The Cana Mystery Page 8

  “Ammon said they can get us all the way north to Rosetta by river, and from there down the coast to Alexandria.”

  “Is the Rasheed branch even navigable?”

  “I don’t know. I’m not intimately familiar with the western delta, but I know this: It’s the boondocks. No one will look for us out there. We’ll be off the grid, effectively invisible.”

  In the dark, Ava nodded. She recognized the value of invisibility.

  “Besides, their speedboat takes a very shallow draft. Even with us and the jars, I bet it can ride cleanly in a meter of water. A panga is super light, very buoyant.”

  “How long would it take?”

  “About one full day straight through. They’ve made the trip before. Ammon said it’s a little tricky in places, but I told him that a hard-core warrior princess like you would personally tow the boat through the fetid swamp . . .”

  “Paul?”

  “Yes?”

  “Shut up and go to sleep.”

  Moments later, a quiet snore indicated that he’d fallen asleep. For Ava, despite the clean, luxurious sheets and soft down pillows, sleep did not come so easily. When she finally nodded off, she dozed fitfully, disturbed by vivid dreams. First she was back in Boston, late for an exam. Next, she was hitchhiking through the lush countryside, discussing Jericho with Clark Gable. Then the world froze. Gable vanished. The backdrop metamorphosed into a desolate ice shelf on a frigid, moonlit night. Ava sensed a subsurface threat. The monstrous orca rose, circling a tiny floe that sheltered two seal pups. Ava’s pulse quickened. Though she longed to protect the vulnerable creatures, she felt powerless against the six-ton predator. She cried out, but the howling arctic wind obliterated her warning. Desperate, Ava’s lips began forming words she’d memorized long ago: “Hail Mary, full of grace . . .” As she continued the prayer she felt herself grow warmer. Then a miraculous, heavenly glow illuminated the seals. Startled, the killer abandoned its pursuit and descended back into darkness.

  Gabe’s phone rang. He looked at the caller ID and his eyes widened in surprise as he recognized the number.

  “Hello?”

  “Hi, Gabe. This is Jess. I don’t know if you remember me.”

  He certainly did. Jess was among the most beautiful and enticing women Gabe had ever met. In real life, at least.

  “Of course. We met at the May Day party. We discussed Harry Potter.”

  Gabe had read all the books. Jess had been an extra in one of the films.

  “Right. Nice speaking to you again. By chance, have you heard from Ava recently?”

  “No,” he said. “Why?”

  “She hasn’t answered her phone in days. Now her voice mail is full. Dr. Fischer called me several times looking for her, and this morning Professor Kostova from MIT said a government agent has been asking questions. She fears that Ava may be in trouble.”

  More than you can imagine, Gabe thought.

  Just before dawn the private study, richly paneled in Circassian walnut, stood dark and empty. The heavy door of oak and iron swung ajar with a loud creak as a man, dressed all in black, entered. He walked to the desk, lifted his phone, and dialed a private number. When the Egyptian answered, the churchman spoke an ancient password.

  “I am your servant, Father. What are my orders?”

  “Time grows short. Pope Benedict’s reign will end soon. You must act. Do whatever it takes to discover their secret.”

  “I will.”

  “But use stealth,” he cautioned. “Never underestimate their cunning. If they discern your true allegiance—”

  “I understand the risks, Father. I shall beguile them.”

  The churchman smiled. “Your faith makes you strong.”

  As he gave the Egyptian detailed instructions, he emerged from behind his desk, crossed the room, and stood before a large marble figure of a man contemplating a human skull.

  Chapter 7

  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?”