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  “Wait,” she said, “the uranium.”

  Pitt lifted up the container and heaved it up to Giordino, who hoisted it onto his shoulder as if it were made of feathers. Pitt scampered onto the dock and surveyed their surroundings. To their right, the Greek-flagged freighter was awaiting a thick stack of shipping containers. To their left, the dock fed onto a busy waterfront street that circled into the town center. At the moment, the entire wharf was empty. Lunch hour had arrived moments before, and the local dockworkers were congregated in a break shack, out of the rain, eating fish stew and beans.

  Pitt got a gleam in his eye. The dock’s loading derrick was still harnessed to a full container atop the stack.

  He pointed to the road. “See if you can find some transport out of here. I’ll try and slow them down.”

  Ana hesitated, but Giordino grabbed her arm and pulled her toward the street. “You heard the man. No time for debate.” They took off at a run, Giordino leading Ana toward a dilapidated pickup truck parked near the dock entrance.

  Pitt ran to the lift crane’s controls and fired up its diesel motor. Deciphering its controls, he hoisted the shipping container and pivoted the crane head toward the ship’s hold. But he kept rotating the crane until it dangled over the edge of the dock.

  Pitt had no time to spare, as the orange inflatable roared up to the same spot as the NUMA Zodiac. Pitt jammed the cable release and the yellow container crashed to the lip of the dock, then teetered upright and over the side. The blunt end slammed onto the bow of the inflatable, crushing one gunman. The other two were hurled forward as the boat jackknifed under the container’s weight. One slammed face-first into the container, falling limp into the water with a broken neck. Vasko was more fortunate. Flung against the dock pylons, he managed to grab a steel ladder midair.

  The crashing prompted a group of dockworkers to come investigate. A distressed crane operator ran up to the cab, waving his arms, as Pitt climbed out.

  Pitt shrugged. “The controls, they’re a little loose,” he said.

  He turned toward the street but froze when the glass windshield of the crane cab shattered next to him. At the edge of the wharf, a burly, bald, tattooed man was pulling himself onto the dock, holding a smoking pistol aimed at Pitt.

  17

  Ilya Vasko had recognized the tall, dark-haired man climbing from the crane as the pilot of the inflatable that aided Ana. He knew the shipping container that had dropped on him was no accident. With his assault rifle at the bottom of the harbor, he pulled a pistol from a holster. The best he could do was to fire a snap shot from the ladder before climbing onto the dock and catching his breath. He stood for a moment, shaking off the impact of his ejection from the boat, and glanced at the water. The bodies of his two crewmen floated alongside the punctured inflatable.

  Vasko steadied himself against the dock and raised his pistol. A dozen dockworkers scrambled for cover as he scanned the wharf for the tall man with black hair.

  Pitt had already jumped away from the crane and was sprinting down the dock. He zigzagged around a forklift and some assorted crates as the pop-pop-pop of gunfire sounded. A pair of bullets whistled past, striking a fence post just in front of him. He searched ahead for Giordino and spotted his partner, waving from the driver’s seat of a dilapidated pickup.

  It was a Romanian-built Dacia, at least forty years old, used for light duty around the port. The HEU container lay in the truck’s open bed, and Ana sat in the passenger seat, urging Pitt on with her eyes. Blue exhaust smoke indicated Giordino had already found the keys and started the old truck.

  “Go!” Pitt shouted while still a few yards away.

  Giordino threw it into gear and rolled forward as another volley sounded from Vasko’s pistol. Pitt caught up to the truck and dove into its bed as a shot tore through the tailgate, followed by another that shattered the cab’s rear window.

  Pitt called up to the cab as he lay low. “Fastest you could find?”

  “Only thing I could find,” Giordino called back, “with keys.”

  The old truck gained speed, and Giordino wheeled it through an open gate at the end of the dock and turned onto the main waterfront drive. Traffic was light, and he was able to accelerate ahead. Police sirens sounded as Vasko ran into the middle of the road after them. A college student on a motorcycle approached from the south and Vasko stood, rock-like, in his path, his gun raised. The startled rider skidded to a stop just a few feet away.

