Both targets had survived the shipwreck. Consequently, the master had directed Ahmed to eliminate the troublesome Americans before they interfered with his Piano di Rinascita (Plan of Rebirth). Ahmed didn’t appear angry or frustrated by this turn of events. In fact, he seemed elated. Emboldened by the sheik’s high spirits, Barakah pressed a question.
“What is the Plan of Rebirth?”
Ahmed eyed his assistant. “Be patient. Soon, all will be revealed. The time is near. With one bold stroke, our master’s grand vision will be realized. I cannot disclose details, but take comfort in the knowledge that you will play an important role.”
Barakah nodded, apparently satisfied.
They reached Marsala in less than three hours. Ahmed throttled down the twenty-four-cylinder shaft drive and steered into Don VeMeli’s secluded harbor, where a team of dockworkers waited. Each man wore a red Gruppo Garibaldi armband. Refueling was conducted in silence and with efficiency. As dawn broke over Sicily, Barakah cleaned and loaded his automatic pistol. He reclined into the comfortable leather seat, mouthed a prayer, then slept. Spiritually, he was at peace and ready to perform his sworn duty.
The next morning everyone except Mellania, who claimed illness, met for breakfast. Ava was the last to arrive.
“Buon giorno, Ms. Fischer. Did you sleep well?”
“Quite well, Mr. DeMaj, thank you.”
“I heard a nasty rumor that you prefer tea to coffee.”
“I’m afraid so.”
Shaking his head with exaggerated disdain, Simon muttered, “De gustibus non disputandum est” (there is no disputing tastes). Then he signaled to the cook, who brought forth a sky-blue porcelain tea service. Ava was struck by how lovely it was. The delicate china was almost translucent.
Feigning nonchalance, she inquired, “Tang dynasty?”
Simon inverted a bowl to reveal its inscription. “Can you translate?”
“‘Made on the sixteenth day of the seventh month of the second year of the reign of Emperor Yingsong,’” Ava whispered.
DeMaj filled a cup with fragrant keemun hao ya and presented the steaming tea to Ava. She inhaled its bouquet, and immediately her shoulder muscles relaxed. All her anxiety faded. She drank. The complex black brew conveyed a pastoral sweetness accented with a hint of rose. She raised her eyes to Simon’s. “This is sublime,” she said.
He acknowledged her compliment with a small bow. While his guests finished eating, DeMaj left the room. He returned a moment later and handed Ava a thin black rectangle linked to a plastic cord.
“Thank you?” she said, confused.
“It’s a digital encryption scrambler. Plug it into the headset jack on your world phone, enter a sixteen-digit code, and it’ll roll the scrambling up several thousand times, giving you hours before the pattern recycles. My team estimated the fastest computer on earth would need twelve hours to derive the sequence. Provided you change your code reasonably often, conversations are secure. I presume you have some calls to make. Your parents, in particular, will be happy to hear from you.”
Ava arched an eyebrow. “You spoke to them?”
“Your mother is a bright, charming lady. We contacted your friend Gabriel too, but when I assured him you were safe, he seemed… skeptical.”
Ava’s eyes widened as she realized that the shipwreck would have been international news. Her parents, Gabe, and Jess must be worried sick! Excusing herself, she grabbed the scrambler and rushed upstairs.
Paul asked then: “What about durmdvl? Does he know we survived?”
Simon chuckled. “Your durmdvl has proved difficult to locate. The whole crypto team is impressed by his security. At one point we thought we had him. Instead, the rabbit trail led us to a horrible Rick Astley video.”
“What the hell is that?”
“durmdvl’s idea of a joke, apparently.”
Ava found that the world phone they’d purchased in Malta was still functional thanks to its waterproof casing.
A female voice answered Ava’s dialing.
“Hello?”
“Mom? It’s Ava.”
“Oh, thank God you’re safe!”
“Yes, I’m fine. It’s wonderful to hear your voice. I thought it would go straight to voice mail.”
“No, no. I’ve been waiting by the phone all day. Mr. DeMaj told me to expect your call.”
“I’m not sure we can trust him.”
“Well, he saved my baby’s life. That makes him a friend until I have reason to believe otherwise.” Ava thought she heard a tremble in her mother’s voice. Embarrassed, she changed the subject. Besides, switching to small talk might erase some of her mother’s worry.
“So, why are you home on a school day?”
Her mother laughed. She taught music at Sidwell Friends, an elite private school. When the headmaster learned Ava had been aboard the Maria Dolores, he gave her the week off.
“You’re right. I should go back, now that I know you’re safe, but honestly, I’m enjoying my mini-vacation. Anything to avoid those overprivileged kids and office politics.”
Ava knew her mother was joking. She had never wanted to teach. She took the job so Ava could attend Sidwell without paying the astronomical tuition. But Ava’s mother had grown to enjoy her work. Every so often she connected with a particularly gifted child. Such moments made the tedious hours of babysitting and bureaucracy worthwhile.
Ava and her mother chatted for a while. They laughed and exchanged stories, relishing the joy of conversation, but when Ava mentioned Paul, her mother became intensely curious.
“Paul? Paul who? Not the same Paul you liked in college?”
Blood rushed to Ava’s cheeks and she shifted uncomfortably. “Yes, I guess so. Anyway, Jess and Gabe are waiting to hear from me…”
“So, when will you be coming home?”
“Soon. There are a few things I need to finish here.”
Ava’s mother caught the tone of her daughter’s reply and decided not to argue — they’d been down that path before. “Okay, sweetheart. Keep in touch, and please try to be careful. We want you home in one piece!”
Ava said good-bye to her mother, then dialed Jess’s number. A British voice answered. Once Jess realized it was Ava, she covered the receiver and called out, “Gabe, pick up. It’s Ava!” Then: “Darling, are you safe? We’ve been so worried!”
Happy to speak to each other again, Ava and Jess chatted and giggled like children. Their reunion was interrupted by Gabe’s rush of questions about the shipwreck. Eventually, he said, “Ava, I don’t know how to tell you this. The disks—”
“What? Tell me!”
He sighed. “The audio from the disks is, well, it’s garbage. I isolated the two recordings. They were roughly identical. Unfortunately, both have been corrupted. Too many years in the desert. Maybe the grooves degraded over the centuries. All that remains is a weird clamor and some incomprehensible moans. I’m sorry. I tried to clarify, but there isn’t enough there.”
“Both disks?”
“I’m afraid so.” He sounded despondent.
“Just send me whatever you’ve got.”
“Ava, you don’t understand. The data’s ruined. It’s gibberish.”
“I want to listen, okay? Even if it’s gibberish, it’s two-thousand-year-old gibberish. I almost died for this stuff, Gabe. I need to hear it for myself.”
“Of course,” he said. “I’ll e-mail the files ASAP.”
After she finished her phone calls, Ava slipped down to the study, where Simon kept a few computers available for guests’ use. She logged on to the Internet, and for the first time in weeks she opened her e-mail. Naturally, the inbox was jammed with messages. Ignoring dozens, she identified Gabe’s most recent. Two files were attached. Each contained the audio captured from a golden disk. She downloaded both attachments onto a flash drive. Then, holding her breath, she opened and played the first file. It was just as Gabe described: harsh, atonal sounds with bizarre moans in the background.