The Pharaoh's Secret

33

The diver pointed furiously toward the half-excavated wreck. He wrote something more on the board.

When you attacked — they set bomb.

Kurt began to see the pattern. These guys wanted the relics. But if they couldn’t have them, they were determined to keep anyone else from getting them. “Show me.”

The diver hesitated.

“Show me!”

Reluctantly, the diver began to swim, kicking slowly and leading Kurt toward the wreck. As they arrived, the diver shone his light down into it. The team had used the vacuum to excavate tons of silt. They’d pulled articles from the sediment and discarded everything that didn’t look Egyptian. Muskets, rotting barrels and old boots rested on the bottom like a garbage heap.

The ship was a skeleton. Most of the outer planking was gone and only the ship’s ribs, made of thicker timbers, remained. Gliding over the top of these ribs, Kurt saw what the diver was talking about. Not one bomb but two, blocks of C-4 wired to timers, just like they’d tried to use in the warehouse. The problem was, these explosives had been dropped inside the bones of the ship like steaks tossed into an animal’s cage.

Kurt maneuvered closer, grabbed onto the encrusted wood of the vessel and took a closer look. Digital timers on them displayed an alarming number — 2:51 — and dropping.

Kurt tried to squeeze through the wreckage to get at the bombs, but he couldn’t fit. He reached down and grabbed for it, but his fingers swiped at nothing. They were at least a foot or two beyond his grasp.

“Joe,” he called. “I could use a little help.”

Joe and the Turtle arrived just as the timer hit 2:00. The ROV had a manipulator arm, which Joe quickly extended, but it too was coming up short.

“We’d better get out of here,” Joe said. “I can drag these guys off.”

“Too late,” Kurt replied. “We’ll never get far enough. Considering the amount of C-4 down there, I’m pretty sure we’d be crushed by the shock wave like a submarine getting hit with a depth charge. We need another option.”

Something bumped him and Kurt spun to see the diver he’d rescued holding the vacuum pipe.

“Excellent idea,” he said.

The vacuum was still on, drawing in a small amount of water. Kurt stuck it down into the framework of the ship and opened the valve.

On the first try, it sucked the big square block of explosives, which became stuck against the nozzle’s opening. He drew the excavator back toward them and, once it was clear of the wreck, Joe pulled the charge free.

It was a simple enough process to pull out the electrical leads. Joe stopped the timer as well, just in case.

“Forty seconds,” he said, gazing at the number frozen on the screen. “Let’s be quick about the second one.”

Kurt was already lowering the vacuum again. He aimed it toward the second bomb, but instead of getting stuck on the end of the nozzle as the first one had, the baseball-sized charge vanished up the tube.

Both Kurt and Joe looked up, their eyes tracking the tube to the surface.

“Where do you suppose that’s going to end up?” Joe asked.

Kurt didn’t reply, but both of them knew the answer. The only question was whether the bomb would travel all the way to the surface in forty seconds or get stuck in the line somewhere. Kurt kept the suction on full power, hoping the package would reach its destination.

On the surface, the rattling compressor that powered the vacuum excavator had gone from a low idle back to a full roar. The man in charge of it, whose name was Farouk, seemed pleased. He’d begun to think work had stopped down below.

So far, they’d recovered a few trinkets, but nothing major. He was beginning to worry. Every time a ship passed in the distance, he wondered if it might be NATO or a patrol vessel from Malta.

He moved over to where the excavator’s exhaust port pointed toward the metal screen, watching happily as the trickle of water flowing onto the grate became a torrent, mostly water, with little sediment. But that could change at any minute. Finally, a wave of silt poured through and then something solid. It caught on the grate and one of the men reached for it.

“No!” Farouk shouted.

The explosion drowned out his cry and blew both Farouk and the other man off the barge. The grate, the compressor and a large section of the barge’s hull took the rest of the blast.

Water began to swirl in and the stern of the barge dropped quickly.

