Celtic Empire (Dirk Pitt 25)

A deeply etched row of hieroglyphics stretched along the slab’s jagged bottom.

Dirk waved Summer over, then attacked the heavy silt in earnest. Summer joined in at the opposite end. A cloud of murky water enveloped them. Then, as the current carried it away, they could see their discovery.

Six inches thick and made of red marble, the rectangular slab was ten feet long with a rounded top. Carved in the traditional Egyptian style of memorial stelae, it was shaped much like a modern tombstone. Its jagged base matched a nearby footing, indicating it had toppled from the sanctuary’s niche. When it had fallen, the slab had cracked in multiple places, making it useless to those who cannibalized the temple’s other stonework.

The hieroglyphics covering the still highly polished surface of the slab meant nothing to Dirk and Summer, yet it sparked in them the thrill of uncovering such a record of antiquity. Dirk rubbed his hand along the inscriptions, which were still crisp. Summer retrieved her camera and hovered over the monument, gazing at it in wonder. As she began snapping photos, they heard a muffled boom and felt a vibration.

They looked at each other, then scanned the lakebed. The source was too far away to determine the direction. But it had sounded man-made.

Then Dirk looked south and noticed a small glimmer high in the water, a bright object descending from the surface. As it fluttered to the bottom, landing just beyond the colonnaded courtyard, he identified the object with both dread and certainty.

It was their anchored boat.

30

A grenade had caused the boat to sink.

At least that’s what it looked like to Dirk. The small hull showed a fist-sized puncture near the bow, with wide cracks streaming from its center. Black singe marks and smaller shrapnel scars peppered the area around it. The forward seat bench had been blown off, and it dangled from the gunnel by a single metal pin.

Summer pointed to the outboard motor and gas can tied to the transom. Both were intact, indicating the explosion was no accident.

Their bottom time had expired, so they had no choice but to ascend. Dirk pointed to the surface and held up three fingers, which he collapsed to a zero, then motioned flat with his whole hand. Summer nodded and kicked her fins gently to rise.

At forty feet, she released a burst of air from her buoyancy compensator to slow her ascent, and leveled off ten feet later. Dirk appeared alongside.

They were deep enough to avoid detection from the surface, yet close enough to spot any waiting vessels. One floated directly above them.

Aside from its white hull, Dirk could surmise little from beneath. Whoever stood on the boat wasn’t there to welcome them with cocktails and hors d’oeuvres. As he studied the vessel’s underside, he made out a pair of shadows over the near side.

It was their air bubbles. The visitors had spotted their exhaling air and were waiting for them to surface.

Dirk turned toward Summer, motioning for her to stay where she was. He released some more air from his buoyancy compensator, slipped out of its harness, and passed it with his tank to Summer. He signaled instructions and waited until she nodded. Dirk could see concern in her gray eyes, so he winked at her. He unbuckled his weight belt, let it drop to the bottom, and took a final breath from his regulator. He pulled it from his mouth, eased away from Summer, and swam for the surface.

Rather than ascend straight up, Dirk angled toward the center of the boat and its

shielding cover. He exhaled as he swam, but slowly, releasing a minimum of bubbles. As the boat’s shadow loomed over him, he reached up to touch the hull, staying well clear of the idling motors. He eased himself to the opposite side and poked his head just above the water to catch his breath. Low voices sounded across the deck, followed by a shout.

Summer was right on time. Having counted to thirty, she released a jolt of air from Dirk’s regulator, sending a flurry of bubbles upward. Then she topped up his buoyancy compensator and let it go, watching it ascend behind the bubbles.

Dirk tore off his mask and fins and pulled himself up the side of the boat for a quick peek. Two men at the opposite rail were peering over the side. One held a compact assault rifle, the other pointed at the water. As the buoyancy compensator broke the surface, the gunman let loose a long burst.

Using the clatter for cover, Dirk heaved himself onto the cabin cruiser and sprinted the few steps across the deck. He threw out his elbows and charged. The gunman detected movement. Before he could turn, Dirk’s elbows struck him high in the back, knocking him forward. Cradling his gun, the man had no chance to catch his balance. His knees jammed against the rail, and he toppled over the side.

Dirk bounced back and tried to regain his footing, then felt a glancing blow to his chest. He looked up and grinned at the second man, whose punch had slid across his slick wetsuit. Dirk recognized his opponent. It was the same man he’d crashed into with the Vespa in Assiut. The gunman now wore a sling on his right arm, but cast it aside to throw a cross punch.

Dirk sidestepped the jab, the man leaped forward. He clasped Dirk, pinning his arms and trying to shove him overboard.

Inches away, the boat’s twin outboards let out a wail. The unseen pilot in the wheelhouse had thrown the throttles forward.

The deck rose beneath their feet as the props dug in. Clinched together and unable to grab for balance, both men tumbled backward onto one of the engines’ housings. Dirk landed alongside the other man and could feel them both sliding off the cowl.

Dirk reached out with a foot and caught the lip of the transom, holding himself for just a second. The other man kept sliding and grabbed for Dirk. Their combined weight was too much, and Dirk lost his hold. The delay allowed him to twist atop the other man as they slid off the motor housing.

The twin propellers were spinning at better than 6000 rpm when they fell into the water and the gunman’s back struck the blades. Dirk felt a slight bounce, then the man’s grip went limp as they submerged into red-tinted water. When the engines’ roar receded, he pushed the lifeless body away and surfaced.

A few yards away, the other gunman struggled to tread water. He’d lost his rifle and seemed less concerned with Dirk than with staying afloat.

In the distance, the cabin cruiser turned a tight arc and looped back toward them. Dirk watched for it to slow and pick up the other man, who began yelling and waving his arms. Instead, it kept its speed and barreled directly toward Dirk.