Crescent Dawn Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  PART I - OTTOMAN DREAM

  Chapter 1 - JULY 2012 CAIRO, EGYPT

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  PART II - THE MANIFEST

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  PART III - THE CRESCENT’S SHADOW

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Chapter 59

  Chapter 60

  Chapter 61

  Chapter 62

  Chapter 63

  Chapter 64

  Chapter 65

  Chapter 66

  Chapter 67

  Chapter 68

  Chapter 69

  Chapter 70

  Chapter 71

  Chapter 72

  Chapter 73

  Chapter 74

  Chapter 75

  Chapter 76

  Chapter 77

  Chapter 78

  Chapter 79

  Chapter 80

  Chapter 81

  Chapter 82

  Chapter 83

  Chapter 84

  Chapter 85

  PART IV - MANIFEST DESTINY

  Chapter 86

  Chapter 87

  Chapter 88

  Chapter 89

  Chapter 90

  Chapter 91

  Chapter 92

  Chapter 93

  Chapter 94

  Chapter 95

  Chapter 96

  Chapter 97

  Chapter 98

  EPILOGUE

  DIRK PITT ® ADVENTURES BY CLIVE CUSSLER

  Arctic Drift

  (WITH DIRK CUSSLER)

  Treasure of Khan

  (WITH DIRK CUSSLER)

  Black Wind

  (WITH DIRK CUSSLER)

  Trojan Odyssey

  Valhalla Rising

  Atlantis Found

  Flood Tide

  Shock Wave

  Inca Gold

  Sahara

  Dragon

  Treasure

  Cyclops

  Deep Six

  Pacific Vortex!

  Night Probe!

  Vixen 03

  Raise the Titanic!

  Iceberg

  The Mediterranean Caper

  FARGO ADVENTURES BY CLIVE CUSSLER

  WITH GRANT BLACKWOOD

  Lost Empire

  Spartan Gold

  ISAAC BELL NOVELS BY CLIVE CUSSLER

  The Spy

  (WITH JUSTIN SCOTT)

  The Wrecker

  (WITH JUSTIN SCOTT)

  The Chase

  KURT AUSTIN ADVENTURES BY CLIVE CUSSLER

  WITH PAUL KEMPRECOS

  Medusa

  The Navigator

  Polar Shift

  Lost City

  White Death

  Fire Ice

  Blue Gold

  Serpent

  OREGON FILES ADVENTURES BY CLIVE CUSSLER

  WITH JACK DU BRUL

  The Silent Sea

  Corsair

  Plague Ship

  Skeleton Coast

  Dark Watch

  WITH CRAIG DIRGO

  Golden Buddha

  Sacred Stone

  NONFICTION BY CLIVE CUSSLER AND CRAIG DIRGO

  The Sea Hunters

  The Sea Hunters II

  Clive Cussler and Dirk Pitt Revealed

  G. P. PUTNAM’S SONS

  Publishers Since 1838

  Published by the Penguin Group

  Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, USA •

  Penguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto, Ontario M4P 2Y3, Canada

  (a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.) • Penguin Books Ltd, 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England •

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  Penguin Books Ltd, Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  Copyright © 2010 by Sandecker, RLLLP

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions. Published simultaneously in Canada

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Cussler, Clive.

  Crescent dawn / Clive Cussler and Dirk Cussler.

  p. cm.

  eISBN : 978-1-101-47507-2

  1. Pitt, Dirk (Fictitious character)—Fiction. 2. Marine biologists—Fiction. 3. Marine engineers—Fiction. I. Cussler, Dirk. II. Title.

  PS3553.U75C

  813’.54—dc22

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  While the author has made every effort to provide accurate telephone numbers and Internet addresses at the time of publication, neither the publisher nor the author assumes any responsibility for errors, or for changes that occur after publication. Further, the publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

  http://us.penguingroup.com

  To Teri and Dayna,

  who make it all fun.

  PROLOGUE

  HOSTILE HORIZONS

  327 A.D. THE MEDITERRANEAN SEA

  THE DRUMBEAT ECHOED OFF THE WOODEN BULKHEADS, reverberating in a rhythmic staccato of flawless precision. The celeusta rapped methodically at his goatskin drum in a smooth yet mechanical fashion. He could bang for hours without missing a beat—his musical training based more on endurance than harmony. Though ther
e was a recognized value to his steady cadence, his audience of galley rowers simply hoped that the monotonous performance would soon reach an end.

