Текст книги "Crescent Dawn"

Автор книги: Clive Cussler

Соавторы: Dirk Cussler,Clive Cussler
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Текущая страница: 23 (всего у книги 32 страниц)

56

The tires of the commuter plane kicked up a cloud of dust as they touched down on the dry runway of Çanakkale Airport a short distance southeast of the Dardanelles. The plane turned toward its designated terminal, slowly pulling to a stop as its twin propellers fell quiet. Summer watched from behind a barricade as her brother stepped off the plane with the last passengers. He walked with a slight limp and sported a few small bandages but otherwise appeared healthy. But as he stepped closer, she could see that he carried the worst of his wounds internally.

“Still in one piece, I see,” she said, giving him a hug. “Welcome to Turkey.”

“Thanks,” he replied in a low voice.

Gone was his usual positive energy and upbeat disposition. Even his eyes seemed darker, Summer thought. Not sad and mournful, as she might have expected, but cold and almost angry. It was a look she had never seen in her brother before. Gently grabbing his arm, she led him toward the baggage claim.

“We read the news about the attack on the Dome of the Rock, never imagining you were involved,” she said quietly. “Then Dad heard through the grapevine that you were there and had prevented the explosion.”

“I only stopped one of the charges from going off,” he said bitterly. “The Israeli security forces kept me out of the news while they patched me up at an Army hospital. I guess they didn’t want the presence of an American to muddy up the local politics.”

“Thank goodness, you weren’t severely injured.” She paused and looked at him with concern. “I’m sorry to hear about your Israeli friend.”

Dirk nodded but said nothing. They soon reached the baggage claim and found his luggage. Making their way to a small borrowed van in the parking lot, Summer said, “We’ve got one more pickup to make.”

Driving to the opposite end of the airport, she found a dilapidated warehouse building marked “Air Cargo.” Requesting a pickup for NUMA, she was handed a pair of overnight packages, and then two men wheeled out a small crate and loaded it into the rear of the van.

“What’s in the crate?” Dirk asked as they pulled away.

“A replacement inflatable boat. The Aegean Explorerlost two of her dinghies during a melee over a shipwreck.”

Summer filled Dirk in on what she knew about the discovery of the Ottoman wreck, the death of the two NUMA scientists, and the abduction of Zeibig.

“The Turks haven’t busted the guys in the yacht?” Dirk asked.

Summer shook her head. “Dad’s pretty livid over the response from the local authorities. The Explorerwas impounded for a few days and blamed for the deaths of Tang and Iverson.”

“Justice rules for those with power. That’s tough news about Tang and Iverson. I’ve worked with them on other projects. Both good men,” he said, his voice trailing away as the discussion of death directed his thoughts to Sophie.

“On top of that, the algae bloom survey has fallen to pieces. Our Turkish environmental representative, who is required to be on board, is absent with some kind of family need. Meanwhile, Rudi and Al have been having trouble with the new AUV.” She wanted to add that Dirk’s arrival would help cheer everybody up, but she knew that wouldn’t be the case in his current condition.

Summer drove to Çanakkale’s commercial docks and located the Aegean Explorermoored beside some large fishing boats. She led her brother aboard and to the ship’s wardroom, where Pitt, Gunn, and Giordino were discussing their sailing schedule with Captain Kenfield. They warmly greeted the younger Pitt as he entered with his sister.

“Didn’t your father teach you not to play with explosives?” Giordino joked, pumping Dirk’s hand with a crushing grip.

Dirk forced a smile, then hugged his dad before sitting down at the table. “Summer tells me you’ve found an Ottoman shipwreck,” he said. The tone in his voice made it clear his focus was elsewhere.

“One that’s caused us a lot of trouble,” Pitt replied. “She dates to around 1570, and came with some unusual Roman artifacts aboard.”

“Unfortunately, all that’s left of those artifacts is some photographs,” Gunn added ruefully.

“Of course, it all pales in comparison to Summer’s discovery,” Pitt said.

Dirk turned toward his sister. “What was that?” he asked.

“You mean she didn’t tell you?” Giordino said.

Summer gave Dirk a sheepish look. “We ran out of time, I guess.”

