Crescent dawn dp 21, p.12
Crescent Dawn dp-21, page 12
part #21 of Dirk Pitt Series
The groundskeeper stared with his jaw open as the old truck smashed into Venus at a hard angle. The mangled artwork disappeared in a cloud of dust as the truck bounded forward and into a spin. Sliding back across the gravel drive, the truck spun three times before plowing into a thicket of small willows. The vehicle continued to slide, finally jarring to a halt against a thick chestnut tree as the three occupants were hurled against the dashboard.
Sunglasses slumped back into his seat, rubbing a fat lip obtained from kissing the steering wheel. Beside him, the man in the blue shirt was stemming the flow of blood from a mashed nose. Only the Persian escaped the collision unscathed, having braced himself with his free arm.
Listening to the engine idling without damage, he turned to the driver.
“Let’s keep after them.”
Sunglasses shook off his daze and reversed gear, roughly bouncing the truck back onto the drive. Hitting the brakes, a loud clattering arose from behind the cab. The Persian glanced out the rear window to see the decapitated head of Venus rolling about the truck bed with a clatter.
By the time they got back onto the drive, Pitt had already exited the estate. As he had hoped, the diversion had allowed sufficient time for the moving truck to sort itself out, and the coastal road was now clear. Pitt quickly pushed the old car up to high speed on the paved road.
“We might have bought a little time,” he said, “but we’re about out of gas.”
Loren leaned over to see the fuel gauge needle flicker directly above the E .
“Maybe they’ll stay in the clutches of Venus,” she said hopefully.
Speeding past the Austrian Summer Embassy, the road opening up, they could see another shoreside village up ahead. A large car ferry was visible at the town dock, loading passengers and vehicles for a run down the Bosphorus.
“That ferry might be our best bet,” Pitt said as the road dropped sharply to the waterfront.
“Yes, for that peaceful, relaxing cruise you were telling me about,” Loren muttered.
A roguish grin crossed Pitt’s lips. “Peaceful, perhaps, for someone,” he replied.
They drove past a sign proclaiming the town of Yenikoy, and made their way through light traffic to the dock. Pitt pulled up behind an open truck loaded with oriental carpets waiting to board the ferry. He quickly scanned the dockside, eyeing a row of waterfront bars and restaurants similar to those in Sariyer.
“There’s the truck,” Loren suddenly blurted.
Pitt looked back up the road, catching a glimpse of the truck approaching the town a half mile away. He turned to Loren and motioned up a side street with his thumb.
“I want you to slip up to that restaurant with the green awning and order me a beer,” he said.
“The dingy place with the darkened windows?” she asked, looking past a number of clean, respectable establishments.
Pitt nodded.
“What about our cruise?”
“We’re going to give our seats up for our friends. Stay put until I get there. Now, go,” he directed, giving her a quick kiss.
He watched as she climbed out of the car and hightailed it up the street, then tentatively entered the scruffy bar. A few seconds later, he spotted the pickup truck in his rearview mirror rumbling up to the dock. Pitt noted with some amusement that the truck’s front fender was mashed flat and streaked with white marble dust. A demolished front headlight left a vacant cavity that now resembled an empty eye socket. There was no doubt that the assailants had spotted the French car as the battered truck took its place in line to board the ferry three cars behind Pitt.
Pitt noticed the carpet truck in front of him dawdle as the ramp to the ferry cleared free and he quickly revved the Delahaye and jumped past the big vehicle, eliciting an angry honk from the driver. The truck offered a slight buffer of concealment, which Pitt hoped would hide the fact that he was the lone occupant in the car.
Pitt paid the toll attendant and drove onto the car deck of the covered ferry, pulling up behind a small sedan packed with young kids. He quickly jumped out of the car and looked behind him. The carpet truck was stuck idling alongside the toll attendant, blocking the other vehicles as its driver fished in his pockets for fare money. If any of the gunmen had hopped out of the pickup truck, they weren’t yet visible. Pitt turned around and surveyed the ferryboat.
