Read Online Crescent Dawn by Clive; Dirk Cussler Cussler - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Clive; Dirk Cussler Cussler
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vehicle. Pitt pushed the little car to its limits, constantly shifting between second and third gears as he shot down the curving road. Once he pushed it a little too far, sending a hubcap bounding into an elm tree when the back wheel kissed a curb.
The roadway straightened for a short stretch, then ended at a crossroads. Pitt slammed on the brakes, skidding into the empty intersection, as he contemplated which way to turn. A quick glance to either side revealed no traffic and no sign of the van. Pitt thought back to the woman’s remark about the Gülhane Gate. He had no clue where it was but recalled her wave of the pistol. Despite the twists and turns he had driven, he was certain that she had motioned to what was now his right. Jamming the gearshift into first, he stomped on the gas and popped the clutch, shooting off down the paved road to his left.
The wide canopies of aged oak trees whizzed by overhead as he accelerated hard, following the road as it faded to the right. Dropping down a low hill, he came to another crossroads. This time, he spotted a road sign in English, “Exit,” with an arrow pointing to the right. Slowing only slightly, he screeched through the turn with a squeal of blistering rubber, the Volkswagen drifting into the oncoming lane that was thankfully devoid of traffic.
The road opened onto an extended straightaway that led through the Imperial Gate. Pitt could sense an increase in light radiating ahead, as the trees and shrubs of the palace grounds gave way to the crowded urbanization of Istanbul’s ancient city center. Staring down the road, Pitt caught a glimpse of taillights turning just outside the gate.
It was the van.
Pitt felt a surge of hope as he held the throttle down and raced to the gate. The thieves must have been right, he thought. If the Istanbul police were responding to the alarm, they hadn’t yet made it to the Imperial Gate. As he approached the gate, he caught a glimpse of what appeared to be the bodies of two Turkish soldiers lying beside the road.
He ignored the sight, bursting past the gate and making a sharp right turn, slowing to avoid a loud squeal of tires. A glance ahead revealed that the van had cut south, down a perpendicular boulevard. Pitt quickly followed suit, flicking off his headlights as he made a sharp turn, then closed in on the van.
A congested mass of cars and people by day, the city’s historic Sultanahmet center was oddly quiet late at night. Pitt sped around a beat-up taxicab, then slowed as he saw the van stopped at a traffic light.
They were traveling past Hagia Sophia, one of the grandest monuments surviving from the Byzantine era. Built as a basilica by the Roman Emperor Justinian and later converted to a mosque, it stood as the largest domed building in the world for almost a thousand years. Its ancient frescoes and mosaics, along with its towering architecture, made it one of Istanbul’s most important cultural landmarks.
The van turned right again, crossing Sultanahmet Square and the forecourt of Hagia Sophia, where a handful of tourists milled about, taking photos of the illuminated exterior. Pitt tried to edge closer to the van but was cut off by a pair of taxis pulling away from the curb.
The van slowed its pace to avoid attention as a police wagon stormed by on a cross street with its lights and siren blazing, heading up the hill toward Topkapi. The small congregation of vehicles moved out of the square and down a block before stopping at a red light. A rusty garbage truck ambled down the cross street, then stopped near the corner to pick up a pile of trash. The truck momentarily blocked the van, which was wedged from behind by one of the taxis.
Sitting two cars behind that, Pitt watched a slow-moving garbageman attack the trash pile and decided the situation afforded him the chance to act. Without hesitation, he leaped out of the Karmann Ghia and rushed toward the back of the van, crouching low while hugging the sides of the
The roadway straightened for a short stretch, then ended at a crossroads. Pitt slammed on the brakes, skidding into the empty intersection, as he contemplated which way to turn. A quick glance to either side revealed no traffic and no sign of the van. Pitt thought back to the woman’s remark about the Gülhane Gate. He had no clue where it was but recalled her wave of the pistol. Despite the twists and turns he had driven, he was certain that she had motioned to what was now his right. Jamming the gearshift into first, he stomped on the gas and popped the clutch, shooting off down the paved road to his left.
The wide canopies of aged oak trees whizzed by overhead as he accelerated hard, following the road as it faded to the right. Dropping down a low hill, he came to another crossroads. This time, he spotted a road sign in English, “Exit,” with an arrow pointing to the right. Slowing only slightly, he screeched through the turn with a squeal of blistering rubber, the Volkswagen drifting into the oncoming lane that was thankfully devoid of traffic.
The road opened onto an extended straightaway that led through the Imperial Gate. Pitt could sense an increase in light radiating ahead, as the trees and shrubs of the palace grounds gave way to the crowded urbanization of Istanbul’s ancient city center. Staring down the road, Pitt caught a glimpse of taillights turning just outside the gate.
It was the van.
Pitt felt a surge of hope as he held the throttle down and raced to the gate. The thieves must have been right, he thought. If the Istanbul police were responding to the alarm, they hadn’t yet made it to the Imperial Gate. As he approached the gate, he caught a glimpse of what appeared to be the bodies of two Turkish soldiers lying beside the road.
He ignored the sight, bursting past the gate and making a sharp right turn, slowing to avoid a loud squeal of tires. A glance ahead revealed that the van had cut south, down a perpendicular boulevard. Pitt quickly followed suit, flicking off his headlights as he made a sharp turn, then closed in on the van.
A congested mass of cars and people by day, the city’s historic Sultanahmet center was oddly quiet late at night. Pitt sped around a beat-up taxicab, then slowed as he saw the van stopped at a traffic light.
They were traveling past Hagia Sophia, one of the grandest monuments surviving from the Byzantine era. Built as a basilica by the Roman Emperor Justinian and later converted to a mosque, it stood as the largest domed building in the world for almost a thousand years. Its ancient frescoes and mosaics, along with its towering architecture, made it one of Istanbul’s most important cultural landmarks.
The van turned right again, crossing Sultanahmet Square and the forecourt of Hagia Sophia, where a handful of tourists milled about, taking photos of the illuminated exterior. Pitt tried to edge closer to the van but was cut off by a pair of taxis pulling away from the curb.
The van slowed its pace to avoid attention as a police wagon stormed by on a cross street with its lights and siren blazing, heading up the hill toward Topkapi. The small congregation of vehicles moved out of the square and down a block before stopping at a red light. A rusty garbage truck ambled down the cross street, then stopped near the corner to pick up a pile of trash. The truck momentarily blocked the van, which was wedged from behind by one of the taxis.
Sitting two cars behind that, Pitt watched a slow-moving garbageman attack the trash pile and decided the situation afforded him the chance to act. Without hesitation, he leaped out of the Karmann Ghia and rushed toward the back of the van, crouching low while hugging the sides of the
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