Crescent Dawn (Dirk Pitt 21)

—CORNICULAR TRAIANUS ”

“Centurion Plautius,” Gunn repeated. “It’s a memorial to a Roman soldier?”

“Yes,” Zeibig replied, “which adds veracity to Al’s crown being of Roman origin, a gift from the Emperor Constantine.”

“A Scholae Palatinae loyal to Helena,” Pitt said. “The Scholae Palatinae were the elite security force of the later Roman emperors, as I recall, similar to the Praetorian Guard. The reference to Helena must be Helena Augustus.”

“That’s right,” Zeibig agreed. “The mother of Constantine I, who ruled in the early fourth century. Helena lived from 248 to 330 A.D., so the stone and the crown would presumably date to that era.”

“Any idea who this Traianus is?” Gunn asked.

“A cornicular y is a military officer, typically a deputy position. I searched some Roman databases for a Traianus but came up empty.”

“I guess the big mystery still remains: Where did the crown and monolith originate and why were they in an Ottoman wreck?”

He gazed past Zeibig, perking up at the sight of two men in blue uniforms who were making their way down the quay toward the ship.

“Well, well, the local constables have returned,” he said. “I hope that’s our parole papers they are carrying with them.”

Captain Kenfield met the officers on the dock and escorted them aboard, where Pitt and Gunn joined them in the wardroom.

“I have your impoundment release here,” the elder officer stated in clear English. He was a round-faced man with drooping ears and a thick black mustache.

“Your government was very persuasive,” he added with a thin smile. “You are free to go.”

“Where does the investigation of my murdered crewmen stand?” Kenfield inquired.

“We have reopened the case as a potential homicide. At present, however, we have no suspects.”

“What about that yacht, the Sultana?” Pitt asked.

“Yes, we saw the boat nearly cut Dirk to shreds,” Gunn pressed.

“We were able to trace that vessel to its owner, who informs us that you must be mistaken,” the officer replied. “The Sultana is on a charter cruise off Lebanon. We received e-mail photos this morning of the vessel moored in the Port of Beirut.”

“The Sultana was heavily damaged,” Pitt said. “There is no way she could have sailed to Lebanon.”

The officer’s assistant opened a briefcase and pulled out several printed photographs, which he handed to Pitt. The photos showed bow and port-side views of the blue yacht moored at a dusty facility. Pitt didn’t fail to notice that none of the photos showed the starboard flank, where he had rammed the yacht. The last photo showed a close-up of a Lebanese daily newspaper with the present date, the yacht appearing in the background. Gunn leaned over Pitt and studied the photos.

“That sure looks like the same boat,” he said reluctantly. He could only nod when Pitt showed him the photo of a life ring that clearly showed the yacht’s name. Pitt simply nodded, finding no evidence that the photos had been doctored.

“It doesn’t belie the fact that one of our scientists was also kidnapped and taken to the yacht’s facility up the coast,” Pitt said.

“Yes, our department contacted the local police chief at Kirte, who sent a man to investigate the dock facility you described.” He turned and nodded to his assistant, who retrieved a thick packet from his case and handed it to his supervisor.

“You may have a copy of the report that was filed in Kirte. I’ve taken the liberty of having it translated into English for you,” the officer said, handing it to Pitt while giving him an apologetic look. “The investigator reported that not only were the ships you described absent from the harbor, there were in fact no vessels at all at the facility.”

“They certainly covered their tracks quickly,” Gunn remarked.

“The facility records indicate a large freighter similar to the one you described was at the dock earlier in the day, taking on a shipment of textiles. However, the records indicate that the vessel left harbor at least eight hours before your alleged arrival at the facility.”

The officer looked at Pitt with a sympathetic gaze.

“I’m sorry there is little else we can do at the moment, pending additional evidence,” he added.

“I realize this has turned into a rather confusing incident,” Pitt said, suppressing his frustration. “I wonder, though, if you can tell me who owns the shipping facility near Kirte?”

“It is a privately held company called Anatolia Exports. Their contact information is in the report.” He looked at Pitt with a pensive gaze. “If there is any additional service I can provide, please let me know.”