Dirk Pitt18-Black Wind

by Cussler, Clive

  depths. The electrical surge popped through to the end of

  the rod, igniting a brilliant arc of yellow light that flared from the

  tip, burning at several thousand degrees.

  "Let's start at the top right corner and work down," Summer directed.

  Dirk maneuvered the submersible to the corner seam and held it

  stationary while Summer extended the right mechanical arm toward the

  hangar wall until the high-temperature flame flared against the

  surface. With the Starfish suspended against a light current, Summer

  applied the heat from the arc to cut through the sixty-year-old plating

  weld. Progress was measured in inches, as the swaying of the

  submersible undermined the cutting efficiency. But, gradually, a

  surgical line appeared on the hangar wall, which lengthened as Dirk

  slid the Starfish down the seam. After fifteen minutes, the electrode

  rod burned down to the stub. Summer shut off the electrical power and

  replaced the electrode, then powered it up again and continued cutting.

  The tedious process continued until a fine cut was made around the

  entire perimeter seam of the hangar wall. With just a few inches to

  go, Summer worked the free mechanical claw into an open gap and grabbed

  onto the panel. She then cut the last of the seam, then yanked with

  the secured claw. The cut section broke free and fell back onto the

  main deck of the submarine with a swirling cloud of sediment.

  Dirk backed the Starfish away and waited for the water to clear before

  moving up to their newly created entryway. As he maneuvered back in,

  he could see that they had measured perfectly. The pair of aircraft

  pontoons sat directly in front of the opening, the wooden crates

  sitting just below. He crept the submersible in as close as he could

  get, bumping the hangar ceiling a time or two before setting it down on

  the deck near a large protruding iron loop. Through the circular

  eyelet ran several cables, which secured the nearest pontoon to the

  deck while the submarine was in motion.

  "Let's torch those cables, then figure out a way to slide that pontoon

  out of the way," he suggested.

  Summer reignited the underwater torch and quickly cut through the first

  of three steel-braided cables. The corroded lines disintegrated

  quickly under the flame of the cutting rod and she soon ate through the

  second cable. She was surprised when the pontoon lurched slightly as

  the second cable fell away. When the third cable cut free, she was

  shocked to see the pontoon rise gracefully off the deck and float to

  the top of the twelve-foot hangar ceiling.

  "It's still holding air," she blurted.

  "Compliments to the engineers who built her. That will make our job a

  little easier," Dirk replied as he maneuvered the Starfish alongside

  the wooden crates. Summer grabbed control of both mechanical arms and

  gently danced their claws over one of the containers. Manipulating the

  metal fingers, she grasped the top lid on either side and lifted the

  arms up. The once durable hardwood lid rose like a damp pancake before

  it split in two as Summer tried to place it off to one side.

  "So much for the boxed set," Dirk said drily.

  Inside, however, they could see the bonanza. Six silver-porcelain

  aerial bombs sat secure and intact, aligned in a neat row. Dirk and

  Summer looked at each other with a profound sense of relief.

  "Guess it's our lucky day after all," Summer said triumphantly.

  "They're still here, safe and sound."

  Dirk carefully inched the Starfish closer to the crate as Summer

  prepared for the harrowing prospect of removing the fragile bombs from

  their disintegrating case.

  "Be gentle, sis. Remember, they're made of glass," he cautioned.

  Summer hardly needed the warning as she manipulated the mechanical arms

  with great caution. Working with the nearest bomb, she gently slid the

  canister away from the others, then gingerly worked the claws

  underneath either end. Moving with patient deliberation, she lifted

  the bomb up and away, then set it into a padded mesh box that had been

  hastily attached to the front of the submersible. Confident that the

  canister was stable, she moved the arms back and retrieved the next

  bomb in the crate. Lifting and laying it next to the first snugly in

  the box, she grasped its tail fin with one claw, then snatched the fin

  of the first bomb with the other claw and locked both arms in place.

  "Bombardier to pilot. Ready for takeoff," she said. Fearful of

  damaging dangerous cargo, two bombs would be all that the Starfish

  would safely transport at a time.

  The submersible made a slow ascent to the surface, where the bombs were

  carefully unloaded and stored in a makeshift container that the ship's

  carpenter had hurriedly constructed.

  "Two down, ten to go," Dirk reported to Morgan and Ryan. "Both crates

  are readily accessible with the mechanical arms, so, if the second

  batch is intact, we should be able to recover all twelve canisters."

  "The weather is holding," Morgan replied. "If we work through the

  night at the same pace, we should have the recovery operation complete

  by morning."

  "I'm all for that," he replied with a grin. "With all these dives, I'm

  beginning to feel like a yo-yo."

