Crescent Dawn

anyone else should get injured, hiking back out could be problematic.”

“Agreed. Then into the cove it is.”

Pitt glanced at his orange-faced Doxa dive watch. “Dusk will be here in about an hour. We can start heading in then.”

The hour passed quickly. Pitt radioed the Aegean Explorer with their position and instructed Rudi to bring the research vessel to a holding spot ten miles south of the cove. Giordino used the time to retrieve a digital marine chart of the coastal area and program a submerged route into the center of the cove. Once underwater, an autopilot system would drive the submersible to the specified location using computer-enhanced dead reckoning.

As darkness approached, Pitt guided the Bullet to within a half mile of the cove entrance, then shut off the surface diesels. Giordino sealed and pressurized the engine compartment, then opened a pair of hull gates that allowed water to be pumped into the ballast chambers. The bow chamber flooded first, and the submarine was soon diving beneath the surface.

Pitt deployed a set of dive fins, then engaged the electric thrusters for propulsion. He fought the urge to turn on the vessel’s exterior floodlights as the watery world beyond the acrylic bubble faded to black. He eased the sub forward at low speed until Giordino told him to release the controls.

“The autopilot will do the driving from here,” he said.

“You sure that thing won’t impale us on a submerged rock or obstruction?” Pitt asked.

“We’re equipped with high-frequency sonar that reads out a hundred meters in front of us. The autopilot will make course corrections for minor obstacles or give us a warning if something substantial is blocking our course.”

“Kind of takes the fun out of flying blind,” Pitt remarked.

While Pitt had no aversion to computers, he was old-school when it came to piloting. He could never be completely comfortable letting a computer operate the controls. There was a nuanced feel to the pilot’s controls, both in the air and underwater, which even the best computers could not sense. Or so he told himself. With his hands free, he carefully noted their progress, standing ready to take the controls at a moment’s notice.

The Bullet submerged to a depth of thirty feet, then automatically engaged its electronic thrusters. The submersible moved slowly along its programmed path, compensating for a light current as it eased into the entrance of the cove. Giordino noted that the sonar screen remained clear as they crept to the cove’s center. A light flashed on the monitor, and the electric motors ceased whirring as they reached their designated end point.

“That concludes the automated portion of the program,” Giordino announced.

Pitt’s hands were already on the controls.

“Let’s go see if we can find a parking space,” he replied.

Purging the ballast chambers in tiny increments, they slowly ascended until just the top few inches of the cabin’s acrylic bubble broke the surface. Overhead, they could see that the sky was in its last vestiges of twilight while the water around them appeared black. Giordino shut off all interior lights and unnecessary display panels, then goosed the ballast tanks a final time to elevate them a few more inches.

Rising out of their seats, the two men gazed at the shoreline. They could see that the circular cove was populated on the northern shoreline by only three buildings. The structures fronted a wooden pier that stretched perpendicular to shore. The blue Italian yacht was clearly visible, docked to the right side of the pier behind a small workboat. On the opposite side of the pier was a large rusty freighter. A wheeled crane on the pier was busy loading cargo onto the freighter under the blaze of some fixed overhead lights.

“You think Rod is still aboard the yacht?” Giordino asked.

“I think we should assume so, for starters. What do you say we double-park alongside her and take a look? They shouldn’t be expecting us.”

“I say surprise is a good thing. Let’s move.”

Pitt took a course bearing, then submerged the Bullet and crept toward the dockyard. Giordino activated the sonar system, helping guide them to within a few yards of the yacht. Easing gently to the surface again, they arose in its shadow just off its port beam. Pitt started to pull alongside the yacht when he noticed a commotion on the stern deck.

A trio of armed men came bursting from the interior and turned toward the dock. A second later, a fourth man came into view, being pushed across the deck by the others.

“It’s Zeibig,” Pitt remarked, catching a brief glimpse of the scientist’s face.

From their low position in the water, they could just barely see Zeibig, who had his hands tied behind his back. Two of the gunmen roughly hoisted him up onto the dock, then prodded him toward shore. Pitt noticed one of the gunmen return to the boat and take up a casual position on the stern.

“Scratch one yacht,” Pitt said quietly. “I think it’s time to go invisible.”

Giordino had already opened the ballast chambers, and the Bullet quickly vanished into the inky depths. They reconnoitered the cove once more, then crept in and surfaced just behind the stern of the freighter, tucking in right against its transom. It was an optimally concealed spot, obscured from shore by the freighter while mostly hidden from the pier by an adjacent stack of fuel drums. Giordino quietly climbed out and attached a mooring line to the pier, Pitt shutting down the power systems and joining him.

“Won’t be a pretty scene if that big boy fires up his engines,” Giordino said, eyeing the submersible floating just above the freighter’s propellers.

“At least we’ve got his license plate number,” Pitt replied, looking up at the ship’s stern. In broad white letters was painted the ship’s name, Osmanli Yildiz , which meant “Ottoman Star.”

The two men crept along the pier until they reached the shadow of a large generator sitting across from the freighter’s forward hold. Ahead of them was a handful of dockworkers occupied with loading large wooden crates into the freighter with the high crane. The blue yacht, with its armed gunman still pacing the deck, was moored just a few feet in front of it. Giordino gazed ruefully up at the bright overhead lights that illuminated the path ahead.

“I’m not so sure it’s going to be easy to pass Go and collect our two hundred dollars from here,” he said.

Pitt nodded, peering around the generator to survey the dockyard. He could see a small two-story stone building onshore flanked by a pair of prefabricated warehouses. The interior of the right-hand warehouse was brightly illuminated, highlighting a pair of forklifts that hauled crates out of an open bay door for the crane to transfer. In contrast, the left-hand warehouse appeared dark, with no visible activity around it.

Pitt turned his attention to the stone building in the center. A bright porch light illuminated its front facade, clearly revealing a gunman standing guard outside the front door.

“The stone building in the middle,” he whispered to Giordino. “That’s where Zeibig has to be.”

He peered again, spotting the headlights of a car that was approaching from the surrounding hillside. The vehicle bounded down a steep gravel road, then turned onto the dock and pulled up in front of the stone building. Pitt was surprised to recognize the car as a late-model Jaguar sedan. A well-dressed man and woman climbed out of the car and entered the building.

“I think we need to make our play pretty quickly,” Pitt whispered.

“Any thoughts on how to get off this pier?” Giordino asked, sitting perched on the side of a ladder tilted against the generator.

Pitt looked around, then gazed at Giordino for a moment, a small grin spreading across his face.

“Al,” he said, “I think you’re sitting on it.”

34

Nobody paid any attention to the two men dressed in faded turquoise jumpsuits walking down the pier with their heads hanging down and carrying an aluminum ladder. They were obviously a pair of crewmen from the freighter returning the borrowed equipment to shore. Only they were members of the crew that nobody had ever seen before.