Episode 3: The Sands of Deception
Marrakesh, Morocco. The air was thick with spice, sweat, and secrets. The Jemaa el-Fnaa marketplace pulsed with life—snake charmers, drumming Berbers, whispers of weapons smuggled in beneath crates of saffron and dates.
Salty stepped off a camel, heat shimmering around his designer shades. He wasn’t built for desert ops—but damn, he looked good.
Zinshed met him by a tea stall, dressed in desert camo and sipping mint tea like a Moroccan prince.
“The cartel’s using a spice merchant as a front,” he said. “And someone on our team tipped them off.”
Salty raised an eyebrow. “A mole?”
Zinshed nodded. “And I think it’s someone close.”
Cherry arrived in a flowing white robe, eyes scanning the souk. “I just heard chatter,” she said. “They’re moving girls through an abandoned casbah at sundown. Weapon crates too. We need to hit it fast.”
“Where’s Sofia?” Salty asked.
Cherry’s lips tightened. “She bailed on recon this morning. Claimed food poisoning. But she looked fine to me.”
Salty frowned. He and Sofia had shared a bottle of wine—and a bed—just last night.
Delphine and Rico were already inside the casbah, planting motion sensors and prepping drone coverage. Rico had a new toy: a solar-powered surveillance beetle.
“This little guy records 4K and bites. Just like me,” he grinned.
Inside the spice shop, Salty and Zinshed met the so-called merchant—Yousef, a fast-talking fixer with a golden tooth and a thing for drama.
“Everything’s for sale in Marrakesh,” he winked. “Even truths you don’t want to hear.”
He slid a dossier across the table.
Sofia’s face. Logged phone calls to Katarina’s lieutenant. Surveillance of her passing intel. A payment trail—BitCoin through Moroccan shell corps.
Salty’s blood ran hot. “She played me?”
Yousef shrugged. “Or she’s playing them. In this city, trust is the most expensive thing.”
Sundown.
The team assembled behind the casbah walls. Sand whirled in the wind. Goats bleated. Guns cocked.
“Cherry, flank left. Rico, launch the bug. Delphine, on rooftop. Zinshed, with me,” Salty barked.
Then—a flash of light. Boom. Ambush.
Bullets ripped through spice sacks. The air filled with paprika and gunpowder. Rico dropped one guard with a flying tackle. Delphine took out two more with a scoped pistol and a hair-flip.
Salty and Zinshed stormed inside—straight into Sofia.
She stood over a laptop, hand on a detonator.
“Don’t move!” Salty shouted.
She turned, tears in her eyes. “You don’t understand.”
“Try me!”
“I’m deep cover,” she said. “I’ve been feeding Katarina fake intel. It’s all part of a bigger sting. But HQ just pulled me out—no warning. I had to improvise.”
Zinshed narrowed his eyes. “Show us your comms.”
She tossed Salty her burner. He read the messages. Code matched.
“She’s telling the truth,” he said.
Zinshed groaned. “Or she’s three layers deep in a lie. We’re in Inception territory.”
Suddenly—the floor gave way.
Trap door. Sofia screamed. Salty lunged. Missed.
She vanished below—into underground tunnels used by smugglers for centuries.
Later, at the riad safehouse, Cherry patched Salty’s arm. He was bruised, but mostly quiet.
“You okay?” she asked.
He looked away. “I can handle lies. I just hate when they come with pillow talk.”
She smiled softly. “She fooled you. So what? You still look good shirtless.”
“Thanks, Doc,” he smirked.
Rico entered. “Our beetle tracked Sofia’s signal. She’s headed to Tangier… and not alone.”
Salty stood, loading his pistol. “Then so are we.”
Final shot: Salty in a linen shirt on a rooftop, moonlight behind him, looking out over Marrakesh’s skyline.
“If trust is expensive… then vengeance is priceless.”
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