The following day’s quest was touring an extravagant and expensive mosque in Rabat that cost all the poor people in Morocco any sort of decent housing. That’s just standard human behavior. If you are wealthy, your purpose in life is to extract any sort of hope out of poor people by having them clean your toilets and fight your wars. The next city was Tangiers, where all the English spies hung out during WWII and drank mint tea laced with alcohol. Walking around and killing time until the ferry extracted the troops and dumped them back in Spain, the group knew that the camaraderie they experienced was coming to an end. It would back to the same old grind. Later that day, the bus dropped them off in Grenada, and they all retired to their rooms as the division broke down to their personal squads. Hugs and handshakes terminated the TF troops. The next morning after breakfast, the small bus on its return run back to Madrid was loaded with Catherine, the Brazilians, Joe, and the interpreter who resided there. The rest were being flown back to their hub airports never to be seen again. Phone numbers and addresses were exchanged the night before; but, within 6 months, the papers they were written on would be crumpled up and tossed as people return to their perches on the planet earth and watch their futures dwindle. Such is life. The driver of the small bus made no stops and raced at Mach 2 to get his clients to the Madrid Airport in time for their connecting flights out of Paris. Joe had a special bond with his Chilean English teacher and the very well-educated, Sao Paulo judge over the last 2 weeks. Joe would write to them. As they separated at Charles de Gaulle Airport for different gates, their bodies disappeared into the crowds. Joe and Catherine wrote twice in a year’s time while the judge never responded. After that, the sands of time obliterated all future correspondence as these 2 were sucked up into the winds of life and drifted to wherever fate propelled them.