Celtic Empire (Dirk Pitt 25)

With her left hand holding the light, the pistol bucked in her right hand. She splayed a wild pattern of gunfire, kept shooting anyway, gradually zeroing in on her target. Pitt’s body jerked and bounded as she pumped shells into the dark figure, until the Beretta’s slide locked open with the expenditure of her last round.

She stepped toward her victim, the light in her hand finally held steady. In the distance, she could just make out the full shape of a man’s jacket, shredded by gunfire. Suddenly, the jacket moved. It didn’t roll about, but stood upright, elevating above the deck. McKee stared in shock, which turned to dread. The coat wasn’t occupied by Pitt. Rather, it was held up by one of the boat’s long oars.

Standing in the basin with his arms raised, Pitt had maneuvered the jacket about the boat, drawing McKee’s gunfire. He knew the difficulty of shooting a moving target with a handgun in negligible light and kept himself out of sight while sacrificing his coat. Pitt couldn’t hear the click of the Beretta clear its last round due to the echoes in the cavern, but he saw McKee’s light waver on his jacket, then turn to the ground.

McKee sagged in defeat. Stepping backward, she bumped against the boat’s mast and Pitt’s dangling anchor at its base. She stared at the anchor a long moment, then tossed the gun aside. Setting her light on the deck, she untied the rope

from the stone, then stood and carried the mast line to the side of the boat. Without a word, she wrapped several loose coils about her neck and pulled them tight. Climbing onto the side rail, she leaned forward and jumped off.

In the otherwise silent cavern, Pitt heard the snap of McKee’s neck and then the tumble of her body as it unraveled from the rope and dropped to the basin floor. He slowly walked to the figure, approaching and turning on his light when he detected no movement.

McKee lay with a stark look on her face, blank eyes staring into oblivion. Her gold scarab necklace sat coiled next to her, the chain breaking with her fall. Pitt stared at the demented yet once beautiful woman a long moment. Then he gently closed her eyes that were staring at nothing. Next he picked up the scarab and reached over the boat’s railing and laid it on the deck.

“Your reign is over. A world without men was never meant to be.” He spoke softly. Pitt rose to his feet and peered at the thirty-five-hundred-year-old boat above him.

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The high stem feature was the first thing to catch his eye. Carved lotus flowers marked the boat’s prow, intertwined with Egyptian ankhs and Celtic crosses. It was an unlikely mix of cultural symbols that hinted at the boat’s age and provenance.

The vessel’s overall construction was crude, Pitt noted, built with uneven timbers and expanded seams. It had not been meant to sail long distances. As a funerary barge, it bore a striking resemblance to the Khufu burial ship found near the Great Pyramid of Giza.

Pitt made his way across the slim deck to the enclosed cabin. Long-dead dried flowers crunched underfoot as he approached a small door secured with a wooden latch.

Raising the latch, the door squeaked open, and he ducked through it to enter. Rising upright, he pivoted with his light to illumine the small enclosure. Ceramic jars of varying sizes lined the walls, surrounding a raised center platform. Atop it sat a painted wooden coffin, its top carved with the image of its occupant.

Pitt stepped closer. Like the boat, the coffin’s features were carved with less precision than the royal tombs of ancient Egypt. Yet there was no mistaking the wide-eyed figure, wearing a striped nemes headdress, as anything other than Egyptian.

Pitt set his light on the deck and tested the coffin’s lid. It moved without protest, so he lifted the cover and set it upright against the wall. He retrieved the light and looked inside.

Meritaten, the princess from Egypt, lay wrapped in heavy linens that covered most of her body. Her exposed head showed a thick mane of dark hair, encircled with a crown of dried flowers and clover. A rusty sword rested against her side. She wore a heavy gold necklace studded with turquoise faience beads. Clinging to the sides of her head was a pair of gold hoop earrings.

But it wasn’t the jewelry buried with the immigrant Irish queen that caught Pitt’s eye.

* * *

• • •

GIORDINO BURST INTO THE CAVERN with Gavin’s gun drawn, nearly tripping over the prone figure of Rachel on the ground. A relieved smile crossed his face when he observed Pitt climbing up the steps from the basin.

“I see you found the grand palace,” he said, gazing about the open cavern. “I think we found the antechamber. Just a small altar and some rocks.”

“Everyone okay?” Pitt asked.

“Yes, the boys are right behind me.” He turned his light on the body of Rachel. “McKee?” he asked.

“No, she’s over here,” Pitt said, pointing into the basin. “She took the easy way out when she realized she was the last one standing.”

Giordino leaned over the steps and aimed his light into the basin. McKee’s lifeless body was visible beneath the Egyptian boat, beside a dangling strand of rope. He turned at hearing a shuffling sound near the entrance.

Brophy entered the cavern, supported by an arm around Dirk’s shoulder. The Irishman’s eyes grew large at the sight of the cavern, while Dirk gave a thankful nod when he spotted his father.

“Are we late to the party?” Brophy asked, sidestepping Rachel.

“Afraid so,” Pitt said. He pointed to the far rock wall and its faint glimmers of light. “I think we can dig our way out over there and save you a trip up the stairs.”

“I’d be much obliged. What else did you find here?” he asked, inquisitiveness overriding his pain.

“There’s a boat,” Giordino answered, peering into the basin. “Come have a look.”