The Cana Mystery

Chapter 7

Ava woke with a start. Paul was gone. The sun was already high in the sky. It had to be at least ten in the morning. She checked the clock: ten forty-five. “The idiots must have forgotten our wake-up call,” she said out loud. Furious, Ava jumped out of bed and was packing when she heard a knock at the door.

“Room service.”

She didn’t believe that for a second. Beginning to panic, she scanned the room for an exit but saw no options. The door to the adjoining room was locked. Could she jump from the balcony?

“Room service, madam.”

Could she tie sheets together and climb down to the balcony below? Ava started to strip the bed but immediately a key entered the lock. She froze. Hearing the cylinder click, she crouched behind the bed. Where was Paul’s knife? In the drawer maybe? As the door opened, Ava poked up her head, barely over the edge. An Egyptian wearing tan slacks, a red coat, and a bow tie entered the room. He wheeled in a cart laden with tea, orange juice, rolls, muffins, fresh fruit, and what smelled like scrambled eggs and bacon.

“Madam?” he asked, eyeing her curiously. He lifted the silver cover from a hot plate. The aroma was divine.

“Mister Paul, he order breakfast. He say you want karkade tea. You want coffee too?”

Still poised to sprint for the door, Ava watched him like a hawk. She said nothing.

“Okay,” said the confused waiter. “No coffee today. Enjoy!”

Forcing a polite smile, he backed out of the room as quickly as courtesy permitted.

Once he was gone Ava cautiously approached the breakfast platter. She sniffed the fruit cup. No hint of poison, but many were odorless.

Then she heard Paul’s voice in the hall. Of course he was laughing about something. Ava fumed.

Clean-shaven and sporting new attire, Paul entered. “Hey, the waiter is really sorry he woke you. He said you looked a little—”

“Paul, you moron! Did you even set a wake-up call? Why are we still here? They could find the jars any second! What in God’s name made you think we have the time or the money for room service? You remember that they have machine guns, right? Do you by any chance remember that they’re trying to kill us?”

“You needed sleep! They don’t know we’re—”

“But how long will it take them to figure it out? A day? Gabe says they’re monitoring our communications. They saw the bus. They probably stopped it. The driver might not talk, but surely one of the pilgrims will. If they know we got off in El Wasta, they may have already found Akhmim. He’ll tell them we went to Giza. Do you think he’d die to keep that secret? He has a wife and kids!” Ava started crying. “Paul, if we slow down, we get caught. If we get caught, we die.”

Ava refused to eat breakfast, and Paul refused to leave it behind. He packed the fruit and bread into plastic bags that he found in the hotel closet and stuffed them inside his backpack. An uncomfortable silence ensued as they waited for the elevator. With a carafe of orange juice in one hand, a pot of tea in the other, and a heaping plate of eggs and bacon wedged between his arm and his body, Paul looked and felt ridiculous.

The elevator opened. An elderly, well-dressed couple was inside. The man and woman smiled. Then their eyebrows arched as they noticed what Paul was carrying. “Picnic lunch?” the woman asked.

Paul tried not to grin. He glanced at Ava beseechingly.

“We’re, um…” she tried to explain, as a smile crept across her face. “We’re in a really big hurry to see the pyramids.” Despite herself, she stifled a giggle. Paul was struggling to hold back laughter.

The woman replied, “Oh, you needn’t hurry, lass. Been there for centuries, haven’t they?”

“Longer!” Her husband boomed enthusiastically. “Ten thousand years, I say.” Paul could take no more. His laughter erupted in the elevator. Ava laughed too. Maybe she’d been a little harsh. She knew she was right, but she didn’t need to kick in his teeth.

They rode down to the lobby, said their good-byes, exited the hotel, and headed for the river. Behind them, the Englishwoman shook her head. “Newlyweds!”

A radiant African sun cooked the ancient city. Paul understood why Egyptians had worshipped the sun as a god. The Americans arrived at the waterfront. Despite Ava’s concerns, Ammon and Sefu were waiting at the agreed location, and the two canvas-covered packages looked undisturbed.

