Dirk Pitt18-Black Wind

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Dirk Pitt18-Black Wind Page 7

by Cussler, Clive


  The twelfth hole of the Kasumigaseki Golf Club stretched 290 yards down

  a tight fairway before it dog legged left to an elevated green tightly

  guarded by a deep bunker in front. The U.S. ambassador to Japan,

  Edward Hamilton, waggled the head of his oversized driver several times

  before swinging hard into the golf ball, sending it soaring some 275

  yards off the tee box and straight down the fairway.

  "Fine shot, Ed," offered David Monaco, the British ambassador to Japan

  and Hamilton's weekly golf partner for nearly three years. The lanky

  Brit teed up his ball, then punched a long arcing shot that rolled

  twenty yards past Hamilton's ball before bounding into a patch of tall

  grass on the left fringe of the fairway.

  "Nice power, Dave, but I think you found the rough," Hamilton said as

  he spotted his playing partner's ball. The two men proceeded to walk

  down the fairway while a pair of female caddies, in the unique

  tradition of Japan's oldest country clubs, manhandled their golf bags

  a respectable distance behind them. Lurking nearby, four

  not-so-inconspicuous government bodyguards maintained a rough perimeter

  around the duo as they made their way around the course.

  The weekly outing at the golf course located south of Tokyo was an

  informal way of sharing information about the goings-on in and around

  their host country. The two allied ambassadors actually found it one

  of their most productive uses of time.

  "I hear you are making good progress on establishing the economic

  partnership agreement with Tokyo," Monaco remarked as they hiked up the

  fairway.

  "It just makes sense for everyone involved to ease trade restrictions.

  Our own steel tariffs may still get in the way of an agreement. The

  trade attitudes here are certainly changing, however. I think South

  Korea will even forge a partnership agreement with the Japanese

  shortly."

  "Speaking of Korea, I understand that some chaps in Seoul are going to

  issue another appeal for the removal of U.S. armed forces in the Korean

  National Assembly next week," Monaco said in a soft but accented

  voice.

  "Yes, we've heard that as well. The South Koreans' Democratic Labor

  Party is using the issue as a divisive wedge to gain more political

  power. Fortunately, they still only represent a small minority within

  the National Assembly."

  "It's a damn mystery how they can think that way, given the past

  aggressiveness of the North."

  "True, but it does play on a sensitive cultural issue. The DLP tries

  to compare us to the historical foreign occupations of Korea by the

  Chinese and the Japanese and it strikes a chord with the average man on

  the street."

  "Yes, but I would be surprised if the leaders of the party are

  operating on a simply altruistic motive," Monaco said as the two

  approached Hamilton's ball.

  "My counterpart in Seoul tells me we have no definitive proof, but

  we are pretty sure that at least some party officials are receiving

  support from the North," Hamilton replied. Taking a 3-iron from his

  caddy, Hamilton lined up the pin, then knocked another straight shot

  that cut the corner of the dogleg and landed on the far side of the

  green, avoiding the large bunker.

  "I understand that support for the measure extends well beyond the DLP,

  I'm afraid," Monaco continued. "The economic gains from reunification

  are catching a lot of blokes' attention. I heard the president of

  South Korea's Hyko Tractor Industries remark at a trade seminar in

  Osaka how he could reduce labor costs and compete internationally if he

  had access to the North's labor force."

  Monaco strode through the rough grass for a minute before locating his

  ball, then lofted a 5-iron shot that bounced up onto the green, rolling

  shy of the pin by thirty feet.

  "That's assuming a reunification would maintain free markets," Hamilton

  replied. "It's still clear that the North would have the most to gain

  from a reunification of both countries, and even more so if American

  forces are not in play."

  "I'll see if my people can find any connections," Monaco offered as

  they approached the green. "But, for now, I'm just glad we're working

  this side of the Sea of Japan."

  Hamilton nodded in appreciation as he attempted a chip shot to the

  hole. His club scuffed the ground before striking the ball, which

  caused it to plop short of the pin by fifteen feet. He waited as

  Monaco putted out in two strokes for par, then bent over the ball with

  a putter for his own attempt at par. But as he swung through the ball,

  a sudden thump emanated from his head, followed by a loud crack in the

  distance. Hamilton's eyes rolled back and a shower of blood and tissue

  sprayed out from his left temple and onto the pants and shoes of

  Monaco. As the British diplomat looked on in horror, Hamilton fell to

  his knees in a pool of blood, his hands still tightly clutching the

  putter. He tried to speak but only a gurgle rolled from his lips

  before he toppled stiffly onto the manicured grass surface. A fraction

  of a second later, the dead man's bloodstained golf ball found the rim

  of the hole and dropped into the cup with a clink.

