"You wouldn't be, either, if you worked on that mangy derelict," Dirk
said as he steadied the Sikorsky in a hover just aft of the churning
boat. "Anything strike you as odd about that fishing boat?" he asked,
eyeing the stern deck.
"You mean the fact that no fishing equipment is anywhere to be seen?"
"Precisely," Dirk replied, inching the helicopter closer to the boat.
He noted an odd trestle mounted in the center of the deck, built up
approximately fifteen feet high. No streaks of rust could be seen on
the metal framing, indicating it was a recent addition to the boat. In
a star-shaped pattern at the base of the trestle was a gray powdery
marking that appeared singed into the surface of the deck.
As the helicopter crept closer, the two men on deck suddenly began
jabbering animately with each other, then ducked down a stairwell. At
the head of the stairwell, five sea lion carcasses were stretched out
on the deck side by side like sardines in a tin. To the left of the
corpses was a small steel pen, which contained three live sea lions.
"Since when has the demand for seal blubber surpassed the market for
crab legs?" Dahlgren said idly.
"Not sure, but I don't think Nanook of the North would be too happy
about these guys stealing his dinner."
Then came the flash of fire. Dirk detected it out of the corner of his
eye and instinctively pressed hard on the left foot pedal, throwing the
Sikorsky into a quick half spin. The move saved their lives. As the
helicopter began to turn, a spray of bullets found their mark and burst
into the machine. But rather than smashing into the forward section of
the cockpit, the hail of fire entered in front of the pilots and ripped
into the instrument panel. The console, gauges, and radio shattered
into bits, but the pilots and critical mechanical components went
unharmed.
"Guess they didn't like the Nanook comment," Dahlgren dead-panned as he
watched the two men in jumpsuits reappear and fire into the helicopter
with automatic rifles.
Dirk said nothing as he throttled up the Sikorsky to its maximum thrust
and attempted to swing clear of the gunmen. On the port half deck of
the trawler, the two men were continuing to fire their Russian-made
AK-74s at the helicopter. Without contemplating their target, they
foolishly aimed their fire at the cabin rather than the more
susceptible rotors. Inside the helicopter, the rackety sound of the
machine-gun fire was lost to the whine of the engine and rotors. Dirk
and Dahlgren could hear only a slight tapping behind them on the
fuselage.
Dirk wheeled the helicopter around in a wide arc to the starboard side
of the trawler, putting the ship's bridge between him and the gunmen,
shielding themselves from the gunfire. Temporarily free from attack,
he muscled the helicopter level, then aimed it toward the island of
Amukta looming in the distance.
But the damage had been done. The cockpit began filling with smoke as
Dirk fought the fiercely bucking controls. The rain of lead had
smashed into the electronics, pierced hydraulic lines, and riddled the
control gauges. Dahlgren detected a warm trickle on his ankle and felt
down to find a neat hole shot through his calf. Several rounds had
also found the turbine, but still the rotor chugged on, coughing and
cajoling itself in gasps.
"I'll try for the island, but be prepared to ditch," Dirk shouted over
the racket of the disintegrating engine. A foul blue smoke filled the
cockpit, accompanied by the acrid odor of burning wiring. Through the
haze, Dirk could barely make out the island ahead, and what looked like
a small beach.
In his hands, the control stick shook like a jackhammer. Dirk used all
his strength to hold the craft steady and willed it forward as it began
to shake itself apart. Agonizingly close, he could see the shoreline
beckoning as the aircraft lurched ahead low to the sea, smoke belching
its wheels skimming just above the surf. But just short of the
shoreline, the shot-up turbine could take no more. Digesting a handful
of its own parts, the turbine wailed before grinding to a halt with a
loud pop.
As the turbine died, Dirk pulled on the collective control lever with
all his might to keep the nose up as power to the rotors was lost. The
tail rotor sliced down into the water, acting as an anchor to slow the
forward progress of the entire craft. The Sikorsky hung suspended for
a moment in the air before gravity caught up and the cabin dropped to
the water, slapping the surface with a smack. The main rotor spun into
the surf, attempting to whip through the sea, but the sudden impact
with the water cracked the main spindle and the entire rotor
cartwheeled off to the side fifty feet before sinking in a spray of
foam.
The cabin of the Sikorsky remarkably held together during the crash and
bobbed on the surface for a second before being sucked under the waves.
Through the smashed windshield, Dirk caught a glimpse of a wave
breaking over a sandy beach before the icy water filled the cockpit and
stung his body. Dahlgren was trying to kick out a side-panel door as
the green water enveloped them rapidly, rising to the cockpit ceiling.
