Odessa Sea (Dirk Pitt 24)

“Fire port missile two.”

Seconds after the frigate shuddered under the launch, the Ladny’s communications officer turned to Popov with a startled look. “Sir, I’m receiving a call from the American ship.”

“What? Patch it through.”

Pitt’s voice was transmitted through the bay. “Ladny, this is the Macedonia. Thanks for the warm hospitality, but we’ve decided to save Crimea for another vacation. We’ll be departing your restricted zone shortly. Do svidaniya!”

The communications officer turned pale. “Sir, what do I say? The missile has already been launched.”

The weapons officer seated nearby looked at a firing clock. “The torpedo is about to deploy, sir. It’s too late to stop it now.”

Popov turned to the communicati

ons officer with a sober gaze.

“There is nothing to say now,” he said in a low voice. He turned to the exec. “Have the crew stand down.”

• • •

PEERING FROM THE HELM of the Macedonia, Pitt could see the second Silex missile coming at him. He felt only slightly more confident in this second deadly game of chicken. He could tell the Macedonia was faster and more responsive since the barge tow cable had been severed when the first torpedo had struck the submersible tailing behind, exploding well aft of the research ship. And this time he had more than just a tiny submersible to run interference.

Pitt had briefly driven the ship toward the Ladny but now spun the vessel around and away from the oncoming missile. He pushed the Macedonia to full speed as he made for a collision course with the munitions barge. The open tow boat was barely fifty yards ahead, sitting low in the water from its keel-shattering explosion.

“Torpedo’s away,” Giordino said over the bridge radio.

Pitt watched the Silex missile shriek by low overhead after jettisoning its payload. He had just a few seconds for the torpedo’s acoustic homing device to lock onto the rumble of the Macedonia’s engines and rush in for the kill.

The sinking barge loomed off the bow as Giordino radioed him again from his observation point in the sky. “She’s on you. About five hundred meters.”

“Got it. You best fly clear.” Pitt held the helm steady to the last possible second, then cut to his port side, following the current. The turquoise ship barely slipped alongside the barge, scraping its hull paint in the process.

“One hundred meters,” Giordino said, easing the helicopter away to watch from a safe distance.

After he cleared the barge, Pitt wheeled the Macedonia back to starboard, centering the drifting vessel in his wake. He counted the seconds, hoping to put as much blue water behind him as possible, when the first explosion sounded. The loud report was followed a second later by the bellow of an exploding volcano.

The barge disintegrated in a massive fireball that rose a hundred feet into the sky. Metallic debris rained down from the plume, peppering a large radius of the sea.

On board the Macedonia, Pitt was knocked from his feet. The shock wave blew out the bridge’s rear windows and lifted the ship’s stern with a billowing wave. The hull and topsides were splattered with shrapnel. Most of the damage was superficial.

Regaining his feet, Pitt found the Macedonia continuing to churn away from the maelstrom. He looked back at the remnants of the barge, which was foundering under a thick blanket of black smoke. The Air Force helicopter appeared above, circling around the haze.

“Dirk, are you all right?” Giordino radioed.

“No harm done,” Pitt replied. He set the helm on a southwesterly bearing that would take the Macedonia out of the restricted zone as soon as possible. “Just tell me our friends are done shooting.”

“I guarantee they’ve holstered their weapons. The Truxton just threatened to send them to the bottom if they fire again.”

“Jolly good for the Navy.”

“From up here, the Macedonia looks like a spotted frog. You’ve got a few smoldering hot spots on the aft deck that could use some dousing.”

“I’ll get on it shortly.” He noticed for the first time some dried blood on the floor of the bridge.

“Have to ask you,” Giordino said, “what inspired the idea to turn toward the Russians and invite that second missile attack?”

“The barge,” Pitt said. “I saw a small charge detonate on her, away from the stored munitions. I think they intentionally blew out her keel to sink her.”

“Why would they drag it three hundred miles across the Black Sea to sink it outside of Sevastopol?”