Dirk Pitt18-Black Wind

by Cussler, Clive

"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."