response.
The boys felt this area was a great place to camp. Cautiously, they pushed a bit farther upriver to a secluded island featuring row after row of espaliered fruit trees. Once the boat was secure, Sefu waded ashore and hiked inland for additional supplies. Ammon opened the skiff’s hold and removed four bags of camping equipment. He tossed them onto the bank, where he and Paul began erecting tents. As they worked, Ava directed a flashlight about the orchard. She sought a private grove for a bathroom break. Watching carefully for crocodiles, asps, and other dangers, she excused herself. When she returned, she watched them complete the tent-raising and Ammon lit a campfire.
Sefu arrived with a basket of fresh fruit, aish baladi (a bread), and roasted chicken. The four travelers enjoyed a hearty feast. Subsequently, they retired to the tents, having agreed to rise at dawn.
After visiting the latrine, Paul walked back to camp under a canopy of brilliant stars. Backlit by firelight, Ava’s silhouette moved within their tent. She crawled into her sleeping bag and pulled it up to her chin. Paul entered, and, after stripping to his undershorts, changed the bandage on his leg. He noted with amusement that Ava’s eyes were squeezed shut. Grinning, Paul gathered their sweaty laundry, took it outside, and hung it close to the fire to dry. When he returned, he zipped the flap shut and locked the zipper. Paul wasn’t worried about crocs, but his time working on archaeological digs had taught him that Africa offered many creepy invaders to disturb slumber. He flopped down on his side of the tent.
“Sorry if I snore.”
“It didn’t bother me in Giza.”
“Okay. Goodnight then.”
“Goodnight.”
Paul lay in darkness, listening. Above the river’s patient murmur, hosts of frogs, flies, and beetles pulsed, chirped, and trilled. The boys debated something in voices too muffled to understand while a distant cricket fiddled. Ava wriggled inside her sleeping bag. He thought she must be roasting in there. A quiet laugh passed his lips.
“What’s so funny?”
“Nothing.”
“Then why are you laughing?”
“I don’t know. Look, can I ask you something?”
“Yes.”
“You said Simon was after a secret message inside the jars. What if it’s still hidden in them?”
“How do you mean?”
“I’m not sure. Could the message be hidden in the stone?”
Ava rolled onto her stomach. “Yeah, I wondered that too. That’s why he had you examine them so carefully. Simon suspected there might be a coded message carved on the surface, but we didn’t find anything.”
“But what if it’s literally in the jars?”
“Meaning?”
“Maybe written on the inside. Sealed into the material somehow.”
“I don’t think so.”
Ava mulled over the possibilities. With her mirror and lantern, she’d examined the jars’ interiors and found no evidence of writing, etching, or carving. She wasn’t really surprised. An intelligent author would expect chemicals in the wine to ruin anything written on the inside. Furthermore, she doubted anything was embedded in the stone. That would have been quite difficult to accomplish without giving away the trick at a glance. Plus, she intuitively rejected the notion that shattering the jars was necessary to obtain the message. Would the apostles want such holy relics destroyed? No. There must be another solution. Pondering these questions, Ava dropped off to sleep.
Sheik Ahmed arrived in El Wasta just before ten at night . When they recognized his Brabus Mercedes, the uniformed guardsmen saluted and opened the gate. The car entered the police compound and circled to the main building, where Lieutenant Barakah waited. After parking, Ahmed’s chauffeur jumped out and hurried to open the sheik’s door, but Barakah beat him to it. Ahmed turned off his phone, emerged from the car, and strode purposefully into the building. As he walked, Barakah provided his important guest
The boys felt this area was a great place to camp. Cautiously, they pushed a bit farther upriver to a secluded island featuring row after row of espaliered fruit trees. Once the boat was secure, Sefu waded ashore and hiked inland for additional supplies. Ammon opened the skiff’s hold and removed four bags of camping equipment. He tossed them onto the bank, where he and Paul began erecting tents. As they worked, Ava directed a flashlight about the orchard. She sought a private grove for a bathroom break. Watching carefully for crocodiles, asps, and other dangers, she excused herself. When she returned, she watched them complete the tent-raising and Ammon lit a campfire.
Sefu arrived with a basket of fresh fruit, aish baladi (a bread), and roasted chicken. The four travelers enjoyed a hearty feast. Subsequently, they retired to the tents, having agreed to rise at dawn.
After visiting the latrine, Paul walked back to camp under a canopy of brilliant stars. Backlit by firelight, Ava’s silhouette moved within their tent. She crawled into her sleeping bag and pulled it up to her chin. Paul entered, and, after stripping to his undershorts, changed the bandage on his leg. He noted with amusement that Ava’s eyes were squeezed shut. Grinning, Paul gathered their sweaty laundry, took it outside, and hung it close to the fire to dry. When he returned, he zipped the flap shut and locked the zipper. Paul wasn’t worried about crocs, but his time working on archaeological digs had taught him that Africa offered many creepy invaders to disturb slumber. He flopped down on his side of the tent.
“Sorry if I snore.”
“It didn’t bother me in Giza.”
“Okay. Goodnight then.”
“Goodnight.”
Paul lay in darkness, listening. Above the river’s patient murmur, hosts of frogs, flies, and beetles pulsed, chirped, and trilled. The boys debated something in voices too muffled to understand while a distant cricket fiddled. Ava wriggled inside her sleeping bag. He thought she must be roasting in there. A quiet laugh passed his lips.
“What’s so funny?”
“Nothing.”
“Then why are you laughing?”
“I don’t know. Look, can I ask you something?”
“Yes.”
“You said Simon was after a secret message inside the jars. What if it’s still hidden in them?”
“How do you mean?”
“I’m not sure. Could the message be hidden in the stone?”
Ava rolled onto her stomach. “Yeah, I wondered that too. That’s why he had you examine them so carefully. Simon suspected there might be a coded message carved on the surface, but we didn’t find anything.”
“But what if it’s literally in the jars?”
“Meaning?”
“Maybe written on the inside. Sealed into the material somehow.”
“I don’t think so.”
Ava mulled over the possibilities. With her mirror and lantern, she’d examined the jars’ interiors and found no evidence of writing, etching, or carving. She wasn’t really surprised. An intelligent author would expect chemicals in the wine to ruin anything written on the inside. Furthermore, she doubted anything was embedded in the stone. That would have been quite difficult to accomplish without giving away the trick at a glance. Plus, she intuitively rejected the notion that shattering the jars was necessary to obtain the message. Would the apostles want such holy relics destroyed? No. There must be another solution. Pondering these questions, Ava dropped off to sleep.
Sheik Ahmed arrived in El Wasta just before ten at night . When they recognized his Brabus Mercedes, the uniformed guardsmen saluted and opened the gate. The car entered the police compound and circled to the main building, where Lieutenant Barakah waited. After parking, Ahmed’s chauffeur jumped out and hurried to open the sheik’s door, but Barakah beat him to it. Ahmed turned off his phone, emerged from the car, and strode purposefully into the building. As he walked, Barakah provided his important guest
Similar Books
