Dirk Pitt18-Black Wind

by Cussler, Clive

  "Seven of them," Coyle confirmed, counting the small boats stretched in

  a line. Morgan had rounded up all the lifeboats and lashed them

  together, bow to stern, in order to keep the survivors together. As

  the Hercules flew in low over them, the crew of the Sea Rover waved

  wildly in response and let out a collective cheer.

  "Roughly sixty heads," Coyle estimated as Wight brought the plane

  around in a slow circle. "They look to be in pretty good shape."

  "Let's hold the PJs, drop an emergency medical pack, and see if we can

  initiate a sea pickup."

  The PJs were three medically trained para rescue jumpers in the back of

  the plane ready to parachute out of the HC-130 at a moment's notice.

  Since the crew of the Sea Rover appeared in no imminent danger, Wight

  opted to withhold their deployment for the time

  being. A lo adman at the back of the Hercules instead lowered a big

  hydraulic door beneath the tail and, at Coyle's command, shoved out

  several emergency medical and ration packs, which drifted down to the

  sea suspended from small parachutes.

  An airborne communications specialist had meanwhile issued a distress

  call over the marine frequency. Within seconds, several nearby ships

  answered the call, the closest being a containership bound for Hong

  Kong from Osaka. Wight and Coyle continued to circle the lifeboats for

  another two hours until the containership arrived on the scene and

  began taking aboard survivors off the first lifeboat. Satisfied they

  were now safe, the rescue plane took a final low pass over the

  castaways, Wight waggling the wingtips as he passed. Though the pilots

  could not hear it, the tired and haggard survivors let out a robust

  cheer of thanks that echoed across the water.

  "Lucky devils," Coyle commented with satisfaction.

  Wight nodded in silent agreement, then banked the Hercules southeast

  toward its home base on Okinawa.

  The large freighter had let go a welcoming blast of its Kahlenberg air

  horn as it glided toward the lifeboats. A whaleboat was lowered to

  guide the shipwreck victims around to a lowered stairwell near the

  stern, where most of the Sea Rover's crew climbed up to the high deck.

  Morgan and a few other injured crewmen were transferred to the

  whaleboat and hoisted up to the containership's main deck. After a

  brief welcome and inquiry by the ship's Malaysian captain, Morgan was

  rushed down to the medical bay for treatment of his wounds.

  Ryan caught up with him after the ship's doctor had tended to the NUMA

  captain's leg and confined him to a bunk next to the crewman with the

  broken leg.

  "How's the prognosis, sir?"

  "The knee's a mess but I'll live."

  "They do amazing things with artificial joints these days," Ryan

  encouraged.

  "Apparently, I'll be finding that out in an intimate way. Beats a peg

  leg, I guess. What's the state of the crew?"

  "In good spirits now. With the exception of Dirk and Summer, the Sea

  Rover's crew is all aboard and accounted for. I borrowed Captain

  Malaka's satellite phone and called Washington. I was able to speak

  directly with Rudi Gunn and informed him of our situation after

  briefing him on the loss of the ship. I let him know that our

  recovered cargo, along with Dirk, Summer, and the submersible, is

  believed aboard the Japanese cable ship. He asked me to express his

  thanks to you for saving the crew and promised that the highest levels

  of the government will be activated to apprehend those responsible."

  Morgan stared blankly at a white wall, his mind tumbling over the

  events of the past few hours. Who were these pirates that had attacked

  and sunk his ship? What was their intent with the biological weapons?

  And what had become of Dirk and Summer?. Not generating any answers,

  he simply shook his head slowly.

  "I just hope it won't be too late."

  After sailing north for a day and a half, the Baekjegradually arched

  its bow around toward an easterly heading. Landfall was spotted at

  dusk, and the ship waited until dark before creeping into a large

  harbor amid a hazy fog. Dirk and Summer surmised that they had, in

  fact, sailed to Korea and correctly guessed that they were in the

  South's large port city of Inchon, based on the number of

  internationally flagged freighters and containerships they passed

  entering the port.

  The cable-laying ship moved slowly past the wide-spaced commercial

  docks that busily loaded and unloaded huge containerships around the

  clock. Turning north, the Baekje crept past an oil refinery terminal,

  snaking around a rusty tanker ship before entering a dark and less

  developed corner of the harbor. Drifting past a decrepit-looking

  shipyard housing scores of decomposing hulks, the ship slowed as it

  approached a small side channel that ran to the northwest. A guard hut

  with a small speedboat alongside stood at the entrance to the

  channel, beneath a rusting sign that proclaimed, in Korean: kang

  MARINE SERVICES----PRIVATE.

