Whistling through the air at him was a pilum, the iron-tipped Roman javelin. Salaam had no chance to move before the razor-sharp spear struck him in the chest. The finely crafted weapon cut a path completely through the man’s torso, its tip exiting his back below the kidney. The stunned man spit out a mouthful of blood, then dropped to the ground stone dead.
In the moment that Salaam was struck, Summer was already calculating her options. She instantly decided she could either lunge for the gunman’s pistol, or run and dive into the water, or break for her father on the ship. The adrenaline was already surging through her veins, screaming for her brain to respond. But Summer let logic run its course before making a move. She quickly judged that the handgun would be no match for Zakkar’s Uzi. And though her heart told her to run to her father, reason dictated that the water was much closer.
Suppressing her emotional urges, she took a powerful step to her right and then leaped. The sound of gunfire was already ripping through the air when her outstretched hands broke the water’s surface and the rest of her body tumbled in after. The slope of the sandbar dropped away sharply, and she plunged into the depths without breaking her neck.
She instinctively swam down, following the slight current, which carried her away from the cave’s entrance. She was a strong swimmer to begin with, and her pumping adrenaline drove her deeper, until her hand brushed the channel floor at a depth of fifteen feet. The water was pitch-black, so she tried to use the current to guide her forward, occasionally grazing against the walls of rock.
She swam hard for a dozen strokes, driving smoothly through the water. When her air began to expire, she eased toward the surface, confident that she had put sufficient distance between herself and the gunmen to catch a quick breath. With her lungs beginning to ache, she raised a fist over her head in the scuba diver’s safe ascent pose and kicked toward the surface. She rose a dozen feet, and her upraised hand suddenly brushed against rock. An uneasy feeling crept over her as she groped along the hard surface. Slowly, she nosed her face up alongside her hand until her cheek was flush against the overhead rock, the water’s current rippling against her face.
Her pounding heart skipped a beat as she realized the water channel had turned into a submerged tunnel, and there was no air to be had.
95
ZAKKAR’ S UZI HAD OPENED FIRE THE INSTANT SUMMER dove into the grotto pool. His aim had been toward the galley, however, as he stitched a lead seam along the side rail a second after Pitt had ducked beneath it. Pitt quickly raced a few feet down the deck, scooping up a round wooden shield lying near his feet. Popping it up briefly, he flung the shield at Zakkar like a Frisbee, hoping to keep his attention away from Summer. Sidestepping the disk, Zakkar opened fire again, nearly catching Pitt at the rail with a short burst.
In his quick glance over the rail, Pitt had seen Summer dive for the channel and heard her splash in. The water remained quiet, and the gunmen weren’t wasting shots into the channel, giving him confidence that his daughter had swum out of harm’s way.
Bannister was proving equally adept at dodging bullets. In the confusion caused by Pitt’s spear attack, he had dragged himself behind some low rocks, concealing himself, as he drifted in and out of consciousness from his wounds. The Arabs paid him little heed anyway. They were more concerned with avenging the death of their partner.
“Get aboard by the stern,” Zakkar shouted at his accomplice, after checking on the impaled gunman. “I shall pursue from the front.”
The Arab retrieved the dead man’s penlight, then made his way to the galley’s bow, keeping a cautious eye out for Pitt on the deck above.
Pitt had seen only the three armed men enter the cavern together and hoped there were no others. He had no idea who they were, but their readiness to kill was more than apparent. He knew it meant he would have to beat them to the punch.
Under the dim light, he surveyed the galley’s main deck, spotting companionways at either end that descended to the rowing deck. Making his way to the aft companionway, he picked up a sword and another shield from the battle remnants lying about the deck. The shield felt unusually heavy, and he flipped it over to find three stubby arrows fastened to the back. They were throwing arrows, issued to Roman soldiers late in the empire. Each arrow was about a foot in length, with a heavy lead weight at its center and a bronze barbed tip at the end. Pitt tucked the shield under his arm, then climbed over the fallen mast that crossed the rear deck.
He could hear the sound of the two gunmen trying to board the ends of the ship as he moved aft toward the raised stern section. Stepping toward the centerline, he tripped over the skeletal remains of a Roman legionary and nearly fell through the open companionway to the lower deck. He cursed himself at the racket he made, but the accident gave him an idea.
