“Watermelons,” Ana muttered. She climbed into the back of the truck and began tossing the melons aside. Her arms were aching by the time she burrowed to the bottom of the truck bed and uncovered a trio of long wooden crates.
Ralin helped drag one of them onto the street. He found a tire jack and used it to pry open the crate. Inside was a neatly stacked row of Albanian-made AK-47 assault rifles bound for the black market. “Just as advertised,” Ralin said. “Score one for our paid informant.”
“I guess his payment will be a reduced jail term,” she said. “Not our biggest arms bust, but, hopefully, we saved a few innocent lives somewhere.”
“And gained the department enough positive publicity to replace our car.”
Within the hour, a contingent of local and state police arrived to arrest the smuggler and seize the evidence. Ana rested in the border agent’s vehicle, fighting to stay awake after the rush of the chase had passed. At dawn, tow trucks arrived to remove the wrecked vehicles.
Ralin stuck his head into the open car window. “Ana, I just received a call from headquarters in Sofia. Looks like we’re wanted in Istanbul this afternoon.”
“Can’t it wait? I could use some sleep.”
“Apparently, it’s a high-priority assignment based on some information out of Ukraine.”
“Another arms shipment?”
“I don’t think so. Seems to be something more important.”
She forced a smile. “Then I guess they’ll have to give us a new car.”
“I’m not so sure a car will help us on this assignment.”
“Why’s that? Is it an air shipment? Or a rail transfer?”
“Neither,” he said, shaking his head. “It’s a shipwreck.”
4
A brief drizzle dampened an otherwise temperate afternoon at Istinye Harbor, just north of Istanbul. Walking slowly across the compact marina, Ana and Ralin spotted their quarry, a bright turquoise-hulled oceanographic research ship tied at the largest berth.
A short, burly man hoisting aboard a crate watched as they drew near.
“Is this the Macedonia?” Ana asked in English.
Al Giordino regarded the stranger. Her long, dark hair was pulled back in a bun, exposing a delicate face. She had high Slavic cheekbones, softened by a small nose and mouth. But her radiant blue eyes drew his attention. Giordino could see she possessed a mix of determination and vulnerability.
“You’ve come to the right place,” Giordino said.
“I’m Ana Belova, special investigator with Europol, and this is Lieutenant Petar Ralin from the Bulgarian Organized Crime Directorate. We are investigating the sinking of the Crimean Star.”
Giordino introduced himself. “Europol. Is that an offshoot of Interpol?”
“No, the European Police Office is a law enforcement agency of the European Union. Our primary focus is organized crime and counterterrorism.”
“Come on aboard. I’ll let you talk to the boss.” Giordino guided them to the Macedonia’s wardroom, where Pitt and Captain Stenseth were seated, examining a chart. Giordino made the introductions, and coffee was brought for the investigators before they all sat around a table.
“How can we be of assistance?” Pitt asked. “We already gave a full report to the Turkish Coast Guard.”
Ana felt his deep green eyes look right through her. She was surprised to feel her pulse quicken as she listened to the tall, rugged man. “Our respective agencies have concerns over the loss of the Crimean Star. What can you tell us about her sinking?”
Pitt described the events of the previous night, concluding with the rescue of the assistant engineer.
“Do you think the explosion at the stern was intentional?” Ralin asked.
“I suspect so, but I have no evidence to prove it.” Pitt gazed at the investigators. “Do you mind telling us about your interest in the sinking?”
“The answer is threefold,” Ana said. “First, we’ve learned the Crimean Star was under charter to a Russian firm called Nemco Holdings. Nemco has suspected ties to the Russian Mafia. It’s believed to be involved with smuggling arms to Africa and the Middle East. You didn’t happen to examine the ship’s holds?”