CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The Argos IV’s first full day at sea was used to resolve all the operational ‘bugs’ to Lana’s complete satisfaction. This was spent making repeated passes close to the shoreline, testing and fine-tuning the sensitive equipment she and Omar had brought from Egypt the previous afternoon. As the only trained member of their group, everyone knew her final approval and expertise was an absolute necessity before expanding the search outward in earnest.
The proper functioning of two electronic pieces, in particular, was critical. Foremost of these was a relatively compact vessel-towed camera commonly referred to as the TACOS system with several unique design features. Mounted on a lightweight motorized platform and lowered by a flexible control cable from the boat’s side, its built-in sensors automatically scanned and compensated for varying depths as it traversed the seabed beneath the slow-moving vessel. While doing so, it transmitted detailed, real-time images to a video display screen constantly monitored from above.
No less important was the high-tech GPS tracking system they also brought, one far superior to the model already aboard the vessel. Maintaining the exact position of the boat at any given point was paramount—not only to record the precise location of anything of possible future interest, but also to follow the ever-lengthening grid lines they planned to follow as they worked their way farther outward from shore. At Lana’s suggestion, these lines were spaced into narrow bands not exceeding thirty-five feet separation. It was at times a monotonous procedure, yet not by any means unpleasant, for the seas were consistently calm, the weather beautiful.
The Argos IV was a solid, forty-foot boat David learned was originally built to the specifications of a fishing trawler over fifty years before. Now basically a mixed hybrid of both, it served multiple functions. Dependent on the differing needs of those willing to lease her, it gave the boat a distinct rental advantage in these tough economic times throughout Greece. How Ted Quenton managed to research and secure the vessel in such a short period of time since returning to Boston was something David could only wonder about. And then not for long. After all, what was the point? From past experience, he knew Ted was incredibly good at whatever task he set himself to accomplish. If Elizabeth or David needed something done, he was proving the perfect ‘go to’ man to produce quick results, making him one hell of an asset.
The present captain and owner of the boat was a short, heavy-set man by the name of Vassalio. Good-natured and capable, both he and his oldest son were an essential element in the lease package, each fluent in English and more than content to spend alternating nights onboard guarding their client’s gear and valuable equipment. It was a necessary function for which David imagined they were being well paid. Since the rental was open-ended and lucrative, it wasn’t surprising neither man seemed overly curious as to its ultimate purpose. As long as the weather held, it was simply the duration that mattered to them.
By late afternoon of operational day six, now nine nautical miles out from shore and just finishing up their last pass of the day, Omar saw some bottom debris of interest appearing on the main cabin’s monitoring screen. He quickly called up for the Captain to put the engine into neutral and cease forward progress.
“Not exactly sure what we have here,” he said as the others came over, “but it’s definitely old wreckage of some sort. We’ve already passed over a half-dozen partially buried pots. And fairly big ones. I’ll back up the video so we can take a better look in a second.” He pointed at the top of the screen. “But before I do, is it just me or does that look like low stumps of wood protruding up from the sand at fairly regular intervals?”
“It does,” agreed Lana. “Likely the cross-ribbing tips of a ship’s rotted hull. What’s our bottom depth?”
“Fairly shallow. Just over twenty.”
“Did you record the location on the GPS readout?”
Omar nodded as he tapped a spot on their working grid chart. “According to this,” he said, moving his finger to the left, “we’re atop part of a coral reef system that runs from those two small islands, here and here. The farther out we go, the more common these islands will become.”
Lana backed up the video and replayed it twice.
“So what do you think?” asked Elizabeth. “Are those ceramic pots as old as they appear?”
“Hard to say. Possibly. I’ll have to go down for a closer look.”
David checked his watch. With their last pass of the day complete, there remained another solid hour before sunset.
“We’ve ample time,” he said. “Why don’t you, Elizabeth, and Jake go ahead and suit up? Omar and I can pivot the camera around and watch everything on the screen.”
Pleased at having yet another opportunity to hone his diving skills, Jake was the first on deck to get into his semi-dry suit, now standard fare in all temperate climates. It was made of thin neoprene; it’s flexibility and negligible weight long since replacing the old traditional wet suits of which the young teenager had no prior experience.
After donning the rest of their equipment and performing final safety-checks on air tanks and regulators, Lana again cautioned them against touching or disturbing anything they observed. If they spotted anything the least bit intriguing they were to simply bring it to her attention, nothing more. This done, they rolled backward over the side and swam the short distance down.
The clarity of the water was quite remarkable, with enough residual light still reaching the shallow bottom to enhance the colorful corral outcroppings, each home to a wide variety of darting fish seeming more curious than frightened by the appearance of these intruders. Having been instructed to stay close together throughout the dive, all three were easily kept in view by Omar’s practiced manipulation of the camera as Lana backtracked the short distance to where the pots lay. Once locating them, she spent considerable time examining and measuring them before eventually signaling that she’d seen quite enough. Scarcely twenty minutes had elapsed when they resurfaced.
