Lost Empire

by Cussler, Clive;Grant Blackwood

  “And you’re sure we couldn’t get what we need in Stone Town and sneak back here?”

  “You want to risk it? Something tells me that gunboat captain would be only too happy to arrest us. If he thinks we were lying to him . . .”

  “True. Okay, Gilligan, let’s make your raft.”

  THEY HAD NO TROUBLE finding plenty of downed trees but a harder time finding ones of a manageable size. Sam identified five candidates, all roughly eight feet long and about as big around as a telephone pole. He and Remi dragged each log down to the beach, where they arranged them in a row.

  SAM WENT TO WORK. The construction was simple enough, Sam explained. He grabbed a nearby piece of driftwood and inscribed the plan in the sand:

  “Not exactly the Queen Mary,” Remi observed with a smile.

  “For that,” Sam replied, “I’d need at least four more logs.”

  “Why the protruding ends?”

  “Two reasons: stability and leverage.”

  “For what?”

  “You’ll see. Right now I need some line—a few dozen six-foot lengths.”

  Remi saluted. “As you command.”

  AFTER AN HOUR’S WORK, Sam straightened up and stared at his creation. His narrowed eyes told Remi her husband was running equations in his head. After a minute of this, Sam nodded. “Okay. Should be buoyant enough,” he proclaimed. “With about twenty percent in reserve.”

  WITH THE RAFT in tow, they slipped back through the inlet to the island’s western side and headed south along the coast until they were again over the bell’s resting place. Using the gaff hook, Sam maneuvered the raft around to the landward side of the Andreyale and secured it to the cleats.

  “My gut tells me we’re due for another drive-by,” Sam said, sitting down in a deck chair. Remi joined him, and together they drank water and watched the water until, thirty minutes later, the Yulin appeared to the north, a half mile out.

  “Good call,” Remi said.

  The Yulin slowed to a walking pace, and from their afterdeck Sam and Remi could see a figure in a white uniform standing on its afterdeck. Sun glinted off binocular lenses.

  “Smile and wave,” Sam said.

  Together they did just that until the figure lowered its binoculars and disappeared into the cabin. The Yulin came about and began heading north. Sam and Remi waited until it disappeared around the curve of the island, then went back to work.

  With the already prepped anchor in one hand, Sam donned his fins and mask and rolled over the side. After a bit of wrangling, he centered the raft over the bell. He knotted the end of the anchor line to the far side of the raft, dove at an angle until the line was taut, then jammed the anchor’s flukes into the sand.

  Back on the surface, he caught the line Remi tossed to him, then looped it over the raft’s center beam, dove down, and clamped the D ring onto the bell’s crown. A minute later he was back on the afterdeck, where he secured Remi’s line to both cleats.

  Hands on his hips, he appraised the setup.

  Remi smiled sideways at him. “You’re very pleased with yourself, aren’t you?”

  “I am.”

  “You should be. My intrepid engineer.”

  Sam clapped his hands together once. “Let’s do this.”

  WITH REMI at the wheel, Sam called, “Slow ahead.”

  “Slow ahead,” Remi repeated.

  The water beneath the stern turned to froth, and the Andreyale eased forward a foot, then two. The cleated line began rising from the water. With a muffled squelch-pop, the rope cinched down on the raft’s crossbeam.

  “Looking good,” Sam called. “Keep going.”

  The raft began moving, closing the distance to the stern.

  “Come on,” Sam muttered. “Come on . . .”

  On the far side of the raft the anchor line quivered with tension as it negated the Andreyale’s drag on the raft. Sam donned his mask, bent over the side, and stuck his face in the water. Twelve feet below, the bell was hovering a few inches off the bottom.

  Remi called, “How’re we doing?”

  “A thing of beauty. Keep going.”

  One careful foot at a time they lifted the bell until finally the crown broke the surface and thunked into the crossbeam.

  “Slow to idle!” Sam ordered. “Just enough to hold position.”

  “Idling!” Remi replied.

  Sam grabbed the six-foot length of line from the deck and dove over the side. Three strokes brought him to the raft. Five loops through the bell’s crown and a bowline knot over the crossbeam, and the bell was secure. Sam lifted his hands triumphantly, like a cowboy who’d just roped a calf.

