"Captain? Tess? Anyone?"
There was no answer.
He turned to the radioman beside him, who was already fiddling with the console's controls, shaking his head and reporting back to the skipper in Turkish.
"The signal's gone," Karakas confirmed. "It looks like they've heard all they warn to hear."
Reilly stared ahead angrily out through the whirling windscreen wipers that did nothing to improve 181
the visibility. The Karadeniz was straining hard, battling the increasingly ferocious waves. All of the chatter on the bridge was in Turkish, but Reilly picked up that the gunboat crew seemed to be more focused on the raging sea than on the other boat, which still appeared to be stationary.
Although the Savarona was now theoretically in visual range, the lashing rain and the high seas meant that it came into view only every now and again, as the surging swell beneath both boats peaked simultaneously. As Reilly caught a glimpse of it, all that he could make out was a blurred distant shape. He felt a fist swell in his throat as he thought of Tess being out there on the battered vessel.
Reilly saw Karakas and the first officer exchange a few clipped words, then the skipper turned to De Angelis, deep ridges of concern lining his leathery forehead. "This is getting out of hand. The wind's almost at fifty knots, and, in these conditions, there isn't much we can do about forcing them to follow us."
De Angelis seemed strangely unfazed. "As long as they're out there, we keep going."
The skipper breathed heavily. His eyes darted to Reilly, looking for some insight into De Angelis's state of mind but not finding any. "I don't think we should stay out here much longer," he stated flatly. "It isn't safe anymore."
De Angelis turned to face him. "What's the matter," he said indignantly, "can't you handle a few waves?" He jabbed an angry finger toward the Savarona. "I don't see them turning tail and running.
They're clearly not afraid to be out here." His mouth twisted oddly. "Are you?"
Reilly watched as Karakas stood there, his pulse visibly quickening at the taunt. The skipper glowered at the monsignor before barking some orders at his nervous first officer. De Angelis nodded, shot a quick glance at Plunkett, and turned to stare ahead, and, just from his profile, Reilly could tell that the monsignor was grimly pleased.
***
Tess stood next to Vance, staring out, the spray raking the windshield like buckshot as rainsqualls hurled themselves at the wheelhouse from all directions. Great patches of foam were blowing in dense white streaks all around them, and the Savarond's decks were awash with water.
And then they appeared.
Three orange lift bags, off to the boat's starboard side, thrusting out of the water like breaching whales.
Tess's eyes strained, trying to cut through the lashings of rain, and then she spotted it, a large, dark balk of rounded timber bobbing between the floaters. Despite the wear of centuries, it was unmistakably carved in the shape of a bird and strongly evocative of its former glory.
She glanced at Vance and saw his face light up. For the briefest of moments, she felt a sudden thrill, a surge of excitement that eclipsed all the dread and horror she'd been feeling.
And then it all came rushing back.
"Get the divers in," Vance yelled at the first mate, who was tending to the helmsman's bloodied cheek. Seeing the hesitation in the man's eyes, Vance extended his arm and thrust his handgun into the terrified man's face. "Do it. We're not leaving here without it."
Just then, a large wave slammed into the ship's stern. With the Savarona slewing heavily to one side, the helmsman staggered up to his feet and took over from the overwhelmed crewman, fighting the wheel to keep the ship from broaching and rolling over as he maneuvered it out of danger and closer to the floating lift bags. Expertly defying the waves, he maintained the battered vessel's position while two other crewmen got into gear and reluctantly dived off the deck, heavy recovery cables in their clutches.
Tess watched nervously as the divers struck their way to the rig, tense minutes ticking by agonizingly before a glimpse of a thumbs-up signaled their success. The first mate then hit a switch, and, out on deck, the winch cranked noisily to life, straining against the roll of the ship and the pounding of the waves. The figurehead, still harnessed to the lift bags, rose out of the foaming water and swung over, headed for the ship's waiting deck.
