by Lynn Sholes
ThePitcairn's bridge flashed with gunfire and the deck bloomed with scarlet ribbons of blood as one-by-one the soldiers were taken down before they had a chance to react and shoot back. In quick succession, muted thuds from the KGB agents' guns cut down the Korean TV crew scrambling to escape. Cotten heard bodies fall onto the steel floor, bringing with them the crash of stands and equipment. It took only seconds for the carnage to end and the ship's bridge to fall quiet.
UNDERWAY
167
"Are you insane?" the interpreter said, trying to lift herself up as blood dripped from her lip. She looked around at the dead bodies with fear in her eyes.
"Do you realize what you have done?"
Colonel Ivanov kept his pistol pressed against the General Secretary's head as he glanced at her. "Speak again and we will need new translator." He looked at his friends. "Okay lazy bastards, must get ship underway." He grabbed the General Secretary by the arm and hoisted him up from his chair. "Bullshit interview over." He shoved the Korean leader up against the back wall of the bridge and forced him to sit on the floor.
Alexei and Krystof kicked bodies out of their way as they yanked cables from the lights and smashed cameras, leaving the bridge lit only by one remaining TV light and the glow from the ship's instruments.
Ivanov forced the interpreter through the door to the outside deck facing the park. "Tell soldiers Korean boss wants to go for boat ride. Tell them cast off lines." He emphasized his words by squeezing her arm.
"I will not!" She stood defiant until he pulled her wrist behind her and into an awkward position up her back. She groaned.
"Last chance to translate for Vladimir." He jerked her arm higher, causing the woman to bend over with a shriek.
"All right," she said, breathless, and shouted the orders in Korean.
Cotten watched the soldiers along the deck hesitate as if uncertain what to do. It also attracted the attention of the men in the park. They turned and stared toward the ship, obviously confused by the fact that black smoke poured from the exhaust funnels as the engines roared.
"Tell them get off ship," Ivanov said, shoving her arm upwards.
Cotten expected to hear the woman's bones breaking at any second.
The Korean called out the orders again, and the soldiers began making their way down the gangway to the shore. Others ran to pull the heavy cables off the dockside mooring posts and drop them into the water.
Ivanov heaved the woman back through the door to the bridge. "Clear," he called to Victor.
Cotten watched the former Russian destroyer captain jam the throttles forward and spin the wheel to port. She heard the sound of metal grinding and ripping as the gangway pulled free of the deck and fell with a huge splash into the river. The bow of thePitcairn inched away from shore and moved past the stern of the Pueblo, missing the old ship by inches.
Through the window overlooking the park, Cotten saw the officials running around in panic as they must have finally understood what was happening—their Dear Leader was taken hostage. It was then that she realized something was wrong—someone was missing.
Cotten turned and scanned the bridge, counting heads and searching faces. "Where is Dr. Chung?"
Ivanov jerked up as he looked around the shadowy confines of the ship's bridge.
168
Cotten spun back to the window. In the glow of the spotty streetlamps beyond the park, she saw a black Mercedes limousine shoot away from the curb. In an instant she knew the Black Needles mastermind had escaped.
***
Moon's anger blazed as the accelerating car slammed her back into the leather seat. "Faster!" she screamed to the young soldier she had commandeered from the park. The Stone woman was about to ruin everything. All of Moon's plans, her years of work, teetered on the brink of collapse. She pounded her fist into the armrest. How could this have happened? How could Dear Leader have put so much trust in the mysterious Old Man and allowed him to bring that vile woman into their midst?
All Moon needed to do was get back to the lab and give the final attack commands. And that was what she intended to do. Two days premature should not make a difference at this point. The result would be the same—fear, panic, death. She did not need Dear Leader. She was the avenging angel about to strike. From her fingers, she would send the computer message and launch her terrible plague. She did it for her country. For her parents. The imperialist aggressors would pay for their crimes. She was judge and jury. And she had reached a verdict.
"Faster!" she ordered.
THE DECISION
The reaction of the Korean authorities was swift. ThePitcairn had not traveled more than a quarter of a mile before the emergency lights of police vehicles appeared on both sides of the broad Taedong River. Soon after that, a number of small police boats sped out of the darkness and began circling. As the ship slipped under the Chungsong Bridge and passed by Turu Island, larger naval gunboats roared at them from both directions, followed by combat helicopter gunships circling overhead. Searchlights lit up the research vessel, and shrill commands amplified from the speaker systems of the gunboats blasted the Pitcairn with what Cotten knew had to be orders to halt and shut down.
"They are demanding you stop immediately," the interpreter said. "Or they will fire upon us."
"And risk killing big-shot boss?" Ivanov said, tapping the pistol barrel on the top of the General Secretary's head. "No chance." He turned to Cotten. "We keep going, right?"
"We have no choice," she said, despondent over Dr. Chung's escape.
