Mankedo turned the ROV to follow, but the object was traveling much faster. The glow from its light dimmed near the stern, then began to grow brighter.
“It’s turning back and coming up the port flank,” Dimitov said.
Mankedo elevated the ROV just above the sub’s deck level, then killed its lights. Guiding the probe by compass, he thrust it forward and across the Pelikan’s deck and halted it in the darkness somewhere above the port bow.
The lights approached slowly from the stern. Mankedo waited until the object was just below, then flicked on the ROV’s lights.
A vehicle resembling a Jet Ski appeared, ridden by two men in scuba gear. The pilot, a blond-haired man, gave the ROV a nonchalant glance while the passenger aimed a video camera at the sub. The manned vehicle continued on its way around the nose of the Pelikan and vanished into the darkness.
A pained smile crossed Mankedo’s lips. “I don’t know who you are, my friend, but you are a little late to the party.”
65
They came in two silent boats, a few hours after nightfall but ahead of a rising moon. Mansfield led three armed men in the first boat, approaching the Nevena from her port beam, while the second boat targeted the stern. But what was expected to be a quiet and bloodless seizure erupted in a fury of gunfire before any of the Russians had even set foot aboard.
One of Mankedo’s armed crewmen, on watch and patrolling the deck, had spotted two men in black scaling the stern rail. He opened fire, killing one of the intruders and wounding the other. The two other Russians in the boat returned fire, pinning the crewman behind a winch.
Mansfield quickly climbed aboard the port deck. Sending two of his team to take the bridge, he moved aft with the third man. They reached the open moon pool, across which the crewman was firing toward the stern. Mansfield raised an automatic pistol at arm’s length and dropped the crewman with one shot.
He spoke into a radio headset. “Team two status?”
“Two down,” a grim voice said.
“Cover the starboard deck,” Mansfield ordered. He sent the man next to him, a young agent named Sergei, to cover the port deck.
He couldn’t believe their bad luck. It wasn’t a great surprise that a salvage ship working a treasure wreck would have an armed crewman standing watch. But for his team of boarders, all highly trained GRU Spetsnaz special forces members, this assault should have been child’s play. They were to capture the ship, transfer the gold, and be on their merry way. Not only was the element of surprise now lost, but they were already down two men.
The brief firefight had awoken the ship. Crewmen appeared everywhere. To Mansfield’s dismay, most were armed. Yet that wasn’t to prove his biggest disappointment.
As the stern team met further resistance on the starboard deck, Mansfield ducked into a prefabricated bay next to the moon pool. It was a combination laboratory and repair shop for the underwater equipment. An overweight man with a black mustache cowered behind a table strewn with books and charts. Mansfield stepped closer and raised his pistol as he evaluated the man. He was too old, too flabby, and too well dressed to be a working crewman. Much better than Mansfield had even hoped.
“Stand up,” he ordered.
Georgi Dimitov rose to his feet and raised his hands in the air.
“Where’s the gold?” Mansfield asked.
“What gold?” Dimitov said.
Mansfield lowered the barrel of his pistol and fired a shot at the archeologist’s left foot. It purposely grazed the outer edge. Dimitov stared, dumbfounded, as a trickle of blood oozed out of the hole on the side of his shoe, then grunted in pain.
“There is no gold,” he pleaded rapidly.
Mansfield took aim at his right foot.
“I swear it. There is no gold. The submarine was empty.”
“Did somebody beat you to it?”
“No, the vessel appeared undisturbed.” Dimitov collapsed into his chair, weakened by the sight of his own blood.
“You’ve examined the entire vessel?”
“Yes. Every potential cargo area was accessed. We found nothing.”
Mansfield stared at the archeologist. Shaking his head in disgust, he left the bay to reassemble the remnants of his assault team.
In a cabin behind the bridge, Mankedo had been studying a chart of the Aegean when the first gunshots sounded. He dropped the chart and pulled a case from beneath his bunk that contained an AK-47 and several ammunition clips. He jammed in a loaded clip, released the safety, and stepped to the cabin door.