The drops of March rain were cleaning the streets of Brussels gently but persistently. Khaled parked the car not far from the La Fontains Café. When he entered the café, he asked the waiter to turn over to the local Télé Bruxelles. The waiter nodded politely and complied.
Once Zohra confirmed to him that the painting was really in the cellar, he executed his plan literally. He sent two emails from an anonymous email account from an Internet café to the Belgium police and the administration of the American Museum. Furthermore, he called from a phone box with the two parties and gave them the same information quickly without granting them time to ask questions.
The last addition that he did which occurred to him only lately was informing a number of the local media on top of which was Télé Bruxelles. He learned that media could make from nothing a story. What would they do when there was a real story of the volatile nature.
If the Belgium police did their duty, they should have captured the painting awaiting the officials of the American Museum to confirm the originality or fakeness of the painting in Tangier. The confirmation should also have been done as he indicated in his email to the aberration in the eye that exceeded the original painting by one millimeter.
Zohra entered the café taking shelter under a small, pink umbrella. He welcomed her with a smile that shone from his heart before a spontaneous laugh escaped from his mouth.
They fix their eyes on the big, flat screen while the anchor was delivering the headlines without referring to capturing the painting as if he was enjoying torturing them. They looked at each other with despair.
The anchor started narrating the details of the stories, but he started with a breaking news, ‘A painting that was stolen from Tangier known as the “Moroccan Mona Lisa” was found in Waterloo in the villa of a doctor at the university of…’.
This time their victorious looks meet. Khaled catches Zohra’a hand and kisses it. She pulls it back quickly and blushes. It seems that Khaled did not notice what he did while he is absentmindedly following the details of the news.
He finally succeeded… he did it… his efforts did not go in vain… for the first time ever, he felt that he did something for Tangier. He lived again his memory lance since the first hesitation…since he knew Huda until he knew Zohra. How different these two women were.
The water of the clean springs flows. I won’t marry you, oh girl, even if I remain single.
Khaled was swinging his head while humming the words of the mountain, Tangierian song. Zohra was trying to maintain her soberness, but she could not resist the sound of the reed pipe, so she started humming the song with him, too.
Khaled was clapping and altered the lyrics of the song.
I won’t marry you, Oh Zohra, even if I remain single
Zohra could not resist, and she burst in laughter.
Khaled braked firmly as a black car blocked their way suddenly. He could not understand what was happening. Two masked people took off the car and asked Khaled and Zohra to get out of the car. The narrow streets were completely empty of people or cars.
Khaled and Zohra left the car stunned, shocked, and unable to understand anything. One of them took out a pistol while the other stayed a short distance away watching the road.
They obeyed. Khaled tried to ask him with a gesture, but the barrel of the pistol silenced him for the second time. He looked at Zohra and found her crying which ripped his heart to pieces. He only needed to understand what was happening.
They hear the sound of the pistol’s safety catch as they masked man is removing it. He points the pistol to Khaled’s head and starts pressing the trigger.