Early morning, and there was a fishy smell drifting past his nose.

It shouldn’t have been fish being cooked — because it was too briny, too raw, with an ocean quality to it, and there were soft murmuring voices underneath.

Wei Lai opened his eyes. The sky hadn’t fully brightened yet; a grey-white light lay tucked against the edges of the earth like a folded cloth. In another hour or two, the sun would arrive, and the dry, stifling heat would return immediately.

He turned his head. Cen Jin was still asleep.

Wei Lai got up and followed the sound, puzzled, to the edge of the roof. Down in the courtyard, a pickup truck had parked — its bed lined with thick plastic sheeting, heaped with piles of fish and weighted down by several large blocks of ice.

The driver was sitting cross-legged on the hood, holding an iron plate, pinching flatbread and dipping it into some yellow bean paste to eat. Ke Ke Shu was standing beside him, talking about something, a — on his shoulder — a —

Swimming ring?

But why did it have row upon row of small white teeth all over it?

Wei Lai crouched down at the roof’s edge and let out a sharp whistle toward the courtyard below.

Ke Ke Shu looked up, and his eyes lit up when he saw him. He raised the thing high above his head with both hands: “Wei! Look! Look!”

What is it? Look at what?

Curiosity took hold of him. He pressed his hands against the roof, sprang up onto the railing in one smooth move, and then dropped down, using the railing for leverage to jump the rest of the way.

The truck driver’s mouth fell open. After a long moment: “Wow…”

Then he gave him a thumbs-up.

Wei Lai grinned and took a close look at the thing Ke Ke Shu was carrying. He reached out and touched it — and recoiled visibly.

What the — an actual jawbone with teeth. Hard bony ridges, sharp teeth in a molar pattern: pointed at the front, flat at the back. He ran a fingertip across the tips of the teeth and his skin came away bristling.

Ke Ke Shu was practically glowing with excitement: “I’ve been asking people to help me track this down… waited a long time. There was a shipment of seafood coming from Port Sudan, and someone brought it along. A shark jaw — the real thing!”

Fishermen at Port Sudan sometimes caught sharks and would cut out the jawbone along with the teeth intact, dry it, and take it home as a decorative piece.

Wei Lai took it and stuck his head inside to size it up. This shark must have been on the smaller side — the large ones had jaws big enough for a person to lie inside — but even this smaller one was more than sufficient to bisect him cleanly.

“What do you want this for?”

“I’m going to mount it on the front of my car — a shark jaw! Way cooler than one of those Mitsubishi shark-nose fronts.”

“Mount it on your car… the tuk-tuk?”

Ke Ke Shu was indignant: “The car I own at home! My four-wheel drive! You know about that!”

Wei Lai knew — but still —

You obviously know to buy a decent car for yourself. Then why did you pick us up in a three-wheeler?

The truck driver finished eating and unloaded a bit more seafood for the guesthouse, then drove off. Ke Ke Shu refused to let go of the shark jaw — well, the shark only had the jaw left; if he went and tried to hug a live one, we’d see how that went.

Wei Lai checked that no one else was around, then crouched down, dropping his voice along with it: “Any news from Milu?”

Time to get down to business.

Ke Ke Shu set the shark jaw leaning against the wall, and came over to face him, crouching too.

This was the safer way to talk: both parties crouching low, easier to conceal. Between the two of them, they could sweep a full three hundred and sixty degrees with their eyes, alert each other if anything stirred, and the sound of conversation naturally dropped downward and inward — far less likely to carry to unwanted ears.

“The negotiations being on open water is confirmed. You’ll need to head east, through the desert, to the coast. But the pirates won’t go anywhere near a busy port. From what I understand, they’ll specify a remote fishing village — from there, a speedboat picks you up, and once you’re on open water, you board the negotiation ship.”

“How do I get there?”

“If you don’t want to draw attention, take a long-distance bus — or drive a van or a pickup. Those kinds of vehicles are common on the desert routes.”

Wei Lai exhaled in relief.

Thank goodness he hadn’t said: “Wei! Just drive that tuk-tuk out there.”

“I can sort out the vehicle for you. Give me a list — whatever you might need: guns, binoculars, pharmaceuticals, first aid kit… I’ll have it ready for you by end of day. Though this trip of yours has seemed remarkably smooth — thousands of miles, and you’ve made it here without incident.”

Compared to some of the harrowing protection jobs he’d done before, this one had been eerily uneventful.

Money earned too easily could make your scalp prickle.

Wei Lai said: “Two possibilities.”

“First — the people threatening her really were just threatening her. She only needed to leave He’er Xinji and she’d be safe.”

He had thought it through: even if a truly formidable force wanted to make a move on her, they’d do it at most in He’er Xinji — they wouldn’t chase her across ten thousand miles. After all, writing an editorial, stepping on someone’s toes — that was a grievance, not a blood feud.

“Second — they’re serious. We changed our route and shook them off temporarily, which is why we’ve been safe so far. But the closer we get to the negotiation site, the more dangerous it will become — because the other side knows perfectly well that she’s going to meet the pirates, and they’ll be waiting for us at the destination.”

But if that were the case, another question arose: who would have sources on both the Saudi side and the pirate side simultaneously? What kind of person could pull that off?

That was not something your average nobody could manage.

Ke Ke Shu suddenly raised his chin and tilted his head to indicate something behind him.