  Six hundred yards away, a short, stout Asian man dressed in blue stood

  up in the bunker of the eighteenth hole. The sun glared off his bald

  head and brightened a lifeless pair of coal black eyes that were made

  more menacing by a long, thin Fu Manchu mustache. His squat, powerful

  build was more aptly suited to wrestling than golf, but his fluid

  movements revealed a flexibility to his strength. With the bored

  demeanor of a child putting away his toys, the man carefully

  disassembled an M-40 sniper rifle and placed the gun parts in a

  concealed compartment inside his golf bag. Pulling out a sand wedge,

  he forcefully lofted an overpowered shot out of the bunker in a spray

  of sand. He then calmly three-putted to finish his round, then

  strolled slowly to his car and stowed his clubs in the trunk. Exiting

  the parking lot, he patiently gave way as a flood of police cars and

  ambulances came streaking up to the clubhouse with sirens blaring, then

  he eased his car into the adjacent road where he quickly became lost in

  the local traffic.

  A pair of technicians wearing protective gear steered the Deep

  Endeavor's Zodiac to the western shore of Yunaska, where they selected

  a young male sea lion from the assortment of dead mammals strewn about

  the beach. The animal was carefully wrapped in a synthetic sheet, then

  placed into a heavy body bag for transport back to the ship. The NUMA

  research vessel stood off nearby with spotlights beaming on the water,

  guiding the rubber boat back in short order. A section of the galley

  was cleared away and the sealed cadaver was stored in a cold freezer

  for the remainder of the voyage, just next to a crate of frozen

  sherbet.

  Once all was secured, Captain Burch pushed the research vessel hard

  toward the island of Unalaska, with its port city of the same name,

  situated more
than two hundred miles away. Running at top speed all

  through the night, Burch was able to bring the Deep Endeavor into the

  commercial fishing port just before ten the next morning. A weathered

  ambulance waited at the dock to transfer Sarah, Irv, and

  Sandy to the town's small airfield, where a chartered plane was waiting

  to whisk them to Anchorage. Dirk insisted on pushing Sarah to the

  ambulance in her wheelchair and gave her a long kiss on the cheek as

  she was loaded in.

  "We've got a date in Seattle, right? I still owe you a crab dinner,"

  Dirk said with an engaging smile.

  "I wouldn't miss it," Sarah replied sheepishly. "Sandy and I will be

  down just as soon we're okay to leave Anchorage."

  After seeing the CDC team off, Dirk and Burch met with the village

  public safety officer and gave him a full report of the incident. Dirk

  provided a detailed description of the mystery fishing trawler and

  convinced the VPSO to furnish him with a listing of registered fishing

  vessels from the state licensing authority. The VPSO also agreed to

  check with the local commercial fishing entities for information but

  didn't hold out much hope. Japanese and even Russian fishing boats

  were known to ply the territorial waters illegally on occasion in

  search of fertile fishing grounds and had the habit of disappearing

  whenever the authorities tried to pursue them.

  Burch wasted little time in the port city before turning the Deep

  Endeavor south, and sailing toward Seattle. Like everyone else, the

  crew of the ship had plenty of questions about the events of the

  preceding day but few answers.

  Sarah, Irv, and Sandy endured a noisy and bumpy flight to Anchorage on

  one of the local twin-engine island-hoppers, arriving at the city's

  international airport late in the evening. Two exuberant college

  interns from the regional CDC office met them at the airport and

  transferred them to Alaska Regional Hospital, where they underwent a

  battery of toxicology tests and examinations. By this time, the

  threesome had regained their strength and were showing no outward

  signs

  of illness. Oddly, the medical staff was unable to diagnose any

  abnormal toxicity levels or other ailment with any of the three. After

  an overnight stay for observation, Sarah, Irv, and Sandy were released

  from the hospital with a clean bill of health as if nothing at all had

  happened to them.

  Six days later, the Deep Endeavor cruised quietly into Puget Sound,

  turning east into the Shilshole Bay just north of Seattle. The

  research vessel tied up momentarily at the Ballard Locks, where

  controlled floodgates raised the ship and released it into the fresh

  water of the ship canal. The Deep Endeavor continued on into Lake

  Union before slowing along the north shore. Burch inched the vessel up

  to a private dock jutting from a small modern-looking glass building

  that housed the NUMA northwest field office. A gathering of the crew's

  wives and children lined the dock, waving enthusiastically as the ship

  approached.

  "Looks like you've got your own welcoming committee, Dirk," Burch

  remarked, pointing to two figures waving at the end of the pier. Dirk

  looked out the bridge window and recognized Sarah and Sandy among the

  happy throng greeting the turquoise ship. Sarah looked radiant in a

  pair of blue capri pants and a maize satin blouse, which complemented

  her trim figure.

  "You two look like the model of health," Dirk said as he warmly greeted

  the pair.