Taking the sword, he jammed the tip into the deck plank so that it stood upright. He then hoisted the torso of the skeleton and wedged it atop the sword’s hilt. He quickly wrapped it in a crumbling cloak that was lying beneath the bones, then spotted a broken lance nearby. He eased the spear through the skeleton’s ribs, then concealed its base in the cloak while its business end protruded in a menacing manner. In the low light, the ancient warrior appeared almost alive.
Above him, Pitt heard a thud as the gunman climbing up the transom jumped onto the raised steering deck. Pitt quietly retreated to the fallen mast, climbing over the thick spar and hiding in its shadows. He silently unfastened the three throwing arrows from the shield, then fished through his pocket for a coin. Retrieving a quarter, he clenched it in his hand and waited.
The gunman moved cautiously, patiently scanning the main deck for movement before climbing down from the steering deck. He descended one of two ladders that were mounted on either side of the rowing-deck companionway. To Pitt’s good fortune, the gunman climbed down the ladder closest to him.
Pitt held to the shadows until he heard the man’s shoes hit the main deck. He then raised his hand and flicked his wrist, tossing the quarter high into the air. The coin landed right where Pitt aimed, near the base of the skeleton, tinkling loudly across the silent deck.
The startled gunman instantly turned toward the noise, spotting the cloaked figure holding a spear. He immediately pumped two shots from his automatic pistol into the skeleton, watching in amazement as it disintegrated into a small heap. His surprise was short-lived, for Pitt was already on his feet, flinging the first arrow from twenty feet away.
Finding the ancient weapon surprisingly well balanced, Pitt was dead-on with his first throw, striking the man near the hip. The gunman grunted in pain from the penetration of the sharp projectile, wheeling around as the second arrow whizzed past his chest. Fumbling to remove the first arrow, he looked toward Pitt, only to see a third arrow flying in his direction. Too overwhelmed to shoot, he instinctively stepped to the side to avoid the incoming barb. Only there was no deck beneath his feet.
Falling where Pitt hadn’t, he plunged down the open companionway with a gasp. The sickening crack of breaking bones echoed from the rowing deck a second later, followed by a morbid silence.
“Ali?” cried Zakkar from the bow.
But there would be no answer to his query.
96
FOR THE SECOND TIME IN AS MANY MINUTES, SUMMER faced a life-or-death choice. Should she turn back or keep going? She had no idea how far back the ceiling had become submerged. It could be five feet or fifty yards. But swimming against the current, light as it was, could make fifty yards seem like a mile. Following her instincts this time, she made a snap decision. She would keep going forward.
Kicking and stroking, she propelled herself through the tunnel, her arms and head occasionally bumping into the surrounding stone. Every other stroke, she would raise an arm above her, hoping to break the surface into a pocket of air. But every time her hand would drag against immersed stone. She felt her heart pounding harder, and fought a sudden reflex to exhale, as a creeping sense of panic began to set in. How long had she
been underwater? she asked herself. A minute? Two minutes? It seemed like an eternity. But whatever the answer, she knew the more important question was how many more seconds could she hold out?
She tried kicking even harder, but it began to feel like she was swimming in slow motion as her brain labored for oxygen. Her arms and legs felt an odd burning sensation as the effects of hypoxia sapped her muscles. The black water seemed to turn even darker before her eyes, and she no longer felt the salt water stinging them. An internal voice yelled at her to remain strong, but she could feel herself slipping.
And then she saw it. A faint green glow appeared in the water ahead of her. Perhaps it was just a trick of the eyes or the first stages of blacking out, but she didn’t care. Exhaling what little air was left in her chest, she summoned every last remaining reserve of energy and kicked hard toward the light.
Her limbs now burned with fire as her ears rung in a deafening tone. Her heart felt like it was going to beat out of her chest while her lungs ached to explode. But she ignored the pain, the doubts, and the urge to let go, and kept pulling herself through the water.
The green glow gradually expanded into a warm light, bright enough to show particles and sediment in the seawater. Just overhead, a silvery gleam caught her eye, appearing like a bowlful of mercury. With her energy failing fast, she kicked upward with a final, desperate surge of strength.