  Less than a mile away, Tongju peered at the NUMA vessel through a pair

  of high-powered marine binoculars. For nearly forty minutes, Kang's

  personal executioner studied the Sea Rover, making careful mental notes

  on passageways, stairwells, hatches, and other elements of the ship

  that he could detect in the distance. At last satisfied with his

  observations, the bald assassin entered the Baekje's bridge and walked

  into a small side anteroom. A pug-faced man with short-cropped hair

  sat in a wooden chair intently studying a set of ship plans. He

  stiffened slightly as Tongju entered the room.

  "Sir, the assault team has studied the plans to the NUMA research

  vessel that was relayed by the Kang Shipping corporate office. We have

  formulated an assault and seizure strategy and are prepared to commence

  at your direction." Ki-Ri Kim spoke in a clipped, blunt tone that

  could be expected from a former special operations commando of the

  Korean People's Army.

  "From the bits of underwater communication that we have been

  able to intercept, it appears that they have located the weapons and

  are in the process of retrieving them from the seabed," Tongju said in

  a quiet voice. "I have notified the captain that we will be launching

  the operation tonight."

  A broad grin fell over the commando's face before he uttered the single

  word "Excellent."

  "As we formulated," Tongju continued, "I will lead Team A to capture

  the starboard and bow sections and you will lead Team B to take the

  port and stern sections. Have the men assembled for a final briefing

  at 01:00. We will commence the strike at 02:00."

  '"My men will be ready. They are curious to know, however, if we will

  be expecting any resistance?"

  Tongju snarled a confident reply. "None whatsoever."

  Shortly after midnig
ht, the Starfish bobbed to the surface of the moon

  pool, its bright orange frame reflecting golden rays through the water

  from the blazing underwater lights. Dirk and Summer stood watching on

  the deck as the submersible was hoisted from the water and parked

  gently on a platform. A pair of technicians working the graveyard

  shift rolled a portable hoist to the submersible's front skids and

  began the delicate process of removing the two porcelain bombs wedged

  into the mesh basket.

  Dirk walked around and helped open the Starfish's rear entry hatch

  and lent a hand as Ryan and an engineer named Mike Farley corkscrewed

  their way out of the cramped compartment.

  "Nice work, Tim. That makes a total of eight. I take it you accessed

  the second case without any problems?" Dirk asked.

  "Piece of cake. We cut the cables on the second pontoon and she

  floated out of the way like the first. Mike deserves the credit,

  though. He operates those mechanical arms like a surgeon."

  A likable, soft-spoken man who smiled constantly, Farley grinned

  modestly. "The second crate fell apart like it was made of mashed

  potatoes. But all six bombs were lying there intact. We snatched the

  first two, and the remaining four are readily accessible. Be mindful

  of the current, though, it seems to have picked up since our last

  dive."

  "Thanks, Mike, will do."

  Dirk proceeded to help the technician crew change out the batteries on

  the Starfish, then methodically worked through the pre dive checklist,

  ensuring that all onboard systems were operating properly. Shortly

  after 1 a.m." he and Summer squeezed back into the submersible and

  were released into the moon pool for another dive to the I-411. They

  relaxed in their slow descent, saying little to each other. The

  around-the-clock, repetitive dives were beginning to take their toll,

  casting a veil of fatigue over them. But Dirk was enlivened by the

  fact they were recovering the bombs intact and would soon find out what

  biological agent they contained.

  Summer let out a wide yawn. "Wish I was back in my bunk snoozing like

  the rest of the crew," she murmured. "We'll have the last two dives

  complete before everyone even wakes up."

  "Look on the bright side," Dirk smiled. "We'll be first in line for

  breakfast."

  They came out of the darkness like muted demons, gliding across the

  water in silence. Black-clad men in black rubber boats dashing across

  a blackened sea. Tongju led the assault from the first boat,

  accompanied by five gritty-looking and heavily armed commandos, while

  Kim followed behind in a second boat with a similar contingency.

  Together they raced toward the Sea Rover in rubber Zodiacs propelled by

  high-power electric motors, beefed-up versions of the trolling motors

  used by lake fishermen to cruise quietly. Only, these boats were

  capable of running at 30 knots, emitting just a barely detectable hum.

  Running in the dead of night, the only audible evidence of their

  presence were the waves smacking against their semirigid hulls. On

  board the Sea Rover, the helmsman on watch glanced at a sweeping

  radarscope on the bridge, observing the large smudge of a ship off the

  starboard bow. The large cable ship that had stood a mile off the Sea

  Rover since they arrived on site was still sitting parked in the same

  position. He watched as a pair of faint white smudges appeared

  against the screen's green background periodically, positioned

  somewhere between the two ships. Too faint for a vessel this far from

  shore, he reckoned. More likely some cresting waves registering on the

  equipment.

