Expertly, Marx turned the boat into the main channel, made a sweeping U-turn, and brought her parallel to the shore at a distance of no more than 5 or 6 meters. Almost immediately, the sensors picked up another wreck. The computer profiled this one as a nobleman's personal ship from the Middle Kingdom, 2040 to 1786 B.C.
The hull was slimmer than those of the cargo ships, and a cabin graced its afterdeck. They could see the remains of a guardrail running around the deck. The tops of the support posts looked to be carved with lions' heads. There was a wide gash in the port side, suggesting it sank after a collision with another ship.
Eight more ancient ships were discovered beneath the silt and duly recorded before the sensors struck the big casino.
Pitt straightened, his eyes set in concentration as an image, far larger than the previous contacts, sailed across his monitor. "We have a royal barge!" he called out.
"Marking position," Giordino acknowledged. "You sure it has pharaoh written on it?"
"As pretty a picture as we'll ever see. Take a look."
Giordino studied the growing image. "Looking good. No sign of a mast. She's too large for anyone but royalty to own.
The hull was long, with a delicate taper toward the ends. The stern stem was sculpted in the shape of a falcon's head, representing the Egyptian god Horus, but the forward section of the bow was missing. The high-resolution enhancement of the computer revealed the sides of the hull to be decorated with over a thousand carved hieroglyphics. There was a royal cabin that was also ornately carved. Banks of what remained of the oars still protruded from the hull. The rudder was a massive affair that looked like a huge canoe paddle and was braced to the side of the stern. The main attraction, though, was the great rectangular shape that sat on a deck platform amidships. It too bore carved sculptures.
Both men collectively held their breath as the computer hummed away. Then the profile swept across the screen.
"A stone sarcophagus," blurted Giordino with uncharacteristic excitement. "We've got a sarcophagus." He rushed over to his console and checked the readings. "The nonferrous scan shows large amounts of metal inside the cabin area and the sarcophagus."
"Pharaoh Menkura's gold," Pitt murmured softly.
"What do we have for a date?"
"Twenty-six hundred B.C. The time frame and configuration are right on the money," Pitt said, smiling broadly. "And the computer analysis shows charred wood forward, indicating the bow as burned away."
"Then we have Menkura's missing funeral barge."
"I wouldn't bet against it," said Pitt, his expression set in absolute euphoria.
Marx anchored the research boat directly over the wreck site. Then for the next six hours, Pitt and Giordino subjected the funeral barge to a battery of electronic scans and probes, accumulating an extensive record of its condition and disposition for Egyptian authorities.
"God, how I wish we could get a camera inside the cabin and sarcophagus." Giordino opened another beer but promptly forgot to drink it in the excitement.
"The inner coffins of the sarcophagus might be intact;" said Pitt. "But the dampness has probably rotted away most of the mummy. .As to the artifacts . . . who's to say? They might possibly equal the treasures of Tutankhaten."
"Menkura was a far bigger nabob than King Tut. He must have carried a larger hoard with him for the afterlife."
"Well we won't see any of it," Pitt said, stretching his arms to the cabin ceiling. "We'll be dead and buried ourselves before the Egyptians find the funding to raise and preserve the wreck for the Cairo museum."
"Visitors," Marx alerted them. "An Egyptian river patrol boat approaching downriver."
"Word travels fast around here," said Giordino incredulously. "Who could have tipped them off?"
"A routine patrol," said Pitt. "They'll pass by in midchannel."
"They're coming straight toward us," warned Marx.
"So much for a routine patrol," grunted Giordino.
Pitt stood and removed a file folder from a cabinet. "They're just being nosy and want to check us out. I'll meet them on deck with our permits from the antiquities office."
He walked through the cabin door into the roasting air outside and stood on the open stern deck. The froth of the bow-wave died away to a series of ripples, the metallic hum of the twin diesels loping on idle as the dark gray patrol boat slipped alongside less than a meter away.
Pitt gripped a railing as the wash rocked the research vessel. He watched casually as two seamen, dressed in the uniform of the Egyptian navy, leaned over the sides and held the patrol boat at bay with padded boat hooks. He could see the captain inside the wheelhouse and was mildly surprised when a hand was raised in a friendly salute but no attempt was made to board. His surprise turned to astonishment when a wiry little man leaped over the gunwales and landed lightly on the deck almost on Pitt's feet.
Pitt gaped at him incredulously. "Rudi! Where in hell did you drop from?"
Rudi Gunn, the Deputy Director of NUMA, smiled broadly and pumped Pitt's hand. "Washington. Landed at the Cairo airport less than an hour ago."