  The Baekje^ captain maneuvered the ship gently into the channel and

  proceeded several hundred yards at a slow creep before rounding a sharp

  bend. The channel fed into a small lagoon, which was dwarfed by a

  massive pair of covered docks that sat at the opposite end. As if

  pulling a car into the garage, the Baekjeh captain inched the ship into

  one of the cavernous hangars that towered a solid fifty feet above the

  ship's forecastle. The ship was tied off under a field of bright

  halogen lamps that hung from the ceiling, while a large hydraulic door

  quietly slid shut behind them, completely concealing the vessel from

  outside eyes.

  A crane immediately swung over and a half-dozen crewmen began unloading

  the ordnance containers, which were lowered to the dock under Tongju's

  supervision. Once the bomb canisters were stacked on the deck in an

  orderly pyramid, a large white panel truck backed down the dock to the

  cargo. Another group of men, wearing powder blue lab coats, carefully

  loaded the weapons into the back of the truck, then drove away from the

  ship. As it turned a corner at the end of the dock, Tongju could see

  the familiar blue lightning bolt emblazoned on the side of the truck,

  beneath the words kang satellite telecommunications CORP.

  Kim approached as Tongju watched the truck exit the hangar through a

  guarded doorway.

  "Mr. Kang will be quite pleased when he learns that we have recovered

  all of the ordnance," Kim stated.

  "Yes, though two of the twelve are worthless. The submersible pilots

  cracked open the last two shells and released the armament into the

  water. An accident, they claim, due to a loss of visibility in the

  water."

  "An inconsequential loss. The overall mission was quite successful."

  "True, but there is still a difficult operation ahead of us. I am tak

  tag the prisoners to Kang in order for him to interrogate them. I

  trust

  that you will administer to the ship preparations satisfactorily," he

  stated rather than asked.

  "T
he reconfiguration of the vessel, as well as the replenishment of

  fuel and provisions, will begin immediately. I will ensure that the

  ship is ready to depart the minute our cargo is reloaded."

  "Very well. The sooner we get to sea, the better our chances of

  success."

  "We have surprise on our side. There is no way we can fail," Kim said

  confidently.

  But Tongju knew otherwise. Taking a long puff on a lit cigarette, he

  considered the element of surprise. It could indeed mean the

  difference between life and death.

  "Let us just hope that our deception endures," he finally replied

  thoughtfully.

  Belowdecks, Dirk and Summer were roughly roused from their cabin cell,

  a thick-necked guard first handcuffing their wrists behind their backs

  before shoving them out of the room. They were marched at gunpoint to

  a gangway leading off the ship, where Tongju stood watching with a

  sneer on his face.

  "It was a lovely cruise. You never did show us where the shuffle-board

  court was located, however," Dirk said to the assassin.

  "Now, be honest," Summer piped in. "The food didn't exactly warrant a

  five-star rating."

  "The American sense of humor is hardly amusing," Tongju grunted, his

  cold eyes showing that he was not the least bit entertained.

  "By the way, what exactly is the Japanese Red Army doing in Inchon,

  Korea?" Dirk asked bluntly.

  A barely perceptible arch crossed Tongju's brow.

  "Most observant, Mr. Pitt." Then, ignoring his captives further, he

  turned to Thick Neck, who cradled an AK-74 leveled at the pair.

  "Take them to the high-speed launch and lock them in the forward berth

  under guard," he barked, then turned on his heels and marched to the

  bridge.

  Dirk and Summer were marshaled down the gangplank and across the dock

  to a smaller side slip, where a sleek-looking motor yacht was tied up.

  It was a thirty-one-meter South Pacific marine high-speed catamaran,

  painted a teal blue. Designed and built for passenger ferry service,

  it had been refitted as a fast oceangoing personal luxury yacht.

  Equipped with four-thousand-horsepower diesel engines, the luxury cat

  could cruise along at speeds over 35 knots.

  "Now, this is more my style," Summer commented as they were prodded

  aboard and locked in a small but plushly appointed center berth.

  "No windows this time. Guess Mr. Hospitality didn't like your Inchon

  crack," Summer added as she curled her way into a small salon chair,

  her hands still cuffed behind her back.

  "Me and my big mouth," Dirk replied. "At least we now have a rough

  idea of where we are."

  "Yes ... right in the middle of deep kimchi. Well, if we got to go, at

  least we get to go first class," she said, admiring the walnut paneling

  and expensive artwork adorning the walls. "These guys certainly have

  some deep pockets for a second-rate terrorist organization."

  "Apparently, they have some friends at Kang Enterprises."

  "The shipping company?"

  "A large conglomerate. We've seen their commercial freighters around

  for years. They're also involved in some other high-tech businesses as

  well, though I'm only familiar with their shipping division. I met a

  guy in a bar once who worked as an oiler on one of their ships. He

  told me about their enclosed repair and storage facility in Inchon.