  The two rubberized cresting waves throttled back as they approached

  within a hundred meters of the NUMA ship, creeping the remaining

  distance at a slow crawl. Tongju brought his boat alongside the

  starboard flank of the Sea Rover and waited momentarily while Kim's

  craft skirted around the ship's stern and eased up on the port side. In

  unseen unison, a pair of rubber-coated grappling hooks sailed up from

  the sea on either side of the ship, catching secure grips around the

  Sea Rover's lower-deck railing. Narrow rope ladders trailing off the

  grappling hooks provided the means of entry. In orderly unison, the

  commandos quickly scrambled up the swaying lines.

  On the port deck, a sleepless marine biologist was taking in the night

  sky when he heard something strike the ship. A pronged hook

  materialized around the railing just a few feet away. Curious, he bent

  over the side to look down the trailing rope just as a black-capped

  head emerged from the other side. In mutual surprise, the two men

  banged heads together with a crack. The startled scientist fell back,

  groping for words to cry out, but, in an instant, the commando was on

  deck, brandishing an assault rifle. The rifle stock caught the

  unfortunate biologist across the jawbone and the man crumpled in an

  unconscious heap.

  The two commando teams assembled independently, then moved forward

  along the deck, intent on subduing the bridge and radio room first

  before any calls for help could be sent. Silently creeping through the

  sleeping ship, their 2 a.m. raid found the vessel ghostly quiet.

  On the bridge, the Sea Rover's helmsman and second officer were

  sipping coffee while discussing college football. Without warning,

  Tongju and two of his men burst through the starboard wing door, aiming

  their weapons at the men's faces.

  "Down on the deck!" Tongju yelled in clear English. The second officer quickly dropped to his knees, but the helmsman panicked.

  Dropping his coffee, he bolted for the port wing in a futile attempt at

  escape. Before Tongju or his men could cut the man down, one of Kim's

  commandos appeared in the doorway, striking the man in the chest with

  his assault rifle, then kicking him in the groin for good measure. The

  helmsman withered to the deck, groaning in agony.

  Scanning the bridge, Tongju saw that the adjacent communications bay

  was empty and nodded at one of the commandos to stand guard over the

  equipment. He then walked toward the door to the captain's cabin

  situated off the back of the bridge. With a silent nod, he ordered one

  of his men to charge in.

  Morgan was asleep in his bunk when the commando burst into his cabin,

  flicked on the light, and leveled his AK-74 assault rifle at the

  captain's head. The salty captain awoke immediately and sprang out of

  bed clad in T-shirt and boxers, bullying toward the man with the gun.

  "What's this all about?" he barked, storming his way toward the

  bridge. The startled commando hesitated in the doorway as the burly

  captain bore toward him. With a nearly invisible flick of his arm,

  Morgan knocked the muzzle of the firearm away from his chest and toward

  the ceiling, then, with his free right hand, shoved the commando out

  the door with the strength of a barreling freight train. The shocked

  commando went sprawling across the bridge, falling on his backside and

  sliding with a thud into the forward bulkhead.

  The commando was still slid
ing across the deck when Tongju leveled his

  Glock 22 semiautomatic pistol and fired a single shot at Morgan. The

  .40 caliber slug ripped into and through Morgan's left thigh, throwing

  a spray of blood onto the wall behind him. Morgan cursed as he grabbed

  his leg before crumpling to the deck.

  "This is a United States government vessel," he hissed defiantly.

  It is my ship now," Tongju replied coolly, "and any more insolence from

  you, Captain, and I shall place the next bullet into your skull." To

  emphasize his words, he stepped forward and flung his right leg toward

  the kneeling captain, the heel of his black boot striking Morgan high on the cheekbone and sending him sprawling flat to the

  deck. The proud captain slowly gathered himself back to his knees and

  stared quietly at his captor, eyes burning with hatred.

  Unable to warn his fellow shipmates, Morgan could only watch helplessly

  as the small team of intruders took over his ship. Little resistance

  was met elsewhere on the vessel as the commandos rounded up the

  sleeping crew at gunpoint. Only in the engine room did a brawny

  machinist's mate surprise one of the commandos, crushing a pipe wrench

  through his skull. The machinist was quickly subdued by gunshots from

  another assailant, but the wounds would not prove lethal. Sporadic

  gunfire began to resonate throughout the ship as the commando teams

  worked through the Sea Rover. In less than twenty minutes, the assault

  team had achieved their objective and taken control of the 350-foot

  research vessel.

  Tim Ryan and Mike Farley were in the undersea operations control room

  monitoring the current dive of the Starfish when a pair of commandos