It was a double-decker, with the covered lower deck carrying the vehicles while passengers sat topside. He started to step toward a staircase when he spotted a vendor selling popcorn to the kids parked in front of him. The man was almost Pitt’s height and build, with similar dark wavy hair.
“Excuse me,” Pitt called to the man. “Would you be kind enough to watch my car while I go to the restroom?” He pulled a ten-lira Turkish bill out of his wallet as he asked the question.
The vendor spotted the note and nodded profusely. “Why, yes, of course,” he answered.
Pitt stuffed the bill into the man’s hand, then guided him to the driver’s door.
“Please sit inside,” Pitt requested. “Nobody will bother my car if it is occupied.”
The man set down his rack of popcorn and eagerly jumped inside, excited to sit in the stylish old car.
“I’ll be right back,” Pitt said with a wink, then hurried toward the staircase.
He climbed to the upper deck and melded through the passengers as he made his way to the stern. The pickup truck was just coming up the ramp as he peered over the side, spotting all three figures sitting inside the cab.
The pickup was the last vehicle to board, and the dock crew soon pulled away the car ramp while the ferry crew raised a collapsible gate across the stern. Pitt felt the engine rumble belowdecks, then three blasts of the horn announced the ferry’s imminent departure. Making his way to the stern rail, he waited for the ferry’s prop to engage, then glanced forward.
At the head of the center stairwell, he saw Sunglasses appear, searching the crowd in frantic haste. Pitt could only imagine the look in the gunmen’s faces when they had approached the Delahaye only to find a popcorn vendor sitting behind the wheel. He had little time to consider the amusement, though, as the deck suddenly swayed beneath his feet and a surge of boiling water arose off the ferry’s stern.
He quickly climbed over the rail, creating a minor stir among the surrounding passengers that immediately drew Sunglasses’ attention. The gunman started running across the deck, but Pitt disappeared from sight. He lowered himself from a rail stanchion until he hung by outstretched arms and then dropped himself to the lower deck. Landing in a tuck, he sprang to his feet and vaulted over the lower deck stern gate, then leaped from the transom in a furious lunge for the dock.
The ferry had pulled a few feet away when he jumped, and Pitt just managed to catch a foot on the edge of the auto ramp and roll forward. Tumbling down the ramp, he regained his balance and slowly stood up. The accelerating ferry was moving quickly into the channel, already putting nearly twenty feet between itself and the dock.
Pitt looked up to see Sunglasses rush to the ferry’s upper rail and stare dismally at the growing distance between ship and shore. The assailant turned his gaze to Pitt, instinctively reaching a hand toward the holster he wore beneath a light jacket before abandoning the notion.
Pitt studied the figure, then threw him a jovial wave as if he were an old friend. Sunglasses stood impervious, staring back at Pitt with a face of chilled granite, as the ferry slowly made its way down the strait.
13
The setting sun cast a golden hue on the Mediterranean’s westerly breakers as they crashed against the Israeli shoreline. Sophie gazed at the blue horizon thankful that the heat of the day had finally passed, then turned and stepped into the artifact tent. Professor Haasis was hunched over a papyrus scroll, his face aglow as he attempted to decipher the ancient script. Sophie smiled to herself, thinking how he resembled a wide-eyed kid in a candy shop.
“Give your brain a rest, Professor,” she said. “They’ll still be here in the morning.”
Haasis looked up with a sheepish grin. On a long table before him were spread over a dozen of the ceramic boxes, each housing an assortment of the small papyrus scrolls. He reluctantly rolled up the scroll he was examining and placed it back in one of the boxes.
“Yes, I suppose I should take a break to eat,” he said. “I just can’t help myself. It is such an amazing wealth of data. This last scroll, for example,” he said, tapping the box for emphasis, “it describes how an Anatolian merchant ship loaded with grain from Egypt was forced to seek safe harbor here when its mast shattered. Little gems like that make my heart beat faster.”
