“It was the Black Sea,” Pitt said. “The same folks used explosives to release hydrogen sulfide gas trapped in the sea’s anoxic waters. Similar conditions exist in the Chesapeake during the summer right outside the harbor.” He pointed past Fort McHenry to the Patapsco River.
“We still don’t know exactly who was behind it,” Gunn said. He looked at Giordino.
“There were no survivors on the tug, I’m told.”
“No survivors,” Giordino affirmed.
“It was the same crew from Bulgaria, part of Mankedo’s crowd,” Pitt said. “Ana Belova of Europol is running down their financial backer. We’ll know more shortly.”
“If they’re Ukrainian rebels, I can tell you they just barked up the wrong tree,” Sandecker said. “The President is furious—and prepared to ask Congress to release more aid and arms to the Ukrainian government.”
“Maybe that was their goal,” Pitt said.
“What do you mean?” Gunn asked.
“First, there’s an attempted attack on Sevastopol using an American ship. Next, a U.S. airplane gets blown up after bringing aid to Ukraine. Finally, there’s an attack on the U.S. under the guise of the pro-Russian Ukrainian rebels. Sounds to me like someone’s trying to start a war.”
“Or maybe just kick the Russians out of Ukraine,” Gunn said.
“Perhaps they’re smarter than us all.” Sandecker examined his cigar. “At any rate, the President wishes to extend his personal gratitude for what you did in saving the country.” He motioned toward the limos. “He’s at Camp David right now waiting to see you.”
“Please thank the President for me,” Pitt said, “but I can’t see him right now.”
“You’re turning down the President? But why? What do I tell him?”
Pitt nodded toward the Lorraine. “Tell the President I couldn’t make it because I owe a Chesapeake Bay oysterman a very large and very cold beer.”
88
The morning of Saturday, July 22, broke clear and sunny in Gibraltar. The summer tourists crowding the sidewalks were already searching for shade when a cab pulled up to the former Anglo-Egyptian Bank Building just after noon. Mansfield held the car door open for Martina and a stout man from the Russian Embassy in Madrid, making mental note of a pair of Army trucks parked down the street. Following the others inside the bank, he froze amidst a throng of British soldiers milling about the lobby.
It wasn’t the soldiers that prompted him to check the holstered gun he wore beneath his jacket. It was the presence of a few too many familiar faces standing by the bank manager. Dirk, Summer, Perlmutter, Trehorne, and Hawker all stared at Mansfield as if he had just arrived late to a birthday party. Still, no words were spoken, nor were any bank guards called.
Finlay stepped across the lobby and shook hands. “Mr. Romanov, nice to see you again.”
The bank manager sported dark circles under his eyes and wore the same suit he had the day before, with some added wrinkles. But Mansfield noted that Finlay’s prior nervous disposition was notably absent.
“Good morning, Mr. Finlay. May I introduce Alexander Vodokov, with the Russian Ministry of Foreign Affairs.”
The pudgy lawyer stepped forward and shook Finlay’s hand. “I represent the Russian Federation and wish to make a formal claim on a deposit held in this institution.” He presented a requisition signed by the Ambassador.
“Do you have an account number?”
“No. But I think you know of the deposit. It was a large sum of gold bullion placed with the Anglo-Egyptian Bank in March 1917, on behalf of Tsar Nicholas II.”
“Protocol would dictate some proof of deposit,” Finlay said without batting an eye.
“The funds were deposited by the Royal Navy, from the HMS Sentinel, on behalf of the Russian Imperial State, as a by-product of the Treaty of Petrograd.”
“Do you have a copy of the treaty?” Finlay asked.
Vodokov rifled through an attaché case and retrieved a stapled document. “This is a signed copy.”
Finlay took the document. “If you’ll excuse me.” He stepped behind the cashier’s window to a copy machine and made two duplicate sets. He locked one in a cashier’s drawer, handed the other to an assistant, then returned to Vodokov.
“As a representative of Barclays Bank and holder of the deposit in question, I regret to inform you that the Russian Federation’s claim for ownership has terminated.” He passed the treaty back to the diplomat.
Mansfield stepped forward. “What are you saying?”