After a delightful dinner, Martin, Nolan, Emma Thomas, and Mordecai made their way upstairs together, the atmosphere still humming with the remnants of their lively conversation.
"You must visit my home when you come to Casablanca," Mordecai offered with genuine enthusiasm. "It would be my pleasure to host you."
Martin responded with a warm smile, "Professor, your hospitality is truly generous."
Nolan chimed in, "I'll certainly consider it for my next filming venture in Morocco."
Mordecai's sincerity shone through. "Perhaps you could stop by Casablanca on your way out of Morocco."
Nolan, appreciating the gesture, politely declined.
Exiting the elevator first, Mordecai headed to his room, while Martin and Nolan continued to the upper floor.
Back in his room, Bruce rummaged through his bag and presented Martin with Professor Mordecai's gift. Martin unwrapped it to find a piece of ancient Moroccan coral, its intricate patterns telling stories of the deep sea.
"It's beautiful," Bruce remarked, clearly impressed.
Martin, examining the coral, handed it back. "Please keep it safe," he said, before heading off to shower.
Emerging refreshed, Martin was greeted by a call from Thomas, who had exciting news. The adaptation of "The Martian" was nearly finalized. Drawing on their experience with "Gone Girl," Davis Studio planned to recommend the novel to Random House for publishing, followed by a film adaptation.
After the call, Martin mused aloud, "The folks at the FBI are really remarkable."
Bruce, curious, inquired, "Which novel is that good?"
Martin fetched the manuscript and handed it to Bruce. "Give it a read; it's quite something."
Bruce, unfamiliar with the context, responded jokingly, "I'd rather you kill me."
Martin retorted with a laugh, "You scoundrel!"
---
In the shadows of the night, an unassuming van pulled up in a dimly lit area near the hotel. One by one, several women boarded the vehicle.
Inside, the plain-looking female assistant stood by a smooth metal wall, upon which a detailed floor plan of the hotel was displayed.
Giselle and three others entered the van, their movements precise and coordinated.
"Have you made the arrangements?" the assistant asked Giselle in French.
Giselle nodded affirmatively. "I'll head up in thirty minutes."
The assistant handed over a lipstick. "This contains a sedative. It acts quickly and ensures a deep sleep throughout the night."
Giselle inspected the lipstick carefully, ensuring its appearance was unaltered.
Another woman retrieved a large trolley case from a compartment.
"After you've completed your task, we'll disguise ourselves as guests on the same floor and bring the case upstairs," the assistant explained.
Giselle examined the case. "Mordecai is rather slim; he should fit, but I'll need assistance to move him."
She knew well that handling an unconscious body was no easy feat. Even with training, it was a challenge for one person alone.
The assistant assured her, "We'll be there to help you."
Giselle approached the hotel's floor plan, her finger tracing a route as she outlined their escape. "This is a seldom-used freight elevator, mostly idle from 11 PM to 5 AM. We'll retreat using this, exit through the side back door where goods are unloaded, and then head east. Ouarzazate is close to the Algerian border, where we have a contact waiting for us."
The group of women listened intently, committing every detail to memory.
The female assistant added a crucial reminder, "Remember, we must communicate in French at all times. If anything unforeseen occurs, we are French nationals!"
"Understood," Giselle acknowledged, ensuring her lipstick was securely hidden before stepping out of the van. She blended seamlessly into the hotel's bustling atmosphere as she made her way to the guest elevator.
While waiting, Mene, clad in black, emerged from the elevator. His eyes caught Giselle's presence instantly. "Good evening," he greeted her with a friendly smile.
Giselle, maintaining her composure, smiled back. "Heading out for some fresh air?"
Mene's grin widened, revealing a flash of white teeth. "The hotel gets a bit stifling. A walk seems nice."
As the elevator doors began to close, Giselle quickly pressed the button to hold them. Pointing inside, she said, "I'm going up."
"Goodbye then," Mene responded, stepping aside.
Once inside the elevator, Giselle's thoughts were already racing ahead to the task at hand.
Mene, walking away, couldn't help but ponder Mordechai's personal life. 'Why not someone his own age? What's the appeal of someone so much younger?' he mused, shaking his head.
Outside the hotel, Mene checked his watch. Realizing he had time to spare, he plugged headphones into his phone and began listening to French lessons, preparing for his role alongside Isabelle Huppert.
Although Mene had reached a pinnacle in his career largely through his natural talent and Martin's endorsement, he admired Martin's dedication and committed himself wholeheartedly to every role.
Lost in his studies, time flew by unnoticed. The ring of his phone eventually pulled Mene back to reality. It was Emma Thomas. He answered but waited for her to speak.