  “Off!” Vasko stepped forward and grabbed the handlebars.

  The student jumped off and backed away with his hands raised, then turned and ran. Vasko tucked his gun into his waistband and climbed aboard.

  A quarter mile ahead, Pitt watched the scene as Giordino drove into the center of town. Like most Bulgarian seaside villages, Balchik was filled with stodgy but colorful buildings and shops that summer tourists found inviting. The truck wheeled around a large traffic circle with a marble statue of the Greek god Dionysus in the center, then sped past a row of cafés and coffee shops.

  Pitt moved to sit with his back to the cab. “Gunman’s on a bike in pursuit,” he told Giordino.

  “Where are those police cars?” Giordino asked.

  Pitt listened to the wailing sirens in the distance. “Coming from the other side of the dock, I’m afraid.”

  “Figures.”

  Pitt glanced at a man lugging a sack of flour down the street, then turned to Giordino. “Pull to a quick stop, then go up a block and circle back around to the traffic circle. We ought to be able to catch the police there.”

  Giordino stood on the brakes. “Okay, but why the stop?”

  When he got no response, he turned back to see that both Pitt and the HEU canister were gone.

  Ana spied Pitt jogging down the sidewalk. “He jumped out!”

  “Taking the heat off us,” Giordino said.

  He followed Pitt’s instructions, accelerating up to the next block and turning left. They could hear the high-revving motorcycle behind them as it speeded through traffic.

  Vasko entered the traffic circle, his eyes on the old pickup turning left up ahead. Bursting past some slower cars, he swept around the circle, then braked hard at a familiar sight. It was Pitt, walking across the circle as if on an afternoon stroll, except for the jaundiced eye he leveled at Vasko. Though his presence was unnerving, his hands were empty and he posed no threat, so Vasko let off the brakes and sped forward.

  Giordino pushed the truck through a second left turn before the motorcycle loomed up in his rearview mirror. As the traffic cleared, he swerved the truck back and forth across the road to prevent the rider from pulling alongside.

  Vasko slowed behind the pickup, removed his pistol, and awkwardly fired a few shots at the cab with his left hand. The vehicles reached the end of the block, and Giordino turned left once more, heading for the traffic circle, now in view. As he turned, Vasko had a clear shot and pumped two rounds into the engine compartment.

  Steam erupted from under the hood, while a thick trail of oil spilled from beneath. Giordino held the accelerator to the floor despite the eruption and the engine’s clatter. The spray coated the windshield, forcing Giordino to drive blindly toward the traffic circle. Distracted, he lost track of Vasko, who roared alongside the truck’s passenger side. The gunman gazed into the truck bed and saw no HEU canister. He pulled alongside Ana’s door and looked inside for the uranium while pointing his pistol at her.

  Ana screamed and Giordino snapped the dying truck to the right. Vasko was already on the brakes, saving himself from being sideswiped. The truck rumbled on, its occupants again hearing the whine of the motorcycle. But, this time, the sound grew more distant.

  Sailing blind into the traffic circle, Giordino poked his head out the side window just in time to see a sidewalk in front of him. As he applied its worn brakes, the truck bounded up and over the curb and skidded a
cross a patch of grass. Amid a cloud of steam, it smacked into a fountain at the base of Dionysus and ground to a halt.

  Giordino turned to Ana. “You okay?” he asked over the wail of approaching sirens.

  “Yeah.” Ana rubbed her shoulder, which had struck the dashboard. “Is he gone?”

  “Yep.” He grinned. “Couldn’t keep up with Speedy Al.”

  They climbed out of the truck into the glare of flashing lights from three police cars. Pitt stood in the center of the road and directed the lead cars after the motorcycle, while the third car screeched up alongside the battered truck. As the policemen hopped out with guns drawn, Ana and Giordino threw their hands in the air. Producing her Europol badge, she quickly defused the tension and explained their situation.

  Pitt stepped over to check on his friends. “Glad you made it back in one piece.”

