“Welcome aboard, Mr. Pitt,” the captain replied without emotion. He quickly turned his attention back to Lazlo. “You’ll have approximately two hours of darkness to complete your mission. I’m warning you, I don’t want to be on the surface at daybreak.”
“Captain, I can make you a promise,” the commando replied with cool arrogance. “If we’re not back in ninety minutes, then you may sail without us.”
60
Lazlo would be wrong about the mission’s duration, but not in the manner that he expected.
Surfacing two miles northwest of the cove, the
Gliding into the cove, Pitt took a disappointed look toward the pier, then whispered to Lazlo.
“She’s gone.”
The Israeli commando silently cursed as he saw that Pitt was right. Not only was the tanker gone but the entire pier was empty. The buildings on shore appeared dark and uninhabited as well.
“Alpha Team, revise landing to joint shore recon,” he radioed to the other boat. “Assigned target is the east warehouse.”
There was still a chance that the tanker crew was held captive ashore, but he knew it was false optimism. The success of any covert operation, he knew from years of experience, was always the quality of the intelligence. And this time, the intelligence appeared to have failed.
The two boats ran ashore simultaneously a few yards from the pier, their occupants scrambling ashore like silent ghosts. Pitt followed Lazlo’s squad as they approached the stone building and then stormed in with a fury. Watching from the front courtyard, Pitt could tell by sound that the building was deserted, like the rest of the port facility. He made his way toward the west warehouse, hearing the light steps of Lazlo approach as he reached the door.
“We haven’t cleared this building yet,” the Israeli whispered in a hard tone.
“It’s empty like the others,” Pitt said, flinging open the door and stepping inside.
Lazlo saw that Pitt’s words were true as he flicked on the interior lights, revealing a cavernous building that was empty save for a large metal container on the far side.
“Your explosives?” the commando asked.
Pitt nodded. “Let’s hope it’s still full.”
They stepped across the warehouse to the container, where Pitt slid the dead bolt free. Pulling on the handle, he was suddenly confronted by a lunging figure from inside who swung a piece of broken crate. Pitt managed to sidestep the blow, then turned to throw a punch. But before he could strike, the toe of Lazlo’s boot appeared out of nowhere, burying itself in the attacker’s stomach. The startled assailant gasped as he was lifted off his feet and slammed into the side of the container. He meekly dropped his makeshift weapon as the muzzle of Lazlo’s assault rifle was prodded into his cheek.
“Who are you?” Lazlo barked.
“My name is Levi Green. I am a seaman from the tanker
“Fool,” Lazlo muttered, pulling away his rifle. “We are here to rescue you.”
“I… I’m sorry,” he said, turning to Pitt. “I thought you were a dockworker.”
“What are you doing in this container?” Pitt asked.
“We were forced to load its contents, boxes of explosives, on the
“Where are the other crewmen?” Lazlo asked.
“I don’t know. Back on the ship, I suppose.”
“The tanker is no longer here.”
“They modified the ship,” Green said, his eyes still wide with fear. “Cut open the forward tanks and filled them with bags of fuel oil. We were forced to place the boxed explosives inside.”
“What do you mean ‘bags’ of fuel oil?” Pitt asked.
“There were crates and crates of the stuff in fifty-pound bags. They were marked as some sort of fuel oil mixture. Ammonium something or other.”
“Ammonium nitrate?” Pitt asked.
“Yes, that was the stuff.”
Pitt turned to Lazlo. “Ammonium nitrate fuel oil, or ANFO. It’s a cheap but highly effective blasting agent,” he said, recalling the devastating effect a truckload of similar material had on the Murrah Federal Building in Oklahoma City back in 1995.
“How long have you been in the container?” Lazlo asked the seaman.
Green looked at his watch. “Just over eight hours.”
“Which means they may have a hundred-mile head start,” Pitt computed quickly.
Lazlo reached down and grabbed Green’s collar, then yanked him to his feet.
“You’re coming with us. Let’s move.”
Two miles to sea, the
“I will alert naval command,” the captain said. “They might already be within hours of Haifa or Tel Aviv.”
“I believe that’s a wrong assumption,” Pitt said. “If history repeats, they’re looking to detonate that ship at a Muslim site, to make it look like an attack by Israel.”
“If they were to strictly target a major population center, Athens appears closest,” Lazlo noted.
“No, Istanbul is somewhat closer,” Pitt said, eyeing the map. “And it’s a Muslim city.”
“But they wouldn’t attack their own people,” the captain said derisively.
“Celik has shown no shortage of ruthlessness to date,” Pitt countered. “If he’s already bombed mosques in his country and throughout the region, there’s no reason to doubt he wouldn’t kill thousands more of his own countrymen.”
“The tanker is that dangerous?” the captain asked.
“In 1917, a French cargo ship carrying wartime explosives caught fire and blew up in Halifax Harbor. Over two thousand nearby residents were killed in the blast. The
Pitt pointed to the marine approach to Istanbul on the map. “At a speed of twelve knots, she would still be two or three hours from the city.”
“Too far out of range for us or our boats to catch her,” the captain said, “not that I would sail through the Dardanelles anyway. I’m afraid the best that we can do is alert the Greek and Turkish authorities while we remove ourselves from their territorial waters. In the meantime, we can leave it to the intelligence satellites to figure out exactly where she’s headed.”
“What about the crewmen?” Lazlo said.
“Lieutenant, I’m afraid there’s nothing more we can do,” the captain replied.
“Three hours,” Pitt muttered quietly while studying the route to Istanbul. “Captain, if I’m going to have a chance at catching her, I need to get back to my ship at once.”
