Pitt was standing on the bridge when he spotted his daughter running along the dock.
“It’s Summer,” he shouted to the captain. “Hold the boat.”
Pitt ran down to the main deck, ducking when a large duffel bag came flying through the air and landed at his feet. A second later, a thin pair of hands appeared on the side rail, followed by a bushel of red hair. Summer then swung her body over the side, landing on her feet on the forward deck. Pitt approached, holding her bag, and gave her a clenching hug.
“You know we were coming back to get you,” he said with a laugh.
Realizing that the ship had reversed power and was returning to the dock, Summer gave her father a sheepish look.
“Sorry,” she said, still catching her breath. “When I phoned the ship from London, Rudi told me you’d probably be here for another day or two. But when the taxi neared the dock, I saw you pulling away and panicked. I really didn’t want to miss the boat.”
Pitt turned and waved up to the bridge, indicating it was safe to depart. Then he casually escorted Summer to her cabin.
“I wasn’t expecting to see you for another few days,” he said.
“I took an earlier flight from London and figured it would be easier to catch you here in Çanakkale coming from Istanbul.” Her face turned somber as she said, “I heard about your shipwreck… and what happened to Tang and Iverson.”
“We’ve had our share of trouble and excitement,” he replied as they entered her cabin and he placed her bag on the bunk. “Why don’t we go grab a coffee in the wardroom, and I’ll tell you all about it.”
“I’d like that, Dad. Then I can tell you all about what I’ve been up to in England.”
“Don’t tell me you’ve got a mystery of your own?” he asked, smiling.
Summer gave her father an earnest gaze, then replied, “One bigger than you could ever imagine.”
PART III
THE CRESCENT’S SHADOW
43
“Sophie, I think I may have a hot one for you.”
Sam Levine nearly tripped as he burst into the Director of Antiquities’ office. The cuts and bruises on his face from the incident at Caesarea had mostly healed, but he still carried a large scar on his cheek from the encounter with the Arab thieves. Sophie was seated at her desk, studying a Tel Aviv police report on a grave looting, but looked up with interest.
“Okay, I’m listening.”
“One of our network informants, an Arab boy named Tyron, reports a possible dig tonight in the Muslim cemetery at Kidron.”
“Kidron? That’s just over the wall from the Old City. Somebody’s getting rather brazen.”
“If it is even true. Tyron has had a spotty track record when it comes to tips.”
“Who is supposedly turning the shovels?”
“I only got one name out of him, a petty thief named Hassan Akais,” Sam replied, sliding into a chair opposite Sophie’s desk.
“Doesn’t ring a bell,” Sophie replied after contemplating the name. “Should I know him?”
“We picked him up a few years ago on a raid at Jaffa. We didn’t have enough on him to press charges, so he was let go. Seems to have kept his hands clean since then. He’s been paying our informant to tend some sheep, and apparently the boy overheard talk of an operation tonight.”
“It sounds like small fish to me.”
“I thought so, too. But then there’s this,” Sam said, handing Sophie a computer printout. “I ran his name through the system and, lo and behold, the Mossad suspects him of having possible links to the Mules.”
Sophie leaned forward and studied the paper with heightened interest.
“His links appear a bit tenuous, at best,” Sam added, “but I thought you would want to know.”
Sophie nodded as she finished reading the report but neglected to pass it back to Sam.
“I would like to talk to this Hassan,” she finally replied in a measured tone.
“We’re a bit thin for an operation tonight. Lou and the gang are in Haifa until tomorrow, and Robert is home sick with the flu.”
“Then it will just have to be you and me, Sammy. Any objections?”
Sam shook his head. “If this guy had anything to do with Caesarea, then I want him, too.”
They made their plans for the evening rendezvous, then Sam rose and left the office. Sophie had resumed reading the police report when she suddenly felt someone staring at her. She looked up in surprise to see Dirk, standing outside her doorway, holding a large bouquet of lilacs in his hand.
“Pardon me, I’m looking for the chief gunslinger around here,” he said with a radiant smile.
Sophie practically leaped out of her chair.
“Dirk, I didn’t think you’d be free until next week,” she said, hopping over and giving him a peck on the cheek.
“The university suspended the excavation at Caesarea for the season, so I guess my work is through for now,” he said, placing the flowers on her desk. He then grabbed her in a tight embrace and kissed her. “I missed you,” he whispered.
Sophie felt her skin flush, then remembered her office door was open.
“I can take a short break,” she stammered. “Shall we go have lunch?”
As soon as he nodded, she led him away from the prying eyes of the office and into a nearby courtyard.
“I know a beautiful spot to picnic in the Old City. We can grab something to eat along the way,” she offered.
“Sounds perfect,” he said. “I haven’t seen much of Jerusalem. A walk in the streets is always the best way to capture the essence of an interesting city.”
Sophie grabbed his hand and led him off the manicured grounds of the Rockefeller Museum. Just a short distance away stood Herod’s Gate, one of a handful of entry points into Jerusalem’s Old City. Roughly a mile square, the Old City is the religious heart of Jerusalem, containing the historical landmarks of the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, the Western Wall, and the Dome of the Rock. An imposing stone wall constructed by the Ottoman Turks over four hundred years ago runs in a complete perimeter around the historic section.
Walking through the gate and into the Muslim Quarter, Dirk admired the aged beauty of the cut limestone, which seemed to be the basis of every monument, business, and residence in the city no matter how shabby or dilapidated. But he was more amused watching the diverse population making their way through the narrow streets and alleys. Spotting an Armenian Jew waiting for a crossing light beside an Ethiopian in a white robe and a Palestinian wearing a keffiyeh, he realized that he was treading on a patch of ground unique in all the world.
Sophie guided him down a dark and dusty alley that led to a bustling open-air market called, in Arabic, a souk. She expertly navigated their way past a throng of vendors, stopping to purchase some falafel, lamb kebabs, sweet cakes, and a bag of fruit from the assorted hawkers.
“You said you wanted some local flavor, so here it is,” Sophie teased, making Dirk carry their ad hoc lunch.
She led him down a few more blocks, then crossed onto the grounds of the St. Anne’s Church. A graceful stone structure built by the Crusaders, its location in the heart of the Muslim Quarter represented one of the many peculiar juxtapositions to be found in the ancient city.
“A nice Jewish girl is taking me to a Christian church?” Dirk asked with a chuckle.
“We’re actually headed to the grounds in back of the church. A place that I thought an underwater explorer might enjoy visiting. In addition to the fact,” she added with a wink, “it’s a lovely spot for a picnic.”
They entered the property and made their way to the rear grounds, where they found an open area shaded by mature sycamore trees. A trail led a short distance to a fenced chasm that dropped away like an open mine. Remnants of brick walls, stone columns, and ancient arches rose from the dry base of the cavity.