Wei Lai turned to look. It was Cen Jin, one arm folded across her chest, holding the edge of her wrap closed, standing at the roof’s edge.

Wei Lai laughed.

He stood and walked toward the building, tilting his face up from below — the sun had risen a little now, and it was slightly blinding.

“Miss Cen — are you trying to come down?”

Cen Jin nodded.

Wei Lai narrowed his eyes slightly, stretched out his arm, and held up a single index finger.

“One hundred euros. Non-negotiable.”

Cen Jin stared at him. Wei Lai raised an eyebrow, his gaze carrying a clear hint of challenge: go ahead and try staying up there.

Just as he was feeling rather pleased with himself, someone shoved him hard from behind. Caught off guard, he nearly went sprawling.

Ke Ke Shu’s voice boomed out: “Miss Cen! Me — fifty euros!”

Of all the — wasn’t he the one preaching about mutual trust just last night?

You could never trust a man who hadn’t worn underwear until he was eight. Basic human decency was simply missing.

Wei Lai was furious enough to grind his teeth. The look he turned on Ke Ke Shu had the menace of a shark’s full row of teeth.

Ke Ke Shu was grinning up at the rooftop — and then his face fell.

A moment later, he shuffled back over to Wei Lai, looking deflated: “She doesn’t want me.”

Oh? Wei Lai was genuinely surprised. A wave of satisfaction swept through him from head to toe.

Since they’d set out together, apart from reporting the black ship, this was the most satisfying thing she had done.

He looked up. She was still standing exactly where she had been, waiting with idle patience. After a few seconds of eye contact, she blinked at him.

He decided not to charge her anything.

Ke Ke Shu was sulking: “I don’t like this Miss Cen.”

Wei Lai replied: “You’re not supposed to like her anyway… liking your wife is what matters.”

After lunch, Milu called Wei Lai. His opening line: “I’m at the airport — I finally got the Saudi man on his way.”

The airport?

Stockholm airport? Istanbul airport? For a split second, Wei Lai almost thought Milu was following the same route they had taken.

Then he registered: the Saudi man had left He’er Xinji.

How had he left already? They had only just arrived in East Africa; the negotiations hadn’t even started — why was the rear pulling out?

“Hu Sha’s side said: from here on, they’ll deal with you directly. Since the Saudis have already sent Miss Cen as their representative, there’s no need for them to be involved any further — just go home and wait for news.”

“So you’re telling me to stay in Khartoum and wait for the pirates to contact me?”

“Not exactly — head northeast, across the Nubian Desert to the coast. The pirates’ speedboat will pick you up there. The specific location they’ll relay to you en route — the east is very underdeveloped, the infrastructure is poor, but I’ve already told Ke Ke Shu to get you a military satellite phone. Don’t worry about communications.”

Wei Lai figured that was manageable: “I’ll let Miss Cen know. We set out tomorrow.”

Milu offered a cheerful send-off: “Wei, enjoy every moment of your time in Khartoum! It’s the best city in Sudan! And keep things on good terms with Miss Cen — the Nubian Desert averages a fraction of a person per square kilometre. If she stops talking to you, there’ll be literally no one else to talk to.”

Wei Lai said: “In that case, I’ll try to charge her as little as possible along the way.”

……

He ended the call, drew up a supply list, and went to find Cen Jin before handing it to Ke Ke Shu — in case she had anything to add.

She took it and went through it carefully, her fingertip tracing each line, sometimes mouthing the words.

“Sunglasses — yes. Head wrap — yes. Medicine — yes…”

The power hadn’t come back yet. She had sprinkled water on the floor to try to cool the room, but it barely helped. Her skin had flushed pink, and her forehead was lightly sheened with perspiration. A bead of sweat suddenly slid down along her nose, hung trembling at the tip — transparent, quivering slightly, almost comic.

She didn’t look up. She wiped it away with the back of her hand.

Wei Lai picked up the magazine from beside him and fanned them both with it.

Cen Jin looked up.

“Drinking water needs to go up — at least double. Sudan has over twenty states, and only two of them have water that meets international drinking standards. Everywhere else, a lot of communities source their water from puddles. We can’t drink that.”

“Also bring some electronic dust covers. Starting in April, there are frequent sandstorms. The sand here is very fine — if it gets into the equipment, it’s a serious problem.”

“That’s everything?”

“Yes.”

Good — those were things he hadn’t thought of. Wei Lai took the list back.

From downstairs came the faint sound of Ke Ke Shu’s voice — apparently showing off his shark jaw to the innkeeper again. Wei Lai folded the list in half, then folded the two top corners inward toward the center.

He was folding a paper airplane.

Standard folding technique, except the wings had one extra crease — making it narrower than a typical airplane.

He held it up, examined it from left and right, and asked her: “Do you know how to make a paper airplane fly far?”

“Are you three years old?”

Wei Lai said: “You know, you live with absolutely no sense of humor.”

He breathed on the nose of the plane, then held it level, closed one eye, and aimed toward the door.

The airplane flew out — steady and clean, through the doorframe, over the railing.

Wei Lai shouted: “Ke Ke Shu!”

Two minutes later, footsteps echoed in the corridor. Ke Ke Shu’s head appeared in the doorway, his expression equal parts excited and furtive. In his hand was the unfolded airplane.

“Just that?”

“Yes.”

“No problem! Wei, wait for my plane to bring back the report!”

He hurried off excitedly.

Wei Lai said, with great meaning: “See? All men are three years old.”