“Such modesty,” Gunn said, rifling through a stack of papers on the table. “Here, I made a copy from Summer’s original,” he said, handing a sheet of paper to Dirk

He held up the page and studied it carefully:

University of Cambridge

Department of Archaeology

Translation (Coptic Greek):

Imperial Vessel Argon

Special Manifest for Delivery to Emperor Constantine

Byzantium

Manifest:

Personal items of Christ, including a small wardrobe with:

Cloak

Lock of hair

Letter to Peter

Personal effects

Large crypt stone

Altar – from Church of Nazarene

Contemporary painting of Jesus

Ossuary of J.

Assigned to 14th Legionaries, at Caesarea

Septarius, Governor of Judaea

“This is for real?” Dirk asked.

“The original is written on papyrus. I saw it briefly,” Summer replied with a shake of her head, “so I know it exists. This was a translation performed by a well-known Cambridge archaeologist and etymologist in 1915.”

“It’s incredible,” Dirk said, his attention fully grabbed by the document. “All of these items personally related to Jesus. They must have been collected by the Romans after his death and destroyed.”

“No, far from it,” Summer said. “They were obtained by Helena, mother of Constantine the Great, in 327 A.D. The items on the Manifest were sacred, and likely sent to Constantine to celebrate the Roman Empire’s conversion to Christianity.”

“I still can’t believe you found it in England, of all places,” Gunn said finally.

“All on account of our dive on HMS Hampshire,” Summer explained. “Field Marshal Kitchener apparently obtained the papyrus document while conducting a survey of Palestine in the 1870s. Its meaning apparently wasn’t understood until the translation was made decades later. Julie Goodyear, the authority on Kitchener who helped locate the Manifest, thinks that the Church of England may possibly have killed Kitchener because of it.”

“I guess you could understand their fears,” Giordino stated. “Finding an ossuary with Jesus’ bones in it would certainly kick over a few apple carts.”

“It’s an interesting connection to the Roman artifacts we found on the Ottoman wreck, which also date to the time of Constantine and Helena,” Gunn noted.

“So these Jesus artifacts were placed on a Roman ship leaving Caesarea?” Dirk asked.

Summer nodded. “Helena is known to have made a pilgrimage to Jerusalem, where she claimed to have discovered the True Cross. Fragments of the cross reside in churches all over Europe today. A common tale relates how the nails from the cross were melted down and incorporated into a helmet and bridle for Constantine. So Helena and the cross apparently made it safely to Byzantium. There is no mention of these items, however,” she added, pointing to the list. “They must have been shipped separately and were apparently lost to history ages ago. Can you just imagine the impact if we could have seen a contemporary image of Jesus?”

The room fell silent as everyone’s imagination conjured up a visual image of Christianity’s namesake. Everyone, that is, except Dirk. His eyes remained focused on the bottom of the Manifest.

“Caesarea,” he said. “It indicates that the shipment left Caesarea under the guard of Roman legionaries.”

“That’s just where you were working, isn’t it?” his father asked.

Dirk nodded.

“They didn’t happen to leave a sailing plan lying around etched in stone, did they?” Giordino asked.

“No, but we were fortunate in uncovering a number of papyrus documents from that era. The most interesting of them described the capture and execution of some Cypriot pirates. What was interesting was that the pirates had apparently battled a legionary force at sea sometime before they were captured. Dr. Haasis, whom I worked with at Caesarea, said the Roman legionaries were part of some group called the Scholae Palatinae, led by a centurion named Platus, as I recall.”

Gunn nearly fell out of his chair.

“What… what did you say his name was?” he stammered.

“Platus, or perhaps it was Platius.”

“Plautius?” Gunn asked.

“Yes, that was it. How did you know?”

“That was the name on my marker, er, the marker that was found on the wreck site. It was a memorial to Plautius, who apparently died in a sea battle.”

“But you don’t have any clue where the marker came from?” Dirk asked.

Gunn shook his head as Zeibig’s face suddenly brightened.

“Dirk, you said the pirates were from Cyprus?” he asked.

“That’s what the papyrus record indicated.”

Zeibig rifled through some papers, pulling out a page of research data.

“The Roman Senator inscribed on the gold crown, Artrius? Dr. Ruppé sent some historical research which indicated that he served as Governor of Cyprus for a short while.”

A thin smile crossed Pitt’s face. “Cyprus, that’s the clue we’ve been missing. If the Cypriot historical records are intact, I’ll bet you’ll find that Traianus, the name on the monolith, was also on Cyprus. Perhaps he even reported to Governor Artrius.”

“Sure,” Giordino agreed. “Traianus was probably ordered by the Governor to erect a memorial after the gold crown arrived in the mail.”

