Crescent Dawn (Dirk Pitt 21)

Sunglasses slumped back into his seat, rubbing a fat lip obtained from kissing the steering wheel. Beside him, the man in the blue shirt was stemming the flow of blood from a mashed nose. Only the Persian escaped the collision unscathed, having braced himself with his free arm.

Listening to the engine idling without damage, he turned to the driver.

“Let’s keep after them.”

Sunglasses shook off his daze and reversed gear, roughly bouncing the truck back onto the drive. Hitting the brakes, a loud clattering arose from behind the cab. The Persian glanced out the rear window to see the decapitated head of Venus rolling about the truck bed with a clatter.

By the time they got back onto the drive, Pitt had already exited the estate. As he had hoped, the diversion had allowed sufficient time for the moving truck to sort itself out, and the coastal road was now clear. Pitt quickly pushed the old car up to high speed on the paved road.

“We might have bought a little time,” he said, “but we’re about out of gas.”

Loren leaned over to see the fuel gauge needle flicker directly above the E.

“Maybe they’ll stay in the clutches of Venus,” she said hopefully.

Speeding past the Austrian Summer Embassy, the road opening up, they could see another shoreside village up ahead. A large car ferry was visible at the town dock, loading passengers and vehicles for a run down the Bosphorus.

“That ferry might be our best bet,” Pitt said as the road dropped sharply to the waterfront.

“Yes, for that peaceful, relaxing cruise you were telling me about,” Loren muttered.

A roguish grin crossed Pitt’s lips. “Peaceful, perhaps, for someone,” he replied.

r /> They drove past a sign proclaiming the town of Yenikoy, and made their way through light traffic to the dock. Pitt pulled up behind an open truck loaded with oriental carpets waiting to board the ferry. He quickly scanned the dockside, eyeing a row of waterfront bars and restaurants similar to those in Sariyer.

“There’s the truck,” Loren suddenly blurted.

Pitt looked back up the road, catching a glimpse of the truck approaching the town a half mile away. He turned to Loren and motioned up a side street with his thumb.

“I want you to slip up to that restaurant with the green awning and order me a beer,” he said.

“The dingy place with the darkened windows?” she asked, looking past a number of clean, respectable establishments.

Pitt nodded.

“What about our cruise?”

“We’re going to give our seats up for our friends. Stay put until I get there. Now, go,” he directed, giving her a quick kiss.

He watched as she climbed out of the car and hightailed it up the street, then tentatively entered the scruffy bar. A few seconds later, he spotted the pickup truck in his rearview mirror rumbling up to the dock. Pitt noted with some amusement that the truck’s front fender was mashed flat and streaked with white marble dust. A demolished front headlight left a vacant cavity that now resembled an empty eye socket. There was no doubt that the assailants had spotted the French car as the battered truck took its place in line to board the ferry three cars behind Pitt.

Pitt noticed the carpet truck in front of him dawdle as the ramp to the ferry cleared free and he quickly revved the Delahaye and jumped past the big vehicle, eliciting an angry honk from the driver. The truck offered a slight buffer of concealment, which Pitt hoped would hide the fact that he was the lone occupant in the car.

Pitt paid the toll attendant and drove onto the car deck of the covered ferry, pulling up behind a small sedan packed with young kids. He quickly jumped out of the car and looked behind him. The carpet truck was stuck idling alongside the toll attendant, blocking the other vehicles as its driver fished in his pockets for fare money. If any of the gunmen had hopped out of the pickup truck, they weren’t yet visible. Pitt turned around and surveyed the ferryboat.

It was a double-decker, with the covered lower deck carrying the vehicles while passengers sat topside. He started to step toward a staircase when he spotted a vendor selling popcorn to the kids parked in front of him. The man was almost Pitt’s height and build, with similar dark wavy hair.

“Excuse me,” Pitt called to the man. “Would you be kind enough to watch my car while I go to the restroom?” He pulled a ten-lira Turkish bill out of his wallet as he asked the question.

The vendor spotted the note and nodded profusely. “Why, yes, of course,” he answered.

Pitt stuffed the bill into the man’s hand, then guided him to the driver’s door.

“Please sit inside,” Pitt requested. “Nobody will bother my car if it is occupied.”

The man set down his rack of popcorn and eagerly jumped inside, excited to sit in the stylish old car.

“I’ll be right back,” Pitt said with a wink, then hurried toward the staircase.