After everyone exchanged greetings, Paul noticed the teens eyeing his food. Reserving the bacon and juice for himself, Paul handed over the tea, rolls, fruit, and eggs. The hungry boys wolfed them down in seconds. Breakfast complete, Ammon ceremoniously presented Paul with an envelope full of Egyptian banknotes. Ava shot him a questioning glance.

“He sold my watch. They knew a man who’d give a good price for it.”

“TAG Heuer,” said Sefu reverently. “Aquaracer.”

As the teens unmoored the skiff and shoved away from the pier, Ava gave Paul a gentle look.

“Ah, what the hell?” he said, grinning. “It was a gift from Simon. I didn’t want it anymore. Besides,” he added, raising his voice as Ammon revved the engine and launched them into the channel, “we need the money.”

The boys were showing off, keeping the throttle wide open and zigzagging between larger watercraft. Sailors yelled and cursed when they almost swamped an antique-looking dhow. Nervous at first, Ava soon adapted to the boys’ frenetic navigation. She took a fatalistic approach. If it was her time, she’d rather leave behind an obituary that said “Graduate student dies in spectacular Cairo speedboat crash” than “Lonely, cautious woman dies of natural causes.”

Paul had convinced her that, under the circumstances, woolen robes were superfluous. The strong breeze made it impossible to keep on a hood. Plus, they were hot and itchy. Ava was far more comfortable in her running shorts and her white T-shirt from Kamaran Island. She stretched out at the bow, enjoying the brilliant sun, the scenery, and the occasional refreshing splash of cool water. Paul noticed the boys admiring Ava’s clothing and wondered how many splashes were accidental.

They cruised past Gezira Island. As she regarded the Zamalek District’s swanky high-rises, Ava pondered what response to send Gabe. She took his warning that big brother was listening as a certainty. It went along with what Paul had explained about Simon’s methods. Having installed network infrastructure for several Middle Eastern nations, Simon had access to all manner of data streams. Naturally, he employed a team of crypto experts in Yemen to keep his own communications secure and occasionally to snoop on the competition. She decided to keep it short, sweet, and false: “Got message. Thx. In Cairo. Driving south to Luxor 2nite. Say hi to James.”

Ava sent the text and then turned off the phone to conserve its battery. The skiff crossed under the steel Imbaba Bridge. From this point, the Mediterranean coast was less than two hundred kilometers away, but because the river twisted and curved back on itself like a coiled cobra, the actual distance traveled would be greater. Once they were sixteen kilometers downstream, Ammon reduced speed to twenty knots, veered west, and headed for the Nile’s Rasheed branch.

While the boys argued about drag racing, Ava meticulously applied SPF 25 to her arms, legs, and neck. She tanned easily, but a full afternoon of direct Egyptian sun, even in the cooler February air, was too much for any Anglo. Paul took the hint, accepted a thick dollop, and slathered his exposed areas. He added a filthy baseball cap to shade his face.

When Ava gave him a look he said: “It’s my lucky cap.”

“Superstitious nonsense,” she muttered.

After three long hours on the water, Ammon cut the engine and docked near the farming village of Gezai. Paul gave the boys some Egyptian pounds and the teens jumped ashore to buy supplies. Meanwhile, Ava reclined, bathing in sunlight. Silence dominated, interrupted only by the sounds of the flowing river and regular creaks from the rope tethering them to the pier. Soon, Ammon and Sefu returned with ice, Cokes, beer, and gasoline. The cold drinks were delicious. Spirits renewed, the travelers continued across the vast delta. North of the Tamalay Bridge they entered a section of river overgrown with blue-green algae. Ammon cursed. Navigating here was a chore. The opaque algae grew thickest in the shallows, where underwater hazards lurked. Paul didn’t care for the odor. Judging from Ava’s expression, she was equally displeased. “I have a riddle,” he said, thinking to distract her.

“Let’s hear it.”

Paul reached across the skiff and lifted his olive-drab backpack. “If I tossed this into the river, would the water level rise or fall?”

