The Admiral kept Kenneth Davis waiting in the bar for a few minutes while he limped as quickly as he could around the block, for a last spot check of any security problems. Skullduggery was possible now that an invasion was imminent. The streets around the hotel were quiet with no suspicious cars or idle Arab street vendors that could suddenly pull out machine guns hidden under their long robes. He returned inside and left his suitcase at the front desk.
The Admiral excused himself for being late and sat down facing Davis who seemed much less affected and friendlier than during their first meeting. He came right to the point.
“Monsieur Gillet, my superiors need more time to properly analyze and respond to the proposals you were so kind to provide. A new meeting is proposed in Lisbon for mutual convenience, in two weeks. Do you think this will be possible?”
Calamai puffed on his cigar and replied with some hesitation.
“In such delicate matters things are subject to change at any moment. I am sure you will have a positive answer from my side very shortly about Lisbon.”
“Good, the answer should go directly to the embassy in Portugal. I am ready to hear the three other points you were about to make the last time we met.”
The Admiral was surprised by the sudden request and proceeded to enumerate the rest of the proposal,
“The remaining issues are: (1) the institution of the monarchy is to be retained under the Savoy dynasty; (2) Italy will keep her colonial empire prior to October 1935 and drop any claim to Ethiopia; (3) there will be no allied military occupation of Italy itself.”
Davis nodded and committed everything to memory,
“We will see at Lisbon how things develop and how my side reacts.”
He rose signaling the end of the very short meeting,
“It has been a pleasure. I do hope we meet again Monsieur Gillet and that by then hopefully, we shall no longer be enemies.”
“Fate controls the universe Mr. Davis. Rest assured that I also hope your wishes are realized very soon.”
The Admiral shook hands with Davis one last time and watched him leave through the front door. He took his time and lit up another cigar pretending to take notes as he observed Maurice arranging the chairs and wiping the top of the bar. The bartender’s allegiance had probably already shifted and he was already working exclusively for the Americans as the winds of change swept across North Africa.
Calamai left the hotel and got into a waiting black Citroën Traction Avant. The man at the wheel was the most important Italian agent in Morocco code named “Remo,” and he drove quickly to the northern outskirts of Casablanca while French police patrols could be seen taking up positions at street corners and army units were busy setting up machine gun nests at key intersections. Rumors of a pro-Gaullist military coup were spreading among the population. The car sped through several residential streets lined with neat little white and sky blue houses, surrounded by low walls overflowing with luxuriant bushes of red bougainvillea and white jasmin. Remo pulled into the gated driveway of a modest white stucco house and the Admiral quickly went inside.
Remo was very alarmed,
“Monsieur Gillet we can’t stay here for more than a few minutes. A good source informed me that Spain will shut down the border crossings tonight. They fear that heavy fighting might break out in French Morocco between French troops loyal to Noguès and the Gaullists who will stage an uprising. Franco is determined that Spain shall remain neutral in any French squabble. I also heard that the Americans are very close to the coast and may land in the next twenty-four hours or less. Many French officers are ready to drop the Vichy government and some civilians are encouraging them to join De Gaulle. I was advised to get out now or risk being arrested…or worse.” He added with a smile.
“Well what’s your plan?” asked Calamai impatiently.
“We have a plane waiting in Tetouan to fly us to Italy. We must cross the border before midnight. That may not be as easy as it sounds, it depends on what the French army will do.”
The Admiral was skeptical.
“If the border closes at midnight you can be sure they will shut down much sooner. We may have to fight our way in!”
Remo checked his watch,
“I don’t disagree, unfortunately. In any case we have an excellent contact in Tetouan, waiting for us but we must leave immediately and remember that officially we’re both two private employees of the Sultan. Both the Spanish and the French want to avoid problems with the Sultan at this time so that information should be enough to get us across the French police line. Otherwise we’ll have a long hike through the hills with no guarantees.”
Remo filled the trunk with additional gasoline canisters and burned a few boxes of documents in the backyard. As he got in the car he carefully placed his loaded Walther 9mm pistol under the driver’s seat. Calamai sat in the back seat with a sub machine gun resting on the floor under a blanket.
Three hours later they were within five kilometers of the border crossing at Alcàzarquivir when three French motorcycle policemen had set up a roadblock and stopped the car. A tough looking officer in high boots marched up to Remo and looked inside the car giving a snappy salute. Remo was shifting nervously in his seat and the Admiral saw him lower his right hand slowly between his legs.
The cop spoke slowly and kept on peering inside the automobile, looking for any weapons,
“Gentlemen, Spain will close the border in a few hours. No one is allowed to approach the frontier by order of General Noguès. Please follow us to the closest station.”
Remo looked at the officer and turned back as if to confer with the Admiral but instead he gave winked at him, reached for his gun and shot the policeman in the face. The action was so swift that the two other cops barely had time to draw their guns and mount their motorcycles. Remo was already in gear flooring the big Citroën straight ahead. Shots were fired from behind as the two cops gave chase gaining quickly on the heavy sedan. Remo yelled over the noise of the engine:
“Not real cops …an execution squad meant for both of us. Their uniforms were wrong. It was a rushed job, Admiral!”
More shots were fired as one of the pursuers was closing in and at very close range. A bullet shattered the rear windshield and barely missed the Admiral as he crouched low in the back seat and then on the floor. Calamai cocked the machine gun and carefully aimed at the closest pursuer cutting across him with a single burst. The third cop stopped and spun around quickly to get out of range.
French border police were nervous but didn’t ask about the bullet holes in the back of the car or at least they pretended not to. The lieutenant said,
“The Spaniards are closing the border in less than one hour and they may agree to let you through but if they refuse you’ll have to return to Rabat or Casablanca. You cannot stay here.”
They drove a few hundred yards to the Spanish border post. After twenty minutes of haggling the Spanish officer finally agreed to call Tetouan airport and talk to the colonel in charge of security. The conversation was brief and the lieutenant suddenly snapped at attention as orders were barked at him. He immediately ordered the gate to open to let them through. By early morning Remo and Calamai were boarding an Italian SM 81 transport plane that landed at Trapani, in Sicily seven hours later after dodging several Spitfires that were escorting British convoys as they headed for the Algerian coast. That same morning thousands of American troops were landing at various beaches in Morocco as the big guns of the battleship Jean Bart fired at the ships at sea but couldn’t stop the invasion.