The Cana Mystery

Chapter 3

Surrounded by dramatic mountains of basalt, Sana’a has been inhabited for at least twenty-five hundred years. According to legend, it was founded by Noah’s son Shem after the Great Flood. Ava remembered Sana’a had been conquered by the Mamelukes in 1517 and again by the Ottomans under Sulieman the Magnificent. Fortunately, neither conquest resulted in the historic citadel’s destruction.

The plane landed and Ava breezed through customs. Mildly disappointed to find no welcoming committee, she waited as fellow passengers greeted friends, family, and business associates. Eventually, only Ava and a man remained at the gate. She regarded him furtively. His features had a distinctively vulpine aspect. Ava didn’t recognize him from the plane. He must be waiting for someone, but she was the only passenger left. Was he waiting for her? She tried to ask him, but when she approached, he retreated into the airport crowd. With a shrug, Ava hoisted her backpack and trekked to baggage claim.

Twenty minutes later she’d recovered her gigantic suitcase from the carousel. There was still no sign of Paul. She rested her bags on a bench of polished chrome and black vinyl and sat down to wait. After all, she reasoned, why should she hurry? They were paying her two thousand dollars a day. Almost ten minutes passed before her natural impatience gained the upper hand. Ava unlocked her phone and attempted to check her voice mail but she didn’t get service in Yemen.

Then she remembered Gabe’s satphone. It should work anywhere. Kneeling, she opened her suitcase and began searching through its contents. At that moment she caught a chilling reflection in the chrome of the bench. Ava froze. It was the man from the gate. Concealed behind a pillar, he was watching her.

As terror gripped her, Ava struggled to remain calm. She told herself there was nothing to fear. He was probably just a lonely guy who watched women in airports. She shut her suitcase, stood, and began dragging her bags toward the exit. As she neared the automatic glass doors, she again looked at her reflection. Was anyone behind her? She wasn’t sure. Then she saw him. He was following her out of the building. Heart pounding, Ava started to sweat. She tried to hurry, but the heavy suitcase anchored her in place. With all her might, Ava jerked it onto her hip, somehow curled her fingers beneath it, and jogged out the door. Yelling apologies in Arabic, she pushed to the front of the taxi line and threw herself into a waiting cab.

“Hotel,” she demanded. “Hurry!” The driver dropped his newspaper and turned the ignition. As the cab pulled away from the curb, Ava glanced back through the rear window. Her pursuer had disappeared.

The taxi deposited Ava at an expensive tourist lodging. She checked in, keeping the receipt for reimbursement. Lugging her heavy bags, a bellhop guided Ava to her room and left the key. She gave him a nice tip, mentally adding it to her travel-expense tally. Alone, Ava sat on the edge of the bed, heart still racing from the traumatic experience of being followed. She felt scared and vulnerable. Worse, she couldn’t decide if she’d overreacted. Was she a stereotypical American, fearful that every foreigner posed a threat?

Using the hotel phone, she called home. The call went straight to voicemail. Ava’s mother, Helen, never answered calls from unfamiliar numbers. After recording a brief message saying that she’d arrived safely, Ava hung up and wondered if that was true. Was she in danger? Maybe she was paranoid. Regardless, she’d make a poor first impression on Mr. DeMaj in this condition. She needed to decompress, and for Ava the best method was exercise. Whenever she stayed in a high-rise hotel she got a terrific workout sprinting up and down the stairs. Ava stripped off her floral dress and donned black running shorts, a white tank top, and pink Reeboks. She dropped her passport, room key, wallet, and Gabe’s satphone into a mini backpack, which she tied across her torso. Then, stretching her arms high above her head, she jogged into the hall and went in search of the stairwell.

In Ava’s opinion the exits were poorly marked. After two wrong turns, she was lost. Although she could read Arabic, no signs or arrows directed her to the stairs. “What should we do in case of fire?” she thought acidly to herself. As she neared the corner, the elevator’s bell rang. Ava relaxed. She’d just ride down to the lobby and ask the concierge about gym facilities, but when she turned, her heart jumped into her throat. The man from the airport had just exited the elevator. He was faced away from Ava, scanning room numbers. This wasn’t paranoia. He’d followed her here. As she watched, he began walking down the opposite hall. Ava counted three rapid heartbeats and — timing the automatic doors precisely — dashed into the elevator. She must have made a sound, because at the last instant the man turned. Dark eyes brimming with malice, he stared into her as the stainless-steel doors slid shut.

Several times Ava pounded the lobby button. Enduring the agonizingly slow descent, Ava curled her hands into fists and vowed to make the man pay dearly for anything he took. Finally, the bell rang and the doors opened. She peered out of the elevator. He wasn’t there. Never one to test fate, she ran past the startled bellhop to the front door.