Ava examined the item: sturdy canvas, leather straps, and a brass buckle worn smooth by use. She closed her eyes, crossed her legs, and arched her back. Slowly, she rolled her head from shoulder to shoulder, stretching her tired neck.

“Do we care about the boat or the water level?”

“Water level,” he said. “I’m asking: Will the water in the river go up or down?”

She concentrated for several seconds, then asked, “Does your backpack float?”

“I think so,” he answered, regarding the alga-infested channel with distaste, “but let’s not find out.”

“Provided it floats, the river’s level remains constant. If it sinks, the level drops.”

He laughed. “You nailed it.”

“Basic physics. When your backpack is tossed overboard—”

“Never mind. Want something harder?”

“Bring it.”

“You’re trapped in a castle. There are two doors. One goes to the exit, the other leads to a deadly tiger. Between the doors is a robot. Good robots always tell the truth. Bad robots always lie. The robot will answer one question. What do you ask?”

“Should I assume good and bad robots are identical in appearance?”

“Yes. Sorry, I forgot to say that. All robots look the same.”

Ava stretched both arms above her head, interlocking her fingers. She took a deep breath, held it, then slowly exhaled. She stared at the horizon for several minutes. Ammon had guided them out of the algal bloom. He was increasing speed. She turned to Paul and smiled before answering: “Pointing to either door, I’d say ‘Mr. Robot, if I asked you whether this door leads to the exit, what would you answer?’ A good robot would tell me the truth, meaning he’d say the exit was the exit and the tiger was the tiger. A bad robot would lie, but because bad robots always lie, he’d also lie about what he would say, rendering his meta-response truthful.”

“Are you some kind of witch? Who thinks of that?”

“Is it the right answer?”

“Maybe,” Paul muttered.

“Good. Now I get to ask one.” Paul made a face, but she went on. “It’s a classic. There’s an island. Every man on it has cheated on his wife.”

“Manhattan!”

Ava laughed. “No. Don’t interrupt! There are fifty couples on the island. Each woman knows instantly if a man other than her husband cheats but no woman can tell if her own husband cheats. If a woman discovers that her husband has cheated, she kills him that very day. The pope (who is infallible) visits the island and tells the women that at least one husband has cheated. What happens?”

Paul thought for a moment. “Are any of the ladies, you know, domestic partners?”

“Ha, ha. You’re hilarious.”

“Okay. Sorry. Can I consult with my associates?”

Ava giggled. “Be my guest.”

Paul crawled astern and repeated the riddle to the boys. The Egyptians discussed it privately, then Sefu whispered their conclusion to Paul. He nodded in agreement and gestured for Sefu to tell Ava. He approached her shyly.

“This might be wrong,” he said nervously.

“Don’t worry,” Ava said gently, “just try.”

“All men killed?” he ventured.

“Yes! Excellent!” said Ava, patting Sefu’s shoulder. “But when are they killed?”

Sefu wasn’t sure. He went to ask his brother. Ammon reduced speed and the boys huddled, debating. Eventually they agreed, and Sefu announced their conclusion.

“As soon as possible?”

Ava laughed. It was a delightful sound, Paul thought, and it was good to see her cheerful, even for just a little while. When she had caught her breath, she explained the answer: No man died for seven weeks because no woman could be sure her husband was the cheater, but after forty-nine days passed without a murder, the only possible conclusion was that all fifty had cheated, so all fifty were killed on that day.

From their expressions, the boys seemed lost.

“Do you understand?” Ava asked.

They looked to Paul for guidance.

“She’s saying that if you ever cheat on your wife, she’ll kill you.”

“Oh!” said Sefu, eyes wide. “Okay.”

“Yes, ma’am,” said Ammon.

Near the village of Kwam Sharik, the delta was lush and green. Cows grazed in the fields and drank from the river. An orange sun slipped behind the row of tall palm trees lining the channel. Ava rose from her seat and opened the hold. She removed two icy bottles of beer, resealed the compartment, and sat down next to Paul. The boys shared a look.

“Are both beers for me?” In college, Ava never drank beer, preferring fruity wines or champagne.