“But what was the Roman crown and marker doing on an Ottoman wreck?” Dirk asked.

“I think I have a theory about that,” Zeibig said. “As I recall, Cyprus historically remained under Venetian rule long after the fall of the Roman Empire. But the Ottomans came around and successfully invaded the island around 1570, which just happens to be the approximate date of our shipwreck. I’d speculate that the gold crown and stone tablet were simply antiquarian spoils of war that were being shipped back to the sitting Sultan in Constantinople.”

“We can assume from the Manifest that Plautius was assigned to transport the religious relics on behalf of Helena,” Gunn said. “The stele from the wreck, along with Dirk’s papyrus discovery, confirms that he lost his life fighting pirates off of Cyprus. Is it possible that the events all occurred on the same voyage?”

“I would wager that members of this Scholae Palatinae, like the Praetorian Guard, would not be far from the Emperor’s seat of power except in unusual circumstances,” Pitt said.

“Such as guarding his mother while she traveled to Jerusalem,” Summer said.

“Which would explain the gold crown,” Giordino said. “It may well have been awarded to Artrius while he was Governor of Cyprus, sent from Constantine in appreciation for capturing the pirates who killed Plautius.”

“The same pirates that stole the relics?” Gunn asked. “That’s the real question. Who ended up with the relics?”

“I performed a cursory historical search on the Manifest items,” Summer said. “While there are claimed fragments of the True Cross located in dozens of churches across Europe, I could find no substantive record of any of the items on the Manifest being exhibited today or in the past.”

“So they disappeared with Plautius,” Gunn said.

“The record at Caesarea stated that the pirates were captured and brought to port on their own ship,” Dirk stated. “The vessel’s decks were bloodied, and a number of Roman weapons were found aboard. While they had apparently battled Plautius, it wasn’t clear what became of his ship. Or the relics, for that matter.”

“Which probably means that the Roman galley of Plautius was sunk,” Pitt said.

The others in the room noticeably perked up at the notion, knowing that if one man could find an important shipwreck, it was the lean fellow with the green eyes sitting in front of them.

“Dad, could we try to look for it after the completion of the Turkish project?” Summer asked.

“That may be sooner than you think,” Gunn said.

Summer turned and gave him a puzzled look.

“The Turkish Environment Ministry informed us that they have discovered a significant amount of waste dumping by a large chemical plant in Çiftlik, a town near Chios,” Pitt explained. “Rudi looked at the currents, and there seems to be a strong correlation with the dead zone we were mapping in the vicinity of the Ottoman wreck.”

“Better than a ninety-five percent probability,” Gunn confirmed. “The Turks have kindly asked us to come back in a year and do some sample testing, but at this point we no longer need to extend any of our survey work.”

“Does that mean we go back to the Ottoman wreck?” Summer asked.

“Dr. Ruppé is organizing a formal excavation under the auspices of the Istanbul Archaeology Museum,” Pitt said. “Until he has the necessary approvals from the Cultural Ministry, he has suggested that we avoid any further work on the site.”

“So we can try for the Roman galley?” Summer asked excitedly.

“We’re on the hook for assessing a small region just south of here,” Pitt said. “We should be able to complete the work in two or three days. Providing, that is, that our AUV is operational,” he said, shooting Gunn a sideways glance.

“That reminds me,” Summer said. “I’ve got your spare parts.”

She tossed the two overnight packages to Gunn, who quickly tore the seal off the first one and looked inside.

“Our replacement circuit board,” he replied happily. “That should get us back in the water.”

He looked at the other package, then slid it over to Pitt.

“This one’s addressed to you, boss.”

Pitt nodded, then looked around the table. “If we’ve got an operational AUV again, then let’s go finish up our Turkey survey project,” he said with a wry grin, “because it’s a long voyage to Cyprus.”

* * *

An hour later, the Aegean Explorergently shoved off from the Çanakkale dock. Pitt and Giordino watched from the bridge as Captain Kenfield guided the vessel out the mouth of the Dardanelles, then south along the Turkish coastline. Once the Explorerwas safely clear of the busy strait, Pitt sat down and opened the overnight package.

“Cookies from home?” Giordino asked, taking a seat across from Pitt.

“Not quite. I had Hiram do some digging on the Ottoman Starand the Sultana.”

