The Pharaoh's Secret

  The image of a bay was easy to see. Teardrop-shaped and surrounded by limestone cliffs. In the cup of the bay was sandy beach. The clear water was turquoise in the afternoon sun.

  “What’s this?” Kurt asked, tapping a section of the display.

  Renata enlarged the image. “Buildings,” she said. They were constructed on the limestone cliffs, looked to be several stories high and were terraced with balconies. A narrow bridge cut across part of the bay.

  “Abandoned hotel,” she said, bringing up some information about the site. “This is the main building. This bridge was designed to take guests from the hotel to the beach.”

  “Is the bridge on the water, like those resorts in Bali?” Joe asked.

  “I don’t think so,” she said. “Looks like it’s raised up for boats to pass underneath. According to some information I found, it’s supposed to look like the Azure Window, a famous natural formation down the coast from here.”

  Kurt had seen the Azure Window years before. A breathtaking arch, a hundred and sixty feet high, jutting out over the sea. Some adrenaline junkies he was traveling with wanted to cliff-dive off of it. Kurt told them he’d inform their next of kin.

  “That bridge will be a problem,” Kurt said. “So will the cliffs around the bay. They’re good places for snipers to perch. And, as we’ve already seen, they have one or two of those in their midst.”

  “Maybe we can come in behind them,” Joe suggested. “Actually take the high ground this time.”

  Renata panned out and scanned the edge of the image. The hotel was an outlier, a long way from the next populated area and connected only by a dirt road. There was no way to get to that road from the sea except up a rickety stairway that zigzagged beside the hotel.

  “We could set these guys up as human shields,” Renata suggested coldly.

  “I’d love to,” Kurt said. “But they seem to have no qualms about shooting their own. They might even thank us for it.”

  “So what’s to stop them from hitting us with an RPG and blowing up the whole boat the second we enter the bay?”

  “Nothing,” Kurt said, quickly realizing the truth. “Especially if they have no preference whether they take possession of the imaginary artifacts or destroy them. But I’m counting on them wanting to see what we have. And if they sink us or blow us up, they’ll never be sure if we had them on board. We just have to be ready to respond when they realize we’ve got nothing.”

  “Any ideas?” Joe asked.

  “You’re the mechanical genius,” Kurt said. “What can you do with all this?”

  Joe scanned the deck. They had scuba tanks, hoses, a boat hook and some ropes. “Not a lot to work with,” he said. “But I’ll come up with something.”

  35

  With Kurt at the controls up on the flybridge, the dive boat sped toward the secluded bay and the abandoned hotel, carving a white wake into the blue-green waters. While Kurt drove, Joe built a bunker by lashing together empty scuba tanks.

  “Don’t these things blow up when they get hit by bullets?” Renata asked.

  “Only in the movies,” Joe said. “But I vented them just in case. Now they’re just thick, double-walled steel canisters of protection. Perfectly arranged for us to hide behind.”

  “You’re very brave,” she said. “Both of you.”

  “Make sure to tell all your female friends that when we’re finished saving the world for humanity.”

  She grinned. “I have a few girlfriends who’d be happy to make your acquaintance.”

  “A few?”

  “Three or four,” she replied. “They’ll have to fight over you.”

  “That could be interesting,” Joe said, a mischievous grin on his face. “But there’s enough of me to go around.”

  “I hope this works,” he said to Kurt. “I suddenly really, really want to survive.”

  He finished lashing the last of the tanks together as they approached the soaring cliffs that marked this side of Gozo Island. “Your crow’s nest is as secure as I can make it,” he said to Kurt. “I’ll be heading below.”

  Kurt nodded and turned to Renata. “You need to stay out of sight. They don’t know about you yet.”

  “I’m not hiding out belowdecks while you guys duke it out with the people who attacked my country,” she replied.

  “Actually, that’s exactly what you’re going to do,” Kurt said. “The aft cabin has a skylight. Disconnect the latch and wait until the right moment to act.”