“No. I enjoy a good lager from time to time.”

“Really? I had no idea.”

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” said Ava. She gave the cap a firm twist, removed it, and took a swig.

Slowly, near the village of Basyun, darkness overtook them. Sefu lit a lantern, but soon it was too dangerous to navigate. Paul asked the boys where they could camp. According to Ammon, they were close to a community called Sais. When Ava remarked that she’d heard of it, Paul was impressed, but when they arrived, he was confused. It didn’t look very important.

“It’s just like all the other villages, maybe a little bigger,” he observed as they motored closer. “Why is this place special?”

“It may seem insignificant now, but in ancient times this was an important center for pilgrimage. It contains the grave site of Osiris, the Egyptian god of the afterlife.”

“This place?” asked Paul doubtfully, eyeing ramshackle buildings and heaps of debris. “Says who?”

“Says Herodotus. This was also the location of Neith’s temple.”

“Who’s Neith?”

“Neith was a hunting goddess and a creator. That’s unusual in the Egyptian pantheon because creation deities are generally male. Neith gave birth to Sobek, the crocodile god, who represents fertility, power, and the Nile. In the Late Period, Neith’s temple was famous for exquisite linen cloth. Priestesses wove flax into fine fabric. In fact, royal linen was semitransparent.”

Paul flashed a wide smile. “So, back in the day, this town was full of hot chicks in transparent clothing worshipping a fertility god?”

“Nice!” said Ammon.

“Sexy!” said Sefu.

Ava refused to dignify their behavior with a response.

The boys felt this area was a great place to camp. Cautiously, they pushed a bit farther upriver to a secluded island featuring row after row of espaliered fruit trees. Once the boat was secure, Sefu waded ashore and hiked inland for additional supplies. Ammon opened the skiff’s hold and removed four bags of camping equipment. He tossed them onto the bank, where he and Paul began erecting tents. As they worked, Ava directed a flashlight about the orchard. She sought a private grove for a bathroom break. Watching carefully for crocodiles, asps, and other dangers, she excused herself. When she returned, she watched them complete the tent-raising and Ammon lit a campfire.

Sefu arrived with a basket of fresh fruit, aish baladi (a bread), and roasted chicken. The four travelers enjoyed a hearty feast. Subsequently, they retired to the tents, having agreed to rise at dawn.

After visiting the latrine, Paul walked back to camp under a canopy of brilliant stars. Backlit by firelight, Ava’s silhouette moved within their tent. She crawled into her sleeping bag and pulled it up to her chin. Paul entered, and, after stripping to his undershorts, changed the bandage on his leg. He noted with amusement that Ava’s eyes were squeezed shut. Grinning, Paul gathered their sweaty laundry, took it outside, and hung it close to the fire to dry. When he returned, he zipped the flap shut and locked the zipper. Paul wasn’t worried about crocs, but his time working on archaeological digs had taught him that Africa offered many creepy invaders to disturb slumber. He flopped down on his side of the tent.

“Sorry if I snore.”

“It didn’t bother me in Giza.”

“Okay. Goodnight then.”

“Goodnight.”

Paul lay in darkness, listening. Above the river’s patient murmur, hosts of frogs, flies, and beetles pulsed, chirped, and trilled. The boys debated something in voices too muffled to understand while a distant cricket fiddled. Ava wriggled inside her sleeping bag. He thought she must be roasting in there. A quiet laugh passed his lips.

“What’s so funny?”

“Nothing.”

“Then why are you laughing?”

“I don’t know. Look, can I ask you something?”

“Yes.”

“You said Simon was after a secret message inside the jars. What if it’s still hidden in them?”

“How do you mean?”

“I’m not sure. Could the message be hidden in the stone?”

Ava rolled onto her stomach. “Yeah, I wondered that too. That’s why he had you examine them so carefully. Simon suspected there might be a coded message carved on the surface, but we didn’t find anything.”

“But what if it’s literally in the jars?”

“Meaning?”

“Maybe written on the inside. Sealed into the material somehow.”

