For the next two hours it was as though Ava had been transported back to the spa at the Gold Mohur Hotel.

The facilities were not tony by any stretch of the imagination –the lighting was bare-bulb and decor shabby– but relative to her recent digs they were Five-Star! They even had a semi-reasonable facsimile of a restroom, with a door! well, a dirty sheet, but still... Heaven!

Three ladies, concealed beneath chadri robes, and without speaking a word, bathed Ava, washed her hair, shaved her legs, tidied-up the Brazilian, cleaned and polished her finger and toe nails, then took great care brushing out her smooth black hair. Fresh cool water and tasty finger-snacks were provided throughout the treatments.

Following a body massage, Ava was clothed in luxurious silk robes that smelled of expensive perfume, and a pair of brand new slippers that could almost rival her Elie Tahari's. Then a fresh black hood was drawn over her head and she was escorted to the door.

All of a sudden, back in the dark, Ava began to worry over the exact purpose of these elaborate preparations. She had enjoyed every minute, but who was to be the ultimate benefactor?

One of the women rapped once on the door. It opened.

Ava began to step out but she was immediately whisked off her feet and carried outside where she was placed in a comfortable armchair. When it elevated off the ground, she realized she was being conveyed in a man-powered sedan.

"Ms. Blair, please, please, remove that bothersome hood. I am honored to host such a lovely guest in my humble abode. It is unfortunate these security inconveniences are necessary."

Mahmoud glided down the few, tiered steps to greet her.

Ava's eyes were dazzled by the light and color surrounding her when she removed the hood. An armed attendant was stationed in a far corner, otherwise she was alone with Mahmoud.

The expansive room was decorated with Persian carpets and Moroccan cushions of all sizes. Loaves of bread and wedges of cheese accompanied large bowls of fresh fruit and ewers of water and wine on a wide, low table positioned in front of a divan that sat on the uppermost tier. Most of the walls, and the ceiling, were hidden by loose drapery. Diffused sunlight entered from above. Ava could see the sky was the ceiling.

"Please, Ms. Blair, come sit," Mahmoud requested as he extended a hand and motioned toward the large divan with the other.

Mahmoud could have been a presentable gentleman if it weren't for his bug eyes, worm lips and the two rolls of excess suet hanging under his chin. He had obviously bathed, and he had changed from his Somali pirate gear into flowing, snowy-white robes and a headpiece secured by a simple black headband. He was no Rudolph Valentino, but he was making an effort.

Ava hesitated momentarily before deciding to play the game his way, and see what he had hiding up those ample sleeves. But she proceeded up the platform and onto the end of the divan without accepting his assistance.

Mahmoud presented her with a selection of the refreshments, "Please, help yourself."

In the movies, captives invariably refuse these offerings. Fine for the movies, but Ava was not shy about going for it; no sense in going hungry or thirsty. It would be wise to maintain her strength, she'd need it.

Mahmoud seated himself, allowing Ava her space. He said, "So, my dear, have you been made comfortable in my simple village?"

"For the most part, yes," Ava returned cheerily, "though my room did lack a certain... um, je ne sais quoi."

"Ahh, well, you must understand we have limited means." He tut-tutted with theatrical insincerity. "Impromptu guests can present a challenge. A possibility does exist that I can have you moved to alternative accommodations. We shall see."

"And may I inquire how long you envision having me as a guest? I certainly don't want to over-stay my welcome," Ava said as she finished off a chunk of cheese and followed it with a swallow of red wine. She discreetly edged further away from her host. Mahmoud was afflicted with a serious halitosis condition... his breath could strip the stainless out of steel.

"Most thoughtful of you, Ms. Blair. And that is precisely what I had hoped. Naturally you may dwell with us... forever, if you choose. But I was thinking a brief, pleasant visit would be more desirable for all parties." His smile was broad, but quite independent of his small eyes.

"Splendid! It has been pleasant. May I leave now?"

"Yes, indeed. In my territory, all are free to come and go as they please... within reason, naturally."

"Peachy. I'm all packed. When's the next shuttle to Aden?"

Oh, dandy, Ava thought to herself, I've picked up Adam East's propensity for wise-ass remarks; that oughta serve me well here. It was, in fact, a fairly effective defense mechanism, Ava realized; it did help suppress a degree of her retch-inducing fear.

Mahmoud said, "Anon, anon, as the Bard would say. But I must request one small, insignificant favor before your departure." His lips squirmed into another wet, closed-mouth smile before he continued, "We have constructed a modest studio here in the compound, and I have this meaningless communique that I wish you to record." He pulled a folded sheet of paper out of his sleeve and handed it to Ava. "I would be eternally grateful."

A confession to murder, and a request to the United States of America for ten million dollars in gold bullion.

That's what Mahmoud had expected Ava to record on video. And that's why Ava had been re-clothed in her excrement-encrusted robes and re-deposited into her hot, dark pig sty. She'd flatly refused, and resisted all his cajoling and thinly-veiled threats.

How long could she hold out? That's the question Ava asked herself now. She knew her brave face was a flimsy mask. The stifling, fetid air and darkness of this hole would suck the courage out of a Spartan gladiator.

But the putrid conditions of this hell-hole were not the thing that now most sickened Ava. It was what Mahmoud had said before he'd had her taken away: "Oh, incidentally, one other detail you may want to consider, Ms. Blair," he'd stated offhandedly. "You will recall that in my community we are all free to do as we please... come and go, as it were. So I am sure when you have visitors in the night you will understand my men are simply doing as they please." He'd grinned salaciously, revealing yellowed, rat-like teeth. "There is a thin line between here and Hades, my dear. I have observed that young ladies tend to become increasingly open and accommodating as the days and weeks pass. We will talk again tomorrow evening." Then he'd waggled four fingers to have her removed.

Ava had been in captivity a full twenty-four hours. It had been frightful. In a few hours' time it would be nightfall and she expected it would get much worse. She found herself again thinking how absurd these circumstances seemed. It was as if she were playing a part in some gratuitous sexploitation movie, or having an outrageous dream following a late-night pizza. But she didn't need to pinch herself to know this nightmare was dreadfully real. Weeks, days?... Hah, who was she fooling, just one night would be unendurable, worse than Hell.

Was there any hope at all? If Adam had survived wouldn't he have found her by now? This village was not more than a few hours' sail from where they'd met up with the dhow. Even in her dire straits Ava couldn't bear the notion of Adam not surviving. Maybe he was attempting to enlist the assistance of some armed forces? But Ava knew the circumstances made that highly unlikely. And from her research she knew it would be near fruitless... and far too late for her, even if it were successful.