David and Omar helped them climb back aboard and strip off their tanks.
“You didn’t spend much time with those protruding stumps of wood,” said Omar. “Something about them you—”
“Really didn’t need to,” replied Lana. “The shape and dimension of the pots told me everything I needed to know. The wreck is old—but definitely not ancient. It’s a late thirteenth or early fourteenth-century Ottoman trading vessel. I suspected as much, but needed to know with certainty. Such a find is actually a rarity in these waters. If we wished to return here tomorrow and spend several days, I’m sure we could map out the entire rest of the site, but this isn’t really what we’re looking for, is it? Best we simply notify the Greek government of the ship’s location once we finish our own investigation for their future study.” She paused. “Besides, it’s not like it’s going anywhere after resting there for the past six or seven centuries.”
David agreed.
Unique though this find might be, they were hunting for something entirely different—and wreckage considerably older. With nothing more to accomplish, he instructed Captain Vassalio to take them back into port for the night.
Tomorrow was another day.
* * * *
Four nautical miles to the southeast, Captain Kharov stood on the bridge of the Varna, observing through high-powered binoculars across his ship’s port bow as the much smaller Argos IV now made its way steadily north toward Benitses. Only when it dwindled into the horizon did he stroke his short beard with a sigh of resignation. From what he’d observed over the past several days, the oligarch and Bedev definitely had reason for alarm. Just as did he! After uncounted hours of planning and painstaking work, their operation was too close to completion to have it suddenly compromised at the last minute.
“What’s the weather forecast?” he asked his first mate beside him, though he suspected he already knew the answer. “Same as today?”
“Afraid so, sir. Calm seas and clear skies. If that boat maintains
its steady progress, I’m guessing it should place them within two miles of here by sometime tomorrow afternoon.”
“Too damn close for my comfort,” responded Kharov, “meaning we’ve no choice but to intervene. I’d hoped otherwise. If we can buy ourselves just a bit more time, then it no longer matters, does it? We’ll be pulling out of here, free and clear.” Knowing this, he then set his binoculars onto a metal shelf. “Is everything prepared?”
“Yes, sir. I chose our two best divers. Should the need warrant, they know exactly what to do.”
Kharov gave a pleased nod.
“Then it’s settled.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Late the following afternoon, knowing they had but one shot at accomplishing their task, two trained divers selected the time and location of their ambush with exacting care and calculation. Thirty-three feet down and just off the sandy bottom, they patiently waited, their eyes probing the clear waters for the expected appearance of their target. Everything depended on perfect timing—that and remaining far enough away to go undetected right up to and including the moment of striking. Achieving one without the other would negate the overall success of their mission.
After a wait of fifteen minutes, their patience finally paid off.
Sixty feet away, the shallow hull of the Argos IV became visible in the pristine water, gradually slowing to a stop as it completed yet another pass. As they knew it would, the ship now followed the same routine it exhibited for the past number of days, turning slightly closer to their position, only to then begin heading back in the opposite direction on a parallel track.
The two men engaged their propeller-driven sea scooters and followed, maneuvering cautiously up behind the towed camera system. Uncertain of its visual and recording capabilities, they stayed well above it and out of view, concentrating instead on the flexible, electronic operation cable. Wasting no time, the lead diver released a lengthy pinch cutter Velcro-strapped to his forearm.
Though the multi-purpose cable was tightly wrapped in tape and somewhat thicker than anticipated, it eventually proved no match for the cutter. Once severed, the compact platform and camera ceased to function, settling down onto the sea floor. Seconds later, both scuba divers headed back and were gone.
The effect of this was instantly apparent aboard the Argos IV.
“Stop!” cried Lana—and a surprised Captain Vassalio threw the boat’s engine into neutral as Omar came over.
“Something interesting show up?” he asked.
“Nothing. That’s just it! The screen’s gone totally blank.”
“An electronic glitch?” asked David.
“Worse, I’m afraid,” she said, rushing up on deck.
She grabbed the control cable and pulling back on it. It was all slack, no resistance—definitely no weight whatsoever on the other end.
Jake and David began hauling up the loose end.
“I don’t understand how this happened. Elizabeth and I were monitoring the screen before it blinked off. There was nothing the least bit unusual down there; a consistently flat, sandy bottom with no coral or sharp outcropping for the unit to get snagged on. What could’ve possibly cut it?”
“Not a question of what,” said David, holding up the retrieved end of the cable, “—but rather who? The camera wasn’t torn free, guys. Look at this. It was purposely cut by mechanical means.”
“What? You sure?”
“Sure as I can be. See how the two sides are evenly pinched inward prior to being severed completely? What other explanation is there?”
None was forthcoming.
“Either way,” Omar finally said with a shake of his head, “Lana and I will suit up and retrieve the unit. Hopefully, it’s suffered no permanent damage.”
David refused Jake’s request to be included.