“I don’t think so.”

Ava mulled over the possibilities. With her mirror and lantern, she’d examined the jars’ interiors and found no evidence of writing, etching, or carving. She wasn’t really surprised. An intelligent author would expect chemicals in the wine to ruin anything written on the inside. Furthermore, she doubted anything was embedded in the stone. That would have been quite difficult to accomplish without giving away the trick at a glance. Plus, she intuitively rejected the notion that shattering the jars was necessary to obtain the message. Would the apostles want such holy relics destroyed? No. There must be another solution. Pondering these questions, Ava dropped off to sleep.

Sheik Ahmed arrived in El Wasta just before ten at night. When they recognized his Brabus Mercedes, the uniformed guardsmen saluted and opened the gate. The car entered the police compound and circled to the main building, where Lieutenant Barakah waited. After parking, Ahmed’s chauffeur jumped out and hurried to open the sheik’s door, but Barakah beat him to it. Ahmed turned off his phone, emerged from the car, and strode purposefully into the building. As he walked, Barakah provided his important guest with a summary of the evening’s progress.

Ahmed interrupted: “Bottom line, did he talk?”

“No, sir.”

“He will.”

The police lieutenant led Ahmed downstairs to the basement. He motioned to a guard, who pulled a string of keys from his pocket and unlocked the interrogation cell, or, as most guards called it, the confessional.

Strapped to a wooden chair and bleeding was Captain Akhmim. After enduring hours of torture, he was unrecognizable as the felucca captain who’d taken Paul and Ava to Cairo. His lips were split, his eyes were swollen shut, and he was missing teeth. Interrogators had shaved Akhmim’s thick beard and broken several ribs.

The sheik grabbed an aluminum chair and sat down close to the prisoner. He lit a cigarette and offered one to Akhmim, who refused it.

“You are a proud man,” said Ahmed. “You are strong, and you follow the ancient ways. I have great respect for you.”

Akhmim made no reply.

“Yet by refusing to answer our questions, you protect my enemies. This will not be permitted.”

Sheik Ahmed pulled his phone from his pocket. Involuntarily, Akhmim flinched, expecting a blow across the face.

Ahmed dialed a number. His call was answered on the first ring.

“Do you have them?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Put the boy on.”

He turned to his captive and asked, “Would you like to speak to your son?”

Akhmim shook with fear. “No!” he begged. “Please, no!”

Ahmed smiled. “We have your wife and children. If you don’t tell me where to find the infidels, your children will die. I shall allow you to hear them die, one at a time, over this phone. Then, my men will entertain your wife. Do you understand?”

Akhmim hung his head, his will broken.

“I delivered the Americans to eastern Cairo,” he said quietly.

“When?”

“Yesterday. Sunset.”

“Where are they now?”

“I don’t know.”

Ahmed shook his head. He raised the phone to his lips and said, “Kill the baby.”

“No!” Akhmim screamed. “I swear on my life, I don’t know where they are. They took a speedboat to Giza. They mentioned going farther west, to Rasheed, maybe to Alexandria, but I don’t know!”

“Speedboat?”

“Two smugglers, mere boys, with a fast little boat, a white skiff painted with racing stripes. They took the Americans to Giza, maybe farther. That’s all I know. I swear on my family, that’s all I know!”

Ahmed nodded thoughtfully, finished his cigarette, and said, “I believe you.” He lifted the Ruger SR9 from his pocket, pointed it at the prisoner’s head, and squeezed the trigger.

Over the phone, he could hear Akhmim’s family screaming. Sheik Ahmed put the speaker close to his ear and listened to their terror.

“Kill the family,” he told his aide. “All of them. Bury the bodies in the desert.”

As he issued these orders, Lieutenant Barakah shrank back. Ahmed noticed but kept silent.

“As I suspected,” Ahmed thought. “Barakah is weak. He lacks the strength for what must be done. He is unfit to serve the master.”