  “Done!” he called.

  The Andreyale’s engines sputtered and went silent. Remi walked onto the afterdeck, smiled, and returned her husband’s thumbs-up.

  “Congratulations, Fargo,” she called. “Now what?”

  Sam’s smile dropped away. “Not sure. Still working it out.”

  “How did I know you were going to say that?”

  CHAPTER 6

  ZANZIBAR

  IN TRUTH, THERE WAS NOTHING TO WORK OUT. THEY DIDN’T DARE tow the bell back up the coast to their bungalow. The needed a safe place to stash it while they made some decisions and arrangements.

  While they both recognized their encounter with the Yulin might be a molehill they’d built into a mountain, they’d also come to trust their instincts, and on this issue Sam’s and Remi’s gut reactions were in agreement: Neither the Yulin’s initial visit nor its repeated appearances were happenstance. Also, her captain’s questions were variations on a theme: Were the Fargos looking for something specific? This suggested someone—perhaps the shadowy figure hiding in the Yulin’s cabin—was concerned that something of note was at risk of discovery. Was it the bell or the Adelise coin, or something else entirely?

  “The question is,” Sam said, “do we want to wait and see what they do or shake the tree a little bit?”

  “I’m not fond of sitting on my hands.”

  “I know. Me neither.”

  “What did you have in mind?”

  “Behave like we’re people with something to hide.”

  “We are people with something to hide,” Remi replied. “A two-hundred-pound ship’s bell suspended from a homemade raft.”

  At this, Sam laughed. His wife had a knack for cutting to the heart of a matter. “If we’re not blowing all of this out of proportion, they—whoever they are—have probably already searched the bungalow.”

  “And found nothing.”

  “Right. So they’ll watch and wait for us to come home.”

  Remi was nodding, smiling. “We don’t come home.”

  “Right. If they come looking for us, we’ve got confirmation the game’s afoot.”

  “Did you say ‘the game’s afoot’? Really?”

  Sam shrugged. “Thought I’d try it out, see how it plays.”

  “Oh, Sherlock . . .” Remi said, rolling her eyes.

  WITH THE BELL and raft in tow, they retraced their course through ankle inlet and to the mangrove lagoon. Nightfall was only a couple hours away. They spent an hour of this time tooling around the lagoon’s perimeter looking for a suitable hiding spot for the raft, which they found along the eastern shoreline where a cluster of cypress trees were growing diagonally from the bank. Using the gaff, they eased the raft beneath the overhanging branches, then Sam dove in and tied it off to one of the trunks.

  “How’s it look?” Sam called from behind the screen.

  “Can’t see a thing. They’d have to get in there to find it.”

  THEY RETURNED to the mouth of the inlet, where Sam used a dead line to catch four small red snappers, then they returned to the lagoon and waded ashore to the beach. Remi, who had the better filleting skills, cleaned and prepped the snapper while Sam collected wood for the fire. Before long the fillets were sizzling and, as the sun dropped behind the coconut palms, they were eating.

  “You know, I think I like
roughing it,” Remi said, flaking off a piece of fish and putting it in her mouth. “To a degree, that is.”

  “I understand.” He did. Remi was a trouper; she’d never withered before a challenge and had stood side by side with him in mud and snow, under gunfire and pursuit, and she rarely failed to find a bright side. For all that, however, she also loved her comforts. As did he. “Once we get things settled with our mystery bell, we’ll head over to Dar es Salaam, get a suite in the Royal, drink gin and tonics on our balcony, and bet on the cricket matches.”

  Remi’s eyes lit up. The Moevenpick Royal Palm was Dar es Salaam’s only five-star hotel. She said, “You’re singing my song, Sam Fargo.”

  “But first,” he replied, looking at the sun and checking his watch, “we need to get ready for our guests.”

  WITH THE ARRIVAL of nightfall, the lagoon came alive with the trilling of crickets. In the trees along the shorelines and in the shrubbery atop the floating islands fireflies winked at them. Sam had steered the Andreyale between two of the bigger floating islands and dropped anchor with the bow facing west. The sky was clear, a black backdrop sprinkled with pinpricks of light and a half-moon surrounded by a hazy, prismatic ring.

