London International was disappearing out the rear left window of the 797. The watery eyes, of the specter of inhospitality, were reflected in the glass sky as night fell on the airport. Zaynab's freckles were like a constellation. She knew her image was in the mind's eye of someone hunting her.

She had spotted the stalker after she systematically made eye-contact with everyone boarding the plane except this one person who never once looked directly at her. Really it was just something about him, his general demeanor. She could tell he was a hunter of spies. She believed he was with Interpol and that he was following her to Morocco; like a wild dog follows a rat to its nest.

Losing him would be easy, she decided. Finding her in London was one thing. Finding her again after she got her feet on the ground in Marrakesh was a different challenge.

Zaynab's mission involved going back to Marrakesh for the third time in her life. Zaynab regretted this, but it was necessary. She wound through some streets in a new hijab and emerged from the other side dressed like a tourist.

Juthra's Cafe was run by his grandson now, just who she wanted to see. She found him behind the closed shop gambling with some bums. She watched this for a few minutes before finding her way into their game. Juthra couldn't stop winning and was glad to take the tourist's money. Her British accent sounded strange, but he was no expert. If he described her to anyone she would sound like a British tourist.

She just had one question:

"I am so hungry. Anywhere a seafood restaurant? I heard in the market that there is one on a boat somewhere." Zaynab smiled brightly like a tourist, her eyes sparkling and she offered some more money to be led to the place. She got to ride in the delivery bike's sedan. It was early evening and the moon was full. She looked around at some of the larger boats and took no especial notice of the one she wanted. She knew it well, but she pretended she was a tourist that thought it would be one of the larger boats.

"It is that one." Juthra pointed to it and suddenly was having second thoughts about his presence near the gangster hangout.

"Well you will have to escort me in, of course." Zaynab awkwardly donned her brand-new blue hijab, like she had never put one on before. It looked ridiculous with the rest of her tourist trappings. A disguise over a disguise, technically over another one of sorts. Zaynab was just getting started.

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"I will pay for dinner." He stipulated.

"You are kind. I will have to come to your cafe' tomorrow. That is what I was doing there." Zaynab laughed in-character.

"Oh yeah? Am I an online review or something?" Juthra wondered.

"Let me show you." She showed him a nice review someone had given his cafe'. It was poetic. Juthra was touched as he read it. Love for his father and grandfather was evident and he was proud. An old and essential place, the review explained. Traditional and upright. This was nearly enough to get him to stop gambling there.

"You're a bachelor?" She asked suddenly, forcing herself to blush by holding her breath momentarily and straining herself in her tummy. He bought it and was eating out of the palm of her hand as they went inside and got seated. All through the meal he bragged to her and they seemed uninteresting to those she wanted to study. If they noticed her staring at them they would think she had a wandering eye for them instead of her young boisterous dinner partner.

Eventually this took effect with a senior gangster with the nickname Switchblade. He walked over and asked them if they wanted to play cards.

"That sounds perfect." Zaynab agreed without Juthra. He ended up getting ditched, stuck with the bill. He seemed distracted, watching her go. Some sense of something strange about her. Before he left he shrugged and decided it was just her foreignness.

Zaynab sat down at the card table smiling. Several players wore masks, but she identified each of them within a moment. She got her cards and started playing.

Several hands later she had gambled away the rest of her cash and had to go. She had played well and charmed the important players. This got Switchblade to sit her in for one of his lieutenants who begged her to take his seat and then hastily left before he annoyed his boss.

So Zaynab kept playing cards until late into the night. Eventually she was alone with just the ones she wanted to talk to. Even Switchblade had retired: from his own game.

"I wondered if I could meet the owner of this boat." Zaynab said in Arabic, throwing off her fake persona instantly. The effect was jarring. They sat staring at her for a moment until she repeated herself, this time in English and with more of her usual command. She even stood up and stared them down: "May I meet the owner of this boat?"

"Zaynab?" Thrith looked puzzled, knowing her by reputation and figuring it out.

"Yes. I am she." Zaynab blinked and relaxed slightly.

"Welcome home." Thrith stood also and offered her the handsign of AGT. She returned it. Then the one sitting in the middle finally spoke up saying:

"You may meet the owner."