Several felucca captains sat on an ancient wall, drinking beer or coffee, gossiping and bartering with the townsfolk. Cloaked in her pilgrim’s attire, Ava approached a sailor. In Arabic she asked him politely if he owned a boat.
“Yes,” he answered, without looking up from his meal. “What do you want?”
“Passage to Cairo.”
“How many?”
“Two.”
He studied Ava as he picked gristle from his teeth. “One hundred American dollars each, cash. You pay in advance. You bring your own food. We leave tomorrow noon. Okay?”
“No, I’m afraid not. We must leave tonight.”
The Egyptian shrugged. “I leave tomorrow.”
Ava removed three hundred-dollar bills from her wallet. She stepped up onto the wall, held out the money, and announced to all present: “I’ll pay four hundred dollars cash for passage to Cairo, three hundred now and one hundred on arrival. We leave immediately.”
“Okay, okay, we leave now. No problem,” the captain said, grabbing the bills before one of his competitors could make a better offer. “My name is Akhmim. I take you to Cairo.”
His felucca was eight meters long and single-masted with a lateen sail. Handmade and decorated with Egyptian eyes, it could hold ten passengers with ease. While Paul and Captain Akhmim brought the Americans’ luggage on board, Ava bought a kilo of melouha (smoked fish), two aish baladi (pitalike rounds of whole-wheat bread), a paper bag of salted pumpkin seeds, several warah’enab (grape leaves stuffed with rice, lamb, and herbs), some oranges, Stella Artois beer, and lemonade. The Egyptian helped Ava onto the boat. Then he and Paul pushed it into the channel, jumped aboard, and navigated through the small, crowded harbor by light of the kerosene lantern.
Though the winds were against them, the strong current carried the felucca north at a reasonable speed. Before long the city’s sounds and smells faded. Paul and Ava were glad to have an experienced pilot. By the lantern’s modest glow, he adroitly dodged tiny islands, submerged rocks, sandbars, and possibly a crocodile. As Akhmim leaned against the tiller and smoked, the two Americans finally relaxed. Ravenous, they made quick work of the food, reserving only some bread, seeds, and oranges for breakfast. Paul enjoyed two large bottles of beer, then tied the others to the hull and dropped them overboard. He winked at Ava, and then nodded off.
After sunrise Ava was delighted to observe the sights and sounds of middle Egypt. Ancient temples and monuments became visible in the distance. She watched fishermen draw their nets, enjoying a full harvest. Women washed dishes and laundry in the Nile, as their ancestors had for scores of centuries. Transported, Ava sang, “See the pyramids along the Nile…”
They stopped at a picturesque island for a quick meal and restroom break. By way of apology for demanding that he work through the night, Paul offered the Egyptian some oranges and a river-chilled beer. A non-Muslim, he accepted both gratefully. During lunch the winds turned in their favor. The captain unfurled the sail, and soon they beheld the outskirts of Cairo.
Just before sunset, Akhmim guided the boat toward the eastern bank and put in near a bustling souk. He needed cigarettes, and Ava needed a telephone.
After Paul helped her ashore, Ava scouted the area warily. They’d docked on the edge of eastern Cairo, a conglomeration of ancient communities that extended seemingly forever into the fertile Nile Delta. Ava pulled down her hood and looked around until she spied a pay phone. She found Dr. Hawass’s office number and dialed, but she was disappointed to discover that he was on location in the western desert and wouldn’t return for several weeks. Deflated, she returned to the riverfront. Paul was making a valiant effort to buy supper, but his attempts at pronunciation brought only laughter from the street vendors. Ava took over and obtained spicy kebabs of lamb, chicken, and rabbit, along with two liters of bottled water.
Akhmim returned. Paul gave him the final hundred dollars, as promised, and invited him to share their meal. Between mouthfuls of kebab, Akhmim asked what they planned to do in Cairo.
“Good question,” Ava answered, glancing about to ensure that no strangers were eavesdropping. “The man we’re looking for is out of town, and there may be people here whom we’d rather not encounter.”
Paul raised a hand to his brow, shaded his eyes from the setting sun, and looked off into the west. “How far to Giza?”
Sheik Ahmed paced across his private office. He telephoned his aide, who answered on the first ring.
“What is your report?” the sheik demanded.
“We intercepted the bus in Memphis.”
“And the Americans?”
“They were not on it. They were dropped off somewhere.”
Somewhere? Ahmed stopped pacing. His jaw clenched in anger. “Did you question the driver?”
“He refused to answer. He is a bedouin. He swore a sacred oath to protect them.”
Sheik Ahmed had experience with obdurate bedouins. The driver would not crack easily, if at all, but there was no need to waste time breaking him. He had more expedient means at his disposal.
“Interrogate the infidel pilgrims,” he commanded.
“We tried. None will talk. The driver says the pilgrims took a vow of silence.”
Ahmed exhaled. Was this aide incompetent or corrupt? In truth, it made no difference. The penalty for each was the same. Ahmed would impose judgment soon. For now, he must continue to rely on the worthless dog, but he was unable to keep the tone of disgust out of his voice: “A vow of silence means they cannot speak, but they can still write. Begin executing pilgrims. Continue until someone breaks his vow or deigns to write you a note. Call me the moment you learn where the bus left them.”
He clicked off and then dialed for his chauffeur: “Prepare the car.”
It seemed he must direct this operation in person.
Captain Akhmim apologized that he could take them no farther. He must return to his family in the south, he explained, before his wife found a younger man. Nevertheless, he offered to negotiate passage for them by motorboat.
He hopped ashore and disappeared into the crowd of Cairenes. Less than fifteen minutes passed before he reappeared with a teenager. This boy, named Sefu, and his brother, Ammon, owned and operated a fine boat, Akhmim reported. Considerably faster than the blue-and-white water taxis, it was large enough to accommodate the Americans and their heavy baggage. For a reasonable fee the boys would be happy to transport the couple to Giza, Rosetta, or even as far as Alexandria. Paul thought the price sounded fair, though he was sure it included a fat kickback for Akhmim. He shook hands with Sefu, who departed to fetch his brother.
When Paul saw their boat, he knew instantly that the young Egyptians shared his love of big engines and custom hot rods. The hand-painted, cabinless, converted panga skiff had a semi-V hull and racing stripes. Its thunderous Evinrude V-6, 225 HP motor growled astern. Watching from the dock, Paul noted with approval the bow’s hydrodynamic sheer and flare. He smiled when he saw a repurposed ’65 Chevy intake, carb, and valve covers. The boys had improvised a supercharger! This sleek watercraft was built to run at full tilt.
While Ava went back to the souk to buy a change of clothes and toiletries, the teens helped Paul transfer the couple’s things onto the speedboat. As they awaited her return, Paul asked the boys some basic mechanical questions. He was delighted to discover that they spoke fair English. Soon the three of them were engrossed in a lively discussion of hydrofoils, ISKY cams, radial engines, dual-point distributors, Indian motorcycles, and Formula One racing.
When Ava returned she was astonished to find the three joking and carrying on like long-lost buddies. She’d heard Paul’s distinctive laughter from half a mile away and, naturally, he’d neglected to wear his hood. No lookout could miss his boisterous antics and handsome American face.