  “Could rain tomorrow,” Sam observed.

  “Does that wives’ tale apply to the Southern Hemisphere?”

  “Guess we’ll find out.”

  They sat on the afterdeck sipping coffee in the dark and watching the insect light show. From their position they could see both the mouth of the lagoon and the beach, where they’d erected a makeshift A-frame tent from a canvas tarp they’d found in a storage locker. Behind the canvas came the faint yellow glow of a lantern, and, a few feet outside the tent, was a small bonfire. Sam had enough coconut palm logs to keep embers glowing all night.

  Remi yawned. “Long day.”

  “Go below and get some sleep,” Sam said. “I’ll take the first watch.”

  “You’re a doll. Wake me in two hours.”

  A peck on his cheek, and she was gone.

  THE FIRST TWO WATCHES were uneventful. Nearing the end of the sixth hour, shortly before three A.M., Sam thought he heard the faint rumble of engines in the distance, but the sound faded. Five minutes later it returned, this time louder and closer. Somewhere to the north. Sam scanned the mouth of the lagoon through binoculars but could see nothing save ripples on the water’s surface where the current surged through the inlet. The engines faded again. No, not faded, Sam corrected himself. Died. As if they’d been shut down. He lifted the binoculars to his eyes again.

  A minute passed. Two minutes. And then, at the four-minute mark, a shadow appeared in the inlet. Like a bulbous shark’s snout, the object seemed to float a few feet above the surface. Moving at less than a walking pace, the Zodiac raft glided noiselessly from the inlet and into the mouth of the lagoon. Thirty seconds later another Zodiac appeared, followed by a third. In single file they drifted for fifty feet before turning in formation to starboard and entering the lagoon proper.

  On flat feet, Sam ducked down the ladder, stepped to the bunk, and touched Remi’s foot. Her head popped up from the pillow. Sam whispered, “Company.” She nodded once, and within seconds they were back on the afterdeck and sliding over the gunwale into the water. On impulse, Sam reached back over the side and grabbed their only possible weapon, the gaff pole, from its bracket.

  Having already rehearsed their plan, it was a short ten-second breaststroke to the nearest floating island. With Remi in the lead, they wriggled their way between the exposed mangrove roots and picked through the maze until they reached a hollow in the center. Their earlier inspection of the cavity showed it to be three feet in diameter and almost eight feet tall, rising to the underside of the earthen mushroom cap. Around them, rattail roots and vines drooped and curled. The air was heavy with the tang of mold and loam.

  Through the tangle of roots they could see the Andreyale ten feet to their right. So close they were almost hugging, Sam and Remi rotated themselves until they could see the mouth of the lagoon. At first, there was nothing. Dark, moonlit water and silence.

  Then a faint, almost imperceptible hum.

  Sam put his lips to Remi’s ear. “Zodiac rafts with electric trolling motors. Moving very slowly.”

  “Zodiacs probably mean a mother ship,” Remi whispered back.

  Her point was well made. While Zodiacs could manage Zanzibar’s coastal waters, most trolling motors had limited range and a top speed of four to five knots. Whoever their visitors were, they’d launched from somewhere nearby. Remi’s guess of a larger boat seemed the most likely scenario.

  Sam said, “You left the goodies out for Santa?”

  She nodded. “They’ll have to look around a bit, but everything’s there.”

  Two minutes passed before the first Zodiac appeared, two hundred yards away and to their right. The second appeared, at the same distance but to the left. A few moments later, the third slid into view, coming down the center of the lagoon. None showed a speck of light, but in the gray moonlight Sam and Remi could see a single silhouetted figure sitting in the stern of each raft.

  Three Zodiac rafts, traveling in a line abreast with neither a spoken word nor a flashlight among them . . . These were not tourists on a nocturnal water safari.

  “You see any weapons?” Sam whispered.

  Remi shook her head.