“That doesn’t exactly sound on par with the Dead Sea Scrolls,” Sophie replied with a chuckle.
“Well, the average man on the street may not care about this,” he replied, “but for those who make history their life’s work, it’s like discovering a window to the past that used to be shuttered.”
Haasis pulled off a pair of white gloves. “I really need to get these transferred to the university lab for proper analysis and conservation, but I just can’t resist taking a first look.”
He had examined all but three of the boxes by the time he stood and stretched.
“What’s become of Dirk?” he asked. “I haven’t seen him since he delivered the final box.”
Sophie shrugged her shoulders, trying to appear indifferent. But the same question had been lingering in her head. Dirk’s earlier dinner invitation had given her a rush all afternoon. She even sneaked off to wash up and to brush her hair, angry for once in her life that she hadn’t carried any makeup with her. She felt her heart stop when a figure suddenly entered the tent behind them. Spinning around, she looked in disappointment to see that it was only Sam.
“You guys ready for dinner? The mess tent is featuring spaghetti and meatballs,” he announced. A smear of red sauce on his chin revealed that he had already made a first pass through the chow line.
“Sounds great,” Haasis replied. “Come along, Sophie, let’s eat.”
The antiquities agent moved slowly toward the exit, trying hard to hide her disappointment.
“Sam,” she asked, “are we set up for tonight?”
Her assistant nodded. “Raban and Holder will be arriving within the hour. I told them we’d run surveillance till about midnight.”
“Professor Haasis has offered us a tent, so I think I will stay the night. You can hitch a ride home with the boys, if you’d rather.”
“I think I will. Sleeping on the ground isn’t as much fun as it was when I was thirteen,” Sam replied, rubbing his back.
They walked out of the tent to find Dirk standing outside with a beach towel draped over his arm like a waiter. He was dressed in khakis and a polo shirt, and Sophie couldn’t help but think how nicely he had cleaned up. She fought hard to suppress a smile.
“I believe we had a dinner date,” he said to her with a slight bow.
“I almost forgot,” she lied.
He took her arm and escorted her behind Sam and Haasis as the group walked to the mess tent nearby. Sophie turned to follow the two men into the tent but felt Dirk suddenly tug her in the opposite direction.
“We’re not eating with the others?” she asked.
“Not unless you have a craving for spaghetti that comes out of a can,” he replied.
“No, not particularly,” she replied, shaking her head.
“Good. Then it’s off to Cape Pitt.”
He guided Sophie down to the shoreline, where they walked along the beach a short distance. When they reached a rocky ledge that jutted into the sea, Dirk turned and helped her climb over the boulder-strewn surface.
“This was the site of a Roman palace,” Sophie said, recalling the prior excavation of a large structure that featured Greek columns and a decorative pool.
“Many believe it was King Herod’s, built after he constructed the harbor,” Dirk replied, showing he had studied up on Caesarea.
“I don’t remember there being a restaurant located here,” Sophie said, with a playful grin.
“It’s just behind that last wall.”
They climbed through the ruins to the tip of the promontory. Just past a crumbled stone wall, they reached a sheltered recess that offered a commanding view of the sea. Sophie laughed when she spotted an ice chest parked beside a small hibachi, its charcoal embers glowing red-hot.
“King Herod’s Café, open for business. Hope you don’t mind eating alfresco,” Dirk said, spreading out the towel on a sandy spot. He quickly produced a bottle of white wine from the cooler and poured them each a glass.
“To damn fools,” he said, clinking his glass against hers. Sophie blushed, then quietly sipped her wine.
“What’s on the menu?” she asked, trying to change the subject.
“Fresh sea bass, snared by yours truly this afternoon. Grilled in lemon and olive oil, and accompanied by a vegetable kabob, organically grown on a kibbutz up the road.” He held up a pair of skewers loaded with peppers, tomatoes, and onions.
“I’m sure glad I passed on the spaghetti,” Sophie replied.
