“Captain, we have just minutes before the ship blows up. What is the quickest way to get you and your crew off?”
“The aft emergency lifeboat,” Hammet replied, rising to his feet with a grimace. “You can’t disable the explosives?”
Lazlo shook his head.
“Every man to the lifeboat,” Hammet ordered. “Let’s move.”
The crewmen quickly piled out the door, Lazlo and the executive officer helping Hammet out last. Stepping onto the deck, Hammet felt an unusual vibration beneath his feet, then looked over the rail. The Israeli captain was shocked to see the minarets of the Süleymaniye Mosque rising a short distance ahead of them.
“We’re in the middle of Istanbul?” he stammered.
“Yes,” Lazlo replied. “Come, we have little time.”
“But we must get the tanker turned around and out of here,” he protested.
“Someone is on the bridge attempting that.”
Hammet started to follow the others toward the stern, then hesitated as the deck shuddered again.
“Oh, no,” he groaned with a sullen frown. “I made her run dry of fuel.”
73
PITT HAD ONLY JUST DISCOVERED THAT SAME FACT. RACING onto the bridge, he had ignored a pair of flashing red lights on the main console as he searched for and found the control that disabled the auto helm. The tanker was just approaching the Galata Bridge, steaming toward its center span, as Pitt regained control of the helm. Glaring at a bridge support off his port bow, he realized there was insufficient room to cut the big ship around. He would have to cross under the bridge first, then make a sweeping turn around and back under to exit the Golden Horn.
As the bow began to slip under the bridge, Pitt saw that the span ahead appeared to be at nearly eye level, and he wondered whether the tanker’s tall superstructure would fit beneath it. Waiting for it to approach, he finally looked down at the flashing red lights. With dismay, he saw they were low-fuel indicators for both the main and auxiliary fuel tanks. When Hammet had sneaked into the engine room, he had opened release valves on the bunkers that dumped fuel into the bilge, where it was then pumped over the side. The tanks were now dry, Pitt knew, as evidenced by the faltering engine that was drawing on the last remaining bit of fuel.
With a sudden certainty, Pitt knew he had no chance to guide the tanker back toward the Sea of Marmara, where it could explode without harm. Just sailing it safely away from the city was now a lost hope. Standing on the bridge of a ticking time bomb, one that was about to lose power, most men would have fallen prey to panic. They would have felt only the heart-pounding urge to flee, to get off the death ship and try to save their own skins.
But Pitt wasn’t like most men. His pulse barely beat above normal, as he coolly surveyed the surrounding coastline. While his nerves were calm, his mind was in hyperdrive, exploring any and all remedies to the crisis at hand. Then a potential solution appeared across the harbor. Risky and foolhardy, he thought, but it was a solution all the same. Dialing the bridge marine radio to channel 86, he picked up the transmitter.
“Al, where are you?” he called.
Giordino’s voice immediately crackled back through the speaker.
“I’m about a mile ahead of you. Been playing cat and mouse with the yacht, but I guess they got tired of my scent. Keep your eyes open, because they’re screaming back in your direction. You and Lazlo ready for me to come fetch you off that ship?”
“No, I need you somewhere else,” Pitt replied. “A large dredge ship, sitting off the southeast corner of the bridge.”
“I’m there. Out.”
The tanker’s superstructure had just slipped under the bridge span when the engine shuddered again. Passing back into the morning light, Pitt saw the blue yacht bearing down on the tanker barely a hundred yards ahead. Ignoring the yacht, he applied full left rudder, then stepped to the rear window, wondering how Lieutenant Lazlo was making out.
74
THE ISRAELI COMMANDO WAS HELPING CARRY CAPTAIN Hammet to the lifeboat when the sound of gunfire erupted a short distance away. A second later, shattered glass fell crashing to the deck from above. Lazlo peered up, seeing that the fire was concentrated on the windows of the bridge. He could just make out the radio masts of the yacht as it slid along the tanker’s starboard beam.
“Quickly, into the boat,” Lazlo urged the sailors.
Six of the crewmen had already climbed into the covered fiberglass lifeboat. It was positioned on a steeply angled pad just above the stern rail, its bow pointing to the water below. The executive officer and another man then assisted Hammet as he stumbled through the boat’s rear entry. He fumbled with his seat belt and ordered his crewmen to fasten themselves in. Then he looked up at the entry just as Lazlo was about to close it from the outside.
“You’re not coming with us?” Hammet asked with a shocked look.
“My work is not finished,” Lazlo replied. “Launch yourself immediately and head to shore. Good luck.”
Hammet tried to thank the commando, but Lazlo quickly shut the door and jumped off the boat. Seeing that his crew were all secured in their seats, the captain turned to his executive officer.
“Set us loose, Zev.”