The captain ferried her across the bay to Kamaran Island. Because they couldn’t depart until morning, he offered her accommodations in a traditional Tihama hut, just steps from the seashore. Ava was charmed. Islanders played music and cooked on the beach. She met several Europeans who’d come to scuba-dive on the reefs and around historic shipwrecks. They were having a grand time and invited her to join them. As she mingled, a donkey wandered over and sniffed her neck. She wondered how she must smell. It had been awhile since she’d washed. An island boy, wearing a faded San Antonio Spurs jersey, gave her the thumbs-up sign and said: “America!”
Ava responded in fluent Arabic. “Salaam aleikum,” she said, and asked him if there was a clothing store nearby. Surprised, he pointed to the dive shop.
She attempted to purchase a change of clothes, but the shop sold only bathing suits and T-shirts. Ava shrugged and bought one of each. At least they were clean. She wandered back to the beach and accepted a plate of grilled fish. Sitting on a stone bench appointed with colorful, embroidered cushions, she watched dolphins splash happily in the bay. The food was succulent and delicious.
After dinner Ava hiked among the ruins of a Portuguese fort predating the island’s sixteenth-century Ottoman conquest. She found a private spot, removed the satphone from her backpack, and called the hotel in Sana’a. Claiming a family emergency, she asked the receptionist if the staff could store her luggage until she returned.
“That won’t be necessary,” came the answer. “Your husband collected your belongings this afternoon.”
“My husband?”
“Yes, ma’am. He sounded extremely concerned. Can you give me your location? Is there somewhere he can reach you?”
Ava hung up. Drained, she retired to her hut and crawled under the mosquito netting but couldn’t stay asleep. Wild camels roamed the island’s interior. Whenever one snorted or bucked, Ava snapped awake, certain that evil men had found her.
At dawn the captain was surprised to find his American passenger packed and ready. He and a crewman helped her cross the narrow gangplank. After they cast off, he showed Ava to a tiny cabin, then left. Ava yawned. The jet lag and stress were catching up with her. All morning she’d been making cognitive errors, speaking ungrammatically, misjudging distances. She closed the cabin door and turned the latch, locking herself in. The bunk was wedged against the gunwale and smelled of dried fish. Outside, she heard gulls’ cries. Waves washed gently and regularly against the hull. As the boat entered the Red Sea, Ava nodded off.
When she woke up, the boat was in the Gulf of Suez. Ava went on deck to bask in the glorious afternoon sun. As they passed the ancient lighthouse at Ras Gharib, she watched the ship’s wake trace a long, chalky path over the sapphire swells.
At dusk they docked at Al Zaafarana, on the Egyptian coast. The experienced crew snuck her ashore with little fanfare and no difficulty. After thanking them profusely, Ava called Gabe to confirm her arrival. She handed the phone to the captain, and Gabe transmitted the authorization code, releasing the funds held in escrow. The captain smiled.
Satisfied that Ava was safe, Gabe told her that he’d reserved a room for her at the Sahara Inn. “Thank you so much,” she said warmly. In the hotel’s gift shop, Ava exchanged a substantial portion of her dwindling cash for some conservative khaki shorts, a white T-shirt, and sunglasses. She found her room, bathed, and slept. The next morning, she rose early and hired a taxi for the ride inland.
“Ava? Ava! What are you doing here?”
“What do you think I’m doing? Going on safari? You invited me! You paid for my stupid plane ticket!”
“But why are you in Egypt? You’re supposed to be in Yemen. How the hell did you find me?”
“I have friends in high places. Now you answer my questions. Why didn’t you meet me at the airport? Why are you hiding in a monastery? And most important, why is someone following me?”
Paul’s face clouded. “What man?” Ava saw that he was greatly disturbed by her questions, and Paul didn’t scare easily. This wasn’t good. She was becoming more and more frightened. It didn’t feel like an adventure anymore. Ava dropped the tough act.
“A dangerous-looking man intercepted me in Sana’a. He must have known my flight number. He followed me to my hotel, but I lost him in the Salt Market.”
Paul was stunned. “Ava,” he said, “it’s all gone to hell. I don’t understand what’s happening. People have been killed. I hoped that if I didn’t show at the airport, you’d just turn around, fly home, and rack up a few thousand frequent-flyer miles. I don’t want you to be in danger.”
“Wait, did you say killed?”
“At least seven people are dead. Two were just kids. It’s awful.” Paul looked like he might cry. Ava was terrified now. He continued, “It’s all about the damn jars. I had no idea he’d go so far. I mean, I thought we were friends. I knew he was ambitions, but this is beyond ambition. He’s obsessed! I never—”
“Wait a second, Paul. Are you talking about the jars from the legend?”
“Yes,” he said. “We found the lost jars of Cana. They exist. They’re real.”
Chapter 4
“Tell me everything!” Ava’s fears were overtaken by her curiosity. This might rank among the greatest historical, archaeological, even religious finds of the past two hundred years. The jars were, theoretically, a direct link to Jesus Christ. This could be the seminal moment of her academic career, the basis for an award-winning book, a professorship, even tenure. Hungry for details, she pressed Paul to relate the tale.
“I don’t know much. I’m sorry, Ava. I don’t know the history. I don’t even know where Cana is.”
“Just tell me what happened.”
“At our excavation in Israel, the diggers found part of a mosaic beneath an ancient church floor. It contained a map.”
She was intrigued. In a hoarse voice, she asked, “Can you describe it?”
“It was oriented east, toward the altar. Simon said it was dedicated in AD 540. The intact section shows the region between southern Lebanon and the Nile Delta, from Alexandria all the way to the Sinai.”
Just then Paul noticed Ava wobbling. Taking her arm, he helped her into a chair and fetched a cup of water. Once she could breathe again, Ava couldn’t contain her excitement, “That map is a major find,” she said. “It predates the Persian conquest!”
Paul shrugged. “If you say so. Anyway, the mosaic depicts several historical sites — Jericho, Nablus, Ashkelon, Bethlehem — a bunch of names in Greek. There’s also a peculiar location hidden deep in the Red Sea Mountains. It had no name, just an illustration of two jars. Simon was obsessed with it. He dispatched a full archaeological team to that location, about eighty kilometers from here. Last week they found something. I was with Simon when he got the call. He was ecstatic. He kept saying, ‘Are they intact? Are they sealed? How many are present?’ He went nuts when they couldn’t answer his questions. He canceled all our meetings. We jumped into his helicopter and flew to Egypt. By the time we landed they’d cleared the entrance to an ancient fortress. Underneath the stone structure were some caves connected by a network of tunnels. Simon was so focused. The jars must be worth a staggering amount of cash.”