Vance suddenly frowned, his attention gripped by something beyond the suspended rig. Attal's face brightened as he gripped Tess's arm and nodded in the same direction, toward the west. She glanced beyond the bow and saw a ghostly shape in the distance. It was the Karadeniz, straining against the crushing waves and bearing down on them.
Vance spun angrily to the helmsman. "Get us out of here," he ordered, waving his handgun furiously.
Streaks of sweat tinged with blood streaked down the helmsman's face as he struggled to keep the ship from turning broadside to the waves. "We have to recover the divers first," he protested.
"Leave them," Vance roared. "The patrol boat will pick them up. It'll help delay them."
The helmsman's eyes were darting around, taking in the wind readings on the weather radar. He pointed toward the Karadeniz. "The only way out of this storm is toward them."
"No. We can't go that way," Vance shouted.
Tess watched the Karadeniz inch closer and turned to Vance. "Please, Bill. It's over. They have us surrounded, and, if we don't get out of here now, the storm's going to kill us all."
Vance flashed her a silencing glare, then shot anxious glances out the windshield and down at the weather radar. His eyes turned to ice. "South," he barked to the helmsman. "Take us south."
The helmsman's eyes rocketed wide, as if he'd been punched in the gut. "South? That's right into the storm," he countered. "You're insane."
Vance shoved his gun into the face of the hesitating man and, without warning, squeezed the trigger, nudging the gun slightly off to one side just as it erupted. The bullet just missed the helmsman and smashed into a bulkhead behind him. Vance shot a quick, threatening glance at the others on the bridge before shoving his handgun back into the shell-shocked man's face. "You can take your chances with the waves ... or with a bullet. It's your call."
The helmsman just stared back at him for a moment, flicked a quick eye over his instruments,
then spun the wheel and pushed forward on the throttles. The boat churned ahead, leaving the divers floundering helplessly in its wake, and plunged head-on into the wrath of the storm.
It was only when Vance finally took his eyes off the helmsman that he noticed Tess was gone.
Chapter 77
On the bridge of the Karadeniz, De Angelis stared through the Fu-jinon marine binoculars in furious disbelief.
"They've got it," he said through clenched teeth. "I don't believe it. They've managed to bring it up."
Reilly had also spotted it, and a ripple of concern raced down his spine. So it was all true after all.
There it was, plucked out of the abyss after hundreds of years by one man's unwavering tenacity.
Tess. What have you done?
And with a reeling horror, he knew De Angelis would stop at nothing now.
The first officer, standing next to them, also had his eyes peeled on the dive boat but had other concerns. "They're heading south. They're abandoning the divers."
As soon as he heard that, Karakas began snapping orders. Instantly, a siren blasted, followed by rapid-fire commands over the gunboat's loudspeakers. Divers began suiting up immediately, while out on deck, crewmen hastily readied one of the patrol boat's inflatable craft.
De Angelis watched the frenzied activity with utter disbelief. "Forget the damn divers," he barked, pointing frantically at the Savarona. "They're getting away. We need to stop them."
"We can't leave them here," Karakas shot back, the scorn in his eyes barely disguised. "Besides, that ship will never make it through this storm. The waves are too big. We need to get out of here as soon as w
e've recovered the divers."
"No," the monsignor snapped back firmly. "Even if there's just one chance in a million that they'll make it out in one piece, we can't allow it to happen." He stared sharply out the windshield, then turned back to face the stocky captain, his eyes gleaming with menace. "Sink them."
Reilly couldn't stand back any longer. He lunged at De Angelis, grabbing him and spinning him around heavily to face him. "You can't do that, there's no—"
He stopped in his tracks.
The monsignor had pulled out a big automatic and shoved its muzzle into Reilly's face. "Stay out of this," he shouted, nudging Reilly back toward the rear of the cockpit.
Reilly stared beyond the cold steel barrel hovering millimeters from him and into De Angelis's eyes.
They blazed with murderous fury.
"You're outlived your purpose here," the monsignor rasped. "Do you understand me?"
There was such implacability in De Angelis's expression that Reilly believed he would pull the trigger without the slightest hesitation. He also knew that if he made a move on him, he would be dead long before he even reached him.