“Gabe,” Ava shouted into the chunky black phone. “Gabe, please! I’m in trouble!” She didn’t want to mention the man following her, but she needed to convince him this was urgent. A long pause ensued. Was it a technical impediment or was Gabe making up his mind?

“Okay, Ava. What do you need?”

She gave silent thanks that she knew someone as savvy and loyal as Gabe. They’d met her sophomore year. Gabe lived in the dorm room directly above Ava’s. Her roommate had called the resident tutor to complain about a “psycho” upstairs who insisted on blasting electronica until five in the morning and apparently smoking clove cigarettes, in obvious violation of dorm rules. Gabe came down the next day to apologize. Ava answered the door in a damp sports bra and running shorts. Even now she grinned, remembering his geeky, endearing efforts to maintain eye contact. He stammered out his mea culpas and explained that he’d been up all night blogging (critiquing something called carnivore) and that whenever he got into his hacker zone he lost all concept of time, music volume, everything.

Except for the clove cigarettes, which he quit that year, and the fact that he’d risen to become a resident tutor himself, Gabe remained essentially the same sweet-natured guy. He was a little taller and heavier but just as bright, quirky, innocent, and lovable.

“My contact never showed at the airport. I need to find him and all I have is a phone number. I’m not even sure what continent he’s on. Can you help?”

“When was the last time you spoke?”

“Right before I left Boston.” When was that? It must have been at least twenty-four hours before, but she couldn’t be sure with all the time-zone changes. To Ava it seemed that a week had passed.

“Give me the number. I’ll work backward. Try to use GPS. You’re probably within signal-intercept range of Agios Nikolaos.”

“Of what?”

“Nothing. Forget I said it. You don’t want to know. Maintain plausible deniability.”

“Okay. Just try, Gabe. That’s all I ask.”

“I will, but if I can’t find anything, will you take the next plane home?”

“Maybe,” Ava replied, adding silently, “unless they’re still watching the airport.”

“I found him,” Gabe announced a short time later.

“Brilliant!”

“Or at least I found his phone. I can’t be certain he’s there. I have a satellite image of the location and the coordinates. It’s in Egypt, very remote. There appears to be some kind of settlement. Just a village, I guess, at the foot of Al-Qalzam Mountain. The closest town might be Al Zaafarana. Does any of that ring a bell?”

Ava ignored the question. “What’s the best way to get there?”

“Just a sec.” She knew his tone: frustrated. He thinks I should come home now, she thought. He’s probably right.

“I can book you a flight from Sana’a to Cairo. From there, I’m sure I can find ground transportation to the coordinates. Do you want—”

“No,” she said, remembering the close call at the airport. “I prefer not to fly. Egypt is just across the Red Sea. Can you find me a boat?”

“Call me back in thirty.”

Ava had every confidence that somehow Gabe would come through. I’m really going to owe him, she thought. Relying on Gabe was becoming a habit. Once, in college, he worked all night helping Ava translate Rongorongo glyphs. She worried they might lose touch after graduation, so she was thrilled to learn he’d be staying in Boston for grad school. For the hundredth time Ava wondered if that had been a coincidence. She knew Gabe could hack into any university’s admissions department, but with his credentials every top school wanted him anyway. Gabe had written a revolutionary program for her Ph.D. project on the Great Vowel Shift, a subject of interest to linguistics scholars and students of language evolution. Enthusiastic at first, lately she’d begun questioning if that subject would be her life’s work. “I guess that’s why I’m here,” she mused, “to find my calling.”

A half hour later, Gabe had a solution. “Hire a truck. Have the driver to take you to Al-Salif. It’s a fishing village just a few hours to your west. Of course, getting there might not be cheap.”

“No problem,” Ava lied. She had only about eight hundred dollars in cash, and she assumed few Yemeni truckers for hire took credit.

“I found a contact running fishing boats off Kamaran Island.” Where did he find these people? “He’ll meet you at the Al-Salif harbor. Look for a boat with two moons on its prow.”

“Two moons. Got it. You’re an angel!”

“Aw, shucks.”

“Oh, Gabe? Do the two-moons guys take plastic? I mean, can I pay with my AmEx?”

A pause, then: “It’s already done. A substantial amount of euros was transferred to their German bank, to be held in escrow. They’ll receive the access code after they deliver you safely to Egypt.”

“How did you—”

“Plausible deniability, Ava. Maintain plausible deniability.”

She arrived at the Red Sea port of Al-Salif just in time to witness a sunset of lyrical beauty. She paid her driver and walked to the harbor, seeking a boat with two moons on the prow. Were they full moons? Half moons? Crescent moons? Gabe hadn’t specified. Ava feared she’d never find the proper watercraft. As it turned out, she needn’t have worried. The mustached Yemeni captain spotted her easily. Few American tourists visited Al-Salif. Furthermore, Ava remained conspicuously garbed in her flimsy tank top, running shorts, and sneakers. She resolved to obtain culturally appropriate — and warmer — attire at the earliest opportunity.

