Crescent Dawn

“It’s a viable motivation,” Braxton agreed, “but they’d certainly be playing with fire if they got caught with dirty hands.”

O’Qui

“I have to disagree, sir,” he said. “These bombings don’t have the earmark of the Iranians. It would certainly represent a new level of external extremism that we haven’t seen before.”

“You’re not giving me much else to go on, O’Qui

“He’s entered the presidential race, as we feared. He and his party would certainly benefit from any outrage in the fundamentalist community that these bombings may incite. It raises the point that these attacks may be linked to specific political goals rather than general terrorist tactics. As for Battal, we’re monitoring his activities closely, but we’ve yet to witness any pattern of coercive tactics so far. We certainly have no hard proof of a link, at this point.”

“So you’ve got nothing there. Perhaps the question you boys need to be thinking about is where they intend to strike next.”

“The targets have clearly been growing in significance,” O’Qui

“And they’ve been denied in their latest outing, which ought to scare us all, in what they might be pla

“The Kaaba in Mecca might be a possible target. I’ll see to it that the Saudis are advised to increase security,” O’Qui

“We’ve got analysts working overtime on the matter,” the CIA man added. In the true Washington vernacular of helplessness, he added, “We’re doing everything we can.”

Braxton brushed off the comment with a glare. “Let me tell you what to do,” Braxton said, leaning forward over his desk while eyeballing both intelligence men with ire. “It’s really a simple exercise to put a stop to this. All you have to do,” he said, his voice rising to a fever pitch, “is find me the rest of those explosives!”

52

The Ottoman Star eased into the cove north of the Dardanelles late in the afternoon, docking at the long pier that now stood empty. Beneath the adjacent rippled waters, the sunken workboat still sat on the sandy bottom, waiting for the shore crane and a dive crew to raise it from the depths.

Standing on the ship’s bridge, Maria was surprised to note her brother’s Jaguar parked on the dock. Celik watched as the ship approached the pier, then emerged from the Jaguar’s backseat as the mooring lines were secured. He briskly stepped down the quay with an attaché case tucked under his arm and boarded the ship.

“I wasn’t expecting you to meet me here, Ozden,” Maria said by way of a greeting.

“Time is short,” he replied, gazing about the bridge with an agitated expression. The captain and helmsman caught his drift and quickly stepped off the bridge, leaving Celik alone with his sister.

“I heard that the police searched the facilities after we departed,” Maria said. “Is it not dangerous for you to be here?”

Celik smirked. “The local police have been well paid to look after our interests. They paid a cursory visit and were kept away from the warehouses.” The police investigators reminded him of the assault by the NUMA men, and he subconsciously rubbed the spot on his head where Pitt had clubbed him.

“Those Americans will pay for their intrusion,” he said in a guttural tone. “But we have more important matters to address first.”

Maria braced for the onslaught over the failure at Jerusalem, but the expected outburst never materialized. Celik quietly gazed out the forward window, eyeing the empty dock.

“Where is the Sultana ?”

“I left it in Beirut to complete the repair work. The crew will bring her to Istanbul in a few days.”

Celik nodded, then stepped close to his sister.

“Now, tell me, Maria, why did the mission fail?”

“I am uncertain myself,” she replied calmly. “The primary charge failed to detonate. It was set with multiple fuzes, and I am positive it was staged properly. There must have been outside interference. Even the secondary charge should have produced more damage. I suspect the Israeli archaeologist who was killed may have somehow disabled some of the charges.”

“The results were disappointing,” Celik replied, suppressing his usual vitriol, “but I am thankful for your safe return.”

“We put the Lebanese smugglers ashore in Tripoli on the voyage back, so the Israelis have nowhere to search and no trail to follow.”

“You have always covered your tracks well, Maria.”

Despite his unusually calm demeanor, she could see the distress in his face.

“How is the Mufti faring?” she asked.

“He is campaigning like a professional politician and has won the public support of some key members of the Grand National Assembly. But he is still trailing in the polls by at least five percentage points, and we have just days to go before the election.” He looked at her with an admonishing gaze. “The Jerusalem attack failed to give us the boost that is necessary for us to win.”

“Perhaps it is beyond our control,” she said.

Maria’s words suddenly released the anger that Celik had kept bottled up.

“No!” he shouted. “We are too close. We must not fail to seize the opportunity. The restoration of our family empire is at stake,” he said, nearly tasting the power of his own pla

“The Golden Horn?”

“Yes,” he replied, opening his attaché case and pulling out a map. “The intercept must occur tomorrow night,” he said, handing her a folder. “Enclosed is the target ship’s schedule and route. Can you be ready?”

Maria looked at her brother with trepidation.

“Yes, I believe so,” she said quietly.

“Good. There is a team of Janissaries waiting to board the ship who will act in support of the operation. I will be counting on you.”

“Ozden, are you sure you want to do this?” she asked. “The risks are high. It will mean the death of a great many of our own countrymen. And I fear the repercussions if we don’t succeed.”

Celik stared at his sister with a gaze born of delusion, then nodded firmly.

“It is the only way.”

53

Abel Hammet watched the rays of the setting sun sparkle like balls of fire atop the loafing waves of the Mediterranean. Standing on an open bridge wing, the Israeli ship captain watched the sun drop beneath the horizon, ushering in a welcome evening breeze. Sucking in deep breaths of the cool air, he swore he could detect the smell of Turkish pine trees from the shoreline ahead. Peering over the distant prow of his vessel, he could just begin making out a few twinkling lights along the southern Turkish coast. Temporarily refreshed, he stepped back onto the bridge of the Dayan to complete his watch.

At just under a hundred meters in length, the Dayan was a relatively small tanker, certainly minuscule in comparison to the supertankers that plied oil from the Persian Gulf. Though sharing most of the characteristics of the crude carriers, she had actually been purpose-built for a slightly different cargo: fresh water. Spurred by a recent trade agreement, the Israeli government had three identical vessels constructed to transport water to its dry and dusty shores.

Sitting two hundred and fifty miles across the Mediterranean from Israel, Turkey was one of the few countries in the arid region that actually possessed a surplus of fresh water. Controlling the headwaters of both the Tigris and Euphrates, as well as other rich highland rivers, it sat on a strategic resource that would only grow in importance in the coming decades. Tapping it as a new export, the country had agreed to sell a tiny fraction of its water to Israel in a trial trade deal.