Odessa Sea (Dirk Pitt 24)

“What’s this all about?” Stenseth said.

Vasko leveled his weapon at the captain’s head. “We are borrowing your ship. Attempt to interfere and you will die. Now, tell me, how many are aboard?”

The Macedonia was carrying a complement of forty, plus the visiting archeologist. But Pitt, Giordino, and Dimitov were ashore. Stenseth was mentally dropping another head or two from the count, hoping someone might escape detection, when the Uzi erupted.

Vasko fired a single shot, which tore through Stenseth’s right arm just above the elbow. The sleeve of his white officer’s shirt grew red as blood ran down his arm. “I want the answer—now.”

The second officer took a step forward and dove at Vasko. But the Bulgarian detected the move and jumped aside. As the officer grabbed at his legs, Vasko fired a stream of bullets across his back, killing him instantly. Stenseth dropped to his knees to try to aid the man, but Vasko kicked him in the shoulder. “The crew count?”

“Thirty-eight,” Stenseth said through gritted teeth. The Macedonia’s captain was pulled to his feet, shoved face-first against the bulkhead, his wrists zip-tied behind his back.

Vasko clicked the transmitter of a small radio on his hip. “Engine room secure,” came the prompt reply.

“Bridge secure,” Vasko said. “Give me power to the main engines.”

“Affirmative. Five minutes.”

Vasko signaled the shore team, who released the ship’s berthing lines and hopped aboard. Most of the Macedonia’s crew had long since retired to their cabins and the intruders let them be. But they rounded up the midnight crew and a handful of scientists who were working late.

While waiting to get under way, Vasko opened a panel near the helm and disabled the satellite communications system and AIS transmitter, which allowed third parties to track the ship’s position. When the Macedonia’s engines rumbled to life, Vasko eased the vessel out of the harbor at a crawl, drawing no attention.

Once at sea, he extinguished the running lights and turned north, accelerating to top speed. Stenseth was allowed to remain on the bridge. He mentally recorded the route until he became woozy from blood loss.

After two hours, the ship slowed and turned toward the coastline. Vasko made a cryptic call over the ship’s radio and two green lights blinked a mile or so distant. He steered for the lights, which marked the narrow entrance to a small, rocky cove at the base of a high cliff.

Inside the narrow cove, a single pier extended across the water. Under its shaded lampposts, Stenseth could make out a salvage ship that looked like the Besso and a black crew boat tied up near shore. An open barge was moored at the opposite end of the pier.

Vasko spun the Macedonia around in the tight confines of the cove and slid it against the remaining open dock, backing its stern to the barge. A handful of workmen came out to meet the ship, several carrying assault rifles.

The Macedonia’s crew was roused from their cabins, stripped of any phones or electronics, and escorted off the ship under armed guard. As they were marched down the dock, Stenseth saw a pair of workers rigging a tow line from the barge, which was filled with heavy wooden crates.

The NUMA personnel were led into a warehouse and forced to stand at gunpoint. Satisfied they were secure, Vasko stepped to a main office and housing structure across the compound.

Mankedo didn’t bother to look up from his laptop when Vasko sat across the desk from him. “Any problems?”

“None,” Vasko said. “We crept out of Burgas without so much as a nod in our direction.”

“You made good time. We should have her out of sight of the coastline before sunup.”

“She runs about seventeen knots. Is the barge wired?”

“I’ve placed a small charge in the bilge to sink her. You’ll need to manage the munitions blow.”

“Semtex?”

“There’s plenty left in the explosives l

ocker,” Mankedo said.

“What’s the plan of attack?”

Mankedo spun around his laptop, revealing a map of Sevastopol Harbor. “We’ll set the ship’s auto helm to run to a coordinate two miles due west of the harbor entrance. When the Macedonia reaches within five hundred meters of that point, it will trigger a detonation of the barge’s hull charge. We can use the same signal to initiate a timed detonation of the munitions.”

“Twenty minutes should be enough to allow her to sink to the seafloor. What about the tow line?”

“We could blow it separately, but the target depth is only ninety meters, well less than the length of the tow line. Once sunk, it will act as an anchor for the NUMA ship.”

“What do you want to do with the crew?” Vasko asked.