The taxi deposited Ava at an expensive tourist lodging. She checked in, keeping the receipt for reimbursement. Lugging her heavy bags, a bellhop guided Ava to her room and left the key. She gave him a nice tip, mentally adding it to her travel-expense tally. Alone, Ava sat on the edge of the bed, heart still racing from the traumatic experience of being followed. She felt scared and vulnerable. Worse, she couldn’t decide if she’d overreacted. Was she a stereotypical American, fearful that every foreigner posed a threat?
Using the hotel phone, she called home. The call went straight to voicemail. Ava’s mother, Helen, never answered calls from unfamiliar numbers. After recording a brief message saying that she’d arrived safely, Ava hung up and wondered if that was true. Was she in danger? Maybe she was paranoid. Regardless, she’d make a poor first impression on Mr. DeMaj in this condition. She needed to decompress, and for Ava the best method was exercise. Whenever she stayed in a high-rise hotel she got a terrific workout sprinting up and down the stairs. Ava stripped off her floral dress and donned black running shorts, a white tank top, and pink Reeboks. She dropped her passport, room key, wallet, and Gabe’s satphone into a mini backpack, which she tied across her torso. Then, stretching her arms high above her head, she jogged into the hall and went in search of the stairwell.
In Ava’s opinion the exits were poorly marked. After two wrong turns, she was lost. Although she could read Arabic, no signs or arrows directed her to the stairs. “What should we do in case of fire?” she thought acidly to herself. As she neared the corner, the elevator’s bell rang. Ava relaxed. She’d just ride down to the lobby and ask the concierge about gym facilities, but when she turned, her heart jumped into her throat. The man from the airport had just exited the elevator. He was faced away from Ava, scanning room numbers. This wasn’t paranoia. He’d followed her here. As she watched, he began walking down the opposite hall. Ava counted three rapid heartbeats and — timing the automatic doors precisely — dashed into the elevator. She must have made a sound, because at the last instant the man turned. Dark eyes brimming with malice, he stared into her as the stainless-steel doors slid shut.
Several times Ava pounded the lobby button. Enduring the agonizingly slow descent, Ava curled her hands into fists and vowed to make the man pay dearly for anything he took. Finally, the bell rang and the doors opened. She peered out of the elevator. He wasn’t there. Never one to test fate, she ran past the startled bellhop to the front door.
“Gabe,” Ava shouted into the chunky black phone. “Gabe, please! I’m in trouble!” She didn’t want to mention the man following her, but she needed to convince him this was urgent. A long pause ensued. Was it a technical impediment or was Gabe making up his mind?
“Okay, Ava. What do you need?”
She gave silent thanks that she knew someone as savvy and loyal as Gabe. They’d met her sophomore year. Gabe lived in the dorm room directly above Ava’s. Her roommate had called the resident tutor to complain about a “psycho” upstairs who insisted on blasting electronica until five in the morning and apparently smoking clove cigarettes, in obvious violation of dorm rules. Gabe came down the next day to apologize. Ava answered the door in a damp sports bra and running shorts. Even now she grinned, remembering his geeky, endearing efforts to maintain eye contact. He stammered out his mea culpas and explained that he’d been up all night blogging (critiquing something called carnivore) and that whenever he got into his hacker zone he lost all concept of time, music volume, everything.
Except for the clove cigarettes, which he quit that year, and the fact that he’d risen to become a resident tutor himself, Gabe remained essentially the same sweet-natured guy. He was a little taller and heavier but just as bright, quirky, innocent, and lovable.
“My contact never showed at the airport. I need to find him and all I have is a phone number. I’m not even sure what continent he’s on. Can you help?”
“When was the last time you spoke?”
“Right before I left Boston.” When was that? It must have been at least twenty-four hours before, but she couldn’t be sure with all the time-zone changes. To Ava it seemed that a week had passed.
“Give me the number. I’ll work backward. Try to use GPS. You’re probably within signal-intercept range of Agios Nikolaos.”
“Of what?”
“Nothing. Forget I said it. You don’t want to know. Maintain plausible deniability.”
“Okay. Just try, Gabe. That’s all I ask.”
“I will, but if I can’t find anything, will you take the next plane home?”
“Maybe,” Ava replied, adding silently, “unless they’re still watching the airport.”
“I found him,” Gabe announced a short time later.
“Brilliant!”
“Or at least I found his phone. I can’t be certain he’s there. I have a satellite image of the location and the coordinates. It’s in Egypt, very remote. There appears to be some kind of settlement. Just a village, I guess, at the foot of Al-Qalzam Mountain. The closest town might be Al Zaafarana. Does any of that ring a bell?”
Ava ignored the question. “What’s the best way to get there?”
“Just a sec.” She knew his tone: frustrated. He thinks I should come home now, she thought. He’s probably right.
“I can book you a flight from Sana’a to Cairo. From there, I’m sure I can find ground transportation to the coordinates. Do you want—”
“No,” she said, remembering the close call at the airport. “I prefer not to fly. Egypt is just across the Red Sea. Can you find me a boat?”
“Call me back in thirty.”
Ava had every confidence that somehow Gabe would come through. I’m really going to owe him, she thought. Relying on Gabe was becoming a habit. Once, in college, he worked all night helping Ava translate Rongorongo glyphs. She worried they might lose touch after graduation, so she was thrilled to learn he’d be staying in Boston for grad school. For the hundredth time Ava wondered if that had been a coincidence. She knew Gabe could hack into any university’s admissions department, but with his credentials every top school wanted him anyway. Gabe had written a revolutionary program for her Ph.D. project on the Great Vowel Shift, a subject of interest to linguistics scholars and students of language evolution. Enthusiastic at first, lately she’d begun questioning if that subject would be her life’s work. “I guess that’s why I’m here,” she mused, “to find my calling.”
A half hour later, Gabe had a solution. “Hire a truck. Have the driver to take you to Al-Salif. It’s a fishing village just a few hours to your west. Of course, getting there might not be cheap.”
“No problem,” Ava lied. She had only about eight hundred dollars in cash, and she assumed few Yemeni truckers for hire took credit.
“I found a contact running fishing boats off Kamaran Island.” Where did he find these people? “He’ll meet you at the Al-Salif harbor. Look for a boat with two moons on its prow.”
“Two moons. Got it. You’re an angel!”
“Aw, shucks.”
“Oh, Gabe? Do the two-moons guys take plastic? I mean, can I pay with my AmEx?”
A pause, then: “It’s already done. A substantial amount of euros was transferred to their German bank, to be held in escrow. They’ll receive the access code after they deliver you safely to Egypt.”
“How did you—”
“Plausible deniability, Ava. Maintain plausible deniability.”
She arrived at the Red Sea port of Al-Salif just in time to witness a sunset of lyrical beauty. She paid her driver and walked to the harbor, seeking a boat with two moons on the prow. Were they full moons? Half moons? Crescent moons? Gabe hadn’t specified. Ava feared she’d never find the proper watercraft. As it turned out, she needn’t have worried. The mustached Yemeni captain spotted her easily. Few American tourists visited Al-Salif. Furthermore, Ava remained conspicuously garbed in her flimsy tank top, running shorts, and sneakers. She resolved to obtain culturally appropriate — and warmer — attire at the earliest opportunity.