The captain ferried her across the bay to Kamaran Island. Because they couldn’t depart until morning, he offered her accommodations in a traditional Tihama hut, just steps from the seashore. Ava was charmed. Islanders played music and cooked on the beach. She met several Europeans who’d come to scuba-dive on the reefs and around historic shipwrecks. They were having a grand time and invited her to join them. As she mingled, a donkey wandered over and sniffed her neck. She wondered how she must smell. It had been awhile since she’d washed. An island boy, wearing a faded San Antonio Spurs jersey, gave her the thumbs-up sign and said: “America!”

Ava responded in fluent Arabic. “Salaam aleikum,” she said, and asked him if there was a clothing store nearby. Surprised, he pointed to the dive shop.

She attempted to purchase a change of clothes, but the shop sold only bathing suits and T-shirts. Ava shrugged and bought one of each. At least they were clean. She wandered back to the beach and accepted a plate of grilled fish. Sitting on a stone bench appointed with colorful, embroidered cushions, she watched dolphins splash happily in the bay. The food was succulent and delicious.

After dinner Ava hiked among the ruins of a Portuguese fort predating the island’s sixteenth-century Ottoman conquest. She found a private spot, removed the satphone from her backpack, and called the hotel in Sana’a. Claiming a family emergency, she asked the receptionist if the staff could store her luggage until she returned.

“That won’t be necessary,” came the answer. “Your husband collected your belongings this afternoon.”

“My husband?”

“Yes, ma’am. He sounded extremely concerned. Can you give me your location? Is there somewhere he can reach you?”

Ava hung up. Drained, she retired to her hut and crawled under the mosquito netting but couldn’t stay asleep. Wild camels roamed the island’s interior. Whenever one snorted or bucked, Ava snapped awake, certain that evil men had found her.

At dawn the captain was surprised to find his American passenger packed and ready. He and a crewman helped her cross the narrow gangplank. After they cast off, he showed Ava to a tiny cabin, then left. Ava yawned. The jet lag and stress were catching up with her. All morning she’d been making cognitive errors, speaking ungrammatically, misjudging distances. She closed the cabin door and turned the latch, locking herself in. The bunk was wedged against the gunwale and smelled of dried fish. Outside, she heard gulls’ cries. Waves washed gently and regularly against the hull. As the boat entered the Red Sea, Ava nodded off.

When she woke up, the boat was in the Gulf of Suez. Ava went on deck to bask in the glorious afternoon sun. As they passed the ancient lighthouse at Ras Gharib, she watched the ship’s wake trace a long, chalky path over the sapphire swells.

At dusk they docked at Al Zaafarana, on the Egyptian coast. The experienced crew snuck her ashore with little fanfare and no difficulty. After thanking them profusely, Ava called Gabe to confirm her arrival. She handed the phone to the captain, and Gabe transmitted the authorization code, releasing the funds held in escrow. The captain smiled.

Satisfied that Ava was safe, Gabe told her that he’d reserved a room for her at the Sahara Inn. “Thank you so much,” she said warmly. In the hotel’s gift shop, Ava exchanged a substantial portion of her dwindling cash for some conservative khaki shorts, a white T-shirt, and sunglasses. She found her room, bathed, and slept. The next morning, she rose early and hired a taxi for the ride inland.

“Ava? Ava! What are you doing here?”

“What do you think I’m doing? Going on safari? You invited me! You paid for my stupid plane ticket!”

“But why are you in Egypt? You’re supposed to be in Yemen. How the hell did you find me?”

“I have friends in high places. Now you answer my questions. Why didn’t you meet me at the airport? Why are you hiding in a monastery? And most important, why is someone following me?”

Paul’s face clouded. “What man?” Ava saw that he was greatly disturbed by her questions, and Paul didn’t scare easily. This wasn’t good. She was becoming more and more frightened. It didn’t feel like an adventure anymore. Ava dropped the tough act.

“A dangerous-looking man intercepted me in Sana’a. He must have known my flight number. He followed me to my hotel, but I lost him in the Salt Market.”

Paul was stunned. “Ava,” he said, “it’s all gone to hell. I don’t understand what’s happening. People have been killed. I hoped that if I didn’t show at the airport, you’d just turn around, fly home, and rack up a few thousand frequent-flyer miles. I don’t want you to be in danger.”

“Wait, did you say killed?”

“At least seven people are dead. Two were just kids. It’s awful.” Paul looked like he might cry. Ava was terrified now. He continued, “It’s all about the damn jars. I had no idea he’d go so far. I mean, I thought we were friends. I knew he was ambitions, but this is beyond ambition. He’s obsessed! I never—”

“Wait a second, Paul. Are you talking about the jars from the legend?”

“Yes,” he said. “We found the lost jars of Cana. They exist. They’re real.”