The General Secretary spoke, and his assistant interpreted. "Dear Leader
169
informs you that you have failed. Dr. Chung is going to the lab to give the final Black Needles launch order. There is nothing you can do to stop her. He says that if you give up now he will see to it that your lives are spared."
Victor had pushed the throttles to their stops, causing the ship to pick up speed along the river. He turned to the others. "We stop, we die. Korean pricks are lying bastards."
The woman said something to the General Secretary and he replied. Then she said, "Dear Leader assures you that you will not be executed. Your mission has failed. Once Dr. Chung issues the final launch commands, there is nothing you or anyone can do to stop what will happen next. Give up now and you will be shown—"
Colonel Ivanov reared his hand back in a threat to strike her. She grimaced, but the blow never came. Instead, he said, "Shut mouth or I shut for you."
Feeling the weight of looming defeat pushing her down, Cotten dropped into her chair as her thoughts raced. She watched the searchlights sweep over the decks of thePitcairn and flood the bridge with blinding light. The whooping of the helicopters overhead shook her dwindling courage, and the blast of the bullhorn commands kept her from concentrating. It had seemed like such a simple plan to kidnap the Korean leader and Dr. Chung, and escape on the ship. Now, with Chung gone, the General Secretary was right. Dr. Chung would issue the orders and there would be no stopping the virus from killing millions, and the world as she knew it from coming apart. Cotten felt she was resisting the inevitable. At some point, the military would storm the ship and rescue the General Secretary. She and her friends would wind up dead or spending the rest of their lives in a Korean prison. Either way, it was time to make a decision—
surrender and cut her losses.
She stood, composing her words in her head to give Victor the order to shut the ship's engines down. At least she had saved John. She slipped her hand in her pocket and touched his crucifix, and suddenly she realized she had a solution.
The answer had been there all along, but somehow she hadn't seen it. Her hand closed around the cross. Cotten shook her head in dismay at her lack of faith, and she smiled at the simple clarity of what she had to do.
"I'm going to leave you for a while," she said.
Everyone's head turned in her direction. The interpreter whispered to the General Secretary, and he donned a confused express
ion.
"What?" Colonel Ivanov asked. "No place to go."
"It's something I must do," Cotten said. "Trust me. I have no choice. I should have done this before now, before I put your lives at risk."
"You have lost mind," Krystof said, standing beside the exit from the bridge to the deck. "Go outside and they fill you with bullets."
Cotten stood beside Krystof and placed her palm on his cheek. "Trust me like I trusted you." Then she opened the heavy metal door and stepped into the
170
glare of the searchlights.
Remember ye implored The assistance of your Lord, And He answered you: "I will assist you With a thousand of the angels, Ranks on ranks." —Koran vs. viii. 9
STARDUST
Cotten stood on the open deck of thePitcairn, knowing she was an exposed target for the Korean snipers. But she had to trust, had to believe. She must force back the Darkness or it would win.
Trembling, Cotten lifted John's cross and chain from her pocket and raised it in her clenched fist toward the sky.
"I call upon the Almighty Creator of the Universe to send down His Heavenly Host. I call upon His legions of angels and archangels to bring His swift and just wrath upon this place. I call upon the armies of Heaven to stand beside me and strike out at the Darkness."
The ship picked up speed along the Taedong River, and she had to shield her eyes with her arm from the lights of the hundreds of military vehicles and circling aircraft that illuminated the vessel. Cotten closed her eyes, knowing that she had played her last card.
There was nothing more to be done. Either her gamble would work, or she was breathing her last breath.
"I pity you, Daughter of Furmiel," the Old Man said, coming to stand beside her on the ship's deck. "Why can't you just acquiesce to the fact that you have lost? There is no reason for you to stand here risking your life. Do you not understand that you have finally come home? Your real family welcomes you with open arms. Embrace your fate, your heritage, your true calling. Have I not given you what you wish? Do not be afraid. This is what you are, what you were meant to be."
Her anger grew as the Darkness inside her swelled. Hate festered inside. She wanted to reach out and rip open his flesh, spill his wicked blood on the steel plates at her feet.
Cotten pressed her fingers to her temples. She had to fight back. It was him putting the hate into her mind. It was his evil rankling inside her. The true meaning of the Darkness was showing itself.
"Embrace your family, Daughter of Furmiel," the Old Man said, his voice reminding her of a serpent's hiss.
Cotten had to still his voice, to rid herself of him. What had she learned along this journey of life?Think, Cotten, think. Concentrate. The thoughts came slow at first, deliberately constructed, then gained momentum until they tumbled like water over the falls. The blood that flowed through her was not only that of the Fallen.
She carried the bloodline of the angels.
171
Those who had chosen to fall from grace had done so of their own free will—their choosing. But their blood was still the same as all angels. And inside her flowed the heritage of those angels of Heaven as well as what God regarded as his most precious creation—man. The realization that she was the perfect mix of natural and supernatural made her quiver. Now, for the first time in her long, strange journey, she understood.
