Odessa Sea (Dirk Pitt 24)

“Possibly.” Popov’s joy turned to irritation. “Lay in an intercept course, then request an airborne reconnaissance. I want a visual on her, one way or the other. Keep communications after her as well.”

“Yes, sir,” the exec said. “What’s your wager, sir? That she’s a freighter with a drunken captain or a derelict tug with a bad radio?”

Popov nodded. “In these waters, what else could it be?”

33

“I’ve got a visual,” Giordino said over his radio headset. “About eighty degrees.”

Pitt scanned the expanse of open sea beneath their helicopter and spotted a faint gray object to his right. He pressed the pedals that tilted the rear rotor, sending the Bell OH-58 Kiowa in a slight bank to starboard until the distant speck lined up with the center of the windscreen.

Two hours earlier, they had commandeered the light observation chopper at Bezmer Air Base, west of Burgas. Though Pitt and Giordino’s Air Force flying days were well behind them, both retained qualification to pilot a variety of aircraft. The rigors of flying a helicopter for an extended period hadn’t waned, and Pitt felt his muscles beginning to ache as the chopper reached the limits of its flight range. He established radio contact with the ship ahead and received permission to land as the gray vessel gradually loomed beneath them.

It wasn’t the Macedonia but the U.S. Navy Aegis-class destroyer Truxton that was speeding to the northeast at better than thirty knots. Pitt approached from the stern, where he was guided down to the ship’s flight deck, normally reserved for the vessel’s twin SH-60 Seahawk helicopters. As he shut down the Kiowa’s single engine, the ship’s flight crew rushed over to begin refueling.

Pitt and Giordino climbed out to stretch their legs and were promptly met by a pert blond woman, who extended her hand in greeting. “Mr. Pitt, Mr. Giordino, welcome to the Truxton. I’m Commander Deborah Kenfield, Executive Officer. The ship’s captain sends his greetings from the bridge.”

“Thank you for the stopover and fill-up, Commander,” Pitt said.

“We’re trying to get you as close as we can, but we’re still eighty miles away.”

“Do you know where the Macedonia is right now?” Giordino asked.

“We’re tracking her on the Aegis radar. She’s about ten miles from Sevastopol and creating a bit of a stir.”

“How’s that?” Pitt asked.

“The Russians recently established a restricted sea zone west of Crimea. Presumably, it’s an area where the Russian Navy performs weapons testing and engages in tactical simulations. It seems the Macedonia has sailed into the center of the restricted zone. We’ve picked up some scattered radio communications and it doesn’t sound as if the Russians are too happy.”

“The Macedonia is towing a barge filled with munitions to Sevastopol,” Pitt said, “and the Russians don’t know about it?”

“Not from what we can tell. They’ve identified it as an American vessel but don’t seem to be in direct contact. We’ve informed the Russians that we believe the ship has been hijacked and requested intervention, but they haven’t advised us as to their intent.” The look in Kenfield’s eyes told Pitt there was no reason to expect cooperation.

“Do you think they might sink her?” Giordino asked.

“This close to Ukraine, we believe their missile frigate Ladny will be apt to shoot first and ask questions later. For that reason, the captain has respectfully requested you cancel your flight plans, as the Macedonia has already crossed into their territorial waters.”

Pitt shook his head. “We don’t know if the crew is still aboard.”

The nearby ground crew pulled away their refueling gear and indicated the helicopter was topped up.

“Tell your captain we appreciate his concern,” Pitt said, “but we need to know for certain.”

“He suspected as much,” Kenfield said. She passed him a slip of paper. “The Macedonia’s last coordinates. We’ll do what we can to support you. Good luck.”

“Thanks, Commander.”

Pitt walked over and thanked the Truxton’s flight support crew. When he returned to the helicopter, he found Giordino in the pilot’s seat.

“Sorry, boss, but the Air Force said we had to split seat time for extended flights before they gave us the keys.”

“Guess I didn’t read the fine print,” Pitt said. Glad for the break, he stepped around and climbed into the copilot’s seat.

Giordino lifted off quickly and accelerated toward the Macedonia’s coordinates. Thirty minutes later, they spotted the turquoise research ship with its tow barge. The cloud cover had finally thinned and in the distance they could see the hills of the Crimean Peninsula. To the north they could make out the slim gray figure of the Ladny under speed.

Giordino brought the helicopter in low over the barge, examining the wooden crates packed into the open hold.

Pitt pointed to some crates on the starboard side. “There’s a damaged lid.”