Summer emerged from the water like a show dolphin at Sea World, rising high into the air before tumbling back with a splash. Gasping and panting for air, she paddled to a nearby rock and clung to its barnacled surface while her oxygen-depleted body tried to restore order. She rested for nearly five minutes before regaining the strength to move. Then, in the distance, she heard muffled gunfire, and she remembered her father.
Taking her bearings, she found she was in a semisubmerged rock outcropping a hundred yards west of the cave. She quickly spotted the NUMA Zodiac, tied to the rocks beside two other small boats. Plunging back into the water, she circled around the rocks and began swimming toward the boats.
Her arms soon felt like lead weights, and several times the surf nearly flung her onto the shoreline rocks, but she managed to reach the boats without collapsing. The Zodiac didn’t carry a radio, so she dragged herself onto the deck of the first of the two other boats, a small wooden trawler that Zakkar had appropriated. Inside its tiny, open wheelhouse, she found a marine band radio and immediately hailed the Aegean Explorer.
Dirk, Giordino, and Gunn were all on the bridge when Summer’s frantic voice burst over the radio.
“Summer, this is Explorer. Go ahead,” Gunn replied calmly.
“Rudi, we found the galley inside the cave. But three armed men showed up. I escaped, but Dad’s still in there, and they’re trying to kill him.”
“Take it easy, Summer. We’re on our way. Try to hide until we get there, and keep yourself out of danger.”
Kenfield had already turned the Explorer around and was accelerating to top speed by the time Gunn hung up the transmitter. Dirk stepped forward and looked out the bridge window.
“We’re six or seven miles away,” he lamented to Gunn. “We’ll never get there in time.”
“He’s right,” Giordino said. “Stop the boat.”
“What do you mean, stop the boat?” Gunn cried.
“Give us two minutes to launch the Bullet, and we’ll get there in a flash.”
Gunn considered the request a moment. Even to Gunn, Pitt was more than a boss, he was like a brother. If the tables were reversed, he knew exactly what Pitt would do.
“All right,” he said with reservation. “Just don’t get yourselves killed.”
Dirk and Giordino immediately bolted for the door.
“Al, I’ll meet you on deck,” Dirk told him. “I need to grab something on the way.”
“Just don’t miss the bus,” Giordino replied, then disappeared aft.
Dirk hustled down to the ship’s lower deck, which housed the crew accommodations. Sprinting to his father’s cabin, he burst in, stepping up to a small, built-in work desk. Above the desk was a shelf of books, and Dirk quickly scanned their titles. His eyes halted when he spotted a heavy, leather-bound edition of Herman Melville’s Moby-Dick. Ripping the book off the shelf, he quickly flipped the cover open for a second.
“‘To the great white beast, Ishmael,’ ” he muttered, then tucked the book under his arm and darted out of the cabin.
97
PITT HAD NEARLY FORGOTTEN ABOUT ZAKKAR, WHO HAD finally clambered over the bow and now shouted for his partner. Met with silence, the Arab flicked on Salaam’s penlight and aimed it at the aft end of the deck. The light’s beam played upon the figure of Pitt, who stood with a shield in his hand and an upturned grin on his face.
But Pitt was already diving over the other side of the mast when Zakkar’s Uzi barked, sending a burst over his head and into the raised steering deck. Pitt didn’t wait for his accuracy to improve, quickly snaking across the deck and launching himself down the companionway as Zakkar chased after him.
The body of Ali lay barely visible in the small patch of light that reached the lower deck from above. Pitt could see that the Arab’s head was tilted at an unnatural angle, his neck having snapped in the fall. Pitt quickly knelt alongside the body, searching the surrounding deck for the gun, but it wasn’t there. Let loose during Ali’s fall, it had bounced into one of the recessed rowing stations nearby. Pitt had left his flashlight on the upper deck while throwing the pilum and had no chance of locating the gun in the pitch-blackness.
As Zakkar charged aft overhead, Pitt moved forward, groping along a center walkway that divided the rowing stations on either side of the ship. He had left all his Roman weapons above deck and now found himself defenseless in the unlit bay. His only hope was to get up the forward companionway as Zakkar descended in the stern.