In unison, each man raised his head and took a last gasp of air before
the murky cold water rose over them. Then the turquoise helicopter
disappeared completely from the surface in a swirl of bubbles, sinking
swiftly to the rocky seafloor.
Captain Burch immediately launched a search-and-rescue mission after he
lost radio contact with Dirk and Dahlgren. He brought the Deep
Endeavor to Dirk's last reported position, then began a visual search
for the two men, sailing west in a zigzag pattern from Yunaska to
Amukta. Every available crewman was called to the deck to scan the
horizon for signs of the men or helicopter, while in the ship's radio
shack the radioman continued a tireless call for the missing
aircraft.
After three hours of searching, no trace was found of the helicopter
and an apprehensive dread fell over the ship's crew. The Deep Endeavor
had worked its way close to Amukta Island, which was little more than a
steep volcanic cone popping out of the sea. Dusk was approaching and
the sky turned a purplish red on the western horizon as the day's light
slowly diminished. Executive Officer Leo Delgado was studying the
steep shape of the mountainous island when a faint blur caught his
eye.
"Captain, there's smoke on the shoreline," he reported, pointing a
finger toward the hazy spot on the island.
Burch held a pair of binoculars to his eyes and looked intently at the
spot for several moments.
"Burning debris, sir?" Delgado asked, fearful of the answer.
"Perhaps. Or it could be a signal fire. Can't tell from here.
Delgado, take two men in the Zodiac and see what you can find on shore.
I'll bring the ship in behind you as close as I can get."
"Yes, sir," Delgado responded, already crossing the bridge before the
captain had finis
hed speaking.
A gusty breeze had kicked up, making the evening seas choppy by the
time the Zodiac was lowered into the water. Delgado and the two
crewmen got doused with cold sea spray repeatedly as the rubber boat
bounced over the swells in their anxious drive to the shore. The skies
were nearly dark and the helmsmen had a difficult time tracking the
wisps of smoke against the black backdrop of the peaked island. The
island appeared to be surrounded by a steep and rocky shoreline and
Delgado wondered whether they would even be able to get ashore.
Finally, he spotted a quick glimpse of the fire's flame and directed
the Zodiac toward it. A small channel through the rocks opened up,
leading to a pebble-strewn patch of beach. Gunning the motor to ride
the crest of a wave in, the twelve-foot rubber boat bounded through the
channel and ground to the shore with a crunch as the hull plate scraped
some small rocks before sliding to a stop.
Delgado jumped out of the inflatable boat and ran apprehensively toward
the smoky fire. Two shadowy figures could be seen hunched over the
smoldering driftwood fire trying to keep warm, their backs turned to
Delgado.
"Pitt? Dahlgren? Are you guys okay?" Delgado shouted out hesitantly
before approaching too close.
The two soggy-looking derelicts slowly turned toward Delgado as if
rudely interrupted from an important meeting. Dahlgren was holding a
half-eaten crab claw in one hand, while the head of a white
mouse peeked out of his chest pocket sniffing the night air. Dirk
stood holding a sharp stick, the end of which pierced the shell of a
huge Alaskan king crab whose spiny legs Dirk dangled over the open
flame.
"Well," Dirk said, tearing a steaming leg off the big crustacean, "we
could use some lemon and butter."
After briefing Burch on their encounter with the fishing trawler, Dirk
and Dahlgren limped to the ship's medical station for treatment of
their wounds and to slip into some dry clothes. Dahlgren's bullet
wound had pierced the meaty section of his left calf but, fortunately,
had missed damaging any tendons. As the ship's doctor inserted sutures
to close up the wound, Dahlgren nonchalantly lit up a cigar while lying
on the examination table. When the smoke hit the physician's nostrils,
he nearly ripped out the sutures by hand before forcing Dahlgren to
douse the smelly tobacco. With a grin, the doctor handed Dahlgren a
pair of crutches and told him to stay off his leg for three days.
Dirk had his bloodied cheek and forehead cleaned and bandaged after
catching a face full of shattered glass when the helicopter hit the
surf. Remarkably, the two men incurred no other injuries from the
crash and sinking of the Sikorsky. Dirk had saved them from drowning
when he noticed a fuselage door had popped off during the crash
landing. After the helicopter filled with water, Dirk grabbed Dahlgren
and swam out the opening and made for the surface. With the aid of
Dahlgren's trusty Zippo lighter, they were able to ignite some dry
driftwood on the beach and stave off hypothermia until Delgado arrived
in the rubber boat.
