Crescent Dawn (Dirk Pitt 21)

Maria’s jaw dropped, but only for a moment. Wheeling around, she peered out the back window, just catching a glimpse of the Bullet as it rounded the bluff into the Golden Horn.

Turning back to the yacht’s captain, her eyes blazed with fury.

“Turn us around at once,” she bellowed. “We’re going back.”

PITT BARELY KNEW where to start. The forward port hold was like a rat’s maze at eye level. Six-foot-high pallets filled with heavy bags of ANFO were stacked everywhere, loaded in apparent haste. Somewhere in the middle were hidden the powerful stores of HMX. And attached to that, Pitt hoped, would be a readily apparent fuze and blasting cap.

Pitt had told Lazlo that they had five minutes to locate and defuse the explosives. Lazlo was simultaneously searching the starboard hold, after having given Pitt an on-the-fly explanation of what to look for. Half the allotted time had already been expended by the time Pitt had worked his way to the center of the hold and discovered dozens of blocks of the plastic explosive stacked in several wooden bins. With the seconds ticking by loudly in his head, Pitt hastily opened the bins one by one, tossing the explosives aside when no visible fuze was found inside. It wasn’t until he reached the last bin that he found an electric timer wired to a small blasting cap pressed into a block of the plastic explosive. With a hopeful nod, he quickly yanked the mechanism from the HMX, then retraced his steps through the maze.

Five minutes had already elapsed when he climbed the ladder out of the hold and stepped onto the deck. Lazlo was just climbing out of the starboard hold and sprinted over to Pitt, carrying a pair of timers in his hand. Pitt held up his timer and blasting cap, handing it to Lazlo.

“I found this in the main cache of HMX,” Pitt said.

“It’s no good,” Lazlo replied with a stern shake of his head. “They’ve got multiple charges hidden throughout the hold. I inadvertently found this one tucked into a crate of the ANFO,” he said, holding up one of the timers. “I’m positive there are more.”

He looked at Pitt’s timer, then compared it to the two that he held.

“Fourteen minutes until she goes off,” he said, turning and winging the timers over the side rail. “There’s no way we can find them all.”

Pitt digested his words.

“Try to find the crew,” he ordered. “I’ll get us turned back into the strait.”

Pitt didn’t wait for a reply, taking off at a sprint for the bridge. The deck beneath his feet rumbled and vibrated, and he suddenly felt the whole ship shudder. Reaching a side stairwell, he took a quick glance aft, then wished he hadn’t.

Bearing down on the tanker from the east was the blue yacht of Ozden Celik.

71

TAILING OFF THE STERN OF THE TANKER, GIORDINO HAD already spotted the hard-charging yacht bearing down in his direction. He flicked the marine radio to channel 86 and tried sending a warning call to Pitt, but there was no answer from the Dayan’s bridge. Accelerating the submersible, he eased away from the tanker, heading into the center of the channel while pulling parallel with the Dayan’s superstructure. He was too low in the water to see anyone on the bridge, but he did spot Lazlo working his way across the deck.

Peering behind him, he was surprised to note the yacht had altered course and was suddenly closing fast on the Bullet. He realized they must not have seen him drop Pitt and Lazlo at the tanker. Despite the early-morning gloom, he could make out two figures climbing to the yacht’s forward rail. In their arms, he knew, were automatic weapons aimed at him.

Giordino immediately goosed the throttles to the submersible. The Bullet nearly leaped out of the water, surging quickly up to speed. Giordino tore past the bow of the tanker, then pulled close to the northern shoreline. A short distance ahead was the Galata Bridge, which he figured would provide some cover. But a quick glance behind revealed that the fast yacht was less than fifty yards behind, having closed the gap while the Bullet was accelerating. Giordino cursed aloud as he spotted a small flash of yellow light erupt from the yacht’s bow.

The burst of gunfire struck the water inches from the submersible’s hull, though Giordino could neither see nor hear the bullets striking. He nevertheless whipped the steering yoke hard left, followed by a sharp turn to the right. The nimble submersible responded immediately, zigzagging across the water. The action was enough to temporarily disrupt the accuracy of the yacht’s shooters.

The Galata Bridge suddenly loomed up, and in a flash Giordino passed under it. He banked hard once more, then he looked back to see the yacht burst from under the bridge and follow suit. The faster and more maneuverable Bullet was finally showing its legs, and the distance between the two vessels gradually began to increase. But that spurred only more shooting from the yacht.

Giordino kept up the zigzag pattern as he eyed another bridge, the Atatürk, less than a half mile ahead. A sudden banging above his head forced him to duck involuntarily, then he looked up to see that a trio of bullet holes had pierced the submersible’s acrylic bubble. Any thoughts of ducking behind an obstacle and trying to submerge suddenly vanished, so he set his sights on the bridge.

Several thick footings arose from the channel to support the Atatürk, and Giordino targeted them for cover. Circling in and between the footings, he knew he could distract the yacht while avoiding a direct line of fire. But his concern for

self-preservation diminished when he thought of Pitt and the explosives-laden tanker.

Just over a mile behind, the Dayan was surely on its final death march. He had to be available to get both men off the tanker, and most likely soon. Right now, he had no way of knowing if Pitt and Lazlo had any hope at all.

Then he turned and looked behind him and saw that the pursuing yacht had suddenly vanished.

72

LAZLO ONLY HAD TO FOLLOW HIS EARS TO LOCATE THE tanker’s captive crewmen. Though in a weakened state from his gunshot wound, Captain Hammet had his men seeking an escape route the minute the guards left the mess room. The heavily wrapped chain locking the entry door was quickly deemed unbreakable, so the men turned their sights elsewhere. They were surrounded by steel bulkheads, and so there was in fact only one way to go and that was up.

Using butcher knives from the small galley, the crew began making their way through the ceiling panels and into an overhead duct, hoping to breach the deck above. Lazlo heard the clatter from a storeroom he was searching in an adjacent bay and immediately raced to the mess’s door. Quickly unraveling the chain, which was tied in a simple knot, he kicked open the door. Several crewmen, standing on tabletops with knives in their hands, stopped what they were doing and stared at him in surprise.

“Who’s in command here?” Lazlo barked.

“I’m captain of the Dayan,” Hammet said. He was seated in a nearby chair with his leg resting on a stool.