Odessa Sea (Dirk Pitt 24)

“Nothing that exotic,” Dirk said. “Just a rusty World War I cruiser named the Sentinel.”

As the Iberia finished refueling, a black sedan sped onto the port facility, then slowed as it neared the NUMA ship. A passenger snapped photos of the research ship with an electronic tablet, which went undetected through the tinted windows. The car motored to the end of the dock and parked near some containers, facing the port’s exit to the sea.

Dirk made his way to the bow and watched the deck crew retrieve the mooring lines. Summer joined him as the Iberia got under way. They stood at the prow as the Iberia eased out of the harbor, watching the historic city slip away behind them.

“Do you think he might have followed us here?” Summer asked.

“Your blond friend? I doubt it. We have insurance this time even if he does show. But he probably took the blue binder and ran back to Moscow. I bet he’s two thousand miles from here.”

“I hope so,” Summer said.

But intuition told her that wasn’t the case.

• • •

MANSFIELD WASN’T two thousand miles away but instead nine hundred. The Russian stood on the bridge of a dilapidated salvage ship he’d boarded six hours earlier in Athens. But the vessel’s shabby appearance was only a disguise, concealing its true purpose as a spy ship. Diverted from tracking NATO ship maneuvers in the Adriatic, the ship sped east across the Aegean, crossing above the Cyclades chain of Greek islands.

Mansfield stared at the expanse of blue water off the bow, then turned to a grim-faced man near the helm. “Captain, how much longer until we reach northern Chios?”

“About three hours.”

A GRU intelligence officer like Mansfield, the captain resented being pulled off his assignment in the Adriatic to chase a shipwreck. “How accurate is your target position?”

“I can’t say. They’re German coordinates from the vessel that sank her. It’s all we have to go on.” Mansfield ignored the captain’s frown. “What do you have on board in the way of survey equipment?”

“We have an older towed array side-scan system, but the hull-mounted sonar is far superior. I’ll lay in a survey grid around your coordinates.” He stepped to a computer terminal at the rear of the bridge, leaving Mansfield standing there.

The agent stared at the horizon, making out the faint shape of land in the distance, then retired to his cabin two decks below.

The blue binder lay on his bunk. He picked it up and reread it for the tenth time. The data suggested the Pelikan sank with the gold, yet something about the timing of the events bothered him. The scheduled rendezvous and the submarine’s sinking had occurred very close together. Still, it was all the information he had. He felt like he was assembling a jigsaw puzzle with half the pieces missing.

He dozed off while studying Hunt’s letters only to be awakened by a sharp rap on the door. He shook off the sleep and opened the cabin door, surprised to find the captain.

“We have arrived at the coordinates,” he said.

“Thank you for alerting me. Are you prepared to initiate the survey?”

“That won’t be necessary.”

“And why is that?”

The captain gave a sly smile. “It appears that someone else has already beaten you to the wreck.”

63

Mansfield followed the captain to the bridge and looked out the windscreen. A half mile off the bow lay a blue-colored salvage ship. “Who is she?” he asked.

“A Croatian-flagged ship named Nevena,” the captain said.

“Is the hull-mounted sonar activated?”

“It can be momentarily.”

“Activate the system and take a tight pass across their stern.”

Mansfield moved behind a computer station where a crewman activated the multibeam sonar system. A colored image of the seafloor appeared, scrolling as the ship moved. The captain followed Mansfield’s directions, taking the vessel within fifty meters of the Nevena.

As they drew near, the Nevena radioed the Russian ship. “We are engaged in underwater operations, please do not approach.”