“Hiram” referred to Hiram Yaeger, NUMA’s head of computer resources. From the NUMA headquarters building in Washington, Yaeger managed a sophisticated computer center that tracked detailed oceanographic and weather data around the globe. A skilled computer hacker, Yaeger had a nose for uncovering secrets, and didn’t mind utilizing both authorized and unauthorized data sources when the need arose.

“Two vessels that I’d like to find at the bottom of the sea,” Giordino said. “Was Yaeger able to find anything?”

“It appears so,” Pitt replied, perusing several pages of documents. “Both vessels are apparently registered in Liberia, under a shell company. Yaeger was able to trace ownership to a private Turkish entity called Anatolia Exports, the same outfit the police mentioned. The company has a lengthy history of shipping Turkish textiles and other goods to trading partners throughout the Mediterranean. It owns a warehouse and office building in Istanbul, as well as a shipping facility on the coast near the town of Kirte.”

“Ah yes, I know the latter quite well,” Giordino said with a smirk. “So who runs this outfit?”

“Ownership records cite a couple named Ozden Celik and Maria Celik.”

“Don’t tell me… They drive a Jaguar and like to run over people with boats.”

Pitt passed over a photo of Celik that Yaeger had gleaned from a Turkish trade association conference. Then he shared a number of satellite photos of the Celiks’ properties.

“That’s our boy,” Giordino said, examining the first photo. “What else do we know about him and his wife?”

“Maria is actually his sister. And data is somewhat scarce. Yaeger indicates that the Celiks are secretive types who keep a very low profile. He says he had to do some real digging to find any juice.”

“And did he?”

“Listen to this. A genealogical trace puts both Celiks as greatgrandchildren of Mehmed VI.”

Giordino shook his head. “Afraid I don’t know the name.”

“Mehmed VI was the last ruling Sultan of the Ottoman Empire. He and his clan were kicked off the throne and out of the country when Atatürk swept into power in 1923.”

“And now the poor boy has nothing to show for it but a mangy old freighter. No wonder he has a chip on his shoulder.”

“He apparently has a lot more than that,” Pitt said. “Yaeger believes the pair may be among the richest people in the country.”

“I guess some of that explains the fanaticism over the Ottoman shipwreck.”

“And the brashness of the Topkapi theft. Though there might have been another motivation.”

“Such as?”

“Yaeger found a possible financial link to an Istanbul marketing organization. The organization is helping promote the candidacy of Mufti Battal in the upcoming presidential election.”

Pitt set down the page he was reading. “Rey Ruppé in Istanbul told us about this Mufti. He has a large fundamentalist following and is viewed as a dangerous power in some circles.”

“Never hurts to have friends with deep pockets. I wonder what’s in it for Celik?”

“A question that might have an illuminating answer,” Pitt said.

He set down the last of the report and pondered the wealthy Turk and his savage sister while Giordino took a look at the satellite photos.

“I see the Ottoman Starhas returned to home port,” Giordino said. “I wonder what a Greek tanker is doing alongside her.”

He slid the photo across the table for Pitt to examine. Pitt took a look at the high overhead shot of the now-familiar cove, spotting the freighter at the dock. On the opposite side of the dock was a small tanker ship, its blue-and-white flag barely visible atop its mast. The flag caught his eye, and Pitt studied it a moment before grabbing a magnifying glass from behind the chart table.

“That’s not a Greek flag,” he said. “The tanker is from Israel.”

“News to me that Israel has its own tanker fleet,” Giordino said.

“Did you say something about an Israeli tanker?” Captain Kenfield asked, overhearing the conversation from across the bridge.

“Al found one parked in the cove of our Turkish friends,” Pitt said.

Kenfield’s face turned pale. “While we were in port, there was an alert making the rounds about an Israeli tanker that went missing off the coast near Manavgat. It’s actually a water tanker.”

“I recall seeing one a few weeks back,” Pitt remarked. “What’s the size of the missing ship?”

“The ship was named the Dayan, I believe,” he said, stepping to a computer and performing a quick search. “She’s eight hundred gross tons and three hundred ten feet long.”

He turned the computer monitor toward Pitt and Giordino so that they could see a photograph of the ship. It was a dead match.

“The photos are less than twenty-four hours old,” Giordino said, noting a date stamp on the image.

“Captain, how’s your secure satellite phone working?” Pitt asked.

“Fully operational. Do you want to make a call?”

“Yes,” Pitt replied. “I think it’s time we call Washington.”