He nodded and eased back, steadying himself against the motion of the boat. "Easy, now," he said calmly. "Easy."
De Angelis kept his eyes locked firmly on Reilly. "Use the cannon," he ordered the skipper. "Before they get out of range."
Reilly could tell that Karakas was hugely uncomfortable with what was taking place on his ship.
"We're in international waters," he objected, "and if that's not enough for you, that's a Greek ship we're talking about. We already have enough trouble with—"
"—I don't care," De Angelis raged, turning to face Karakas and waving his handgun furiously.
"This ship is operating under NATO command and, as the ranking officer, I'm giving you a direct order, Captain—"
This time, it was Karakas who interrupted. "No," he stated flatly, staring down De Angelis.
"I'll take my chances with a military tribunal."
The two men squared off for a tense moment, the monsignor's right arm fully extended, his handgun squarely in the captain's face. To Karakas's credit, he didn't flinch. He just stood his ground until the monsignor thrust him aside, turned to Plunkett, and ordered him to watch them and charged for the door to the gangway. "The hell with you," he seethed. "I'll do it myself."
Plunkett moved into position, pulling out his own holstered handgun as the monsignor slid the door open. The gale-force wind blasted into the bridge. De Angelis steeled himself and stepped out into the raging storm.
Reilly darted an incredulous glance at Karakas just as a big wave slammed into the cutter broadside, rocking the bridge and forcing everyone on it to grab a handhold. Reilly saw the opportunity and took it. He bolted at Plunkett, getting to him just as the CIA operative was reaching out to steady himself against the console beside him. Reilly managed to block the hand that held the gun against the counter, while delivering a jarring uppercut that loosened Plunkett's grip enough for Reilly to wrangle the gun off him. Plunkett came back with a furious, wild swing, but Reilly blocked it and, without hesitating, swung the handgun at the killer, connecting with a savage blow across his forehead. Plunkett slumped to the floor, unconscious.
Reilly tucked the handgun under his belt, stepped past the captain, grabbed a life vest and frantically strapped it on, and followed De Angelis out.
The wind pounded him immediately, slamming him back against the pilothouse's wall like a rag doll. Reilly steadied himself and, pulling himself along the railing hand over hand, spotted the rain-lashed silhouette of the monsignor inching his way forward along the bulwark and heading inexorably for the foredeck, where the automatic cannon was mounted.
Shielding his eyes as he advanced, he glanced beyond the bow and glimpsed the Savarona. It was lurching heavily, only a couple of hundred yards away now but separated from the patrol boat by a mountainous sea.
Reilly suddenly froze. On the deck below the diving ship's wheel-house, a small figure appeared to be moving, battered by torrents of water, clinging desperately to the rigging.
He felt the air leave his lungs. He was sure it was Tess.
***
Tess hastened down the companionway, her thoughts a blur and her heartbeat throbbing deafeningly in her ears. She scanned the walls, desperately trying to remember where she'd seen the ax.
She finally found it, mounted on a bulkhead just outside the galley. Within seconds, she'd also found a life jacket and strapped it on. Sucking in a deep breath and rallying herself for what she was about to do, she yanked open the watertight door, stepped over the coaming, and threw herself into the fury that was raging outside.
Tess knew Vance wouldn't risk moving from the cockpit. Clutching the ax with one hand and using the other to steady herself, she moved carefully across the main deck, releasing life vests as she went, hoping they might be of some use to the stranded divers.
She saw a huge wave crest over the bow and locked her arms around a railing, bracing herself as a wall of water hit her head-on and buried the deck. She then felt the deck slide away from under her as the Savanna flew off the top of the wave and rocketed down its steep back before landing heavily in its trough. She pulled herself up and, through the tangle of hair that whipped stingingly across her face, she spotted the falcon, dangling in midair several feet above the deck, swaying wildly. She scrambled toward the base of the crane and the wire rope emerging from its reel.
