“The Bullet,” Giordino whispered. Even in the darkness, Pitt could see the white teeth from his partner’s broad smile.
Gazing ahead through the pilings, Pitt looked at the workboat and the yacht just beyond. But sitting low in the water behind the workboat, he now noticed the crest of the submersible. They had walked right by it when they crossed the pier. Obscured by the generator, it had gone unseen when the men were trying to conceal Zeibig from any probing eyes aboard the yacht.
The two men quietly worked their way closer, observing that the submersible’s mooring line was attached to the stern of the workboat. It had indeed been the suspicious guard on the back of the yacht who had strolled down the pier after Pitt and Giordino walked by and discovered the strange vessel astern of the freighter. Enlisting the aid of the workboat’s captain, they had towed it alongside the yacht in order to get a better look at it under the bright dock lights.
Pitt and Giordino swam forward until they were even with the Bullet. They could see the armed gunman standing on the stern deck of the workboat and another man in its wheelhouse.
“I think our best bet is to keep the towline and pull her into the cove to submerge,” Pitt whispered. A sudden fray of shouting came from shore as the Janissaries began extending their search down the pier.
“You jump on the Bulletand prep her for diving,” Pitt said, not wishing to waste any more time. “I’ll see what I can do with the workboat.”
“You’ll need some help with that armed guard,” Giordino said with concern.
“Blow him a kiss when I get aboard.”
Then Pitt took a deep breath and disappeared under the water.
39
The guard couldn’t quite make out the commotion on shore, but he could see that some of his fellow Janissaries were headed down the pier. He had already tried radioing his discovery of the submersible to his commander, not knowing that the man was still lying unconscious in the stone building. He contemplated returning to the yacht but thought it better to safeguard the submersible from the stern of the workboat. He stood there, gazing toward shore, when he was startled by a voice calling from the water.
“Pardon me, boy, is that the Chattanooga Choo Choo?” wafted a gruff voice.
The guard immediately stepped to the stern rail and looked down at the submersible. A soggy Giordino stood on the Bullet’s frame, one hand placed on the acrylic bubble for support while the other waved cheerily at the startled gunman. He quickly jerked his weapon up and started to shout at Giordino when he detected the sound of some squishy footsteps approaching from behind.
Too late, he turned to find Pitt barreling into him like he was a blocking dummy. Pitt kept his elbows high, striking the man on the side, just beneath the shoulder. With legs pinned against the rail, the guard had no way to balance himself from the blow. With a warbled grunt, he flipped over the side, splashing hard into the water.
“Company,” Giordino shouted to Pitt as he released the hatch and scurried inside the submersible.
Pitt turned to see two men walking down the dock, gazing at him with alarm. He ignored them, turning his attention to the boat’s small wheelhouse. A middle-aged man with a chubby face and sunbaked skin stumbled out at the sound of the splash, then froze at the sight of Pitt on the deck.
“Arouk?” he called, but the guard was just gurgling to the surface.
Pitt’s eyes were already scanning the stern deck. Clamped to the gunwale a few feet away was a six-foot-long gaff. He quickly lunged for it, gripped the base, and whipped the barbed iron hook toward the workboat’s captain.
“Over the side,” Pitt barked, waving the hook toward the water.
Seeing the determined look in Pitt’s eye, the captain saw no reason to hesitate. With his hands raised, he calmly stepped to the rail and threw his legs over the side, slipping heavily into the water. On the other side of the boat, the guard named Arouk had surfaced and begun shouting to his cohorts down the pier.
Pitt didn’t wait around to decipher the conversation. Dropping the gaff, he raced into the wheelhouse and yanked the workboat’s throttle to its stops. The boat lurched forward, then faltered as the trailing towline drew taut with the submersible. The boat gradually regained momentum and accelerated at what seemed like a snail’s pace to Pitt. He glanced at the pier in time to see the two guards step to the edge and train their weapons on him. His reflexes still quick, he dove to the floor an instant before the guns opened fire.
The wheelhouse exploded in a hail of splintered wood and shattered glass as a pair of extended bursts ripped through the structure. Shaking away a blanket of splinters and shards, Pitt crawled to the helm and reached up to the wheel, pulling it three-quarters of a turn to starboard.
With just a few yards to spare, the workboat was quickly closing on the yacht moored directly ahead. While Pitt could have turned hard into the cove, he knew doing so would leave Giordino and the Bulletexposed to sustained gunfire. In the confusion, he had no idea whether Giordino had even entered the submersible before the shooting began. He could only hope to deflect attention until they could reach a safer haven out in the cove.
Spotting a seat cushion on the pilot’s chair, he ripped it away and crawled to the blasted remnants of the port-side window. Tossing it into the air, he succeeded in drawing the gunmen’s attention again as they finished reloading their weapons. Another volley of gunfire shredded the exterior of the wheelhouse with vicious effect. Inside, Pitt clung to the deck with the seat cushion over his head as more splinters and shards sprayed about the cabin. The bullets kept flying until the gunmen emptied their clips for a second time.
When the firing ceased, Pitt raised his head to see that the workboat was pulling alongside the yacht. He crawled to the wheel and eased it to starboard, then held it steady. As the boat approached the bow of the yacht, he kneeled and cranked the wheel hard over.
The old boat was now chugging along at eight knots as its bow turned sharply away from the yacht and the pier. Pitt could hear more yelling, but his move had bought a few precious seconds of safety as the yacht obscured the aim of the gunmen. They would now have to either board the yacht or step down the pier to get a clear shot, by which time Pitt hoped to be out of accurate range.
He stood for a moment and peeked out the back of the wheelhouse, spotting the Bulletbounding merrily behind. A dull glow from some of the interior electronics told him that Giordino had made his way inside and was powering up the submersible. He looked beyond it to the yacht, where he noticed a bubble of diesel exhaust erupt from the stern waterline. Pitt had banked on escaping in the Bulletbefore the yacht could get under way, but his opponent was jumping the gun. To make matters worse, he spotted the two gunmen racing across the yacht’s stern deck with their guns at the ready.
Pitt ducked down and tweaked the wheel, angling the workboat toward the center of the cove while taking the Bulletout of the direct line of fire. The rattling of machine guns preceded a spray of bullets, most of which scattered harmlessly into the transom. Pitt willed the boat to go faster, but the old tub had peaked out with the submersible in tow.
When Pitt guessed they were a hundred yards from the pier, he suddenly cranked the wheel hard to port, then eased back on the throttle. He held the wheel well over until the boat had drifted completely around, and the yacht rose ahead off the bow. As the boat bobbed in the cove under idle, Pitt stepped to the stern and quickly untied the towline to the Bullet. Tossing it toward the submersible, he leaned over the rail and yelled at Giordino.