  Lucius Arcelian rubbed a sweaty palm across his leggings, then tightened his grip on a heavy oak oar. Pulling the blade through the water in a smooth motion, he quickly matched strokes with the men around him. A young native of Crete, he had joined the Roman Navy six years earlier, attracted by lucrative wages and an opportunity to acquire Roman citizenship at retirement. Physically tested in the years since, he now aspired only to advance to a less laborious position aboard the imperial galley before his arms completely gave out.

  Contrary to Hollywood myth, slaves were not used aboard ancient Roman galleys. Paid enlistees propelled the ships, typically recruited from seafaring lands under the empire’s rule. Like their legionary counterparts in the Roman Army, the enlistees endured weeks of grueling training before being put to sea. The oarsmen were lean and strong, capable of rowing twelve hours a day, if need be. But aboard the Liburnian-type bireme galley, a small and light warship that featured just two banks of oars on either side, the oarsmen acted as supplemental propulsion to a large sail rigged above deck.

  Arcelian gazed at the celeusta, a minuscule bald man who drummed with a pet monkey tied beside him. He could not help but notice a striking resemblance between the man and the monkey. Both had big ears and round jolly faces. The drummer wore his mug in a constant look of mirth, grinning at the crew with bright wily eyes and chipped yellow teeth. His image somehow made the rowing easier, and Arcelian realized that the galley’s captain had made a wise choice in selecting the man.

  “Celeusta,” called out one of the rowers, a dark-skinned man from Syria. “The wind blows fierce and the waters seethe. Why hath we been given the command to row?”

  The drummer’s eyes lit up. “It is not for me to question the wisdom of my officers or else I, too, would be pulling an oar,” he replied, laughing heartily.

  “I would wager that the monkey could row faster,” the Syrian replied.

  The celeusta eyed the monkey curled up beside him. “He is a rather strong little fellow,” he replied, playing along. “But in answer to your question, I know not the answer. Perhaps the captain wishes to exercise his talkative crew. Or perhaps he simply desires to run faster than the wind.”

  Standing on the upper deck a few feet above their heads, the galley’s captain gazed fitfully astern at the horizon. A pair of distant blue-gray dots danced on the turbulent waters, gradually increasing in size with each passing minute. He turned and looked at the breeze filling his sail, wishing that he could run much, much faster than the wind.

  A deep baritone voice suddenly disrupted his focus.

  “Is it the wrath of the sea that weakens your knees, Vitellus?”

  The captain turned to find a robust man in an armored tunic staring at him with a derisive gaze. A Roman centurion named Plautius, he commanded a garrison of thirty legionaries stationed aboard the ship.

  “Two vessels approach from the south,” Vitellus replied. “Pirates both, I am most certain.”

  The centurion casually gazed at the distant ships, then shrugged.

  “Mere insects,” he said without concern.

  Vitellus knew better. Pirates had been a nemesis to Roman shipping for centuries. Though organized piracy in the Mediterranean had been wiped out by Pompey the Great hundreds of years ago, small groups of independent thieves still preyed on the open waters. Solitary merchant ships were the usual targets, but the pirates knew that the bireme galleys often carried valuable cargo as well. Contemplating his own vessel’s lading, Vitellus wondered whether the sea-borne barbarians had been tipped off after his ship had left port.

  “Plautius, I need not remind you of the importance of our cargo,” he stated.

  “Yes, of course,” the centurion replied. “Why do you think I am on this wretched vessel? It is I who has been tasked with ensuring its safety until delivery is made to the Emperor in Byzantium.”

  “Failure to do so would mean fateful consequences for us and our families,” Vitellus said, thinking of his wife and son in Naples. He scanned the seas off the galley’s bow, noting only rolling waves of slate-colored water.

  “There is still no sign of our escort.”

  Three days earlier, the galley had departed Judaea with a large trireme warship as escort. But the ships had become separated during a violent squall the night before, and the escort had not been seen since.

  “Have no fear of the barbarians,” Plautius spat. “We will turn the sea red with their blood.”

  The centurion’s brashness was part of the reason that Vitellus had taken an instant disliking toward him. But there were no doubts about his ability to fight, and for that the captain was thankful to have him near.

  Plautius and his contingent of legionaries were members of the Scholae Palatinae, an elite military force normally assigned to protection of the Emperor. Most were battle-hardened veterans who had fought with Constantine the Great on the frontier and in his campaign against Maxentius, a rival Caesar whose defeat led to the unification of the splintered empire. Plautius himself bore a wicked scar along his left bicep, a reminder of a fierce encounter with a Visigoth swordsman that nearly cost him his arm. He proudly wore the scar as a badge of toughness, an attribute that nobody who knew him dared to question.