  “Why the aft cabin?”

  “Because I’m going to back in. In case we have to make a quick getaway.”

  She didn’t seem to like it but acquiesced. “Okay, fine,” she said. “This time.”

  They put communication devices on. After testing hers, Renata dropped down to the main deck, then went below to the aft cabin. As Kurt suggested, she popped the latch, but left it closed, and then pulled out the Beretta and waited.

  As they neared the gap in the limestone cliffs, Kurt swung the boat out wide, turned it around and backed into the bay at a veritable crawl. As they passed between the cliffs that guarded the bay, he crouched behind the oxygen tanks, rifle in hand, eyeing the rocks up above for any sign of danger and half expecting to take immediate and direct fire.

  “We’re still alive,” he said as the bay widened around them.

  “For now,” Joe grumbled from down on the main deck.

  Putting a spotting scope to his eye, Kurt studied the situation up ahead. “I see three guys with guns waiting on the concrete dock beside the bridge. A couple of vehicles at the end of the road. No boats.”

  “They must have driven in,” Renata said. “Does that help us?”

  “Well,” Joe said. “Unless they can swim really fast, they probably can’t chase us if we flee.”

  “Keep out of sight,” Kurt said. “I’ve got a possible sniper on the roof of the hotel. Just saw a reflection off of his scope.”

  “You’re the one all exposed up there,” Renata pointed out.

  “But I’ve got rocks in my head,” Kurt replied. “So I’ll be all right. Besides, they won’t shoot until they have what they want.”

  Kurt chopped the throttle to idle and the dive boat slowed further. Drifting backward until the stern bumped against the concrete dock. One pathway from the dock led to stairs and up to the bridge. A second pathway led to a dilapidated maintenance shack.

  One of the three men came forward with a rope in his hand.

  “No need to tie us up,” Kurt shouted, peeking between two of the scuba tanks. “We’re not going to be staying long. Where’s your boss?”

  A short, stocky man stepped from the shack. He wore mirrored sunglasses and had his hair cut close like a military man. “I’m here.”

  “You must be Hassan,” Kurt said.

  The man looked annoyed.

  “We got that much out of your men and a little more,” Kurt said.

  “It means nothing,” the man insisted. “But I’ll allow you to address me by that name, if you wish.”

  “Nice place you’ve got here,” Kurt said, still ducked down behind the wall of scuba tanks. “As villainous lairs go, this one seems a little run-down.”

  “Your humor is wasted on me,” Hassan bellowed. “Perhaps you’d like to stand and face me like a man.”

  “Gladly,” Kurt said. “First, you’ll have to tell your sniper to throw his rifle into the bay.”

  “What sniper?”

  “The one on the hotel roof.”

  Through a narrow gap between the tanks, Kurt could see the aggravation on the man’s face.

  “Now or never,” Kurt shouted, starting the engines again in a veiled threat to leave.

  The villain put a radio to his lips, whispered something and then repeated it more firmly. Up on the roof, the sniper got up from his lying p
osition, picked up a long, heavy rifle and heaved it. It twirled slowly as it fell and then splashed into the calm waters of the cove.

  “Satisfied?” Hassan said.

  “Better hope he doesn’t have another gun,” Joe whispered. “Or more snipers.”

  “You’re a bundle of encouragement,” Kurt replied under his breath. “Only one way to find out, though.”

  Kurt stood slowly, bringing the APS rifle up with him and counting three similar weapons aimed his way. Hassan appeared to be carrying a pistol, which remained secure in a shoulder holster for now.

  “Where are the D’Campions?” Kurt asked.

  “Show me the tablets first,” Hassan demanded.

  Kurt shook his head. “I don’t think so. To be honest, I’m not even sure what I did with them.”

  The annoyed look returned. Hassan whistled sharply and movement up on the bridge caught Kurt’s eye. A pair of figures were lifted to their feet and shuffled to the edge. The D’Campions, an older couple, were chained together and forced to the very edge of the bridge, where the railing was missing. Kurt saw an object with a curved bottom in the man’s hand. It was attached by a chain to his feet.

