Dirk Pitt18-Black Wind

by Cussler, Clive

  price. Besides, there's a whole mind-set that we'll need to contend

  with if we bring on the northern worker. After all, no socialist state

  was ever admired for its devotion to quality output."

  "Nothing that a dose of retraining and a taste of capitalistic wages

  wouldn't quickly solve," Kang countered.

  "Perhaps. But, face it, there is no consumer market for automobiles in

  the North. The country is an economic mess, and the average man on the

  street is primarily concerned with putting a meal on the table. The

  disposable income just isn't there to aid my industry."

  "Yes, but you are looking at the present, not the future. Our two

  countries are on an inescapable collision course toward unification,

  and those that are prepared today will reap the riches tomorrow. You

  had the vision to expand your manufacturing presence to India and the

  United States and now you are a major player in the auto industry. Have

  the vision of a unified Korea and help place our homeland at the

  forefront of world leadership."

  The auto exec blew a large puff of blue cigar smoke toward the ceiling

  as he contemplated Kang's words. "I can see the wisdom in your

  thinking. I'll have my strategy office look into it, perhaps work up

  some contingencies. I'm not sure I have the stomach for dealing with

  the political issues and approvals, with both the North and South

  Korean governments, to establish a presence in the North just yet," he hedged.

  Kang set down his vodka gimlet and smiled. "I have friends and

  influence in both governments that can come to your aid when the time

  is right," he replied with understatement.

  "Most gracious of you. And there is something I can do for you; my

  good friend, in return?" the exec replied with a smirk.

  "The resolution in the National Assembly to expel the U.S. military

  from our soil is gaining momentum," Kang answered. "Your support of

  the resolution would sway a good deal of political opinion."

  "The embarrassing news incidents with the American military personnel

  are admittedly making things touchy in some areas of our business.

  However, I am not convinced the security concerns regarding an American

  force withdrawal are unfounded."

  "Of course they are," Kang lied. "The American presence promotes

  aggression from the North. Their removal will only stabilize relations

  between our countries and allow our ultimate reunification."

  "You really think it's the right thing to do?"

  "It could make us very rich men, Song-woo," Kang replied.

  "We already are," the auto executive laughed as he snuffed out his

  cigar in a porcelain ashtray. "We already are."

  Kang shook hands good-bye with his fellow industrialist, then took a

  quick ear-popping elevator ride a hundred floors down to the lobby of

  the sprawling business center. An accompanying bodyguard attired in

  black spoke into a handheld radio, and, seconds later, a red Bentley

  Arnage RL limousine pulled up to the curb to collect them. As Kang

  rode silently in the leather-bound backseat, he allowed a sense of

  self-congratulations to overtake him.

  The plan of events was going better than expected. The staged murder

  of a young girl by the American airman had caused widespread outrage

  across the country. Mothers were staging numerous protests outside of

  American military bases, while a mob of loud anotous college students had marched on the U.S. embassy. Kang's corporate

  administrative staff had orchestrated an intense letter-writing

  campaign that bombarded a score of local politicians with demands to

  oust the foreign armed forces. And Kang's extortion of several

  National Assembly leaders had initiated the political resolution that

  South Korea's president would soon have to contend with. Now he was

  working the business leadership community, which had the real clout

  with both the media and the members of the National Assembly.

  The North Korean leadership in Pyongyang was doing their part in the

  deception by talking up reunification on every public front. As a

  goodwill gesture signaling improved relations, they temporarily lifted

  a majority of the travel restrictions to the north. With additional

  fanfare, they announced that an army armored division was being pulled

  back from the DMZ in a peaceful move, though failed to admit that they

  were just being repositioned a short distance away. Facts to the

  contrary, a peaceful and friendly front was being promoted in the

  spirit that a Madison Avenue ad exec would admire.

  The Bentley drove into downtown Seoul, turning through the gates of a

  nondescript low-rise glass building marked with a small sign, stating

  simply: kang enterprises-semiconductor division. The luxury car

  continued past a crowded parking lot, then down a small alleyway that

  led to the back of the building and the shoreline of the Han River. The

  driver stopped in front of a private dock, where Kang's Italian motor

  yacht was tied up. A servant welcomed Kang and his bodyguard aboard as

  the engines were started, and, before he had entered the main cabin,

  the yacht was cast off for its commute back to Kang's estate.

