Crescent Dawn

“I think somebody should put us in for a Nobel Prize,” Giordino said with a smirk.

“I heard they found the body of Celik this morning,” Lazlo said.

“Yes, he was apparently strangled, then pitched into the Golden Horn,” Pitt said.

“Did you beat me to the task?”

Pitt smiled. “Not this time. A police detective told us they are pretty certain Mufti Battal is responsible. An undercover cop at Battal’s mosque reported seeing a man matching Celik’s description and dress in the building about the time of his estimated death.”

“A pair of devils, in my book,” Lazlo said.

An attractive nurse came into the room momentarily to check Lazlo’s medication, then left under his watchful gaze.

“Anxious to get home, Lieutenant?” Giordino asked.

“Not particularly,” Lazlo replied with a grin. “And by the way, it is now Commander Lazlo. I’ve received word of my promotion.”

“Let me be the first to congratulate you,” Giordino said, slipping him a bottle of whisky he had smuggled into the hospital. “Perhaps you can find someone around here to share it with,” he added with a wink.

“You Americans are all right,” Lazlo replied with a wide smile.

“How is the prognosis?” Pitt asked.

“I’m scheduled for surgery in Tel Aviv in another week, then will be subject to several weeks of therapy. But the recovery should be full, and I hope to report back to duty before the end of the year.”

They were interrupted by the entrance of a man in a wheelchair, who rolled in with his leg in a cast.

“Abel, there you are,” Lazlo greeted. “It’s time you meet the men who helped save your life.”

“Abel Hammet, master of the Dayan . Or ex-master, I should say,” he said, greeting Pitt and Giordino warmly. “Lazlo here has told me everything you did. You really put yourself out on a limb, and my crew and I can’t thank you enough.”

“I’m sorry your tanker was still lost in the end,” Pitt replied.

“The Dayan was a good ship,” Hammet said wistfully. “But the good news is that we’re getting a brand-new vessel. The Turkish government has committed to building us a replacement, apparently using the appropriated assets of one Ozden Celik to pay for it.”

“Who says there’s no justice in the world?” Giordino quipped.

As the men laughed, Pitt glanced at his watch.

“Well, the Aegean Explorer is due to shove off in about an hour,” he said. “I’m afraid we’re going to have to be on our way.”

He shook hands with Hammet, then turned to Lazlo.

“Commander, I’d be glad to have you by my side any day,” he said.

“It would be my honor,” Lazlo replied.

As Pitt and Giordino moved toward the door, Lazlo called out to them.

“Where are you headed? Back to your shipwreck?”

“No,” Pitt replied. “We’re sailing to Cyprus.”

“Cyprus? What’s waiting for you there?”

Pitt gave the commander a cryptic grin.

“A divine revelation, I hope.”

PART IV MANIFEST DESTINY

86

St. Julien Perlmutter had just settled into an over size leather armchair when the phone rang. His favorite reading post was custom-built, as it had to be to accommodate his nearly four-hundred-pound frame. He glanced at a nearby grandfather clock, noting it was nearly midnight. Reaching past a tall glass of port parked on a side table, he answered the phone.

“Julien, how are you?” came a familiar voice over the line.

“Well, if it isn’t the savior of Constantinople,” Perlmutter replied in a booming voice. “I’ve read with glee about your exploits in the Golden Horn, Dirk. I hope you weren’t injured in the affair?”

“No, I’m fine,” Pitt replied. “And by the way, they call it Istanbul these days.”

“Bilgewater. It was Constantinople for sixteen hundred years. Ridiculous to change it now.”

Pitt had to laugh at his old friend, who spent most of his waking hours living in the past. “I hope I didn’t catch you in bed?” he asked.

“No, not at all. I was just sitting down with a copy of Captain Cook’s papers from his first voyage to the Pacific.”

“One of these days, we’ll have to go find what’s left of the Endeavor ,” Pitt said.

“Aye, a noble mission that would be,” Perlmutter replied. “So where are you, Dirk, and why the late call?”

“We just docked at Limassol, Cyprus, and I have a mystery I could use your help with.”

The large bearded man’s eyes twinkled at hearing the words. As one of the world’s foremost marine historians, Perlmutter had a hunger for nautical enigmas that exceeded his appetite for food and drink. Having associated with Pitt for years, he knew that when his friend called he usually had something beguiling.

“Pray tell,” Perlmutter said in his deep bassoon voice.

Pitt proceeded to tell him about the Ottoman wreck and its Roman-era artifacts, then he sprang the story of the Manifest and its list of contents.

“My word, that’s an epic cargo,” Perlmutter said. “A pity that little, if any of it, would survive after two millennia under the sea.”

“Yes, the ossuary might be the best that could be hoped for.”

“You would surely stir a hornet’s nest with that,” Perlmutter said.

“If any of it still exists, it deserves to be found,” Pitt replied.

“Absolutely. Even without the cargo, an intact Roman galley would be a gem to discover. Do you have a starting point to conduct the search?”

“The purpose of my call,” Pitt said. “I’m hoping that you might know of some unidentified ancient wrecks off the southern Cyprus coast. Any data on the historic trade routes around the island would probably be helpful, too.”

Perlmutter thought for a moment. “I have a few resources on the shelf that might be of assistance. Give me a couple of hours, and I’ll see what I can do.”

“Thanks, Julien.”

“Say, Dirk,” Perlmutter added, before hanging up. “Were you aware that Cyprus was known to produce the best wines in the Roman Empire?”

“You don’t say.”

“A glass of Commandaria, I’ve heard, tastes as it did two thousand years ago.”

“I’ll be sure and find you a bottle, Julien.”

“You’re a good man, Dirk. So long.”