Three Kings of Casablanca: The Trek to Treasure

By Rock DiLisio

It is post World War II and the world is returning to normality. It is a time of exploration and Professor Marshall Mane, archaeologist and hero in the recent conflict, decides it is time to become a hunter of history. The history that he searches for is one that has fascinated him since childhood. Now with the means and the authority, he ventures off to answer the burning question: do the gifts of the Magi still exist?

His research leads him to the always enchanting country of Morocco. Casablanca, to be more specific, is the base of operation and the mystique that surrounds the famous city is very much in evidence. He enlists the assistance of a lovely, yet feisty, Italian archaeological colleague and a Moroccan museum director in his burning quest for answers. Little do they know that their search will be severely hindered by a secretive, international organization that just so happens to be on the same trail.

It is 1947. The mystery, enchantment and romance of French Morocco abounds in a story of adventure and intrigue. The quest is priceless. The combination is potent.

Have you ever been to Casablanca?

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Nov 13, 2003
• ISBN: 9781469728216

Rock DiLisio

Rock DiLisio’s other books in this archaeology adventure series include: Three Kings of Casablanca, Stone of the Sahara and Palace of the Pharaoh

Book preview

THREE KINGS OF

CASABLANCA

The Trek to Treasure

Rock DiLisio

iUniverse, Inc.

New York Lincoln Shanghai

Three Kings of Casablanca

The Trek to Treasure

All Rights Reserved © 2003 by Rock DiLisio

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means,

graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping, or by

any information storage retrieval system, without the written permission of the

publisher.

iUniverse, Inc.

For information address:

iUniverse, Inc.

2021 Pine Lake Road, Suite 100

Lincoln, NE 68512

www.iuniverse.com

This is a work of fiction. All characters are solely the product of the author’s

imagination and any similarity between these characters and actual people, living or

deceased, is purely coincidental. As is any similarities to other fictional characters.

ISBN: 0-595-29696-3 (pbk)

ISBN: 0-595-66038-X (cloth)

ISBN: 978-1-4697-2821-6(ebook)

Printed in the United States of America

Contents

The Gospel According To Matthew

THE NEW AMERICAN BIBLE

Morocco

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

Dedicated to the veterans of World War II for their

heroic efforts and to the people ofMorocco for allowing

us to use their enchanting country as a back drop.

Run. Run with me. Stay in step. Keep going. Never give up. I have

only one path to lead you to…the one they call Right.

—THE LEADER

The Gospel According To Matthew  

NEW TESTAMENT

The Visit of the Magi

When Jesus was born in Bethlehem of Judea, in the days of King Herod, behold, magi from the east arrived in Jerusalem, saying, Where is the newborn king of the Jews? We saw his star at its rising and have come to do him homage.

When King Herod heard this, he was greatly troubled, and all Jerusalem with him. Assembling all the chief priests and the scribes of the people, he inquired of them where the Messiah was to be born. They said to him, "In Bethlehem of Judea, for thus it has been written through the prophet:

‘And you, Bethlehem, land of Judah, are by no means least among the rulers of Judah; since from you shall come a ruler, who is to shepherd my people Israel.’

Then Herod called the magi secretly and ascertained from them the star’s appearance. He sent them to Bethlehem and said, Go and search diligently for the child. When you have found him, bring me word, that I too may go and do him homage.

After their audience with the king they set out. And behold, the star that they had seen at its rising preceded them, until it came and stopped over the place where the child was. They were overjoyed at seeing the star, and on entering the house they saw the child with Mary his mother.

They prostrated themselves and did him homage. Then they opened their treasures and offered him gifts of gold, frankincense and myrrh. And having been warned in a dream not to return to Herod, they departed for their country by another way.

THE NEW AMERICAN BIBLE  

St. Joseph Edition

The Epiphany

The Epiphany, also known as the Feast of the Three Kings, Feast of Lights and Little Christmas, is known to have been observed earlier than 194 A.D., is older than Christmas and, technically, is more important, ranking after Easter and Pentecost.

The feast is celebrated on January 6th by the Anglican, Eastern and Roman Catholic churches. In western churches, Epiphany commemorates principally the revelation to the Gentiles of Christ as the Savior, as portrayed by the coming of the three Wise Men. The Wise Men, Kings or Magi, as they are so known, bestowed the most famous gifts ever given. Gold, frankincense and myrrh.

The Epiphany was assigned the date of January 6th after the Nativity (which had been celebrated on this day) was moved back to December 25th. The change was made in the 4th century A.D.

The Epiphany is also the 12th day of Christmas (Christmas Day being the 1st day). In England on this day, which is also called Twelfth Night or Twelfth Day, the King or Queen offers gold, frankincense and myrrh at the alter of the Chapel Royal, at St. James Palace.

In Italy, the day is known as La Befana. On January 6th, a female gift bearer, called La Befana, fills the stockings of the children and brings small gifts to all. The gift giving symbolizes the gifts of the Magi on this day.

In the Eastern church, the Epiphany is also recognized as the anniversary of the baptism of Christ.

Morocco  

Brief History and Geography

Morocco was the largest of the Barbary states, occupying the northwestern corner of Africa. It has coastlines on both the Atlantic Ocean and the Mediterranean Sea, which are joined by the Straight of Gibraltar.

Berbers were the original inhabitants of the area, followed by the Carthaginians, Romans and Arabs. In 1912, it was divided into two zones; French and Spanish Protectorates. The Tangier international zone came into force in 1925. Morocco was governed in this manner until 1956 when independence was granted.