The only surviving man on the barge picked himself up from a spot on deck near the bow. His ears ringing, his head spinning, he saw the green water rush over the deck, felt the boat tilting and wasted no time worrying about anyone else. He dove overboard and began swimming for the other boat.

As he reached the ladder, one of the men came toward him to help him out, but before he could get a foot on the lowest rung, something sharp dug into his legs, clamping around them and dragging him back. He was pulled from the ladder.

Shark, he thought, fearing the worst kind of death. But when he looked back, he saw a yellow blur. It was a submersible, moving in reverse, its gripper claws latching onto his legs and pulling him underwater.

Just as he was about to pass out, the grip relaxed and he was released. He broke the surface and found himself a hundred yards from the dive boat and unable to do much more than cough and tread water. He looked around; the submersible was nowhere to be seen.

The two men on the dive boat held their weapons, watching the water around them. They knew they were under attack.

“Do you see anything?” one of them shouted.

“No.”

“Check the other side.”

“Over there!” the second one replied.

He opened fire on what he thought was the submarine, his bullets lacing into the water. Whatever he’d fired at, it quickly vanished.

“There!” the first man shouted, spotting a blur of yellow.

The submersible was running just below the surface, heading right for them, its hull easy to see in the sunlight. Both men aimed and began firing, the shells throwing up ribbons of water as they hit the sea.

Still the yellow beast charged. Its hull broke the surface, an easy target. The two men poured ammunition into it, but it kept on, until it slammed into them.

The impact rocked the boat, but they kept their balance as the machine was forced sideways. It skittered along their hull and moved off into the distance.

Only now did they realize there was no one on the submersible.

A wolf whistle from behind them brought the point home. They turned to see a man with silver hair, standing, in a wet suit, aiming one of the APS rifles their way.

Kurt had surfaced behind them and made it up onto the deck while they were preoccupied with the attacking yellow machine.

“Toss the guns in the ocean,” he demanded.

They did as ordered and then put their hands up.

“Facedown on the deck,” he said. “Hands behind your head.”

They followed this command as well.

With his gun trained on them, he edged over to the captain of the dive boat and used his knife to cut him free and remove the gag from his mouth.

“They have my men down below,” the dive master said in broken English.

“Don’t worry,” Kurt said. “Your men are okay.”

The dive master shook his head. “Those men have been down there since first light and our decompression tank was on the barge.”

“We have one on our boat,” Kurt said. “We’ll bring it over.” He called the Sea Dragon on the marine radio.

“What about the D’Campions?” the dive master asked. “They run the conservancy.”

“What about them?”

“These people have them.”

“Should have guessed,” Kurt said. He pointed a gun at one of the thugs. “Radio or phone?”

“Phone,” the man replied. “In the backpack.”

Kurt pulled a satellite phone out of a green backpack and forced his prisoner to punch in the number.

“Go ahead,” a gruff voice said. “What progress are you making?”

Kurt took it from there. “Are you the man holding the D’Campions hostage?”

“Who is this?”

“My name is Austin,” Kurt said. “And who do I have the displeasure of speaking with?”

“If you don’t know my name, it seems prudent that I keep it that way,” the man said.

“I’ll find out soon enough,” Kurt said. “Once we’ve interrogated your men, we’ll know all about you and what you’re after.”

Laughter was the first response. “Those men know nothing of consequence. Go ahead and torture them. Do your worst. You’ll learn nothing you don’t already know.”

Kurt was at a disadvantage, one he had to reverse quickly. “Maybe,” he said. “But we’ll definitely learn something from the artifacts they recovered. Egyptian relics must be a thrilling hobby. I’m curious what this big green guy is all about. Seems to have magical powers to raise people up.”

It was a gamble, but it seemed to have worked. This time, instead of laughter, there was silence. A far better response, Kurt thought. He knew he’d struck a nerve.

“You have the tablet?”

“Actually, I have three,” Kurt lied.

“I’ll make you a trade,” the man on the other end of the phone said.

“I’m listening.”

“You bring the tablets and I will give you the D’Campions alive.”

“Deal,” Kurt said. “Just tell me where.”