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             White Slave Market



  The twins, Tommy & Molly, are participating in a high school scholastic competition being held in Marrakesh, Morocco. Tommy's soccer teammate, Mustafa, is a homeboy raised in the souks of Marrakesh and has been playing tour guide for his friends.


  On their last day in town a group of them are visiting an old Moroccan outdoor market when they witnessed two friends being dealt a fate worse than death. The friends, German blonds, were being kidnapped by a Moroccan cabal know for supplying the sex-slave market with innocent young women.


  Our heroes immediately spring into action in order to save their friends.


  How they accomplish their objective will have you standing and cheering in the isles. This story combines cunning and brute force and delivers a rock solid narrative punch. Once again the resourcefulness and problem-solving by this extraordinary group of friends keeps you turning the pages.


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  A block from the ancient Colosseum stands the Basilica Santa Maria Maggiore. This huge church has occupied the same spot since 350 ad and is one of four Roman Catholic patriarchal basilicas in Rome.


  Today, inside the Basilica Santa Maria Maggiore, his Eminence Cardinal Angelo Fruscatti is celebrating a special, invitation only, High Mass commemorating a miracle that happened here 1500 years ago. The recipients of the must-attend invites were the top echelon of the vast local international diplomatic community.


  I recognize 22 ambassadors among the hundreds of attendees fighting to stay awake and alert inside the sweltering confines of the church. It's early August and the temperature outside the thick walls of the basilica registers a blistering 96 degrees. Inside it's easily 10 degrees hotter.


  That's why I'm stripped down to my underwear. I figure that if I have to be here I might as well be as comfortable as possible.


  I'm sure you're wondering how I could be attending a Cardinal High Mass in my underwear. If you looked towards the altar you'd see two young altar boys wearing the traditional floor length heavy woolen cassock. We're not hard to spot. Of the 14 of us up there we are the only two under 75 years of age.


  My name's Tommy and I'm on the left shaking the bells. My buddy Fidel is on the right swinging the incense. We're up there because our dads are the Ambassadors from our respective countries...me from the USA and Fidel from Cuba...and we both know all the High Mass responses in Latin.


  I also knew how hot it was going to get today so I stripped down to my underwear before donning my cassock.


  I'm almost naked but sweat still pours off me. I can only imagine how uncomfortable Fidel must be. He had refused to shed his dress shirt, tie and gaberdine slacks.


  But my sweat isn't just from the sweltering weather. During the last Kyrie I gave the bells a little something extra which resulted in a stern look from the Cardinal. I'm feeling heat from the altar as well. So I'm keeping my head down and responding by rote. If I tick off the Cardinal he'll jump down my dad's throat and I don't want him to do that. My dad's one of the good guys.


  Then the lethargic flow of the mass is interrupted by a startled gasp coming from the pews behind me. I turn slightly to my right in order to glance behind and I see Fidel lying face down on the altar steps.


  The dude's fainted from the heat!


  Without shifting my head I glanced back up to my left to gauge the Cardinal's reaction. I catch him scanning the scene and then ignoring it as he genuflects and prepares to “consume the body and blood of Christ”.


  OK...the Cardinal's going to pass on worrying about Fidel so I might as well take his lead and pass too...but not before making sure that the incense censer that Fidel was swinging had landed upright. Yup. Upright and still smoking. Well done, Fidel.


  I turn and face Cardinal Fruscatti just as he takes a bite out of Christ and washes it down with a gulp of blood.


  But none of that registers because I'm thinking about the fun that I'm gonna have with what just happened. Fidel is one of my best friends and a stud on the futbol pitch. But he just fainted in front of God, Cardinal Fruscatti and all the dips. The Italians have a saying “rompi palli” or “bust balls”. I wonder what the Cubans call it? Probably something similar. I know I'm gonna find out. Hee...hee.


  I hear a stirring to my right and out of the corner of my eye I see a dazed Fidel push himself upright and back on to his knees. He takes a second to digest what had just happened and then sheepishly glances over to me. I can't help but grin. He knows that some day his great- grand kids are going to hear about his high-mass-header. He can only shake his head, stare up at the altar and curse the irony that of all the altar boys in Rome, he had to faint in front of me...his teammate on the school futbol team and best friend.


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