  Never seen anything like it. There's supposedly a dry dock at one

  end,

  and the place is chock-full of state-of-the-art equipment. The cable

  ship had the Kang trademark blue lightning bolt on the funnel. This

  has to be the place."

  "Glad to see all that time you spent as a barfly is finally paying

  off," Summer quipped.

  "Research. Strictly research," he smiled.

  Summer suddenly turned serious. "Why would a South Korean business be

  mixed up with the JRA? And what do they want with us?"

  Her words were interrupted by the throaty roar of the catamaran's

  diesel engines as they were fired up astern of their cabin.

  "I guess we'll soon find out."

  Tongju crossed over and boarded the catamaran as the ropes were cast

  off, the fast boat burbling along the dockage at a crawl. The huge

  hangar door slid to the side again, allowing the catamaran to exit the

  enclosed building. As they slipped through the doorway, Tongju glanced

  back at the big cable ship towering over them.

  An army of workmen was already crawling about the Baekje like a swarm

  of bees. A heavy-duty crane was removing the giant cable-laying wheel

  from the stern deck, while teams of painters re sprayed the topside

  decks. Elsewhere, construction crews were cutting the superstructure

  in some areas while adding compartments and bulkheads in other places.

  A work detail hung over the fantail, re beading and painting the ship's

  name, while another team painted the funnel a golden yellow. In just a

  matter of hours, the entire ship would be transformed to another vessel

  that even the trained eye would have trouble detecting. It would be as

  if the cable ship Baekje never existed.

  The fiery bantam marched through the executive corridors of NUMA's

  headquarters as if he owned the building, which, in fact, he

  essentially did. Admiral James Sandecker was a revered figure

  throughout the halls, offices, and laboratories of NUMA, the legacy of

  his founding the agency with a handful of scientists and engineers

  several decades before. Though diminutive in size, his blazing blue

  eyes and bright red hair with matching goatee simply advertised the

  burning intensity with which he operated twenty-four hours a day.

  "Hello, Darla, you're looking stunning today," he said graciously to

  the forty-something secretary typing on a computer. "Is Rudi in the

  executive conference room?"

  "Good to see you again, Admiral," the woman beamed as her eyes roved to

  a pair of Secret Service agents struggling to keep up with the

  fast-moving chief. "Yes, Mr. Gunn is waiting for you inside. Please

  go right in."

  Though still regarded as the Admiral by his NUMA comrades, the rest of

  the world knew him as Vice President Sandecker. Despite a lifelong

  aversion to the subversive world of Washington politics, Sandecker was

  persuaded by President Ward to fill the shoes of the vice presidency

  when the elected veep unexpectedly died in office. Sandecker knew the

  president to be a man of honor and integrity who would not force his

  second-in-command to remain a wallflower. The fiery admiral

  immediately broke the mold of past vice presidents. Far from being a

  figurehead and emissary for state funerals, Sandecker held a strong

  position in the administration. He vigorously spearheaded defense and

  security reforms, increased the funding and focus of

  government-sponsored scientific research, and led the point for

  environmental conservancy initiatives and all matters relating to the

  seas. At his bullying, the administration successfully strong-armed a

  worldwide ban on whaling by all industrialized nations, as well as

  implementing a host of tough penalties and sanctio
ns on ocean

  polluters.

  Sandecker burst through the door to the conference room, immediately

  hushing the group of NUMA officials deliberating the loss of the Sea

  Rover.

  "Thanks for coming over, Admiral," Gunn said, jumping up and showing

  his boss to the head of the table.

  "What's the latest information?" Sandecker asked, dispensing with the

  usual around-the-table pleasantries.

  "We've confirmed that the Sea Rover has, in fact, been sunk after being

  attacked in the East China Sea by a small armed force that infiltrated

  the vessel. Miraculously, the crew escaped from a locked storage hold

  minutes before the ship went under. They were able to make it into the

  lifeboats, where they were later spotted by an Air Force

  search-and-rescue plane. A nearby freighter was alerted, and they have

  since been picked up. The freighter and crew are en route to Nagasaki

  as we speak. All but two of the crew have been accounted for." "She

  was boarded by force?"

  "A stealth commando team of unidentified nationality got aboard her at

  night and took over the ship without a struggle."

  "That's Bob Morgan's ship, isn't it?"

  "Yes. The old goat apparently put up a fight and took a gunshot wound

  to the leg during the struggle. I spoke with Ryan, his exec, who told

  me that he's expected to pull through in good shape. According to

  Ryan, the boarders claimed to be with the Japanese Red Army. They made

  their escape in a cable-laying ship bearing the Japanese flag."