In the predawn light, Ava woke from a nightmare. It took a few moments to recall where she was. Then she panicked, realizing the two ancient artifacts were sitting in the motorboat, concealed by nothing more than canvas. She couldn’t believe the risks they’d taken. Wandering bandits could easily steal the jars. The boys hadn’t obtained anyone’s permission to camp here. What if a farmer reported them? She and Paul might be arrested for smuggling antiquities, and if Simon’s hitmen found them…

She resolved to check on the jars. She sat up and reached for her clothes. They were gone. Nervous, she looked left and right but saw nothing. Ava glanced at Paul. He was snoring away in blissful ignorance. She gathered the sleeping bag around her and peered around the tent. Nothing!

Just then, Paul stirred. He saw that Ava was up and assumed he’d overslept.

“What time is it?” he said, yawning, and out of habit glanced at his wrist. “It doesn’t look like the sun’s up.”

“Paul?”

“Yes?”

“Where are my clothes?”

“They were damp and nasty, so I hung them by the fire to dry.”

“I’d like to get dressed.”

“Cool.”

“Will you get them for me, please?”

Paul was annoyed. He didn’t want to get up from his warm sleeping bag. Why had she awakened him so early? He still had time to sleep.

“Get them yourself,” he muttered, covering his head with a blanket. “They’re right by the campfire.”

Holding the sleeping bag tightly, Ava sat motionless, looked directly at him, and said nothing for several seconds.

Then it dawned on him. He started to laugh. “Wait, are you buck naked under there?”

Ava felt a wave of anger rise from her stomach. She suppressed the urge to punch him in the face.

“Paul,” she said, slowly and deliberately, “Go… get… my… clothes.”

He knew better than to argue. “I’ll be right back.”

The black Mercedes sped north on Highway 21 toward Cairo. For several minutes the passengers rode in silence. Ahmed lit a cigarette and said, “You objected when I had our men kill the prisoner’s family, didn’t you Barakah?”

“I follow your orders, sir. I always have.”

“Indeed, but you avoid answering my question. Do you feel the decision to kill them was a mistake?”

“I obey you in all things, and I never question your judgment.”

Ahmed grew frustrated by his subordinate’s circumlocutions. He brightened the limo’s interior lights and looked pointedly at his underling.

“Tell me, would you have killed them?”

Barakah knew better than to lie. “No. The prisoner gave us the information we needed. I would have freed the woman and her children.”

Ahmed nodded, satisfied to hear the truth. On the surface, Barakah was a decorated Central Security Force officer assigned to the Egyptian National Police. Secretly, he’d joined Ahmed’s organization and risen through the hierarchy. Intelligent, competent, and thorough, Barakah followed every order to the letter. But the sheik maintained reservations about this ostensibly dutiful soldier. Ahmed suspected that Barakah lacked the courage of his convictions. In the eternal struggle, a mind clouded by mercy and compassion was a severe liability.

“If we allowed those children to live, they would have sworn a blood oath of vengeance against us and our cause. As adults, they would have fought tirelessly to defeat and kill us. A blood enemy is a true enemy, Barakah. A blood enemy cannot be bribed or dissuaded. He must be killed, exterminated. I choose to exterminate my enemies now, while I still can.”

“But the woman? We could have left her.”

Ahmed laughed. “Women are far more dangerous than men. To defeat a woman I must defeat not only her but also all her family. A woman’s father, husband, brothers, and sons will sacrifice their lives to avenge wrongs done to her. Her sisters and daughters will never forgive or forget. Women are cunning and patient, willing to achieve vengeance through stealth and treachery. Remember the story of Shamshoum [Sampson]. They can bewitch honest soldiers, fill our minds with poison and confusion. Women live to deceive. They will turn brother against brother, musahib. Never underestimate them.”

At dawn the travelers packed up camp, refueled the skiff, and resumed their journey. Despite the uncomfortable robes, Paul and Ava were again disguised as pilgrims. As the boat navigated a bewildering variety of canals, forks, locks, and side streams, Ava wondered how the boys managed without getting lost. Could they possibly have the intricate route memorized? Then she noticed that from time to time Ammon consulted a small gray box mounted on the stern. Curious, she eased her way aft and found that it was a GPS navigation device, specifically a Lowrance LMS-52 °C, of which the boys were immensely proud. Sefu insisted on showing Ava all its functions. It featured a five-inch, 480-pixel display; could ascertain their exact position on a satellite map; could sound a channel’s depth up to ninety meters; and was waterproof. Before they left Cairo, Ammon had plotted their course and saved it into the device’s memory.