“No more diving for you until we figure out exactly what’s going on here. You’ll only get in their way, son. They have plenty enough to occupy them. Besides, the depth is a bit beyond your experience. Let’s take no unnecessary chances.”
Though disappointed, the boy accepted this rationale.
Once Lana and Omar had begun their descent, a puzzled Elizabeth turned to David with a perplexed expression on her face.
“Not to throw doubt on your conclusion,” she said, “but what you’re suggesting just doesn’t seem probable. I mean, look around. There’s not another boat in sight. Hasn’t been all day. If someone purposely cut this cable, then he must’ve come from somewhere.”
“I agree. And I think I know from where.”
He turned to his son.
“Jake, go get my binoculars.”
When the boy returned, David passed them to Elizabeth and pointing south to an old, rusting mid-size freighter anchored well over a mile away. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, hon, but during the past several days that ship hasn’t moved location once in all the time we’ve been out here—which is sort of curious all by itself, don’t you think?”
Elizabeth focused on it.
“So you’re saying it’s the likely source of our saboteur?”
“Has to be. As you said, there’s nothing else out here.”
“But why, do you think? Trying to—what?—warn us away?”
“Not sure. But I fully intend finding out. And I know just where and how to begin digging.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
One Day’s Later.
“My people are still running a thorough background trace on that mystery freighter of yours,” said Ted over the speakerphone in David’s suite, “and I must say what we’ve come up with thus far is extremely interesting. The more we probe, the more inclined I am to believe it’s the definite source of your saboteur. There’s something distinctly odd about the ship. Weird, in fact.” He paused for a moment. “Before I continue, can everyone hear me okay?”
David glanced at Lana and Omar. Like Elizabeth and Jake, they were also listening intently, anxious to learn what Ted had to report. Twenty-four very frustrating hours had elapsed since the disabling of their underwater camera system beneath the Argos IV. The damage was beginning to appear irreparable, their attempts at effectively splicing all of the individual lines within the severed control cable so far proved unsuccessful.
“You’re coming through fine, Ted. Go on. Weird in what way?”
“Well, for openers, a preliminary back-check of all our satellite sources has the ship anchored in exactly the same position for much longer than even you realized.”
“How long?”
“At least two months, give or take a week—and, technically speaking, she’s hardly something that can be classified as merely a rusted, old freighter. She may have been prior to her purchase out of Bulgaria, but she sure as hell isn’t one now.”
“Meaning what?”
“Near as we can tell she was completely refurbished over a three year period before taking up her present position.”
“Really?” asked a surprised David. “Are you sure we’re talking about the same ship? From what we saw this one is badly rusted and in definite need of some external care.” He hesitated. “Unless you think she’s purposely being disguised to look the part.”
“Could be the case. Off the top of my head, I’d say probably so. I can’t imagine what other explanation accounts for it. My best computer people are still working on hacking into renovation blueprints of what exactly was done to her. Not an easy task, believe me. With any luck, however, they’ll have something tangible we can all look at in the next few hours.”
“Back up a bit. Where was all this extensive refurbishing done?”
“In one of the smaller Russian shipyards in Novorossiysk, straight across from Bulgaria on the Black Sea.”
“By whom?”
“Curiously, by a relatively new construction company called OAO-Rus that has almost no previous history. The ship itself now operates under a Russian Federation license, by the way—but establishing solid ownership links can be a major problem due to the
way things currently operate over there. From what we’ve uncovered, it appears OAO-Rus may be a classic ‘shell’ company of some sort, hastily put together for one purpose only, its true ownership buried and hidden within several other entities. It depends on just how far you wish me to pursue that particular aspect.”
“I see . . .”
David took a long moment to mentally debate whether or not this would be worth any further investment of Ted’s time. Then a thought struck him. “I’m just curious, but has the name Alexei Talanov popped up anywhere in all this?”
Ted was silent for a few seconds.
“Can’t say that it has,” he then answered. “I’d really have to go back for a second look. Yet the name does somehow strike me as being vaguely familiar. Alexei Talanov, you say? Is this someone I should already know about?”
David caught Elizabeth’s eye and gave a speculative shrug.
“I’m not sure, Ted, but I have the growing feeling it might well be worth checking out. It may all be pure coincidence, of course, but he’s a Russian billionaire currently residing aboard his yacht, Corrina, in the larger of Corfu Town’s two harbors. At least he was as of last week, anyway. I don’t know if this is pertinent, but he’s apparently not only an avid collector of ancient Greek antiquities, but also has strong charitable ties to the Greek government through its Senior Minister of Culture, Andreas Stephanidis. Now that I think about it—and perhaps equally interesting—he’s also rumored to have recently purchased an island somewhere out in the Ionian Sea.”
“You’ve met him?”
“Elizabeth and I both. The man didn’t exactly leave a good impression with either of us.”
“Since I know your opinion concerning coincidences, I’ll definitely put him on my list to investigate. While I’m at it, I’ll set up satellite tabs on any movement of his yacht. Corfu Town’s main harbor, you say?”
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