Captain Burch, meanwhile, reported the loss of the helicopter to NUMA
headquarters, as well as reporting the incident to the Coast Guard and
the Atka village public safety officer. The nearest Coast Guard patrol
vessel was hundreds of miles away at Attu Is
land. Information about the fishing trawler was reported in detail but
the odds for an interdiction were slim at best.
After donning a black turtleneck sweater and jeans, Dirk made his way
to the wheelhouse. Burch was leaning over the chart table plotting a
course through the Aleutian Islands.
"Aren't we heading back to Yunaska to retrieve the bodies of the Coast
Guardsmen?" Dirk asked.
Burch shook his head. "Not our job. Better to leave them be and allow
the proper authorities to handle the investigation. I'm laying a
course for the fishing port at Unalaska to disembark the CDC
scientists."
"I'd rather make for that trawler," Dirk said.
"We've lost our helicopter and they have an eight-hour lead on us. We'd
be lucky to find them, assuming we could even outrun them. The Navy,
Coast Guard, and local authorities have all been alerted to your
description. They have a better chance of finding that trawler than we
do."
"Perhaps, but their resources are all thin in this part of the world.
Those chances are slim at best."
"There's little more we can do. Our survey work is finished and we
need to get those injured scientists appropriate medical care. There's
no sense in hanging around any longer."
Dirk nodded. "You're right, of course." Wishing there was a way to
find the trawler, he headed down the ladder to the ship's galley for a
cup of coffee. Dinner had long since been served and a cleanup crew
was working over the kitchen before shutting down. Dirk filled a mug
of coffee from a large silver urn, then turned and spotted Sarah
sitting in a wheelchair at the end of the dining hall. The
golden-haired woman sat alone at a table, peering out a large porthole
at the moonlit water outside. She was dressed in the dull medical ward
attire of cotton pajamas, slippers, and a blue robe but still gave off
a vibrant glow. As Dirk approached, she looked up and her eyes
twinkled.
"Too late for dinner?" he asked apologetically.
"Afraid so. You missed the chef's special Halibut Oscar, which was
truly excellent."
"Just my luck," Dirk replied, drawing a chair and sitting down directly
across from her.
"What happened to you?" Sarah asked with concern in her voice as she
eyed the bandages on Dirk's face.
"Just a little accident with the helicopter. I don't think my boss is
going to like the news," he said with a grimace, thinking about the
expensive helicopter sitting at the bottom of the sea. Dirk proceeded
to describe the events of the flight, all the while gazing intently
into Sarah's hazel-colored eyes.
"Do you think the fishing boat had something to do with the death of
the Coast Guardsmen and us getting sick?" she asked.
"It only goes to figure. They obviously weren't too keen on us seeing
them poaching sea lions, or whatever else they were up to."
"The sea lions," Sarah murmured. "Did you see any sea lions on the
west end of the island when you flew over?"
"Yes, Jack spotted several just past the Coast Guard-station on the
western shore. They all appeared to be dead."
"Do you think the Deep Endeavor could obtain one of the cadavers to
study? I could arrange to have the specimen sent to the state lab in
Washington we are working out of."
"Captain Burch isn't eager to stick around the area, but I'm sure I can
convince him to retrieve one for scientific purposes," Dirk said before
taking a long draw from his coffee. "We are actually headed back to
port in Seattle, so could deliver it there in a few more days."
"We could perform an autopsy of
the animal and determine the source of
death relatively quickly. I'm sure the Alaska state authorities will
take some time to release the cause of death of the two Coast
Guardsmen, and they might not want the CDC looking over their
shoulder."
"Do you think there might be a link with the dead sea lions that were
found on the other Aleutian islands?"
"I don't know. We believe the cadavers found near the mainland were
infected by a canine distemper virus."
"Distemper? From dogs?"
"Yes. A viral outbreak likely occurred through contact between an
infected domestic dog and one or more sea lions. Distemper is very
contagious and could spread rapidly through a concentrated sea lion
population."
"Wasn't there a similar outbreak in Russia a few years ago?" Dirk
tried to recall.
"Kazakhstan, actually. Thousands of Caspian seals died in 2000 due to
an outbreak of distemper near the Ural River along the Caspian Sea."
"Irv told me you found healthy, uninfected sea lions on Yunaska."
"Yes, the distemper did not appear to have reached this far west. Which
will make an examination of the dead sea lions you saw from the
helicopter that much more intriguing."
A quiet pause fell over the couple and Sarah could see a faraway look
in Dirk's eyes as the wheels churned inside his head. After a moment,
she broke the silence.
"The men on the boat. Who do you think they were? What were they
doing?"
Dirk stared out the porthole for a long minute. "I don't know," he
replied quietly, "but I intend to find out."
Dirk Pitt18-Black Wind Page 6