Dirk threw the kabobs and a pair of fish fillets onto the small grill and quickly had dinner served. Sophie found the fresh food tasted delicious and hungrily devoured her entire plate.
“It was terrific,” she said, setting down her empty plate. “You sure you’re not a professional chef?”
Dirk laughed. “Far from it. Put me in a kitchen, and I don’t get much past peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. But show me a hot grill, and I’ll happily run amok.”
“You run amok with nice results,” she said with a smile.
As he sliced up a small melon for dessert, she asked how he liked working at NUMA.
“I couldn’t ask for a better job. I’m able to work in and around the sea, virtually anywhere in the world. Most of our projects are both interesting and fundamentally important to preserving the health of our oceans. And on top of that, I get to work closely with my family.”
He noticed a faint look of alarm cross Sophie’s face at the mention of his family.
“My father is the Director of NUMA,” he explained. “And I have a twin sister named Summer who is a NUMA oceanographer. It’s actually on account of my father that I was able to come to Israel. He relieved me on a survey project we’ve been working on along the coast of Turkey.”
“Professor Haasis told me that he has several old friends at NUMA and holds the organization in high regard.”
“He has certainly done some fine work here himself,” Dirk replied.
“So your time in Caesarea is short?”
“I’m afraid so. Two more weeks, then I must head back to Turkey.”
He passed her a plate of sliced melon, then asked, “Okay, now it’s your turn. How did you come to be an archaeologist with a gun?”
Sophie smiled. “An interest in geology and history, instilled by my father from an early age, I suppose. I love archaeology and digging up the past, but I have always felt pain at seeing our cultural treasures being looted for profit. Working at the Antiquities Authority, I feel like I can help make a difference, although we are vastly outnumbered by the bad guys.”
Dirk waved a hand toward the coastline. “Caesarea has been pretty well picked through over the centuries. You think the professor’s small diggings here are really at risk?”
“Your discovery today proved that there are still cultural riches to be found. I was actually more concerned about the grave site, which a local reporter foolishly publicized in the press. The presence of someone masquerading yesterday as an antiquities agent doesn’t help my radar any, either.”
“Well, at least we haven’t uncovered any gold or treasure. Any looter ransacking our site is apt to be sorely disappointed.”
“You’d be surprised at the varied desires of the high-end artifact collector. Many collectors value cultural antiquities as much as treasure, to everyone’s detriment. Those scrolls of yours would fetch a small fortune on the black market. I know I’ll feel a lot better when Professor Haasis has all of the artifacts safely transported to the University of Haifa.” She glanced at her wristwatch.
“I really should get back and coordinate our evening reconnaissance.”
Dirk poured her a half glass of wine.
“How about a small one for the road?”
Sophie nodded and took the glass as Dirk sat close beside her with his own glass. The surf pounded the rocks around them as a deep blue twilight settled over their heads. It was a relaxing romantic moment, the kind that had escaped Sophie’s life for quite some time. She turned to Dirk and whispered, “I’m sorry I yelled at you today.”
He leaned over and kissed her softly, letting their lips linger.
“You can make it up to me another time.”
Snuggling close, they finished the wine before Sophie forced herself to end their time together. Holding hands, they retraced their steps across the beach and up the hill toward camp. A generator-powered string of lights swayed over the assembly of tents, illuminating the campsite in a chalky glow. Sam was settled on a rock wall to one side, speaking to two men in dark clothes.
“I’m in the last tent on the left,” Dirk said to Sophie. “Make sure the grave robbers don’t disturb my sleep, will you?”
“Good night, Dirk.”
“Good night.”
Dirk watched Sophie join her colleagues, then turned toward the row of tents. Before turning in, he stepped over to the large artifact tent, which was still ablaze with light. Haasis was back at it, hunched over a scroll of papyrus with a magnifying glass in one hand.
“Uncover any secrets for the ages?” Dirk asked.
Haasis looked up momentarily, then gazed back at the papyrus.