Perhaps the passage into the Darkness was the only way for her to be shown the truth and who she really was—to make her aware of the goodness inside her. The fact that she was standing there, resisting, fighting, rejecting the Darkness, was the real proof of life—her life.
Turning away from the Old Man, she raised her arm, letting the cross dangle from her hand. Tears flowed down her cheeks as the floodlights glimmered off the metal's surface.
But this time the light took on a strange, ethereal transformation. Instead of reflecting off the metal, it appeared to be emitting from the surface. Like golden waves on a glistening ocean, its brilliance grew to a blinding white that rushed across the surface of the river and up onto the shore. It swept through the air in a flash of blast-furnace intensity.
Then it transformed again, breaking apart into smaller fragments. Each fragment formed a star-shape that spun like a top. The sound of the spinning filled the air to a whirling roar as thousands, then millions of stars covered the surrounding river and enveloped the ship. As the stars spun, they showered down sparkling dust that settled upon the vessel, giving it the appearance of being coated with crushed diamonds.
"What is this?" the Old Man said, glancing around. He seemed to be taken aback by the transforming light. "A trick? Do you honestly believe you can trick me? There is no form of deceit that I did not invent."
"Maybe you missed one," Cotten said.
For he shall give his angels charge over you, to keep you in all your ways. They shall bear you up in their hands, lest you dash your foot against a stone. —
Psalm 91:11-12
THUNDERCLAP
Even in the blinding glow of the stardust, Cotten saw the fiery hate filling the Old Man's eyes as his face contorted with rage.
"Did you think you could outwit me?" he said. "I gave you every chance I could to make you one of us. But you have denied the truth—down deep in your soul you are just like me."
Cotten met his glare with equal determination. "I am nothing like you."
"It no longer matters, Daughter of Furmiel. It is over—you have lost. For I am about to consume this place in the fires of hell."
In the next instant, Cotten saw them coming up the river. A few at first,
172
then more and more. Tiny pinpoints of pale red light gathering and multiplying.
Fireflies. She immediately recognized them as demons taking the form of innocent-looking insects—Satan's legion summoned
to do his bidding. Their deceiving glow reflected off the Taedong River like tiny rubies.
Cotten turned toward the stern of the ship and saw an equal number of fireflies coming from the direction of the city of Pyongyang. Thousands, perhaps millions of tiny dots of light swarming toward her.
When the first wave of fireflies met the spinning stars, an ear-splitting thunderclap cracked across the water and shook the ship, sending Cotten crashing to the deck. The blinding glare of the stardust caused her to again shield her eyes.
Another thunderclap, like a supersonic jet breaking the sound barrier, slammed into the steel skin of thePitcairn. For a second, Cotten believed the rivets holding the vessel together would pop from the metal and cause it to break apart.
Standing over her was the Old Man. He seemed frozen in place, staring straight ahead, fixated on the raging battle taking place around him. At times, he fell out of focus like the distortion of an image through heat rising.
Cotten felt the ship gaining speed, and she strained to see the shore in the blinding white light of the spinning stars. ThePitcairn was well beyond the city, passing forests and countryside, their details shooting by like raindrops on the window of a speeding car. Great foaming waves, caused by the momentum of the racing ship, folded from its bow and rushed toward the banks.
She tried to stand, but with each attempt she was thrown back to the deck as the concussion from another thunderclap slammed into the ship.
And with each blast, the stars spun faster, causing the fireflies' glow and numbers to diminish.
Cotten strained to see the Old Man, wondering just what he saw through his eyes. Could he see the angels themselves? Or his demons? His shape undulated, becoming a mirage as he watched the Host of Heaven and the Forces of Hell collide in a raging battle.
A scorching wind screamed across the deck like a gale over the crest of a desert dune. Stinging pinpricks blasted Cotten's skin, the sand-like particles spraying off the dissolving form of the Old Man as the wind eroded his body. His features disappeared until only his clothes whipped and snapped. Then they, too, rose up onto the blistering cyclone and disappeared into t
he stardust.
***
The ship trembled and quaked, shuddering all the way to its keel. The General Secretary cried out as he was thrown against a bulkhead of the bridge.
"Dear Leader!" the interpreter called.
He lay on the floor. "Where are my soldiers? My army? Why have they not
173
come to rescue me?"
A moment later, parts of the ship's interior—the instruments, the helm, and the controls—flashed before falling back into the darkness that had engulfed the bridge since Cotten left.
"Am I dying?" he cried.
The lights flickered again, illuminating the bodies scattered around the deck. The cycle of deafening thunder and the flashes of light followed by darkness went on for what seemed like hours until the ship suddenly stopped rocking and shaking. A dead calm fell over the vessel.