Celtic Empire (Dirk Pitt 25)

The Webley barked again. At the far end of the trench, one of the gunmen fell backward, avoiding a bullet by milliseconds.

“Last shot,” Dirk said. “Get everyone in there.”

Summer and Zeibig had pushed away another stone, opening a three-foot-wide gap in the trench wall. Zeibig waved the two laborers in first, then passed down Stanley before following, with Summer right behind. Dirk turned and looked at Riki.

The young blond woman faced the opposite trench wall and suddenly began scaling it. Dirk lunged over, hooking an arm around her thin waist before she could reach the top and pulling her back down. She turned to him with a wide-eyed look of surprise.

“I’m . . . I’m sorry. I got scared and panicked.”

He now noticed her natural beauty. The expressive eyes, full lips, and fair skin that was flawless even under the gritty desert sun.

“We’re all scared,” Dirk replied, coaxing a grin. “You’ll scare me even more trying to go over the top. How about we try this way?” He pointed toward the opening near their feet.

She looked from Dirk to the hole and back again. “My name’s Riki,” sh

e said, touching his arm. “Thank you.” She gazed at him with a nervous smile, then bellied up to the hole and disappeared inside.

Dirk followed, slithering through the opening and dropping onto a stone-paved floor. Zeibig’s cell phone light revealed a low, narrow passageway lined with large limestone blocks. The floor angled down to the left, expanding from the low-ceilinged entry point.

“Appears all sealed up this way,” Zeibig said, shining his light to the right.

“Then I suggest we go downhill,” Dirk said. “With only one light, we’ll have to stay together.” He reached through the hole and fitted the broken pieces of limestone back into place as best he could. The passageway turned black.

“I’ve got another light,” Stanley said with a weak voice. “It’s in my shirt pocket.”

Summer knelt beside him and found a penlight in his pocket. She flicked it on and pointed it past the two workmen down the empty passageway.

“Take the lead,” Dirk said to her. “Rod and I will help Dr. Stanley.”

Summer nodded. She moved past the two Egyptians and stepped cautiously down the corridor. At first she had to duck low to keep from banging her head, but as she moved in deeper, the ceiling height gradually increased. Riki and the laborers tailed close behind, while Zeibig and Dirk struggled to move Stanley.

The passage tracked downhill to a tight bend, which they squeezed through single file. As Dirk finally made the turn, a light gleamed behind him. The gunmen had discovered their escape route and were pulling away the limestone chunks.

“We’d better get a move on,” Dirk called out. He supported Stanley’s right arm and shoulder through the bend as Zeibig guided the archeologist from the front.

The passageway nearly turned back on itself, then straightened into a long corridor that continued its subtle descent.

“What do you think this is, Rod?” Dirk asked.

Zeibig waved his light at the smooth-carved stone walls, they revealed no markings. “Nothing in the way of inscriptions to tell us.”

“Underground passage between buildings,” Stanley said. “Or maybe . . .” He was overcome by a fit of coughing from the stale air. Dirk and Zeibig halted until Stanley signaled he was okay, then proceeded.

They reached another bend and again squeezed through sideways. As he pulled Stanley through, Zeibig bumped into Summer and Riki.

Dirk joined them around the corner. “What’s the holdup?”

“A burial chamber!” Stanley said.

Dirk could see from Summer’s and Zeibig’s lights that they were indeed standing in a burial chamber. The room was small, giving the impression of hasty construction. Three of the walls were bare. On the fourth a painted mural showed numerous figures with a river in the background. In front of the mural stood a raised platform with a small wooden coffin. Barely four feet long, its top was carved with the features of its occupant. Unlike the famous tomb of Tutankhamun, the coffin was not gilded, but hand-painted. At the foot of the casket stood an array of clay jars and figures, a model boat, a heavy wooden staff, and a solid gold toy chariot. A faint odor of incense permeated the dank ancient air.

“My word,” Summer muttered, “it’s a tomb.”

The others stood in silence. Zeibig activated the camera on his phone and snapped pictures of the features as Summer illumined them with the penlight.

Their awe was broken by the sound of the gunmen advancing down the passageway.

“This way,” Summer whispered. She turned the light on a low-cut doorway in the opposite wall. She hunched down and disappeared into an adjacent room. In silence, the others followed. As he passed the coffin, Dirk reached over and grabbed the wooden staff, then ducked into the room.