  “Not so sure about the truck.” Giordino patted one of the smoking pickup’s fenders.

  “I thought the police were going to come through here,” Pitt said. “I hoped I could organize a welcome party by the time you came back around. Guess my timing was a bit off.”

  “Close enough to save our skin,” Giordino said.

  Ana joined them after an animated conversation with the police officers.

  “They were alerted by the Macedonia,” she said, “and the dockworkers sent them after their stolen truck.”

  Pitt nodded. “Plenty of confusion to go around.”

  Giordino looked at the puddle of oil next to a front wheel. “I guess we owe the port a new truck.”

  “NUMA might manage to fund a replacement,” Pitt said.

  “Glad to hear it,” Ana said. “I’m already down a vehicle, with my boss in Sofia.” She peered into the back of the truck and turned pale. “The HEU canister! Did he get it?”

  “No.” Pitt gave a reassuring grin. “I put it someplace he wouldn’t be able to reach easily.”

  Ana looked around at the shops and apartments. “Did you hide it in a house or café?”

  “No, I hid it in plain sight.” Pitt winked and pointed over his shoulder.

  Ana and Giordino followed his finger toward the statue and looked up.

  Cradled in the outstretched arms of Dionysus, a dozen feet off the ground, was the canister of deadly uranium.

  18

  The Macedonia eased into Balchik a short time later, arriving amid a glow of flashing police lights along the waterfront. Captain Stenseth found a ship’s berth near the main dock, where he watched a police dive team retrieve two bodies from the water. The divers then assisted some agitated dockworkers in lifting a yellow container from the depths in front of a large freighter.

  Once his ship was moored, the captain went ashore, taking a quick peek at the saturated bodies that had been hastily covered with a tarp. Relieved to see they bore unfamiliar faces, he turned his attention toward the lights of police vehicles near the town center. Walking the few blocks to the main traffic circle, he jumped aside as a fire department ladder truck roared up onto the sidewalk and stopped beside a tall marble statue. The statue itself was surrounded by a growing throng of policemen.

  Stenseth made his way to the opposite side, where a battered pickup truck was mashed against a fountain at the statue’s base. Its tailgate was down, and two men in wetsuits were seated on it, speaking to the police.

  The Macedonia’s captain approached Pitt and Giordino with a relieved smile. “You boys didn’t tell me you were planning some sightseeing after your dive.”

  “We just offered a ride to a local hitchhiker.” Giordino pointed toward Ana, who was arguing with several Bulgarian police authorities.

  “Ana?” Stenseth said. “I didn’t recognize her when the mayhem started. Bad timing on our part, as we were well off your dive site recovering the AUV when you surfaced.”

  “As I requested,” Pitt said, “though I kind of wish you hadn’t listened to me.”

  “We saw the gunfire and tried to give chase, but we couldn’t match your speed. I knew things were bad when the salvage ship materialized out of the mist. I take it Ana was aboard the vessel?”

  Pitt nodded. “She tracked the Besso to the harbor at Burgas—and was abducted during a raid. Ralin apparently wasn’t so lucky.”

  Stenseth shook his head. “We alerted the Coast Guard, who in turn called the local police when you were spotted entering port.”

  “A good thing, too,” Giordino said. “Our beloved chariot here was about to give up the ghost, with us in it, when the police finally appeared.”

  “I saw at the wharf that you got two of them.”

  Giordino smiled. “Dirk dropped a load on them.”

  Stenseth pointed to the bullet holes that peppered the truck. “And the third gunman?”

  “Got away on a motorcycle,” Pitt said. “Hopefully, the police will catch him.” He looked to the dock. “Any trouble from the Besso?”

  “No. They ran a parallel course to shore with us, then turned back to sea when we got close to Balchik.”

  Ana extricated herself from the policemen and stepped to the truck. Her body sagged under the weight of the turmoil of the last two days, but her eyes smiled at the sight of the three NUMA men. “It took some conniving, but I talked the police out of arresting the two of you and impounding your ship.”

  “I guess this means a ticker-tape parade is out of the question?” Giordino asked.

