Odessa Sea (Dirk Pitt 24)

“Any evidence who may have taken the ship? Or why?” Gunn asked.

“We can only suspect the salvage crew that wanted to sell the stolen uranium,” Pitt said. “I don’t have a good answer why they would take the Macedonia, other than payback for intercepting the HEU.”

“We’re getting some leads on their salvage ship, the Besso,” Ana said. “She has been a familiar site in these waters and has been listed as an additional target of the Coast Guard search.”

“Perhaps one will lead to the other,” Gunn said.

“What other search resources do we have at our disposal?” Pitt asked.

“I’ve got Max conducting an inventory of all available satellite imagery for the area,” Yaeger said, referring to the holographic interface he used to communicate with NUMA’s supercomputer. “These days, the reconnaissance focus is more directed toward Ukraine, so the coverage around Bulgaria may be slim.”

“We may have better luck with the Air Force,” Gunn said. “I’ve been in touch with the U.S. commander at Bezmer Air Base, about sixty miles west of Burgas. We have joint forces stationed there with the Bulgarians, including some recon aircraft. They’ve agreed to assist with the search efforts but also cited the local wet weather as restricting their capabilities.”

“Anything we can throw up there will help,” Pitt said.

“The Navy also has a visiting cruiser in the Black Sea,” Gunn said, “and they’ve been informed of the Macedonia’s disappearance. They’ve promised to do what they can.” Gunn could see the impatient look in Pitt’s eyes. “I’m afraid there’s not much more that can be done at the moment, boss. We’ll have to sit tight while the search resources get deployed.”

“Thanks, Rudi, I know you’ve done all you can.”

Gunn’s eyes focused through his thick horn-rimmed glasses. “Dirk, I hate to ask, but is there any chance they took the Macedonia offshore and sank her?”

Pitt stared at the monitor a long moment. “No,” he said in a determined voice. “That’s a proposition I simply won’t accept.”

24

The armor-plated BMW X5 pulled up to an aged white apartment building on the outskirts of Kramatorsk. The building’s only distinguishing feature was a multitude of triangular concrete barricades that surrounded it like a ring of dragon’s teeth. One of the armed guards patrolling the perimeter directed the luxury SUV to a side parking lot. The driver parked beside a pockmarked armored personnel carrier and opened the rear passenger door.

Martin Hendriks felt the chill of a damp Ukrainian morning as he approached the building’s portico. A soldier at the entrance prepared to search him but was overruled by an older armed man who had appeared at the door and greeted the businessman. “It is good to see you again, Mr. Hendriks. This way, please.”

The guard led the Dutchman up two flights of stairs to a corner apartment that had been converted into a war room. But it was not the abode of a well-provisioned military leader. The room’s few furnishings were old and tattered. Boxes of canned food were stacked in a corner near some army cots.

At the room’s center, a bearded man in fatigues was bent over a table, studying a map. His grizzled face warmed at the sight of Hendriks. “Martin, a surprise to see you again so soon after our visit in Kiev.” He stepped over and shook hands.

“I had business in Bulgaria, Colonel, and thought I would stop by on my return.”

Colonel Arseny Markovich led Hendriks to a pair of overstuffed chairs near the window. Markovich was commander of the 24th Territorial Battalion, one of several pro-government paramilitary forces established in Ukraine after the Russian annexation of Crimea in 2014. Loosely supporting the government’s Armed Forces of Ukraine, the battalion operated in the hotly contested Donetsk and Luhansk regions of eastern Ukraine.

“Do you bring good news on your deal to acquire surface-to-surface missiles?” the commander asked.

“Regrettably not,” Hendriks said. “Our stock-in-trade was intercepted by the authorities before we could get it to the Iranians. The deal is now dead. I’m sorry to have let you down.”

Colonel Markovich, whose home village was controlled by Russian-supported separatist rebels, accepted the news stoically. “You have provided us a great deal of arms and equipment over the past three years. Our situation would be much worse without your support.”

“How is the situation?”

“Relatively calm at the moment, but it is simply a part of the seasonal cycle. A cease-fire gets brokered in the fall and things remain quiet over the winter. Then in the spring the separatists ignore the peace treaties and launch new offensives.”

Hendriks shook his head. “Those missiles would have been a nice deterrent.”

“They might have even turned the tide. The real problem, as you know, is the Russians. Without their stealth support of the rebels, we could collectively crush the separatist forces and restore unity to Ukraine in a matter of weeks.”

“They are still present ever

ywhere?”

Markovich nodded. “I have received reports that plain-uniformed Russian troops are filtering into Luhansk in great numbers. They mean to launch an offensive to the west, perhaps in an attempt to take Dnipropetrovsk. Who knows, maybe even Kiev?”

“Can they be stopped?”