But Zakkar knew he had his man on the run and didn’t hesitate dropping down the aft ladder. Pitt could hear him descending and shuffled faster, spotting a faint ray of light ahead, which he knew was the open companionway.
His feet dropping to the lower deck, Zakkar spent only a second examining the dead figure of Ali before playing the small flashlight beam across the deck. He detected a movement at the far end, then locked the light on Pitt struggling to reach the forward ladder. He immediately aimed and fired a burst ahead of him.
Pitt dove for the deck as the bullets chewed into the wood around him. Several small crates were stacked near the base of the companionway, and he quickly crawled forward, ducking behind them for cover. Zakkar stepped closer and fired again, splintering one of the crates just inches from Pitt’s head.
Unarmed, Pitt was in a hopeless situation. His only real chance was to somehow scale the ladder before Zakkar moved any closer. He again searched for a weapon, but only spotted another skeleton lying nearby. The long-expired body had belonged to another Roman legionary, as the bones were clad in an armored tunic and helmet. The dead soldier must have fallen through the companionway when he was killed in battle, Pitt surmised. Studying the armor for a moment, he suddenly reached over and plucked them off the dried bones.
By the fourth century, the Roman soldier had turned to iron for much of his protective gear. Brutally heavy, it could withstand the sharpest spears and strongest swords. And perhaps, Pitt considered, it just might resist the slugs from a 9mm Uzi submachine pistol. Pitt slipped on the heavy circular helmet, which had an enlarged back piece that swooped outward to protect the neck. He then studied the armored breastplate. Known as a cuirass, it was an iron sheet molded in the shape of a man’s chest, with matching back plate. Pitt could see it was obviously made for a man shorter than himself.
Wasting no time in trying to fit in the cuirass, he simply flung the twin plates onto his back, tying them around his throat with a leather strap. Crawling to the base of the companionway, he looked up at the deck overhead, took a deep breath, then sprang up the ladder as fast as his arms and legs could propel him.
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Zakkar was still fifty feet away, running down the aisle with his penlight aimed at the ladder, when he saw Pitt spring up it. The experienced killer immediately stopped and raised his weapon. Holding the light beneath the barrel with his left hand, he took careful aim at Pitt and pulled the trigger.
The wood around Pitt exploded in a shower of splinters as the bullets sprayed into the ladder’s supporting bulkhead. He felt three hard thumps on his back that knocked him forward like the blows of a sledgehammer, but he was able to keep moving. With his arms and legs pumping, he jumped onto the open deck as a second fusillade shredded the top of the ladder where his feet had just been.
Pitt made his way to the side rail, surprised to have escaped the companionway unscathed. Still clad in his Roman armor, he prepared to jump over the side when he noticed another pilum on the deck, identical to the one he had flung at the first gunman. Deciding to take the offensive, he grabbed the spear and inched back toward the open companionway.
Zakkar had already approached the foot of the ladder and wisely flicked off the penlight. The galley was suddenly deathly silent as both men froze in their tracks. Zakkar then began slowly climbing the shredded ladder, moving quietly inch by inch. Unable to hold both the light and the gun as he climbed, he stuffed the light in his teeth, then held the Uzi up high.
Only his head had cleared the deck when he spotted Pitt moving a few feet away. The pilum left Pitt’s hand quickly, rotating in a spiral as it shot toward the Arab. But the target was too small, and Zakkar easily ducked his head, leaving the pilum to harmlessly strike the ladder frame. Zakkar stuck the Uzi out and fired at Pitt without looking before rising up the ladder as his clip ran dry.
Pitt was already at the rail and threw himself over the side as the bullets flew by wildly. But the volley had thrown off his balance, and he landed awkwardly on the sand some fifteen feet below. A burst of pain flared through his right ankle as he rose and took a step, immediately hopping onto his other foot. With a twisted ankle, the water channel suddenly appeared miles away. But much closer was the body of Salaam. It lay just a few feet away, and Pitt knew he had been armed with a pistol.
Crescent Dawn - Dirk Pitt Book 21 Page 43