  Kang's assistant, Kwan, bowed as the tycoon entered a small inte-"or

  cabin he used as a working office aboard the boat. As was his

  tradition, Kwan provided daily briefings to his boss, either on board

  the yacht or at the estate, at the end of each workday. A pile of

  two-page briefing reports that bested the intelligence reports of many

  Western

  leaders lay stacked on the table. Kang quickly scanned the assorted

  briefings, which detailed everything from forecast quarterly earnings

  at his telecom subsidiary, to military exercises of the South Korean

  army, to personal profiles of which politician was cheating on his

  wife. Items related to subversive activities or from protected sources

  were printed on a special orange paper that dissolved when immersed in

  water and were destroyed immediately after Kang's viewing.

  After addressing a number of business issues, Kang rubbed his eyes and

  asked, "What have we heard from Tongju on the Back/e?"

  Kwan's face visibly paled. "We have a problem with the marine

  equipment for the recovery operation," he replied tentatively. "The

  Japanese submersible we leased was damaged while being transported to

  the Baekje. It was the fault of some careless dockworkers."

  Kwan watched as a vein stood out on Kang's temple and began throbbing

  violently. The anger rose quickly in the man but came out in a

  controlled hiss.

  "This bungling must stop! First we lose two of our agents in America

  on a simple assassination attempt and now this. How long before

  repairs to the damage can be completed?"

  "At least three months. The Shinkai is out," Kwan said quietly.

  "We have a timetable to adhere to," Kang replied with agitation. "We're

  talking days, not months."

  "I have initiated a complete search of available submersibles in the

  region. The other potential Japanese deep-water submersible is

  undergoing a refit, and all the Russian vessels are currently operating

/>   in Western waters. The nearest available submersible that is suitable

  for the recovery is a Ukrainian vessel currently operating in the

  Indian Ocean. It will take three weeks to have her on-site,

  however."

  "That is too late," Kang mumbled. "The momentum we have built in the

  National Assembly for the referendum is peaking. There will be a

  forced vote within a few weeks. We must act before then. I need not

  remind you that we had committed to strike during the G8 assemblage,"

  he said, his eyes simmering with anger.

  An anguished silence filled the room. Then Kwan ventured to speak.

  "Sir, there may be another option. We were told that an American

  scientific research vessel has been operating in Japanese waters with a

  deep-sea submersible. I was able to track the vessel down earlier

  today as it was taking on fuel in Osaka. It is a NUMA ship, fully

  capable of deep-water recovery."

  "NUMA again?" Kang mused. His face pinched up as he contemplated the

  successful foundation he had laid for the project and the potential

  risk of delay. Finally, he nodded his head at Kwan.

  "It is imperative that we initiate the recovery as soon as possible.

  Obtain the American submersible, but do it quietly and without

  incident."

  "Tongju is there to lead the operation," Kwan replied confidently. "At

  your instructions, he will proceed. He will not fail us."

  "See to it," Kang replied, his dark eyes boring through Kwan with

  seething intolerance.

  Six-foot swells carrying caps of white foam atop their shoulders pushed

  and prodded at the Sea Rover, causing her decks to roll gently with the

  undulating seas. A high-pressure front was slowly moving out of the

  East China Sea, and Captain Morgan noted with satisfaction that the

  strong southerly winds had gradually softened since they had entered

  the sea located southeast of the Japanese mainland the night before. As

  Morgan watched from the bridge, a gray dawn slowly washed the research

  ship in a bath of muted light. Near the rising and falling bow, he

  spotted a solitary figure standing at the rail scanning the horizon. A

  wavy patch of black hair could be seen fluttering in the wind above the

  upturned collar of his navy blue foul-weather jacket.

  Dirk breathed in a deep lungful of the sea air, tasting the damp

  saltiness of it on his tongue. The ocean always invigorated him, both

  physically and mentally, the blue vastness providing a tranquil tonic

  that

  Uowed him to think and act more clearly. Not one capable of working

  behind a desk, he was addicted to the outdoors, flourishing when at one

  with what Mother Nature had to offer.

  After watching a pair of gulls arc lazily above the ship in search of a

  morning meal, he made his way aft and climbed up to the elevated

  bridge. Morgan thrust a steaming mug of coffee into his hand as he

  entered the ship's control room.

  "You're up early," the captain boomed, a jovial grin on his face even

  at the early hour of the day.

  "Didn't want to miss out on any of the fun," Dirk replied, taking a

  long draw at the coffee. "I figured we would be approaching the search

  area shortly after dawn."

  "Pretty near," Morgan said. "We're about forty minutes from the

  Swordfisffs reported position where she sank the Japanese sub."

  "What's the depth here?"

  A young helmsman in a blue jumpsuit eyed the depth monitor and crisply

  announced, "Depth 920 feet, sir."