  “That’s going to be a problem,” Kurt muttered.

  “What do you see?” Renata asked.

  “Hostages chained together and hooked to a boat anchor.”

  “An anchor?”

  “That’s what it looks like. It’s not that large,” he added. “Probably no more than twenty pounds. But that’s enough to keep a good man down. A good man and his wife.”

  Hassan grew impatient. “As you can see, they’re alive. Though they won’t be for long if you don’t give me what I want. I see only two of my men.”

  “The rest are shark food by now,” Kurt said. It was a half-truth. Two of the injured thugs had been treated on the Sea Dragon. They’d be turned over to authorities as soon as the boat docked.

  “And the tablets?” Hassan shouted.

  “Unchain the D’Campions first,” Kurt demanded. “As a show of good faith.”

  “I don’t operate in good faith.”

  Kurt didn’t doubt that. “Okay, fine,” he said. “Here you go.”

  He pulled on a nylon rope, drawing back a canvas tarp that had been laid across the aft deck. As the tarp slid back, it revealed a large trunk that was used to stow diving equipment. “The tablets are in there.”

  Hassan hesitated.

  “I’m not going to carry them to you,” Kurt said.

  Hassan was obviously suspicious. “Where’s your friend the swordsman?”

  Kurt almost smiled.

  “I’m right here,” Joe shouted, opening a window at the aft of the cabin. Like Kurt, Joe was protected by a short wall of scuba tanks. Unlike Kurt’s protective barrier, two of the tanks in front of Joe were still pressurized and were connected to a hose that ran under the tarp and into a hole in the back of the trunk.

  “Very well,” Hassan said. He waved two of his men forward.

  They moved to the edge of the dock with rifles in hand, hopped onto the dive boat and stepped cautiously toward the waiting trunk.

  “If this is a trick—” the man said.

  “I know, I know,” Kurt said, interrupting him. “You’ll kill us all and drown the D’Campions. I’ve heard this speech before.”

  The two gunmen approached the trunk like it was a wild animal that might roar to life at any moment. Kurt smirked as if it amused him and allowed his rifle to point away from them in a lazy manner.

  Reaching the trunk, one of the men crouched down to unlatch it. The other stood guard.

  Inside the cabin, Joe’s hands went to the valves on the oxygen tanks, which were already open slightly and pressurizing the fiberglass trunk, but as one of the men leaned near, Joe spun both valves to full.

  The lid of the trunk flew open, hitting the man in the face. A thin layer of gasoline Joe had poured inside the trunk was splashed up into the air by the sudden rush of high-pressure oxygen while a flint he’d rigged up and taped to the hinge struck. The spark ignited a Hollywood-style flashover, a suitably impressive fireball that did little actual damage but which knocked the men backward and grabbed everyone’s attention with a wave of orange flames and a cloud of dark smoke that went billowing outward.

  Kurt snapped his rifle back into position. Ignoring the men who’d been knocked over by the blast, and Hassan, who hadn’t unholstered his weapon yet, he snapped off a pair of shots, targeting the thugs who remained on the dock. Both shots hit dead center and the men crumpled without returning fire.

  Kurt shifted right and triggered a third shot, this one aimed at Hassan, but the man dove away and ran to safety in the dilapidated shack.

  Kurt spun to the left, hoping to get a clean line on the thug on the bridge, but before he could fire again, ricochets began hitting around him and the dull plunk of bullets hammering the depleted oxygen tanks forced him to duck down.

  He took cover as additional rounds hit, ringing the tanks. Distended dents appeared in the tanks the way soft metal distorted when hit with a ball-peen hammer. Kurt rolled away just as a third impact hit home and the metal skin of the tank nearest to him split, spitting fragments his way.

  “Joe, I’m pinned down.”

  “It’s coming from the roof of the hotel,” Joe replied, firing off a couple of bursts at the building to give Kurt some relief.