  “There is the matter of a stolen pickup truck and a sunken cargo container that has a few of the locals upset. They obviously don’t understand what was at stake, and even the police are slightly skeptical. They’ve asked that you and your ship remain in Balchik until they confirm the contents of the HEU canister.”

  Pitt frowned. “How long is that likely to take?”

  “They’ve called in an Army bomb disposal unit to transfer the canister to a military installation near Sofia. I suspect we won’t have an answer until late tomorrow.”

  “So be it. You’re welcome to bunk aboard the Macedonia tonight, if you’re going to be detained here yourself,” Pitt said.

  “Thank you. It appears I will be coordinating enforcement response with the local authorities for a bit longer.”

  “There’s one thing I don’t understand,” Stenseth said. “If the HEU was aboard the Besso, where is the canister now?”

  Pitt gave him a crooked smile and pointed at the statue. They all watched as a ladder was extended from a fire truck to the marble Dionysus, a replica of a statue found in the waters off the town centuries earlier. A pudgy fireman climbed the ladder and nervously collected the canister. When he descended, he was surrounded by a circle of policemen, who made him set the canister on the ground as they huddled around. Nearly an hour later, a bomb disposal unit from the Bulgarian Army arrived to collect it. They loaded it into a van, then roared out of town with an armed escort, leaving the townspeople to gawk at the two divers on the pickup truck and contemplate what strange things they had brought to town.

  • • •

  IT WAS EARLY EVENING before Ana and the NUMA men returned to the Macedonia under a police escort. They stopped to examine the damaged container now sitting on the dock alongside the two mangled Zodiacs.

  Thankful to board ship, they cleaned up for dinner after Ana was shown to a guest cabin. An hour later, she bounded into the wardroom, refreshed from a shower and a short rest. Wearing a borrowed ship’s jumpsuit, with her hair hanging freely, she raced to the table where Pitt, Giordino, and Stenseth awaited her.

  “You look like a new person,” Pitt said.

  Her eyes misted with joy. “I received a message from my office with fabulous news. Petar is alive!”

  “I knew he was a tough cat,” Giordino said.

  “He somehow survived his gunshot wound and was rescued in the harbor. He’s recovering at a hospital in Burgas.”

 
“That is indeed happy news.” Pitt stood and offered her a chair. “We’ll run down to Burgas and check on him once we’re cleared to leave port. I’m sure he’ll be happy to know you are all right.”

  Georgi Dimitov entered the room and approached the table. “There you two are. Safe from your adventure, I’m glad to see.”

  As Dimitov took a seat at the table, Pitt introduced him to Ana.

  “I’ve heard all kinds of rumors aboard ship about your chase today,” Dimitov said. “Pray tell, what was all the excitement about?”

  “Ana got caught up with some smugglers that happened our way,” Pitt said. “We helped her to shore and waited for the authorities to arrive.”

  “Saved my life, would be more accurate,” Ana said. “And the lives of many others.”

  “We were all quite worried aboard ship, I can tell you that.”

  Pitt and Giordino eyed each other, knowing the archeologist was bursting with curiosity about the shipwreck.

  Dimitov broke quickly. “We were wondering, as well, what you discovered on your dive?”

  “Hmm, do you recall, Al?”

  “Let’s see,” Giordino said. “I saw a nice lobster, but he eluded me in the debris of that old shipwreck.”

  “It’s an old wreck?” Dimitov asked, his voice rising.

  “Yes, easily two hundred years old,” Pitt said. “A beautifully preserved three-masted warship of about forty meters. Appeared to have a Turkish inscription on the bell.”

  “You found the ship’s bell!” Dimitov popped out of his seat.

  “Al’s got video of the whole thing, if we can find his camera in the harbor. Congratulations, Doctor, you’ve got a nice shipwreck on your hands . . . that is in all probability the Fethiye.”

  Dimitov hopped around the table and shook Pitt’s hand, nearly pulling his arm off. As he tried the same with Giordino, Al jokingly crushed his hand in return.