“Difficult passage?” Dimitov asked.
“It’s always a challenge, but especially at night. I don’t know how the big tankers manage it. There are tight turns, strong currents, and endless traffic to contend with.”
“A pilot is not required aboard?”
“Only for Turkish ships. We have a Cypriot registry.”
Dimitov stepped from the window and studied a digital map of the sea ahead on a monitor.
The helmsman read his mind. “Chios Island?”
“Yes.”
“About eighteen hours, if we sailed direct.”
Dimitov nodded and stared out the forward window. Although there was nothing but blackness ahead of the ship, all he could see was gold.
52
The battery-powered drone flitted above the salvage yard like an overgrown butterfly. Nearly invisible in the dawn light, the device flew high enough that the whine from its four rotors could barely be heard. Crisscrossing over the facility, the drone eventually flew past the entrance and down the road a hundred meters, then landed behind a large hedge.
Ana glanced from the video monitor to the device itself as it landed a few feet away.
The drone’s operator, a cadet with the Bulgarian National Police Service, retrieved the device and began packing it in a case. “See everything that you needed to?” he asked her.
“Yes, as much as we could with the minimal light.”
Pitt and Giordino eyed the drone before it disappeared into its case. “If those things can deliver a pizza,” Giordino said, “I might have to invest in one.”
Ana ignored the comment and joined five other heavily armed agents who stood by the hood of her car, examining satellite photos of the Thracia Salvage Company’s compound.
“The photos were taken some time ago,” she said, “but the drone view looks little different. The large salvage vessel is gone, but two other vessels are still at the dock, a workboat and a passenger craft.” She nodded to two men to her left. “Mikel and Anton, you’ll secure the dock in case anyone decides to leave by boat. The rest of us will cover the main compound building, which appears to contain on-site residences and offices. Any questions?”
“Do we approach on foot or in our vehicles?” one of the policemen asked.
“We’ll leave our cars at the front gate and enter on foot. The drone shows that the street gate and a heavier, second gate farther in are both open.” She pointed to one of the photos. “There’s a long walled corridor after the second gate that we must pass through to enter the compound. It opens up near the dock. From there, we’ll have to backtrack to the main building. It’s the only entry point, aside from the narrow cut from the sea, so let’s move through it quickly. Remember, the suspects are likely armed and apt to resist.”
As the teams broke to prepare the raid, Pitt approached Ana. “Al and I spotted a small boat just down the road. Spare us a weapon and we’ll cover the sea approach.”
Ana considered the offer and decided it would keep Pitt and Giordino out of harm’s way. They really shouldn’t even be there, but she owed them the opportunity to discover the fate of the Macedonia’s crew. “All right. One weapon, for defensive use only.” She handed Pitt her SIG Sauer handgun. “No entering the facility until we have it secured.”
“We’ll just hang out beyond the shore, sailing a sea of discontent,” Giordino said.
As Ana and her team slipped into tactical vests and checked their weapons, Pitt and Giordino strode down the road to a pebble-strewn beach. They headed to a small wooden skiff lying hull up on the gravel. They flipped the boat over and found a mast, sail, and oars wedged under its three bench seats.
“I wo
uldn’t sail her to Fiji,” Pitt said, “but she looks like she can make it around the breakwater.”
They dragged the boat to the water’s edge and pushed it through the small breakers and climbed aboard. Giordino raised the mast and rigged the single lateen sail. Pitt tied off the boom, took a seat at the tiller, and turned the boat leeward. The sail rippled tight from the offshore breeze, and the small boat jumped ahead through the waves.
Pitt tacked to the north, aiming for a short-walled breakwater. As they sailed past it, they gazed into the narrow sea entrance of the salvage yard. As the gray dawn washed over the shoreline, Pitt could appreciate the site’s seclusion. To the north and west of the complex, steep rocky cliffs provided a natural barrier. A high rock wall ran along the southern barrier, melding into the breakwater.
Pitt dropped the sail and allowed the boat to drift toward the narrow opening between the seawall and a mound of high rocks. Giordino shipped the oars and rowed into the entrance. The boat came to a sudden halt with a scraping metallic sound.
“Run aground?” Pitt asked, although they were in the center of the slender channel.
“No, a chain.” Leaning over the bow, he could see a submerged chain curtain, its top strand stretched just beneath the surface. The barricade extended from the side boulders to the seawall.