Ava was impressed, but she knew such high-tech gadgets were expensive. The GPS must have run several hundred dollars. Was ferrying tourists around Cairo really that lucrative?

Occasionally the boys reduced speed and traversed shallower zones invaded by the fetid species of alga they’d endured upriver. Near Shubra Khit they encountered a particularly thick bloom.

“It reeks,” said Paul, disgusted. “This stuff is gross.”

“Oh, it’s worse than gross. It’s ecotoxic,” Ava said.

“It’s poisonous?”

“To the planet. The Aswan Dam project, which formed Lake Nasser, caused all kinds of environmental damage. Not enough water flows down. Consequently, the valley soil gets too salty, requiring more artificial fertilizer. Fertilizer runoff creates huge algal blooms, which block sunlight, harbor bacteria, and kill the fish. Nutrient discharge into the Mediterranean has declined drastically, weakening offshore sardine and shrimp fisheries.”

“So why don’t they release more water?”

“It’s not that simple. The Nile runs through seven countries, and its waters are almost fully utilized. In Egypt alone the population has doubled since 1978, so more and more freshwater is consumed by people, tourists, and farms. The High Dam is particularly harmful because it blocks silt from passing. Without replenishing silt, alluvial soil degrades, fish starve, and the whole delta suffers.”

“Okay, okay,” Paul said, holding up his hands to block the verbal onslaught. “I didn’t mean to uncork the Earth First! genie.”

“Don’t trivialize this, Paul. People face a shortage of drinking water because plutocrats would rather irrigate golf courses. Egypt has an annual water deficit of twenty billion cubic meters. Myopic capitalists like your boss should be held responsible for the negative externalities their so-called investments create.”

“Former boss,” Paul corrected. “I’m now a proud member of the unemployed proletariat.”

She grinned. “Welcome to the revolution.”

During the next hour they sped by several agricultural towns, including Mahalat Diyay, Diminkan, and Kafr Magar. Each one, Paul admitted, did not appear to have benefited from a capitalist economic bonanza. Poor farmers lived in mud-brick buildings with few modern amenities or conveniences. On the other hand, everyone appeared well fed.

Around noon they passed under two major highway bridges. Ammon said the large urban center was called Disuq. Paul wondered aloud if any famous gods were buried there. Ava smiled and said that centuries ago Disuq was a capital of the Hyskos, an Asiatic people who invaded from the east.

As they continued north, Ava could tell they were nearing the sea. The indigenous flora and fauna began to take on a marine character. In the large settlements of Qabit, Fuwah, and Sandayoun, boatbuilding seemed to be an important industry. A tang of salty air carried the pungency of old pilings, rotting despite their creosote. She noted a variety of rusty seagoing vessels at anchor. This stage of the river was heavily involved with aquaculture, forcing the boys to navigate carefully lest they damage the hull on a subsurface fish farm. When they reached Mutabis, Ammon reduced speed.

“We stop here,” Sefu said. “Ten minutes, okay?” He tied the skiff to a rickety pier. Ammon disembarked and disappeared into the crowd.

“Ava, this might be a good place for a bathroom break,” Paul said. “Why don’t you scope it out?”

Something about his manner made her wary. He’d been consistently overprotective. Now he was suggesting she go ashore alone? Nonchalantly, she hopped onto the pier and went into a restaurant. Then she doubled back to a window to surveil the boat. Her suspicion was confirmed when she spied Ammon toting a large cardboard box mummified in shipping tape. He stowed it in the skiff’s hold and smiled roguishly at Paul. Ava had guessed they’d been keeping a secret from her. Now she knew it.

Furious, she stormed back to the pier. “What’s in the box?” she demanded.

