The next sounds Ava heard eddied down through the overhead hatch of the Captain's cabin. They gently roused her from one of the purest, deepest sleeps she'd ever enjoyed; not a glimpse of the Zalmay etchings. It took her a moment to process the circumstances.

The sound she'd heard was the first adham -call to prayer- of the day. It was comforting. It had floated over the distance between Vendetta and the scattered minarets dotting Aden.

Then Ava heard Adam's muffled voice and realized a ring-tone had likely conspired with the adham to wake her. She couldn't distinguish any of the words from his low rumbling voice, and the exchange lasted but a half-minute and consisted of single words and brief phrases. Then she heard him approaching. She pulled the covers up to her neck.

He tapped on the cabin doorjamb. "Miss Blair? Ava? Are you awake?" he half-whispered through the wood slats of the door. He had an easy voice, the corners of his words smooth and round.

"Um, yes, I am. What do you want?"

"I'm heading into town for supplies. Is there anything particular I can get you?"

Uhh, yeah, she thought sardonically, about a thousand things. Three of the top ten: a get-out-of-jail-free card, a box of Cheerios, and... clean underwear! Hmph, fat chance any of that will make it on to your shopping list, though.

She answered, "No, nothing special I guess... Oh wait! If you could grab a copy of the Yemen Observer I'd appreciate it."

"Sure, no problem. And, uh, is there anybody back home you should get in touch with? I could make a call from a pay-phone."

"Thanks. But there's nobody in particular. As far as everybody knows, I'm back-packing in Greece. And I intend to clean up the sh... mess here before anybody has a chance to worry about it."

"Okay," he said. And then following a weighty pause, "One other thing."

"What?"

"Just so ya know: Conquest Bay is a kiddies' pool compared with the currents and tidal action churning here in the Inner Harbor. Trust me, it's god-awful evil. I advise against any spontaneous dips, if you know what I mean."

Ava responded with silence. She did know what he meant, and it was not about swimming; it was about escaping. She was surprised he hadn't tossed sharks into the tale.

He lingered at the door a moment longer, and then she heard him walk away and sprint up the companionway steps.

A short time later she could hear him struggling to start the tender's engine. This time it required seven attempts and an even darker-shade-of-blue coaxing than yesterday. When it did catch, Ava rolled on to her elbow, flipped open the porthole cover and peered out.

The Zodiac tender was rocketing in the direction of the shore. Adam East was standing casually far aft, the engine throttle in his right hand, a rope lashed to the bow in his left.

Every few seconds, the tender caught air as it romped like a demented rocking-horse over moguls the size and shape of little Volkswagens. It tossed a sparkling wash high into the sunny blue each time it crashed down.

Ava couldn't help marvel as she observed Adam, his knees flexing adroitly to absorb the shock of each crazy bounce. Hmm, pretty sexy, she couldn't help thinking. And, she had to admit, his offer to call home for her was terribly considerate. Nice guy? Meh, maybe.

A man was standing near the end of the pier that Adam was heading towards. Ava managed to tear her gaze away from Adam. She strained her eyes to see whether she recognized the man on the pier, but the distance was too great. She jabbed the air with a frustrated fist. But then she snapped her fingers and sprang out of the berth and through the salon.

As she zipped by the navigation nook she plucked up the binoculars she'd noticed the night before and then up the companionway she bolted.

Before standing upright in the open-air cockpit, she hastily scanned her surroundings. All clear: No boaters near enough to pay any attention to her bare bod.

By the time Ava leveled the glasses to view the distant pier, Adam had secured the tender and was climbing the ladder to greet the man.

As a young girl, Ava could recall with great fondness scooting onto the couch next to her Dad to watch old film classics or, sometimes, boxed-sets of his favorite TV shows.'Miami Vice' topped his list. She'd been too young to follow any of the episodes' plot lines, but the hip clothes and hot vibe had held enormous appeal for her: Crockett in his natural linens, and Tubbs in his Italian-cut suits; the brilliant South Beach sun blazing down; the Atlantic winds buffeting their clothing and hair.

The scene now unfolding before Ava's eyes could have been ripped-off any one of those episodes.

Except: This was not Miami; there was no Phil Collins soundtrack; and she was not spying on Crockett and Tubbs.

Instead: Ava was looking at Adam East, the man holding her captive, and Ali Khan... al-Qaeda's ambassador to the New York chapter of the Russian mob. She knew him from photographs, but it struck Ava that she felt strangely more familiar with him than that.

Her heart plummeted with a thud, shuddering onto the bottom of her rib-cage when she realized the source of that familiarity. And now she also knew Adam East was indeed associated with al-Qaeda.