“The ship was named the Dayan, I believe,” he said, stepping to a computer and performing a quick search. “She’s eight hundred gross tons and three hundred ten feet long.”
He turned the computer monitor toward Pitt and Giordino so that they could see a photograph of the ship. It was a dead match.
“The photos are less than twenty-four hours old,” Giordino said, noting a date stamp on the image.
“Captain, how’s your secure satellite phone working?” Pitt asked.
“Fully operational. Do you want to make a call?”
“Yes,” Pitt replied. “I think it’s time we call Washington.”
57
O’QUINN, GOOD OF YOU TO COME BY. PLEASE, STEP INside and grab a seat.”
The intelligence officer was startled that the Vice President of the United States greeted him in the second-floor foyer of the Eisenhower Executive Office Building and personally showed him into his office. Washington protocol surely dictated that a secretary or aide escort a lesser being into the sanctified lair of the Number Two. But James Sandecker was that rare breed who had little use for such pageantry.
A retired Navy admiral, Sandecker had been responsible for founding the National Underwater and Marine Agency decades earlier and building it into a powerhouse oceanographic unit. He surprised everyone by passing the reins to Pitt and accepting a vice presidential appointment, where he hoped to further the cause of protecting the world’s oceans. A small but fiery individual with flaming red hair and goatee, Sandecker was known in the capital as a blunt and outspoken man who was nevertheless highly respected. O’Quinn had often been amused during intelligence briefings to see how quickly the Vice President could dissect an issue, or individual, in order to get to the heart of the matter.
Stepping into the large office, O’Quinn admired a collection of antique oil paintings, featuring old ships and racing yachts, which lined the paneled walls. He followed Sandecker to his desk and took a seat opposite of him.
“Do you miss the sea much, Mr. Vice President?”
“There’s no shortage of days that I’d prefer to be sailing something other than a desk,” Sandecker replied, reaching into a drawer and jamming a large cigar between his teeth. “Are you monitoring events in Turkey?” he asked pointedly.
“Yes, sir. That’s part of my regional assignment.”
“What do you know about a nutcase named Ozden Celik?”
O’Quinn had to think a moment. “He’s a Turkish businessman who’s been associated with members of the Saudi Royal Family. We think he might be involved in helping to finance the fundamentalist Felicity Party of Mufti Battal. Why do you ask?”
“He’s apparently been up to a few other things. You’re aware of the Israeli tanker ship that went missing two days ago?”
O’Quinn nodded, recalling mention of the incident in a daily briefing report.
“The vessel has been observed at a small shipping facility controlled by Celik a few miles north of the Dardanelles. I have reliable word that this Celik was behind the recent theft of Muslim artifacts at Topkapi.” Sandecker slid a satellite photo of the tanker across his desk.
“Topkapi?” O’Quinn repeated, his brows rising like a pair of drawbridges. “We believe there may be a link between the Topkapi theft and the recent mosque attacks at al-Azhar and the Dome of the Rock in Jerusalem.”
“The President is aware of that possibility.”
O’Quinn studied the satellite photograph.
“If I may ask, sir, how did you acquire this information?”
“Dirk Pitt at NUMA. Two of his scientists were killed by Celik’s men and a third kidnapped and taken to the same facility,” Sandecker replied, pointing to the photo. “Pitt got his man out, and he discovered a container of plastic explosives at the facility. An Army supply of HMX, to be exact.”
“HMX is the explosive compound identified from the mosque bombings,” O’Quinn said excitedly.
“Yes, I recall that from your presidential briefing.”
“Celik must be acting on behalf of Mufti Battal. It’s clear to me that the anonymous mosque attacks, utilizing our explosives, are an attempt to incite fundamentalist outrage across the Middle East, and particularly in Turkey. Their goal must be to sway public opinion in order to sweep Battal into office.”
“It’s a logical motive. That’s why this hijacked Israeli tanker is cause for concern.”
“Have we contacted the Turkish government?”
“No,” Sandecker replied with a shake of his head. “The President is worried that any action on our part could be construed as American meddling in the election outcome. Frankly, we don’t know how deep Battal’s tentacles may reach into the existing government. The stakes are simply too high, and the race too close, to risk a potential backlash that might throw the election to his party.”