Reaching it, she glanced up at the window of the cockpit. Through the veils of spray, she saw Vance's alarmed face. She steeled herself, raised the ax, and swung it with all her might. She almost lost her grip as it bounced off the taut cable and looked up to see Vance rushing out of the wheelhouse and fighting the wind that plowed into him. He was gesturing wildly and screaming what looked like a continuous "No!" from the top of his lungs, but with the howling of the wind, Tess couldn't hear it. Undeterred, she swung again, steadied herself, and then swung yet again. A strand snapped, then another as she smashed the ax down repeatedly in a frenzied flurry of blows.
She wasn't going to let Vance have it. Not this way. Not at this cost.
She'd been a fool to give him the benefit of any doubt, and it was time to start making amends.
The last strand finally gave way, and as the Savanna rolled to port, the falcon suddenly dropped, crashing down heavily into the sea.
Tess clutched her way along the sloping deck, away from the pilothouse, ducking to avoid Vance's sight line instinctively. Darting a quick backward glance, she glimpsed the flotation bags emerging from the foaming water. Her heart stopped as she waited to see if they still held the falcon, then she let out a heavy breath when she spotted its dark brown, rounded shape sticking out from between the inflated balloons.
Her elation at succeeding was short-lived as, at that very moment, a staccato of small explosions rocked the Savarona. Diving for cover, Tess glanced back at the patrol boat pursuing them and was amazed to see the cannon at its bow spitting out a deadly fire.
+ + +
Lashed by the driving spray and the ferocious wind, Reilly raced after De Angelis.
The Karadeniz strained to hold its position, its rescue divers hauling one of the stranded divers onto a rigid inflatable boat, while the other man clung desperately to a life preserver until he too could be hauled aboard.
The monsignor finally reached the foredeck. Within seconds, he had positioned himself firmly between the gun's semicircular, padded-shoulder mounts. Unlocking the fearsome weapon and swinging it around with expert ease, he quickly found the escaping dive boat and unleashed a ferocious burst of incendiary 23mm shells.
"No!" Reilly yelled, climbing over the railing and onto the cannon's deck. Even with the wind screaming past his ears, the noise from the cannon was deafening.
He lunged at De Angelis, jolting the gun off course and sending the tracers arcing away from the Savarona and disappearing harmlessly into the sea. The monsignor slid
one of his shoulders out from the gun's mount and grabbed Reilly's hand, twisting his fingers back to an unnatural angle before swinging a savage blow that caught Reilly in mid-cheek and sent him stumbling backward across the tilting, water-swept deck.
Unable to regain his feet, Reilly was swept across the deck and carried away from De Angelis. He tried desperately to grab something to arrest his slide. His hand caught a piece of rope and he held on. He managed to pick himself up but could only hang on as the patrol boat lurched heavily up a mountain of water. By the time it crested the wave, De Angelis had pulled himself back into position, and the diving boat came back into view. The monsignor let rip with another volley. Horrified, Reilly stared helplessly as dozens of shells traced their brilliant, deadly paths through the near darkness to rain down on the dive boat. Flames and puffs of smoke leaped into the air as most of the shells impacted on the Savanna's unprotected stern.
* * *
Crouching low behind a steel boxing, Tess felt her heart beating its way out of her chest as the Savarona shuddered under the remorseless pounding from the rapid-firing chain gun. At a thousand rounds per minute, even a short burst packed a devastating punch.
The shells were chewing up the deck all around her when a muffled explosion from deep inside the vessel rocked her, causing her to scream. Almost immediately, a cloud of black smoke billowed from the stern and out of the smokestacks on the whaledeck. The ship lurched sideways, almost as if someone had hit the brakes. Tess knew the engine had been hit. She guessed—hoped—that the fuel tank itself had been spared, as the ship hadn't exploded from under her. She counted down each passing second, waiting for it to happen, but it didn't.
But this was just as bad.
Without power, the crippled dive boat was helpless against the confused sea. Waves were coming in from all directions, pummeling the ship, and causing it to lurch and spin like a bumper car in a fairground.
The Last Templar ts-1 Page 35
