The Tiger Warrior Read Online Free PDF Page A

headlamp again. “Those tusks aren’t going to survive long. We need to get them reburied. But before that we need a film team down here, pronto. This is headline stuff.”
    “Leave it to me, Jack. I’ve got a channel open to Seaquest II.”
    Jack glanced at his wrist computer. “Seven minutes left. I want to have a look at those amphoras in the sand. I’ll be within visual range.”
    “I think I’ve had enough excitement for one dive.”
    “I’ll meet you halfway for the ascent.”
    “Roger that.”
    Jack drifted back toward the sandy plateau, letting the current take him. It had picked up slightly during their dive, raising a pall of fine silt that hung a meter or so over the seabed, briefly obscuring the amphoras from view. Ahead of him a school of glassfish hung in the water like a diaphanous veil, parting to reveal a reef shark swimming languidly along the slope. He heard the muffled roar of the Zodiac boat on the surface gunning its outboards, circling to keep position. A banging from the boat marked their five-minute warning. He glanced back at Costas, now some twenty meters away, then dropped down into the suspended sediment. Costas might not be able to see him, but Jack’s exhaust bubbles would be clearly visible. He stared ahead, concentrating on his objective, his arms held out in front of him with his hands together, his legs slowly kicking a frog stroke. He was in perfect control of his buoyancy. Suddenly he saw them, a row of four amphoras, intact and leaning in the sand, another row poking up beyond. He exhaled hard, emptying his lungs, knowing his life depended on his equipment delivering that next breath, the edge of danger that made diving his passion. He dropped down, then inhaled just above the seafloor, regaining neutral buoyancy. The amphoras were covered with fine sediment, sparkling with the sunlight that streamed through the water from the surface forty-five meters overhead.
    He saw more rows of amphoras, then a scour channel with darkened timbers protruding below. He drew in his breath. “Well I’ll be damned.”
    “Got something?” Costas’ voice crackled through.
    “Just another ancient wreck.”
    “Couldn’t beat an elephantegos,” Costas retorted. “My elephantegos.”
    “Just some old pots,” Jack said.
    “It’s never just old pots with you. I’ve seen you empty the gold inside to get at the pot. Typical archaeologist.”
    “The pots are where the history lies,” Jack said.
    “So you keep telling me. Personally, I’ll take a sack of doubloons over a pot any day. So what have you got?”
    “Wine amphoras, about two centuries later than the Rhodian ones with the elephantegos . These date from the time of Augustus, the first Roman emperor. They come all the way from Italy.”
    Jack finned toward the row of amphoras. His excitement mounted. “These are outward-bound, no doubt about it. They’ve still got the mortar seals over the lids, with the stamp of the Italian estates that made them. This is Falernian wine, vintage stuff Costas, I think we’ve just hit pay dirt.” He looked back. Costas had swum up from the coral head and was hanging in the water at the halfway point, already rising a few meters above the seafloor. “Time to go, Jack. Two minutes to our no-stop limit.”
    “Roger that.” Jack’s eyes were darting around, taking in everything possible in the remaining moments before the alarm bell sounded. “Each of these wine amphoras was worth a slave. There are hundreds of them. This was a high-value cargo. A Roman East Indiaman.”
    “You mean actually going to India?” Costas flicked on his headlamp, bringing out the colors in the seabed around Jack. “Doesn’t that mean bullion? Treasure?”
    Jack touched one of the amphoras. He felt the thrill that coursed through him every time he touched an artifact that had lain beyond human hands since ancient times. And shipwrecks were the most exciting finds of all. Not the accumulated garbage of a