Crescent Dawn (Dirk Pitt 21)

Pitt looked at her with a devilish sparkle in his eye.

“In the words of Monty Hall, let’s make a deal.”

12

DOES SHE SPORT A COTAL TRANSMISSION?” PITT ASKED.

The older bearded man leaned over and opened the car’s driver’s-side door.

“She certainly does,” he said in a clearly American accent. “You familiar with Delahayes?” His face perked up as he gazed at the tall, dark-haired man and his attractive wife.

“I’ve long admired the marque,” Pitt replied, “especially the coachwork-bodied vehicles.”

“This is a 1948 Model 135 convertible coupe, with a custom body from the Paris shop of Henri Chapron.”

The large two-door convertible had clean but heavy lines that exemplified the simple designs of auto manufacturers immediately after World War II. Loren admired the striking green-and-silver paint scheme, which made the car look even longer.

“Did you restore it yourself?” she asked.

“Yes. I’m a miner by trade. I ran across the car at an old dacha in Georgia while working a project on the Black Sea coast. It was in rough shape but all there. Brought it back to Istanbul and had some local talent help me with the restoration. It’s not concours quality, but I think she looks nice. They squeezed a lot of speed out of her six-cylinder engine, so she runs like a demon.” He reached out a hand toward Pitt. “My name is Clive Cussler, by the way.”

Pitt shook the man’s hand, then quickly introduced himself and Loren.

“She’s a beauty,” Pitt added, though his eyes were focused on the nearby crowd. The man with the sunglasses was staring at him from five cars away, walking casually in his direction. Pitt spotted the other two men farther afield but closing from the flanks.

“Why are you selling the car?” he asked while quietly motioning Loren to approach the passenger door.

“I’m headed over to Malta for a bit and I won’t have room for it there,” the man said with a disappointed look. He smiled as Loren opened the left side suicide door. A black-and-tan dachshund sleeping on the seat gave her an annoyed look, then hopped out and ran to its owner. Loren slid into the leather-bound front passenger seat, then waved to Pitt.

“You look good in the car,” Cussler said, turning on the sales charm.

Loren smiled back. “Would it be all right if we took it for a little test-drive around the park?” she asked.

“Why, of course. The keys are in it.” He turned to Pitt. “You’re familiar with the Cotal transmission? You only need to use the clutch to start and stop.”

Pitt nodded as he quickly slipped behind the wheel of the right-hand-drive car. Turning the ignition key, he listened with satisfaction as the motor immediately fired to life.

“We’ll be back shortly,” he said, waving to the man out of the window.

Pitt reversed the car, then turned down the back row of show cars, hoping to avoid Sunglasses. The assailant stepped around the last car in line and spotted Pitt behind the wheel just as the Delahaye pulled forward. Pitt gently mashed the throttle, trying to keep the rear wheels from spinning on the slick grass as the car lurched ahead. Sunglasses hesitated, then yelled for him to stop. Pitt promptly ignored the plea as the tires found their grip and the old car accelerated quickly, leaving the man in his tracks.

Pitt could hear additional shouting over the whine of the engine, then Loren called out a warning ahead. The Topkapi thief in the blue shirt appeared along the row of cars a dozen yards ahead.

“He’s got a gun,” Loren yelled as the accelerating car drew them closer.

Pitt could see that the man had produced a handgun, which he tried to obscure by holding it flat against the side of his leg. He stood near the back of a Peugeot wood-paneled wagon, waiting for the Delahaye to draw alongside.

With the motor screaming at high revolutions, Pitt popped the French car’s tiny dash-mounted shifter into second gear. Just a few feet ahead, the blue-shirted man raised his arm holding the pistol.

“Duck down,” Pitt shouted, then floored the accelerator.

The triple-carbureted engine spurted power, throwing Pitt and Loren back into their seats. The sudden acceleration threw off the gunman’s timing as well, and he quickly struggled to aim the weapon toward the windshield. Pitt refused to give him the chance.

Yanking the steering wheel hard to the right, Pitt aimed the Delahaye’s curved prow directly for the startled gunman. Blocked by the back of the Peugeot, the man had only one way to move. Furiously backpedaling, he abandoned making a precise shot in order to avoid becoming a hood ornament.

The Delahaye’s front fender scraped along the Peugeot’s bumper before creasing the gunman’s leg, knocking him away from the car. Two shots rang out from his pistol before he crumpled alongside the Peugeot, writhing in agony. Both shots flew high, one shredding through the canvas roof, the other catching air.

Pitt hurriedly cranked the ste