57

“O’Quinn, good of you to come by. Please, step inside and grab a seat.”

The intelligence officer was startled that the Vice President of the United States greeted him in the second-floor foyer of the Eisenhower Executive Office Building and personally showed him into his office. Washington protocol surely dictated that a secretary or aide escort a lesser being into the sanctified lair of the Number Two. But James Sandecker was that rare breed who had little use for such pageantry.

A retired Navy admiral, Sandecker had been responsible for founding the National Underwater and Marine Agency decades earlier and building it into a powerhouse oceanographic unit. He surprised everyone by passing the reins to Pitt and accepting a vice presidential appointment, where he hoped to further the cause of protecting the world’s oceans. A small but fiery individual with flaming red hair and goatee, Sandecker was known in the capital as a blunt and outspoken man who was nevertheless highly respected. O’Quinn had often been amused during intelligence briefings to see how quickly the Vice President could dissect an issue, or individual, in order to get to the heart of the matter.

Stepping into the large office, O’Quinn admired a collection of antique oil paintings, featuring old ships and racing yachts, which lined the paneled walls. He followed Sandecker to his desk and took a seat opposite of him.

“Do you miss the sea much, Mr. Vice President?”

“There’s no shortage of days that I’d prefer to be sailing something other than a desk,” Sandecker replied, reaching into a drawer and jamming a large cigar between his teeth. “Are you monitoring events in Turkey?” he asked pointedly.

“Yes, sir. That’s part of my regional assignment.”

“What do you know about a nutcase named Ozden Celik?”

O’Quinn had to think a moment. “He’s a Turkish businessman who’s been associated with members of the Saudi Royal Family. We think he might be involved in helping to finance the fundamentalist Felicity Party of Mufti Battal. Why do you ask?”

“He’s apparently been up to a few other things. You’re aware of the Israeli tanker ship that went missing two days ago?”

O’Quinn nodded, recalling mention of the incident in a daily briefing report.

“The vessel has been observed at a small shipping facility controlled by Celik a few miles north of the Dardanelles. I have reliable word that this Celik was behind the recent theft of Muslim artifacts at Topkapi.” Sandecker slid a satellite photo of the tanker across his desk.

“Topkapi?” O’Quinn repeated, his brows rising like a pair of drawbridges. “We believe there may be a link between the Topkapi theft and the recent mosque attacks at al-Azhar and the Dome of the Rock in Jerusalem.”

“The President is aware of that possibility.”

O’Quinn studied the satellite photograph.

“If I may ask, sir, how did you acquire this information?”

“Dirk Pitt at NUMA. Two of his scientists were killed by Celik’s men and a third kidnapped and taken to the same facility,” Sandecker replied, pointing to the photo. “Pitt got his man out, and he discovered a container of plastic explosives at the facility. An Army supply of HMX, to be exact.”

“HMX is the explosive compound identified from the mosque bombings,” O’Quinn said excitedly.

“Yes, I recall that from your presidential briefing.”

“Celik must be acting on behalf of Mufti Battal. It’s clear to me that the anonymous mosque attacks, utilizing our explosives, are an attempt to incite fundamentalist outrage across the Middle East, and particularly in Turkey. Their goal must be to sway public opinion in order to sweep Battal into office.”

“It’s a logical motive. That’s why this hijacked Israeli tanker is cause for concern.”

“Have we contacted the Turkish government?”

“No,” Sandecker replied with a shake of his head. “The President is worried that any action on our part could be construed as American meddling in the election outcome. Frankly, we don’t know how deep Battal’s tentacles may reach into the existing government. The stakes are simply too high, and the race too close, to risk a potential backlash that might throw the election to his party.”

“But our analysts tell us that the Mufti stands an even chance of winning anyway.”

“The President understands that, but he nevertheless has ordered absolutely no U.S. involvement until after the election.”

“There are backdoor channels we could use,” O’Quinn protested.

“It’s already been deemed too risky.”

Sandecker pulled the cigar from his teeth and examined the chewed end. “It’s the President’s mandate, O’Quinn, not mine.”

“But we can’t simply look the other way.”

“That’s why I called you here. You have intelligence contacts in the Mossad, I presume?” he asked.

“Yes, of course,” O’Quinn nodded.

Sandecker leaned over his desk, his bright blue eyes boring into the intelligence officer.

“Then I would suggest that you consider calling them and telling them where their missing tanker is located.”