  "Looks like territory for a deep-water AUV search," Dirk said.

  "I'll have Summer wake up Audry and get her ready for work," Morgan

  replied with a grin.

  Audry was the variant of an Autonomous Underwater Vehicle, which the

  NUMA scientists who built her had instead dubbed "Autonomous Underwater

  Data Recovery Vehicle." A state-of-the-art self-propelled sensing

  unit, Audry contained a side-scan sonar, a magnetometer, and a

  sub-bottom profiler, all packaged into a torpedo-shaped casing that was

  simply dropped over the side of the ship. The combined sensors

  provided the capability to seismically map the seafloor for natural or

  man-made objects, as well as peer beneath the seabed for buried

  anomalies. The fish-shaped sensor could skim above the seafloor at a

  depth of five thousand feet, propelled by a powerful battery pack,

  which eliminated the need for a lengthy and cumbersome tow cable.

  As the Sea Rover approached the search area, Dirk assisted Sum* mer in

  downloading the search parameters into Audry's navigatiot| computer.

  "We'll use the side-scan sonar only so we can run wider search! lanes,"

  Dirk instructed. "If the I-411 is out there, we ought to be able| to

  see her sitting up off the bottom."

  "How large a search grid?" Summer asked as she tapped instructions

  into a laptop computer.

  "We have only a rough fix from the Swordfish, so we'll likely have

  plenty of ground to cover. Let's set the initial search grid at five

  by five miles."

  "That's still within range of the data relay system. I'll do a quick

  systems check, then we should be ready to deploy."

  As Audry's software program was reconfigured, the Sea Rover dropped a

  pair of self-positioning transducers into the water at either end of

  the search grid. With built-in GPS satellite receivers, the

  transducers would relay underwater navigational guidance to Audry that

  would enable the vehicle to run a precise back-and-forth grid pattern

  several dozen feet above the seafloor. Audry in return would upload

  packets of data to the transducers at periodic intervals, detailing the

  sonar's search results.

  "Ready with the winch," a crewman's voice shouted.

  Dirk gave the thumbs-up signal, then he and Summer watched as the

  eight-foot-long, lemon-colored survey vehicle was lifted out of a rack

  on the rear deck and lowered over the side railing into the water. A

  white plume of spray from the tail indicated that Audry's small

  propeller was churning, then the grips from the winch were let go.

  Lunging like a thoroughbred out of the gates at Santa Anita, the

  torpedo- shaped vehicle surged down the length of the Sea Rover before

  submerging under a wave and into the depths.

  "Audry has some legs on her," Dirk noted.

  "She's undergone a recent modification and is now capable of running

  her surveys at a speed of 9 knots."

  "At that pace, she may not give me much time for my favorite part of

  the search."

  "What's that?" Summer asked, a quizzical look on her face.

  "Why, having a beer and a peanut butter sandwich while waiting for the

  results," he grinned.

  While Audry motored back and forth down neat imaginary lanes a hundred

  feet above the seafloor, Summer monitored the vehicle's progress on a

  computer display aboard the Sea Rover. At twenty-minute intervals, a

  digital data upload was wirelessly transmitted from the transducers to

  the ship, where further electronic processing converted the binary data

  bits into a graphical image of the sonar readings. Dirk and Summer

  took turns scanning through the imag
es of the seabed, searching for

  linear or angular shapes that might signify a shipwreck.

  "Looks like a pepperoni pizza," Dirk mused as he studied the

  rock-strewn bottom, seeing odd-shaped boulders that threw off round

  shadows against the flat backdrop.

  "Don't tell me you're hungry again," Summer replied, shaking her

  head.

  "No, but I bet Audry is. What kind of mileage does she get on a tank

  of battery acid?"

  "The batteries for high-speed operation are only designed to last eight

  hours. We never run her past seven hours, though, to make sure she has

  enough juice to propel herself from deep water to the surface. She's

  been in the water now about six hours," Summer said, glancing at her

  watch, "so we'll need to call her back for a battery change within the

  next hour."

  A pop-up window suddenly appeared on the computer screen, signaling

  receipt of the latest data upload.

  "Only one more file to go till we've covered the first search box,"

  remarked, standing up from his computer console chair and

  stretching his arms. "I better identify the boundaries of the next

  search grid. Can you take a look at the next data feed?"

  "Sure, I'll just go ahead and find it for you," Summer joked as she

  took his seat and typed a string of commands into the keyboard. A new

  set of images appeared on the screen, a five-hundred-meter swath of

  ocean bottom scrolling from top to bottom, which resembled the aerial

  view of a hard-packed dirt road through the desert. Summer had