  For the next few minutes they watched as the trio of Zodiacs weaved their way between and around the floating islands until they were fifty yards from the Andreyale. The figure in the middle Zodiac raised his hand, made a strange gesture, and the other two Zodiacs responded by coming about and converging on the Andreyale.

  Sam tapped on Remi’s shoulder to get her attention, then jerked his thumb downward. Together they submerged until only their eyes and noses were above the surface.

  The middle Zodiac—the leader’s boat, it seemed—reached the Andreyale first, gliding up to the bowsprit, and the leader grabbed onto the rail with one hand. Now in profile, the man’s face was visible. The gaunt face and hawkish nose were unmistakable. Here was the mystery man from the Yulin.

  As if flying in formation, the other two Zodiacs slid down the port and starboard sides of the Andreyale and came together at the stern. Within seconds both men were over the rail and standing on the afterdeck. The one closest to Sam and Remi’s hiding spot reached up to his shoulder, grabbed something, and lowered his hand. Moonlight glinted off steel. A knife.

  Remi’s hand found Sam’s underwater and squeezed. He squeezed back. In her ear he whispered, “We’re safe.”

  The two men disappeared into the cabin, then reemerged a minute later. One of them leaned over the gunwale and signaled to Hawk Nose, who gestured back, then pushed off, brought his Zodiac about, and headed for the beach. Once there he too drew a knife. Moving slowly but steadily, he padded up the beach to Sam and Remi’s lantern-lit tent. He peeked inside, straightened up, then scanned the beach and the coconut palms for half a minute before returning to the Zodiac. Two minutes later he was aboard the Andreyale with the other two.

  For the first time, one of the group spoke. Hawk Nose muttered something in Spanish, and the other two ducked back into the cabin. The Andreyale began rocking. Cabinet doors opened and slammed shut. Glass broke. Through the portholes came the glow of flashlights moving about. After five minutes of this, the two men reappeared on the afterdeck. One of them handed Hawk Nose a small object, which he examined briefly before tossing it back down the cabin’s ladder. It pinged down the steps. The second man handed Hawk Nose a yellow legal pad. Hawk Nose studied it, handed it back. The other man produced a digital camera and flashed a picture of the page in question. The legal pad was tossed back into the cabin.

  In Remi’s ear Sam whispered, “Hook, line, sinker.”

  Hawk Nose and his companions climbed back into the Zodiacs and pushed off. To Sam and Remi’s surprise the group didn’t head for the inlet but rather began a search of the lagoon, starting with the shor
elines. Flashlights skimmed over the banks and through the trees. As one of the Zodiacs drew even with the bell’s hiding place Sam and Remi held their breaths, but the boat never slowed and the flashlight never wavered.

  Finally the trio reached the mouth of the lagoon and finished their examination of the shoreline, but instead of heading for the inlet they turned again, formed a line abreast, and started checking the floating islands, flashlights scanning each mangrove buttress before moving to the next.

  “This could be bad,” Sam muttered.

  “Very bad,” Remi agreed.

  The drawn knives had told Sam and Remi everything they needed to know: Whoever these men were, they had no compunction about using violence. Had Sam and Remi been either aboard the Andreyale or in the tent, they would be dead now.

  “Head back to the Andreyale?” Remi suggested.

  “If they decide to board her again, we’ll be trapped.”

  “I’m open to suggestions.”

  Sam thought for a moment, then said, “How about two birds with one stone?” He explained his plan.

  “Risky,” said Remi.

  “I’ll make it work.”

  “Okay, but only if there’s no other way.”

  “Agreed.”

  They watched the progress of the Zodiacs. If they continued on their current paths, the one to their right would reach their hiding spot in less than two minutes. The other two were ahead by half a minute. With luck, they’d finish their searches first and turn back toward the mouth.

  “Cross fingers,” Sam said to Remi.

  “Already there,” she replied and kissed him on the cheek. “For a little more luck.”

  Sam ducked underwater and pulled himself back through the root system and into open water. Doing his best to keep all three Zodiacs in view, he maneuvered himself around to the back side of the roots. Thirty seconds later, to his left, Hawk Nose and his partner slid into view. Each man scanned his final floating island, then turned and headed back toward the inlet. The last Zodiac was still on course, forty feet away.