  "No small part in thanks to you," Sandy gushed. "Just one night in

  Alaska Regional Hospital and we were on our way good as new."

  "How's Irv?"

  "He's fine," Sarah replied. "He's staying in Anchorage for a few more

  weeks to coordinate the completion of our sea lion study with the

  Alaska Department of Fish and Game. They agreed to provide field

  support to help finish our research investigation."

  "I'm so glad everybody is well. So what was the medical diagnosis in

  Anchorage?" Dirk asked.

  Sandy and Sarah glanced at each other briefly with a searching look,

  then shrugged and shook their heads in unison.

  "They didn't find anything," Sarah finally said. "It's something of a

  mystery. We all showed signs of an inflamed respiratory track, but

  that was about it. Blood and urine samples came back clean. If we did

  inhale a toxin, it was purged from our systems by the time we reached

  Anchorage."

  "That's why we're here to pick up the sea lion. Hopefully, there will

  be some indicators still evident in the animal's tissue," Sandy said.

  "So, you're not here to see me?" Dirk intoned sadly with an

  exaggerated frown on his face.

  "Sorry, Dirk," Sarah laughed. "Why don't you come meet us at the lab

  later this afternoon after we do our analysis? We can go grab a late

  lunch."

  "I would like to know the results," he agreed, then led the two on

  board to retrieve the frozen sea lion.

  Once the mammal was hauled away, Dirk and Dahlgren helped secure the

  ship, transferring ashore the sensitive high-tech survey gear that was

  stored in an adjacent warehouse. With their docking shores complete,

  the crew of the Deep Endeavor gradually dispersed to enjoy a few days

  of R&R before the next project set sail.

  Dahlgren approached Dirk with a rucksack tossed over one shoulder and

  the pair of crutches under one arm. Only a slight limp was noticeable

  from his calf wound when he walked.

  "Dirk, I'm off to rustle up a date with a sexy teller I met at the bank

  before we shipped out. Should I see if she has a cute friend?"

  "No, thanks. Think I'll get cleaned up and go see what Sarah and Sandy

  discovered from our sea lion Popsicle."

  "You always did have a thing for the brainy types," Dahlgren

  chuckled.

  "What's with the crutches? You've been off those things for three days

  now."

  "Never underestimate a woman's sense of sympathy," Dahlgren grinned,

  placing one crutch under an arm and pretending to limp in agony.

  "If I were you, I wouldn't underestimate a woman's ability to detect

  bad acting," Dirk replied with a laugh. "Happy hunting."

  Dirk borrowed the keys to a turquoise NUMA Jeep Cherokee and drove a

  short distance to his rented town house overlooking Lake Washington.

  Although he called Washington, D.C." his home, he enjoyed the

  temporary assignment in the Northwest. The lush wooded surroundings,

  the cold, clear waters, and the youthful and vibrant residents who

  thrived in the sometimes bleak and damp weather made for a refreshing

  environment.

  Dirk showered and threw on a pair of dark slacks and a thin pullover

  sweater, then downed a peanut butter sandwich and an Olympia beer while

  listening to a litany of messages on his answering machine. Satisfied

  that the earth had not come to a stop in his absence, he hopped into

  the Jeep and headed north on 1-5. Exiting east past the lush Jackson

  Park Golf Course, Dirk turned north and soon entered the park like

  grounds of Fircrest Campus.
Fircrest was an old military complex that

  had been turned over to the state of Washington and now housed offices

  and operations for a variety of state government agencies. Dirk

  spotted a complex of square white buildings surrounded by mature trees

  and parked in an adjacent lot fronted by a large sign, stating:

  Washington state public health laboratories.

  A perky receptionist phoned up to the small CDC office shared by the

  state lab and a few moments later Sarah and Sandy appeared in the

  lobby. A portion of the cheeriness they showed earlier in the day had

  clearly left their faces.

  "Dirk, it's good of you to come. There's a quiet Italian restaurant

  down the street where we can talk. The Pasta Alfredo is great, too,"

  Sarah suggested.

  "Sure thing. Ladies first," Dirk replied as he held the front door

  open for the two scientists.

  After the threesome shoehorned into a red vinyl booth at the nearby

  neighborhood restaurant, Sarah explained their findings.

  "An examination of the sea lion revealed the classic signs of

  respiratory seizure as the cause of death. An initial blood test

  failed to reveal any concentrated levels of toxicity, however."

  "Similar to the test results for you three in Anchorage," Dirk added

  between bites of bread.

  "Exactly. Our vitals showed fine, though we still experienced

  weakness, headaches, and signs of respiratory irritation by the time we

  reached Anchorage," Sandy added.

  "So we went back and carefully reexamined the animal's blood and tissue

  and finally detected trace elements of the toxin," Sarah continued.

 

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