"Chris and I are tied up with something. Go ahead and find a secluded spot; I'll meet you there," Emma's voice instructed through the receiver. "Stay close to the hotel."
"No problem," Mene replied before she hung up.
He stored his headphones and surveyed the area. The quietest spot nearby was undoubtedly behind the hotel, where trees offered cover and darkness was ensured by the absence of street lights. It was perfect - secluded yet secure, close to the hotel's watchful eyes.
Mene headed towards this secluded spot, his thoughts filled with anticipation of meeting Emma Thomas. As he neared the back door of the hotel, a van caught his eye. He paused, hiding behind a tree to observe. If it was occupied, he would find another spot. If not, the area behind the van would provide the perfect blend of privacy and open air.
---
Back in the hotel suite, Giselle emerged from the bathroom, wrapped in a towel, to find Mordecai sound asleep on the sofa, a victim of the sedative. She quickly changed into her clothes, approached Mordecai, and gave him a light shake. "Professor! Professor!" she called, but he remained unresponsive, snoring heavily.
Satisfied he wouldn't awaken, Giselle retrieved her phone from her bag and dialed a number, hanging up after three rings as a signal.
Peering through the peephole, she saw the quiet corridor. She waited behind the door, ready for her accomplices' arrival.
In the van, the female assistant tucked away her phone, opened the partition window, and gave a gentle nod to the driver, signaling the next phase of their plan.
The female assistant directed the other two women to exit the van. One of them stepped out, surveying the pitch-black surroundings. Speaking in French, she confirmed, "All clear. Let's move quickly."
Handing over a large suitcase, the assistant cautioned, "Be careful with the wheels on this rough terrain. Despite Mordecai's slim build, he's still a man. A broken wheel would make moving him difficult and draw unwanted attention."
The women carefully maneuvered the suitcase.
Meanwhile, the assistant and her companion exited the van, closing the trunk before making their way towards the hotel's main entrance.
Mene, concealed in the shadows behind a tree, remained motionless. His experiences alongside Martin had honed his instincts. His talent for blending into the darkness made him virtually undetectable.
As the women moved away, Mene exhaled slowly and followed them discreetly, phone in hand. He overheard their conversation in French, pondering the implications. 'Is something amiss with the crew? I'm the second lead, after all,' he thought. Aware of his responsibility, he couldn't ignore potential danger to the crew, especially recognizing one of the women as a set assistant.
The target was Professor Mordechai. Mene recalled seeing Giselle, who seemed close to the professor, conversing secretly with the female assistant.
Piecing together these clues, Mene followed the women into the hotel lobby and discreetly observed them entering an elevator. Acting nonchalantly, he sauntered into the hotel and casually walked towards another elevator, keeping an eye on the suspicious group.
The elevator carrying the women stopped at the floor housing Professor Mordechai and the British actors. Mene quickly boarded another lift, rushing to Martin's floor. He pounded on Martin's door urgently.
Bruce opened the door, surprised. "Weren't you on a date?"
Mene hurried inside, closing the door. "Boss, something's happened," he blurted out, summarizing his observations and suspicions.
"Why would they kidnap the professor?" Mene wondered aloud.
Martin, already dialing his phone, instructed, "Check with the director and producer first."
"Aren't we going over there?" Mene asked.
Bruce interjected, "Are we supposed to get shot? This is Africa."
As Martin left, he recalled Nolan's mention of Mordechai's upcoming trip to Tehran. Could there be a connection? The proximity of North Africa to the Middle East and their complex relations crossed his mind.
Reaching Nolan's door, Martin knocked. Nolan, surprised, greeted them. "What's the issue?"
Inside, Mene quickly relayed the situation. Emma Thomas and Nolan listened intently, both puzzled.
"I don't know," Nolan admitted, his calm demeanor belying his inexperience with such matters. He turned to Martin, "You've dealt with similar situations. What should we do?"
Martin didn't hesitate. "If we let them take the professor, it could spell trouble for us and result in a prolonged Moroccan investigation."
He continued, "The production crew's bodyguards and Moroccan security personnel are armed and stationed on the lower floors. Notifying them should stop these women."
Nolan, recognizing Martin's expertise, urged him to elaborate.
Martin suggested, "We could document the entire process. Imagine, Chris, a film director personally resolving a kidnapping during a shoot..."
Nolan, understanding the potential publicity, agreed, "That does make sense."
"The decision is yours and Emma's," Martin deferred, recalling Nolan's reference to Mordechai's expertise in centrifuges.
Nolan, adept at balancing skill with marketing, made the call. "Let's do it."
He began dialing, ready to mobilize the necessary personnel.