durmdvl replied: “It may be possible to communicate through the LEO phone.”
Gabe snorted. “So I’m just too stupid?” He typed: “Reread previous message. If there was a way to use the LEO phone, wouldn’t I have done so already? My friend’s life is on the line. I told you, the satphone is subject to constant surveillance by DeMaj. You’ve heard of DeMaj Corp? Billion-dollar transnat w/top-notch crypto? That phone is 100 % penetrated. Any incoming call or text will be intercepted, monitored, and traced.”
When no reply came in a half hour, Gabe was overcome with remorse. He thought, “Why was I so abusive? Did I burn my only ally? Why don’t I think before I type? I’m such an idiot!”
It wasn’t the first time Gabe had dissed a friend. Gabe hated asking for help. Ever. From anyone. Asking for help was an admission of need. Whenever someone offered assistance, he became snide. He’d say mean-spirited things that he’d later regret.
“I gotta grow up,” Gabe decided. “If we get through this, I swear I’ll stop acting like a petty jerk. I won’t insult someone who is just trying to—”
At that moment, a response appeared on the glowing screen: “G, relax and leave minor problems 2 my superior intellect. Bad guys aren’t as smart as they think. After covert satphone link is established, what message 2 transmit? Require personal trivia 2 prove our message is from u & 2 confirm recipient’s identity.”
Back at their suite, Paul closed the door and locked the deadbolt. While unzipping her dress, Ava noticed a light flashing on the satphone. Its display indicated an unread text: “You don’t know me. I’m writing on G’s behalf. To prove I’m friendly, he said you mix too much Splenda in your tea. G’s sorry he can’t contact you directly. Bad guys are monitoring your phone, so don’t use it except in emergencies. I implanted this message using a trick that (I hope) will make it invisible to them. We need to speak. Call me from a landline @ 919-555-3253. You’ll get an anonymous voice mail. Code in 999. It will redirect to me.”
She read the message to Paul, who then asked, “What do you think?”
“I’m nervous, but I think it’s legit.”
“What’s the Splenda reference?”
“Gabe always says I put too much in my tea. It’s an inside joke. No one else would know it.”
“Then we should call.”
“From here?”
“I’d prefer an anonymous pay phone, but we agreed to stay in our room until we hear back from Nick.”
Ava weighed the alternatives. It was risky to call, but she was worried about Gabe. She lifted the hotel phone from its cradle and dialed the long-distance number. After one ring the call was answered and diverted to an anonymous voice mail. She keyed in 999. It clicked and then started ringing again.
“Hello?”
“Hi,” said Ava. “This is Gabe’s friend. Do I have the correct number?”
“Maybe. First I need to confirm your identity. Which of your friends was an extra in Harry Potter?”
“What? Oh, that was Jess. My friend Jessica.”
“Perfect, but from now on, try to avoid proper names. We don’t know who or what might be listening.”
“All right, but why can’t… why didn’t my friend contact me?”
“They’re after him. Men came to Lowell House. He escaped. Now he’s on the run.”
“Oh my God! Is he okay? How did they find him? It’s my fault! He doesn’t have anything to do with this! He doesn’t know anything!”
“Calm down and listen. Your friend will be fine. He’s smart, and we’re working on the problem. I’m much more worried about you. You’re in grave danger. Here are the rules: No using credit cards, cell phones, or regular e-mail. Avoid airports, train stations, embassies, or any place with security cams. Never show ID or use your real name. Don’t contact family or known associates. Don’t go to the police. If you follow these instructions, you’ll be very hard to find.”
“But we need to leave the country. How can we travel without passports?”
There was a pause. Ava heard rapid-fire taps on a keyboard.
“I show you calling from Egypt. Where do you need to go?”
“Malta.”
“Are you still traveling with the same guy?”
“Yes.”
“Give me his SSN.”
“Paul, what’s your Social Security number?”
After he gave it to her, and Ava relayed it over the phone, for several minutes Ava heard only a keyboard’s clicks.
“Okay, I just dropped some awesome kung fu. You shouldn’t have trouble with customs and immigration. Just go through the diplomatic line. Now, how do you plan to get there?”
“Charter a plane.”
“That should work, but you’ll need some real money. How can I get it to you?”
“We have a friend here. You could transfer to him, and he could give us cash.”
“Perfect. Give me his name. There’s no time to avoid saying it.”
Ava learned Nick’s full name from Paul. They didn’t have his SSN, but Paul knew his birth date and former address. For durmdvl, that was plenty.
Two minutes passed. “It’s done. Nick’s bank account will get a nice fat deposit.”
“Thank you. We’ll repay you the moment we—”
“Forget it. Now, whatever happens, don’t call again from your current location. Get yourselves to Malta and keep your heads down. In a few days we’ll contact you. Until then you’re on your own.”
Early the next morning Paul heard a discrete rap on the hotel room door. When he unlocked it, Nick entered carrying a newspaper.
“You want the good news first or the bad news?”
“Good news first, por favor.”
“I found a pilot to fly you to Valletta. I swore you weren’t smuggling drugs or weapons and luckily he believed me. Sinan may ask more questions when we get there. Just be as honest as possible. He’s got no love for the local authorities and he doesn’t mind breaking some rules, but he hates liars.”
“What’s the bad news?”
“This.”
Nick dropped the newspaper on the coffee table. On the front page were pictures of Paul and Ava. Underneath the photos, a headline in Arabic exclaimed: “American Fugitives Wanted for Murder.”
“Holy Mother of God!” cried Ava. She grabbed the paper and began reading. The story claimed Paul had killed the seven men at Simon’s dig and maimed a police officer in Rosetta. The two Americans were armed, dangerous, and attempting to flee the country with priceless historical artifacts. A sizable reward had been offered for information leading to their capture.
Paul exclaimed, “Nick, it’s not true! We didn’t kill those people. We didn’t kill anyone! I did punch a cop — but only after he shot our friend. You’ve got to believe me!”
“I do, but it hardly matters. If you don’t skip town, someone will see you and try to collect that reward.”
Ava packed their bags. Meanwhile, Paul lugged the canisters out the door, down to the elevator, through the service exit, and into Nick’s ’79 Jeep Renegade. Driving fast and taking shortcuts, Nick zipped his passengers through the waking city. Ava’s wet hair dried quickly in the breeze. To keep it under control, she tied a scarf around her head. To conceal her identity, she added sunglasses.
When Nick stopped at an intersection, a delicious aroma engulfed the jeep. Hungrily, Paul observed several traditionally garbed Egyptian women setting freshly baked pita loaves atop garden walls to cool. His stomach rumbled.
When the jeep reached Alexandria’s industrial waterfront, a friendly security guard waved Nick into harbor parking.