Clive Cussler - Lost Empire

Table of Contents

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

Spartan Gold

ISSAC 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

The Clive Cussler and Dirk Pitt Revealed

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Copyright 2010 by Sandecker, RLLLP

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Published simultaneously in Canada

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Cussler, Clive.
Lost empire / Clive Cussler with Grant Blackwood.
p. cm.

eISBN : 978-1-101-44255-5

I. Blackwood, Grant. II. Title.
PS3553.U75L68

2010

2010022403
813.54dc22

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the authors 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

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Thanks to the following people, without whom this book wouldnt be what it is:

Sam Craghead of the Museum of the Confederacy, whose insight was truly invaluable; John Koivula and Tim Thomas for their gemological and geological insights; Rich Hartney for helping us crash-land; Doug Lyle and C. J. Lyons for entertaining our medical questions; Geoff Irwin and Peter Bellwood for their willingness to entertain speculative anthropological questions; Tim Roufs and Sandra Noble for their Mesoamerican expertise; Jurgen Theiss for his Zanzibar and Tanzania help; Tom Chaffin, author of Sea of Gray , for brainstorming what might have happened; Victoria Lisi for her keen pen; Neil, Peter, Tom, Sara, and Pam for their patience, steadfastness, and candid input; the Kid and his wife for their friendship and support; and finally, Steve Berry: You truly are a big deal, my friend.

PROLOGUE

LONDON, ENGLAND, 1864

THE MAN KNOWN AS JOTUN STRODE PURPOSEFULLY THROUGH the predawn fog, the collar of his peacoat up and a scarf wrapped loosely around his throat and mouth. His breath misted in the air before him.

He stopped walking suddenly and listened. Had he heard footfalls? He turned his head to the left, then the right. Somewhere ahead he heard a muffled click. A boot on cobblestone. Moving lightly for such a big man, Jotun stepped back into the shadows between the pillars of an arched gate. In the pocket of his coat, he tightened his fist around the shaft of his lead-and-leather cosh. The side streets and back alleys of Tilbury were never a friendly place, and even less so between sunset and sunrise.

Damn this city, Jotun grumbled. Dark, dank, cold. God help me.

He missed his wife, he missed his country. But this was where he was needed, or so the powers that be said. He trusted their judgment, of course, but there were times when he would gladly trade his current duty for a proper battlefield. At least there he would know his enemy and know what to do with him: Kill or be killed. Very simple. Then again, despite the distance, his wife much preferred his current posting to his earlier ones. Better to be distant and alive than close and dead, shed told him when hed gotten his orders.

Jotun waited another few minutes but heard no further movement. He checked his watch: three-thirty. The streets would begin to stir in another hour. If his quarry was going to make a run for it, it would have to be before then.

He stepped back onto the street and continued north until he found Malta Road, then turned south for the docks. In the distance he could hear the lonely clanging of a buoy, and he could smell the stench of the Thames River. Ahead, through the fog, he glimpsed a lone figure standing on the southeast corner of Dock Road, smoking a cigarette. On cats feet, Jotun crossed the street and strode ahead until he could see more of the corner. The man was indeed alone. Jotun stepped back into the alley entrance, then whistled softly, once. The man turned. Jotun lit a match with his thumbnail, let it flare briefly, then crushed it out between his thumb and index finger. The man walked over to Jotun.

Mornin, sir.

Thats debatable, Fancy.

Indeed it is, sir. Fancy looked down the block, then up.

Nervous? asked Jotun.

What, me? What would I have to be nervous about? Tiny fella like me walking these alleys in the dark of night. What could be wrong with that?

So lets hear it.

Shes there, sir. Berthed as shes been the last four days. Lines are singled up, though. I chatted up a mate of mine that does odd jobs down on the docks. Rumor has it shes moving upriver.

To where?

Millwall Docks.

Millwall Docks arent finished yet, Fancy. Why are you lying to me?

No, sir, thats what I heard. Millwall. Later this morning.

Ive got a man at Millwall already, Fancy. He says theyre closed down for another week at least.