Ava realized someone was knocking. She clicked pause and called out, “Who is it?”
“It’s Paul. Are you all right? I heard creepy noises.”
Hurrying him in, she explained what Gabe had discovered and unpaused the recording. Surprised at first, Paul wrinkled his nose at the howls and creaks. He could see Ava was disappointed. On the brink of tears, she said, “It’s ruined. Whatever was on those disks is lost. Maybe the audio data degraded after so many years. Maybe we screwed up the scan. Or maybe you were right: Ancient peoples never had the necessary technology…”
He touched her arm. “Hey, let’s get out of here. Just us. Want to go for a hike around the island?”
“That sounds nice.”
They decided to explore Punta Cerena by way of the Sentiero dei Fortini (Footpath of the Fortifications). Ava returned to her room, donned a navy blue minidress, slid her feet into sandals, and tied her hair with a silk ribbon; she would meet Paul outside.
The afternoon was glorious. Gulls called and wheeled, riding thermals up the cliff wall. Ava let Capri’s light and crisp blue sky revive her spirits. She found Paul in the garden, wearing his lucky cap, sharing cashews with an appreciative red squirrel. Simon’s loyal groundskeeper and bodyguard, Tomás, was stationed atop the garden wall, brandishing a lupara. He raised a hand in greeting, looking like an extra from The Godfather. Under Tomás’s watchful gaze, the Americans passed through the pergola, crossed the outer courtyard, and departed.
They took a bus part of the way, then enjoyed a quiet stroll along the island’s southwest coast. Hand in hand they sauntered past the Orrico, Pino, and Mesola, French forts used when Capri was part of the Napoleonic empire. Flowers perfumed the Mediterranean air. The footpath terminated at the Lido del Faro, a popular swimming spot, with boats for rent and rusted iron steps leading down into the sea. At the poolside café, Paul found a table with a lighthouse view. The bartender served Paul a glass of cold Forst beer; Ava asked for pinot grigio. Relaxed and happy, they sat on the sun-kissed terrace. Ava leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes. Paul sipped beer and smiled. He could stay here forever.
Nick met Simon at the hangar just before sunset. The two men climbed into the Comanche’s futuristic-looking cockpit and initiated its prelaunch sequence. Moments later, they were aloft.
Nick marveled at the chopper’s silence. “How can it run so quietly?”
“Amazing, yes? Honeycombed dampers and vibration mounts muffle the engine, and an ingenious configuration of airfoils, blades, and tips diminishes rotor sound. All that goes only so far, of course: The real sorcery is ANC.”
“Antsy?”
DeMaj laughed. “Active Noise Cancellation.”
“Which means?”
“Sound-field modification by electroacoustical means.”
“Oh, right. Obviously.”
“It’s simple, really.” Simon tapped a box above his head. “The master control ‘listens’ and responds to unwanted noise by driving a speaker to produce an opposite sound field. Opposite fields cancel each other, and the result is silence.”
Nick shook his head. “That’s wild.”
Simon grinned. “That’s nothing. Wait till you see her move!”
In the graying twilight Barakah yawned, then rose. He took night-vision binoculars from his equipment bag and examined the rocky shore. Soft spray blew in loose clouds above blackened stones. He glassed up to the commanding escarpment and studied the view. There was no sign of the house, but segments of well-paved road descended between the ancient trees. By instinct more than training, he scanned for movement. Detecting none, Barakah lowered the glasses, took a deep breath, and wiped his nose on the back of his sleeve. Resuming his vigil, he watched as dusk turned to dark.
Ava opened her eyes. Content, she watched Paul, who watched the sea. Then she noticed something around his neck.
“Is that necklace new?” She’d never seen him wear jewelry.
“Necklace? Oh, wait. You mean this?” He reached under his shirt and withdrew the golden amulet. “Bishop Garagallo said it would protect us.”
“Why didn’t you show me?”
“I was afraid you’d call it superstitious nonsense.’”
Ava laughed. “May I?” He handed it over. As she examined the markings, her brow furrowed.
“The symbols match the shield behind his desk.”
“Yeah, you’re right. Do they mean something?”
“I’m not sure,” she replied, returning the amulet. “But I’ve seen it somewhere…”
“Think food would help your memory?”
“Absolutely!”
Instead of getting a menu, Paul let the waiter choose for them. As an appetizer he brought a loaf of Apulian-style scanata bread covered with sesame seeds. Paul dragged a slice through olive oil, balsamic vinegar, and fresh herbs and popped it into his mouth. Dinner was octopus a strascinasali (boiled octopus dressed in olive oil and fresh lemon), sardines a beccafico (rolled sardines stuffed with sautéed bread crumbs, pine nuts, and anchovies), and patati cunsati (seasoned potatoes), washed down with another round of drinks.
Later, the soothing sound of waves against rocks was pierced by a squeal of electronic feedback. A ska band had taken the stage and was tuning up. The waiter explained that the restaurant sometimes offered live music and occasionally fireworks. At the mention of pyrotechnics, Paul blushed, recalling his embarrassment at Bishop Garagallo’s. He promised not to throw Ava on the floor again. She gave him a noncommittal smile, moistened her middle finger, and rescued a fallen sesame seed from the table linen. Paul wondered what she was thinking.
That night the two Americans strolled toward the Orrico bus stop under a gigantic moon. Paul studied his companion’s face. She seemed lost in contemplation. To ease her mind, he said, “Suppose you have two buckets and a water hose. One bucket holds five gallons, the other holds three. How can you measure four gallons?”
For a nanosecond, Ava seemed annoyed. Then, with a grin, she said, “Use the hose to fill the larger bucket. Pour water into the smaller one until it’s full. Dump out the small bucket. Pour the remaining contents of the large bucket into the small bucket. Refill the large one. Pour water from the larger bucket into the smaller. When the small bucket is full, the larger one will contain four gallons.”
Paul laughed. “Wow! I guess that was easier than I thought.”
“It’s a classic. I’ve heard it before.”
“Oh, sorry. Want another?”
“Bring it.”
“A prisoner is trapped in a cell. On the wall are two buttons, one directly above the other. The correct button opens his cell. The other button opens an adjoining cell. He doesn’t know which button to push. Because he has just one chance to escape — by throwing his food bowl at the proper button — should he aim for the top or bottom?”
Another smile: Ava’s mood was improving. “Is that it? Do you want the answer?”
“No, there’s more. I forgot to say that the prison is on that crazy island.”
“What island?”
“The one where every man acts rationally but also cheats on his spouse.”