Paul’s eyes met hers. He shook his head and said, “Don’t get upset. Everything’s fine. The boys just need to deliver something to Cairo. We’ll be on our way in a minute.”

Ava was less than satisfied by his explanation. Tears formed in her eyes. In a voice tight with anger and sadness, she announced:

“No. I’m sorry, Paul. I’m getting off.”

“Huh? Wait, you don’t understand!”

“No, I’m sure I don’t. I don’t understand a thing about trafficking drugs except that I’m not getting involved. So, good luck, and I hope you all make a huge profit,” she said, now sobbing.

“It’s not what you think!”

“Oh really? What’s in the box then?”

He glanced at Ammon and Sefu. His look asked, “Can I?” They shrugged, clearly displeased by the situation. Paul beckoned Ava aboard. Reluctantly, she complied. Ava doubted Paul would actually kidnap her, but if he was mixed up in drugs, nothing was certain.

He crouched, removed the box from the hold, and, using his knife, cut through the thick transparent tape. With considerable effort, he ripped open a flap and dozens of Victoria’s Secret catalogs spilled onto the deck, along with old issues of Maxim, Vibe, Details, and Playboy. The boys leaped down and began stuffing glossy magazines back into the hold, looking over their shoulders to ensure that no one had seen.

“What the hell?” Ava asked, baffled.

“Pornography is forbidden by the Qur’an and by Egyptian law. So naturally the black market for racy magazines, VHS tapes, DVDs, and whatever else is thriving. It’s incredibly profitable to smuggle. Back home, people give away this stuff. In Cairo, dealers sell these magazines for six bucks apiece.”

“Isn’t it easier to download your filth from the Internet?”

“You’d think so, but since the Arab Spring, the authorities have cracked down. At Internet cafés users sign a form swearing they won’t access or download pornography. Private accounts are monitored and spot-checked by government censors. They even tried to ban YouTube, and if you break the law, you go to jail. Egyptian jail! Plus, most Egyptians aren’t hooked up to the Internet. They can’t download images or watch streaming video.”

“But, I mean, Victoria’s Secret? That’s illegal?”

“Have you seen the pictures? It would have been illegal in Boston in the fifties.”

Simon dialed the number for his Yemen headquarters. The receptionist answered.

“Connect me to crypto,” he ordered.

From his tone, she knew better than to speak. She directed his call to the computer center’s cryptologic unit, where the twenty-three-year-old manager picked up.

“Hello?”

He sounded as though he had food in his mouth.

“Fritz, I have Mr. DeMaj holding for you.”

“Huh! What does he want? I mean, put him through, please.”

“Where are they?” Simon demanded.

“Sir?”

“Our fugitives. I told you to drop everything and find them. So, where are they?”

“We know they’re in Egypt.”

Simon took a deep breath. Silently, he counted to three, allowing his frustration to dissipate sufficiently for the conversation to continue. Even so, a measure of anger leaked into his voice.

“Fritz, I know they’re in Egypt. I’m the one who told you they’re in Egypt. It’s a big country. I need you to be more specific.”

“Yes, sir. We tracked Paul’s phone. It was a dead end. Apparently, he gave it to a desert nomad. Ava’s phone hasn’t been used since she left Boston.”

“Credit cards?”

“We’re watching them. Bank accounts too. Nothing since the hit on Kamaran. They must be paying for everything in cash and using aliases.”

Simon had expected as much. Paul was hardly a master spy, but he’d worked for DeMaj long enough to learn some basic espionage.

“Have we picked them up on security video?”

“No. I think we can safely conclude they’re avoiding airports, train stations — any form of mass transit. We’re listening to the Egyptian military and police. They don’t have anything either.”

“What about text messages, e-mail?”

“We can read their mail, but we’re having trouble tracing the device. It might be piggybacking a signal over the national net, relayed off a LEO satellite. The transmitter doesn’t use standard GPS, and the software is hardened against reverse-search protocols. It’s actually a pretty cool hack—”

“Find them,” Simon interrupted, “and call the moment you do.”