Our story is set in the French Protectorate shortly after World War II. Before and during the Second World War, the cities of Casablanca, Tangier and Marrakech were hotbeds of military intelligence gathering for both Allied and Axis agents. The post-war activity switched to the gathering of information for economic and scientific gains.

CHAPTER 1 

Casablanca:

The City of Enchantment

MOROCCO, 1947

I found my way to one of Casablanca’s many establishments of strong spirits. I’ve been here before,…the year and reason I cannot tell you. As many times that I’ve passed through northern Africa, the trips all seem to run together. This city of white houses has been a frequent stopover during trips to Egypt and destinations east and it always seems to draw you back. Back to one of the world’s most mysterious cities, with countless languages, religions, ethnicities and nationalities. It’s certainly enchanting, but it is work that has me here on this occasion.

I exhaustingly sat myself at the bar, not even bothering to remove my hat. The bartender walked towards me wiping clean a glass. He was a Moroccan and he glared at me as though he knew all of his patrons well, and…I certainly wasn’t one of them.

‘You look familiar.’ he said quietly as he leaned on the bar. ‘American, no doubt.’

‘No doubt.’ I answered. ‘What gave me away?’

‘What will you have, Yank?’ he replied while sliding a tumbler towards me.

‘The Yank will have a bourbon.’

‘I see that you are not afraid of saying that too loud.’ the bartender answered while peering towards a group of four unsavory looking characters that sat a few tables over.

‘Should I be?’ I asked while using my peripheral vision so not to seem obvious.

‘Let’s just say that the eyes in the back of your head should be working as well,.. .Mr. Archaeologist.’

‘Very perceptive of you,’ was my reply as the drink was poured.

‘It is my business to be so,.. .nothing more,’ he answered.

‘Well, thanks for the information. By the way, if a courier happens to bring in a telegram, you know where to find me.’

I sat reading a local French paper for the next fifteen minutes before a thin teenager with a turban entered the front door and handed an envelope to the bartender. The bartender brought over the telegram and I opened it immediately.

m

June 7, 1947

Marshall,

My research indicates that you are on the right path. You needn’t leave

Casablanca.

God speed.

Prof. Sulmona Confetti

Abruzzi, Italy

An uncontrollable smile crossed my face. My colleague, Sulmona Confetti, is as beautiful as the research that she provides. Her knowledge of ancient biblical artifacts is unsurpassed in Europe and her assurance is all that I really needed to justify my trip here. I folded the telegram and placed it into my vest pocket, continued my reading and worked on my drink. Surveying the room was always a habit of mine, but this time, my interest was certainly with the foursome sitting behind me to my right. They appeared to be locals, but I really couldn’t tell. They paid little attention to my presence, but I could sense an occasional stare that felt like a knife blade against the back of my neck.

I finished the bourbon with a quick swig, left the bartender a generous tip, and began to walk casually towards the front door. I noticed that one of the four rose and began to follow, but was quickly detained by the bartender requesting that the tab be taking care of before departing. A brief argument ensued and the diversion was enough for me to find my way to the crowded street, which was all that I really needed. The city streets of Pittsburgh had given me the uncanny knack of wading swiftly through a crowd of pedestrians. I knew that I had lost him and I never looked back.

It was still mid-afternoon and the hot Moroccan sun beat down upon the swelling streets of humanity. The merchants worked casually in the traditional markets, known as Souks, dressed in their long, hooded robes or djellabas. They sold their wares in the storefronts and on the boisterous streets without any apparent notice of the heat. Their wicker baskets filled with figs, tangerines, olives and bananas, mixed their sweet aromas with the comforting equivalent aromas of such spices as saffron and cumin. The combination of these smells announced Morocco.

I found my way to the white-washed, stucco building which contained my week-to-week rented apartment, now in its third lease term, and walked towards the steps for my three floor climb. As I did, I was stopped by a motioning hand of the building owner who sat behind his little brown desk in the lobby.

‘Professor Mane. Good afternoon,’ the small, balding man of about fifty said as he dug through a desk drawer.

‘Good afternoon, Mr. Raimon. What can I do for you?’ I replied walking up to the desk.

‘A visitor was here to see you. A man,…he mentioned he was from the museum. I have his name written down somewhere.’ he said as he continued to fumble through the paper-filled drawers. ‘Ah! Here it is! Bascarma was his name.’

‘I was expecting him.’ I answered.

‘He mentioned that he shall return at around six.’

‘Very well, I should be here this time. Thank you, Mr. Raimon.’ I flipped him a U.S. quarter, which he aggressively caught.

‘At your service, Professor,’ he said as he buried the quarter deep into his pocket.

I caught a quick nap and awoke around 5:30, which gave me just enough time to prepare for my meeting with Bascarma. I gathered my books and maps and laid them out on the table that doubled as my desk. Spartan was certainly the rule for this apartment. It contained a bed, table and make-shift bathroom. A knock at the door came around ten to the hour.

‘Professor Marshall Mane. It is Bascarma.’ came a strong voice from the opposite side of the plank wood. I opened the door and shook his hand.

‘Thanks for coming.’ I said to the Moroccan, who appeared to be in his forties and was about my size, as well as age. He wore a beige, tweed suit and a small hat. I found the beard that he sported to be a bit much for the heat of Morocco.

‘I stopped by earlier at lunch, but you were not here. I had to pay your inn keeper downstairs simply to ensure you had even