  Kurt caught sight of the sniper ducking behind the low wall on the roof. He could see that the man had just a regular rifle with no scope.

  “That guy’s a hell of a marksman,” Kurt said, scrambling to a new position and adding a few shots to the ones Joe had fired.

  By now, the men who’d been knocked over by the explosion were getting to their feet. One went for his rifle, swinging it toward the cabin where Joe was hiding. Before the man could fire, Renata popped open the skylight and shot twice. The gunman took both shots to the chest and fell off the boat into the water.

  His partner ran.

  Renata aimed for his legs, hitting him in the back of the knees and cutting him down, but keeping him alive for a later interrogation.

  More shots tore in from the roof of the hotel and the thugs Kurt and Joe had tied up went down like bowling pins. Considering they’d been working the divers to death, Kurt didn’t shed any tears.

  “Push them in,” Hassan could be heard shouting. “Push them in now!”

  Up on the bridge, the D’Campions were shoved forward. They fell thirty feet, hitting the bay with a resounding crash and disappearing beneath the surface.

  “The hostages are in the water!” Kurt shouted, ducking as another spread of shells hit the boat. “I’m still pinned down. I can’t get over the side. Joe, can you get to them?”

  “I’m on it,” Joe shouted.

  Joe was dealing with sporadic gunfire from someone tucked in behind the vehicles and stray shots from the shack where Hassan had hidden. He shut the valve on one of the air tanks, cut through a length of the attached line with his knife and then pulled the tank free.

  He moved to the far side of the cabin, used the tank to smash out the window and then tossed it through.

  “Zavala signing off!” he called out.

  He ran forward and dove through the shattered window with perfect form, knifing into the water without a shot coming his way.

  Once submerged, Joe kicked hard, swimming downward and reaching the tank.

  He turned the valve, let a flow of bubbles out and put the end of the hose up into his mouth. Not the best way to get air, but it would work.

  He turned and swam back under the dive boat, heading for the base of the bridge. The bay was like a pool and he quickly spotted the D’Campions struggling on the bottom, lit up by shafts of golden sunlight.

  With the tank cradled under one arm, Joe kicked hard and used his f
ree hand as well. For a man used to swimming with fins, the progress was agonizingly slow. He reached the sand at a depth of fifteen feet and used his feet to push off. He was almost under the bridge when the first bullets began stabbing down through the water toward him, leaving long trails of bubbles in their wake.

  —

  From his position on the flybridge, Kurt realized the danger. The water in the bay was clear as glass and almost as flat. The gunman on the bridge could see Joe easily. By the time Joe reached the D’Campions, he would be directly under the proverbial gun.

  Trapped, but unwilling to see the D’Campions drown or his friend shot full of lead, Kurt did the only thing that seemed rational to him: he went all in.

  He grabbed the block of C-4, set the timer to five seconds and pressed ENTER. With a flick of his arm, he tossed it toward the shack. The explosive landed close and the blast rocked the building, knocking half the roof off, and collapsing it one wall at a time like a house of cards.

  Hassan wasn’t inside. He was already out and running toward parked cars.

  With the distraction of the explosion creating a brief lull in the shooting, Kurt grabbed the throttles of the dive boat, shoved them forward and then turned the wheel. Because they’d backed into position in case they needed to make a quick getaway, the bow was pointed toward the open waters of the Mediterranean. But as Kurt turned the rudder to the stops, the boat curved back around and went straight for the bridge.

  —

  Twenty feet down, Joe was swimming inverted, holding the tank between himself and the strawlike trails of bubbles that marked each bullet that came his way.

  He pulled the air hose from his mouth, releasing an eruption of bubbles that he hoped would hide his true position. The bullets kept coming, hitting all around him like a meteor shower. One grazed his arm, slicing a fine line in his skin that instantly began to bleed. Another hit the base of the air tank but didn’t penetrate.

  He made it into the shadow beside the D’Campions and allowed each of them to breathe from the stream of air.