Crescent Dawn (Dirk Pitt 21)

Ruppé motored through a parklike setting studded with historic buildings. Driving up a slight rise, he pulled into an employee parking lot at the rear of the Istanbul Archaeology Museum. A half block away rose the high wall that surrounded the inner palace of Topkapi.

After uncoiling themselves from the cramped car, Loren and Pitt followed Ruppé toward a large neoclassical building.

“The museum actually encompasses three buildings,” Ruppé explained. “There’s the Museum of the Ancient Orient around the front, next to the Tiled Kiosk, which houses the Museum of Islamic Art. I kick around here in the main building, which houses the Archaeology Museum.”

Ruppé led them up the back steps of the columned building, constructed in the nineteenth century. After he unlocked the back door, they were greeted by a night watchman stationed just inside.

“Good evening, Dr. Ruppé,” the guard said. “Working late again?”

“Hi, Avni. Just a quick visit with some friends, and then we’ll be gone.”

“Take your time. It’s just me and the crickets.”

Ruppé led his guests through the main hallway, which was filled with ancient statues and carvings. Exhibit halls on either side show-cased elaborate tombs from across the Middle East. The archaeologist stopped and pointed out a massive stone sarcophagus covered with bas-relief carvings.

“The Alexander Sarcophagus, our most famous artifact. The scenes along the sides depict Alexander the Great in battle. Nobody knows who’s actually inside, though many believe it’s a Persian Governor named Mazaeus.”

“Beautiful artwork,” Loren murmured. “How old is it?”

“Fourth century B.C.”

Ruppé guided them down a side corridor and into a spacious office overflowing with books. A large lab table occupied one wall, its stainless steel surface covered with artifacts in varying stages of conservation. Ruppé flicked on a bank of overhead lights, which brightly illuminated the room.

“Let’s take a look at your soggy goods,” he said, pulling a couple of stools up to the table.

Pitt unzipped the bag and pulled out Giordino’s iron box, unwrapping it carefully from the towel.

“Somebody’s piggy bank, I believe,” he said. “The lock came off by itself,” he explained with a guilty grin.

Ruppé slipped on a pair of reading glasses and studied the box.

“Yes, it looks like the equivalent of a strongbox, quite old from the appearance.”

“The contents might make dating it a little easier,” Pitt remarked.

Ruppé’s eyes widened as he opened the lid. Spreading a cloth on the table, he carefully laid out the silver and gold coins, seven in all.

“I should have let you pay for dinner,” he said.

“My word, is that real gold?” Loren asked, picking up the gold coin and noting its heavy weight.

“Yes, looks to be from an Ottoman mint,” Ruppé replied, studying the stamped inscription. “They operated several around the empire.”

“Can you read any of the writing?” she asked, admiring the swirling Arabic script.

“It appears to be a rendition of ‘Allahu Akbar,’ or ‘God is great.’”

Ruppé crossed the room and scanned his bookshelf, finally retrieving a thick-bound volume from the

shelves. Flipping its pages, he stopped at a photograph of several antique coins. Comparing the image with one of the coins, he nodded in satisfaction.

“A match?” Pitt asked.

“Spot-on. Identical to coins known to be minted in Syria, during the sixteenth century. Congratulations, Dirk, you’ve likely discovered an Ottoman wreck from the Age of Suleiman the Magnificent.”

“Who’s Suleiman?” Loren asked.

“One of the most successful and admired of the Ottoman sultans, perhaps only behind the reigning founder of the empire, Osman I. He expanded the Ottoman Empire across southeastern Europe, the Middle East, and North Africa during his reign in the mid fifteen hundreds.”