  As the twin pirate ships drew near, Plautius readied his men along the open deck, supplemented by spare galley crewmen. Each was armed with the Roman battle accoutrements of the day—a short fighting sword called a gladius, a round laminated shield, and a throwing lance, or pilum. The centurion quickly divided his soldiers into small fighting groups in order to defend both sides of the ship.

  Vitellus kept a fixed eye on their pursuers, who now stood within clear sight. They were smaller sail- and oar-driven vessels of sixty feet in length, roughly half the size of the Roman galley. One displayed pale blue square sails and the other gray, while both hulls were painted a flat pewter to match the sea, an old disguise trick favored by Cilician pirates. Each vessel carried twin sails, which accounted for their superior speed under brisk winds. And the winds were blowing strong, offering the Romans little chance of escape.

  A glimmer of hope beckoned when the forward lookout shouted a sighting of land ahead. Squinting toward the bow, Vitellus eyed the faint outline of a rocky shoreline to the north. The captain could only speculate as to what land it was. Sailing primarily by dead reckoning, the galley had been blown well off its original course during the earlier storm. Vitellus silently hoped they were near the coast of Anatolia, where other ships of the Roman fleet might be encountered.

  The captain turned to a bulldog-shaped man who wielded the galley’s heavy tiller.

  “Gubernator, steer us to land and toward any leeward waters that may avail itself. If we can take the wind out of their sails, then we can outrun the devils with our oars.”

  Belowdecks, the celeusta was ordered to beat a rapid-fire rhythm. There was no talking now between Arcelian and the other oarsmen, just a low bellow of heavy breathing. Word had filtered down of the pursuing pirate ships, and each man concentrated on pulling his oar as quickly and efficiently as possible, knowing his own life was potentially at stake.

  For nearly half an hour, the galley held its distance from the pursuing vessels. Under both sail and oar, the Roman vessel pushed through the waves at nearly seven knots. But the smaller and better-rigged pirates ultimately gained ground again. Pushed to the brink of exhaustion, the galley’s oarsmen were finally allowed to slow their strokes to conserve energy. As the brown, dusty landmass arose before them, almost beckoning, the pirates closed in and made their attack.

  With its companion ship holding astern of the galley, the blue-sailed vessel worked its way abeam and then, oddly, moved ahead of the Roman ship. As it passed, a motley horde of armed barbarians stood on deck and loudly taunted the Romans. Vitellus ignored the shouts, staring at the coastline ahead. The three vessels we
re within a few miles of shore, and he could see the winds diminish slightly in his square-rigged sail. He feared it was too little and too late for his exhausted oarsmen.

  Vitellus scanned the nearby landscape, hoping he could put in ashore and let his legionaries fight on soil, where they were strongest. But the coastline was a high-faced wall of rocky bluffs that showed no safe haven to run the galley aground.

  Speeding almost a quarter mile ahead, the lead pirate ship suddenly pivoted. In an expert tack, the vessel swung completely around and quickly veered head-on toward the galley. At first glance, it appeared to be a suicidal move. Roman sea strategy had long relied upon ramming as a primary battle tactic, and even the small bireme was outfitted with a heavy bronze prow. Perhaps the barbarians were more brawn than brains, Vitellus considered. He’d like nothing more than to ram and sink the first ship, knowing the second vessel would likely retreat.

  “When she turns again, if she turns, follow and impale her with our ram at any cost,” he instructed the steersman. A junior officer was stationed in the ladder well to await directional orders for the oarsmen. On deck, the legionaries held their shields in one hand and their throwing spears in the other, awaiting first blood. Silence befell the ship as everyone waited.

  The barbarians held their bow to the galley until they were within a hundred feet. Then as Vitellus predicted, the adversary tacked sharply to port.

  “Strike her!” the Roman shouted, as the helmsman pushed the tiller all the way over. Belowdecks, the starboard rowers reversed their oars for several strokes, twisting the galley hard to starboard. Just as quickly, they reverted to forward propulsion, joining their port-side oarsmen at maximum effort.

  The smaller pirate ship tried to slip abeam of the galley, but the Roman ship turned with her. The barbarians lost momentum when their sails fell slack as they tacked, while the galley surged ahead. In an instant, the hunter became the prey. As the wind refilled its sails, the smaller ship jumped forward, but not quick enough. The galley’s bronze ram kissed the stern flank of the pirate ship, ripping a gash clear to the transom. The vessel nearly keeled over at impact before righting itself, the stern settling low in the water.

  A cheer rang out among the Roman legionaries, while Vitellus allowed himself a grin in belief that victory had suddenly swung in their favor. But then he turned to face the second ship and instantly realized that they’d been had.