered into the window as Sam asked, “You’re saying you talked to them by phone, but you never met with either of them on this trip?”
“I think they took up with another guide. They didn’t tell me who. Maybe they didn’t want to hurt my feelings. I don’t know.”
Sam eyed the twists of cables on the backseat, turning back toward Zakaria. “What do you know about audiovisual equipment?” he asked.
“Just the camera on my cell phone.”
“Then why do you have a bundle of AV cords in the back of your car?”
A sheen of perspiration appeared on Zakaria’s brow as he shook his head. “I—I don’t know.”
Sam leaned into him, pressing his fingers into his neck. “Maybe you need a little help with your memory. Where are they?”
His eyes widened in fear. “I don’t know! I swear!”
“We don’t like being lied to,” Sam said. “Not when it comes to our family being endangered.” He glanced at Remi. “In French, in case there’s any question.”
The young man’s gaze shifted to Remi’s as she translated. When she finished, Sam added, “And they’re making a film that we’re paying for. If anything happens to them—”
“Wait. You are the Fargos?”
Sam loosened his grip on Zakaria’s neck. “You know who we are?”
He nodded, then his gaze caught on Albert. “Who’s that?”
“Their uncle.”
The young man closed his eyes, sinking down as though suddenly relieved. “Please. You have to understand. I only wanted to protect them.”
