Pitt. “Come on inside. Let’s get out of the heat. I’ve something I want to show you.”
Giordino had his back to the cabin door as Pitt and Gunn entered. “What did the goochers want?” he asked irritably.
“For you to drop dead,” Gunn answered, laughing.
Giordino spun around, recognizing the little man, and affecting great surprise. “Oh for God’s sake!” He came to his feet and shook Gunn’s outstretched hand. “What are you doing here?”
“To transfer you to another project.”
“Great timing.”
“My thoughts exactly,” Pitt grinned.
“Hi, Mr. Gunn,” greeted Gary Marx, ducking into the electronics cabin. “Good to have you on board.”
“Hello, Gary.”
“Am I being transferred too?”
Gunn shook his head. “No, you have to stay here on the project. Dick White and Stan Shaw will be arriving tomorrow to replace Dirk and Al.”
“A waste of time,” said Marx. “We’re ready to wrap up.”
Gunn stared at Pitt questioningly for a moment, then understanding grew in concert with his widening eyes. “The pharaoh’s funeral barge,” he muttered. “You found it?”
“A lucky hit,” Pitt revealed. “And only the second day on the job.”
“Where?” Gunn blurted.
“You’re standing on it, in a manner of speaking. She’s resting 9 meters under our keel.”
Pitt displayed the digital isometric model of the wreck on the computer monitor. The hours spent in enhancing the colored imagery paid off with a vivid, extremely detailed view of every square meter of the centuries-old ship.
“Indescribable,” muttered Gunn in awe.
“We’ve also recorded and positioned over a hundred other wrecks dating from 2800 B.C. to 1000 A.D.,” said Giordino.
“Congratulations to the three of you,” Gunn beamed warmly. “You’ve pulled off an incredible accomplishment. One for the history books. The Egyptian government will pin medals on you.”
“And the Admiral?” Giordino asked succinctly. “What will he pin on us?”
Gunn turned from the monitor and looked at them, his face suddenly turned dead serious. “A dirty, rotten job, I suspect.”
“Didn’t he drop a hint?” Pitt pressed.
“Nothing that made any sense.” Gunn stared at the ceiling, recalling. “When I asked him why the urgency, he quoted a verse. I don’t remember the exact words. Something about a ship’s shadow and charmed water being red.”
Pitt quoted:
Her beams bemocked the sultry main,
Like April hoarfrost spread;
But where the ship’s huge shadow lay,
The charmed water burned away,
a still and awful red.
“A verse from ‘The Rime of the Ancient Mariner’ by Samuel Taylor Coleridge.”
Gunn looked at Pitt with new respect. “I didn’t know you could quote poetry.”
Pitt laughed. “I memorized a few verses, that’s all.”
“I wonder what Sandecker has on his evil mind?” said Giordino. “Not like the old buzzard to get cryptic.”
“No,” Pitt said with uneasy trepidation, “not like him at all.”
8
The pilot of the Massarde Enterprises helicopter flew north and eastward from the capital city of Bamako. For two and a half hours the vast desolation unrolled below like miniature scenery pasted on a scroll. After two hours, he spotted the sun’s glint off steel rails in the distance. He banked and began following the tracks that seemingly traveled to nowhere.
The railroad, only completed the month before, ended at the immense solar waste detoxification project in the heart of the Malian desert. The facility was called Fort Foureau after a long-abandoned French Foreign Legion fort several miles away. From the project site the tracks ran 1600 kilometers in a nearly straight line across the border into Mauritania before finally terminating at the man-made port of Cape Tafarit on the Atlantic Ocean.
General Kazim peered from the lush comfort of the executive helicopter as the pilot caught and passed a long train of sealed, hazardous waste container cars pulled by two diesel
Giordino had his back to the cabin door as Pitt and Gunn entered. “What did the goochers want?” he asked irritably.
“For you to drop dead,” Gunn answered, laughing.
Giordino spun around, recognizing the little man, and affecting great surprise. “Oh for God’s sake!” He came to his feet and shook Gunn’s outstretched hand. “What are you doing here?”
“To transfer you to another project.”
“Great timing.”
“My thoughts exactly,” Pitt grinned.
“Hi, Mr. Gunn,” greeted Gary Marx, ducking into the electronics cabin. “Good to have you on board.”
“Hello, Gary.”
“Am I being transferred too?”
Gunn shook his head. “No, you have to stay here on the project. Dick White and Stan Shaw will be arriving tomorrow to replace Dirk and Al.”
“A waste of time,” said Marx. “We’re ready to wrap up.”
Gunn stared at Pitt questioningly for a moment, then understanding grew in concert with his widening eyes. “The pharaoh’s funeral barge,” he muttered. “You found it?”
“A lucky hit,” Pitt revealed. “And only the second day on the job.”
“Where?” Gunn blurted.
“You’re standing on it, in a manner of speaking. She’s resting 9 meters under our keel.”
Pitt displayed the digital isometric model of the wreck on the computer monitor. The hours spent in enhancing the colored imagery paid off with a vivid, extremely detailed view of every square meter of the centuries-old ship.
“Indescribable,” muttered Gunn in awe.
“We’ve also recorded and positioned over a hundred other wrecks dating from 2800 B.C. to 1000 A.D.,” said Giordino.
“Congratulations to the three of you,” Gunn beamed warmly. “You’ve pulled off an incredible accomplishment. One for the history books. The Egyptian government will pin medals on you.”
“And the Admiral?” Giordino asked succinctly. “What will he pin on us?”
Gunn turned from the monitor and looked at them, his face suddenly turned dead serious. “A dirty, rotten job, I suspect.”
“Didn’t he drop a hint?” Pitt pressed.
“Nothing that made any sense.” Gunn stared at the ceiling, recalling. “When I asked him why the urgency, he quoted a verse. I don’t remember the exact words. Something about a ship’s shadow and charmed water being red.”
Pitt quoted:
Her beams bemocked the sultry main,
Like April hoarfrost spread;
But where the ship’s huge shadow lay,
The charmed water burned away,
a still and awful red.
“A verse from ‘The Rime of the Ancient Mariner’ by Samuel Taylor Coleridge.”
Gunn looked at Pitt with new respect. “I didn’t know you could quote poetry.”
Pitt laughed. “I memorized a few verses, that’s all.”
“I wonder what Sandecker has on his evil mind?” said Giordino. “Not like the old buzzard to get cryptic.”
“No,” Pitt said with uneasy trepidation, “not like him at all.”
8
The pilot of the Massarde Enterprises helicopter flew north and eastward from the capital city of Bamako. For two and a half hours the vast desolation unrolled below like miniature scenery pasted on a scroll. After two hours, he spotted the sun’s glint off steel rails in the distance. He banked and began following the tracks that seemingly traveled to nowhere.
The railroad, only completed the month before, ended at the immense solar waste detoxification project in the heart of the Malian desert. The facility was called Fort Foureau after a long-abandoned French Foreign Legion fort several miles away. From the project site the tracks ran 1600 kilometers in a nearly straight line across the border into Mauritania before finally terminating at the man-made port of Cape Tafarit on the Atlantic Ocean.
General Kazim peered from the lush comfort of the executive helicopter as the pilot caught and passed a long train of sealed, hazardous waste container cars pulled by two diesel
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