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 pilumon 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 pilumleft 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 pilumto 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.
Quickly hobbling over, Pitt bent over the dead man and searched around his hands.
“Looking for this?” came a sudden taunt from the galley.
Hesitantly peering over his shoulder, Pitt saw Zakkar looking at him with the dead gunman’s pistol aimed squarely at his head.
98
Pitt didn’t know why the Arab didn’t immediately shoot him. Zakkar stood motionless for several seconds before Pitt noticed that he was looking past him. Pitt cautiously followed his gaze toward the channel, where an unusual disturbance appeared in the water.
A dull glow was visible beneath the surface, gradually growing brighter as a mass of bubbles agitated the waters above it. A glaring bank of xenon lights was the first thing to emerge from the depths, followed by an acrylic cockpit and then a long white hull. Pitt gave a grim smile toward the Bulletas it broke to the surface, then bobbed in the grotto channel.
Seated at the controls, Dirk and Giordino looked out of the cockpit in awe at the sight of the large cavern and the Roman galley parked at its center. Then they saw Pitt standing under the barrel of Zakkar’s gun, both men bathed in the submersible’s glaring lights. Looking up at the Arab, Dirk nearly choked in recognition.
“That’s the terrorist from Jerusalem,” he stammered to Giordino. “Keep the lights on him.”
Before Giordino could respond, Dirk had bolted from his seat and opened the rear hatch. In an instant, he climbed to the side ballast tank, still clutching Herman Melville’s book in his hand. The submersible was nearly ten feet from the bank as Giordino pivoted it to face the galley, but Dirk didn’t wait for him to move closer. Taking a running leap, he jumped into the channel and swam to shore, holding the book over his head.
On the galley’s deck, Zakkar surveyed the scene with agitation. He turned his pistol toward Pitt and fired a quick shot, watching him fall prone to the sand. Then he focused his attention on the submersible. Though he heard the splash of Dirk jumping into the water, he couldn’t see him emerge on shore due to the Bullet’s blinding lights. Taking careful aim, he shot out one of them, then peppered the acrylic bubble with several shots before eliminating a second light. Then he noticed a tall figure emerge on shore with his arms stretched out in front of him.
Zakkar fired first, missing with a bullet that whizzed instead within a hair of Dirk’s left ear. Dirk kept moving, marching directly toward the Arab without flinching. A surge of emotions ran through his body, from loving thoughts of Sophie to torrid flashes of anger and vengeance. But noticeably absent was any sense of fear.
Locking Zakkar in the sights of the Colt.45 he held in his outstretched hands, he calmly squeezed the trigger. Neither the roar nor the kick from the.45 slowed his pace, and he marched closer, squeezing the trigger with each step like some robotic soldier.
Dirk’s first shot splintered the rail in front of Zakkar, and Zakkar flinched with his return volley, missing high. He didn’t get another chance to fire. The next slug from Dirk’s.45 tore into Zakkar’s shoulder, nearly taking his arm off. He spun, then fell back against the rail, where he was hit again in the side.
Slumped over the rail as the life drained out of him, Zakkar wasn’t allowed a slow death. Dirk marched closer, pumping five more shots into him, until leaving an ugly mass of red carnage streaming down the galley’s hull. He stood staring at the dead terrorist as the cavern fell silent for a moment, then he turned at the sound of splashing water behind him.
Summer had helped guide the Bulletthrough the sea cave’s entrance and came staggering up the submerged ledge. Reaching dry land, she ran up to Dirk, panting, “Where’s Dad?”
Dirk nodded grimly toward the prone figure in the Roman helmet and armor lying near the first dead gunman. Giordino had since run the submersible to shore and hopped out, joining Dirk and Summer in rushing over to Pitt.
The head of NUMA stirred slowly, then looked up and gave his kids a weary smile.
“Dad, are you okay?” Summer asked.
“I’m fine,” he assured. “Just got knocked a bit woozy. Help me to my feet.”
As Dirk and Summer helped him up, Giordino surveyed the armor and grinned.
“Hail, Caesar,” he said, thumping his chest with a closed fist.
“I should thank Caesar,” Pitt replied, pulling off the helmet. He held it up, showing a crease near the temple where Zakkar had grazed it with a bullet.
“That’ll ring your bell,” Giordino said.
Pitt swung the cuirassoff his back and examined it. Three neat, round bullet holes had pierced the breastplate, but they had just left indentations in the back plate. Only by doubling over the armor had Pitt’s life been spared.
“There’s something to be said for Roman engineering,” he said.
Dropping the armor to the ground, he looked over at Dirk and the.45 still gripped in his hand.
“That Colt looks familiar.”
Dirk reluctantly passed the weapon to his father. “You told me once how Loren had sent you a gun in Mongolia hidden in a cutout copy of Moby-Dick. I checked your cabin on a hunch and saw it on the shelf. Hope you don’t mind.”
Pitt shook his head, then gazed at the bloody muck that was left of Zakkar.
“You did quite a number on him,” he said.
“That lowlife led the attacks at Caesarea and Jerusalem,” Dirk replied coldly, leaving unsaid the fact that Zakkar was indirectly responsible for Sophie’s death.
“It’s pretty odd that he ended up here,” Summer said.
“I suspect your British friend might know something about that,” Pitt said, pointing toward Bannister.
The archaeologist had pulled himself upright against the rocks and stared at them with a dazed look.
“I’ll go check on him,” Giordino offered. “Why don’t you guys find out what’s aboard.”
“Did you find the Manifest cargo?” Summer asked hopefully.