Dirk Pitt18-Black Wind

by Cussler, Clive

  of the high-speed catamaran as it burst out of the inlet. A pair of

  bright spotlights flared from beside the wheelhouse, sweeping back and

  forth rapidly across the water. It would be only seconds before one of

  the beams fell on the small white skiff heading across the river.

  "Time to exit stage right," Dirk said, swinging the boat around so that

  the bow pointed downstream. Summer quickly slipped over the

  side followed by Dirk, who hesitated a moment, flinging a pair of life

  jackets out away from the boat before he rolled into the water.

  "Let's angle across and slightly upriver to put as much distance as

  possible between us and the drifting boat," he said.

  "Right. We'll surface for air at the count of thirty."

  The clatter of machine-gun fire suddenly tore through the night air

  while a seam like spray of bullets slapped into the water a few yards

  in front of them. One of the spotlights had found the skiff and a

  guard opened fire as the catamaran raced toward it.

  In unison, Dirk and Summer ducked under the water, kicking down to a

  depth of four feet before angling into the current. The powerful flow

  of the river made them feel like they were swimming in place as they

  inched their way toward mid-river Gaining ground upriver was hopeless

  as the current overpowered them, but it pushed them downstream at a

  much slower pace than the drifting skiff.

  The deep pulsations of the catamaran's diesel engines resonated through

  the water and they could feel the boat as it approached the skiff.

  Counting time with each breaststroke, Dirk hoped that Summer would not

  get separated from him in the darkness. Swimming at night in the black

  water, their only indication of direction was the tug of the river's

  current. As he approached the count of thirty, he eased slowly to the

  surface, breaking the water with barely a ripple.

  Just ten feet away, Summer's face emerged from the water and Dirk could

  hear her breathing deeply. Glancing briefly at each other, then back

  toward the skiff, they quickly gulped a deep swallow of fresh air and

  resubmerged, kicking back into the river current for another count of

  thirty.

  The quick glimpse Dirk made toward the skiff was a reassuring one.

  Kang's catamaran had barreled in on the skiff from upriver with guns

  blazing and was now creeping up close to assess the damage. No one on

  board had bothered to look across the river, assuming that Dirk and

  Summer were still in the boat. In their brief time in the water,

  they

  had already established a separation of nearly a hundred meters from

  the skiff.

  As the catamaran approached the drifting boat, Tongju ordered his

  gunmen to cease firing. There was no sign of the two escapees, whom

  Tongju expected to find sprawled dead in the bottom of the

  bullet-ridden boat. Looking down from the upper deck of the catamaran,

  Tongju cursed to himself as they pulled alongside and shined a light

  into the skiff. The small boat was completely empty.

  "Search the surrounding water and shoreline," he ordered crisply. The

  catamaran circled around the skiff while the spotlights were splayed

  across the water, all eyes peering intently into the darkness.

  Suddenly, a gunman on the bow of the catamaran yelled out.

  "There, in the water ... two objects!" he cried, pointing an arm off

  the port bow.

  Tongju nodded at the words. This time they are finished, he thought

  with ruthless satisfaction.

  After their fourth submerged interval, Dirk and Summer reunited on the

  surface and took a moment to rest. Fighting their way across the

  current, they had distanced themselves from the skiff by almost four

  hundred meters.

  "We can swim on the surface for the time being," Dirk said between deep

  breaths. "Give us a chance to see what our friends are up to."

  Summer followed her brother's lead and rolled onto her back, kicking

  into a backstroke that allowed them to watch the distant catamaran as

  they moved farther across the river. Kang's boat was idling near the

  skiff, its spotlights circling the immediate area around them. Shouting

  erupted from the catamaran and the boat suddenly raced downriver a

  short distance. Gunfire exploded again for a moment, then ceased as

  the boat stopped in the water.

  Tongju had raced the catamaran toward the two objects spotted floating

  on the water and watched with disdain as his gunmen blasted away at the

  empty life vests that Dirk had tossed into the water. The

  boat idled around the life jackets for several minutes, waiting for the

  two escapees to surface in case they were hiding submerged nearby,

  before resuming the search. Dirk and Summer struggled toward midriver

  as they watched the catamaran begin making a wide-circle search around

  the skiff and life jackets. With each loop around the still-drifting

  skiff, the catamaran's pilot enlarged the circle in an ever-expanding

  spiral.

  "Won't be too many more minutes before they work their way up and out

  our direction," Summer lamented.

  Dirk scanned the watery horizon. They had worked their way about a

  mile into the river but were still barely a quarter of the way across

  the vast waterway. They could turn back and try for the nearest

  shoreline, but that would entail crossing the path of the advancing

  catamaran. Or they could continue with their original plan of

  traversing the river toward the lights on the opposite shore. But

  fatigue was beginning to creep up on them, hastened by their long

  immersion in the cool water. Another three-mile swim would be a tall

  order, made more difficult by the repeated submergings they would have

  to perform to avoid Kang's boat. Whether they could in fact survive

  the game of cat and mouse with Tongju and his gunmen would be uncertain

  at best.

  But there was a third option. The small vessel with the colored lights

  that they had earlier noticed upriver was approaching on a nearby path

  about a half mile away. In the darkness, Dirk had trouble identifying

  the boat, but it appeared to be a wooden sailing vessel of some kind. A

  small red sail, revealed under the white mast light to be square shaped

  in dimension, was raised near the bow, but the boat didn't appear to be

  moving much faster than the current.

  Dirk gauged the path of the boat and swam another hundred yards toward

  the center of the river, then stopped. Summer swam past before

  realizing her brother had halted.

  "What gives? We need to keep going," she whispered after swimming back

  to him.

  Dirk nodded downriver toward the catamaran. The sleek vessel had

  arced well out into the river as it circled downstream. He mentally

  calculated the trajectory of the yacht if it held its current circular

  course.

  "They'll be within sight of us on the next upriver pass," he said

  quietly.

  Summer could see he was right. The bright beams of the searchlights

  would shine upon their position on the next loop. They would have to

  remain submerged for several minutes to guarantee their con
cealment.

  Dirk took a quick glance upriver. "Sister, I think it's time for

  Plan

  B."

  "Plan B?" she asked.

  "Yes, Plan B. Stick out your thumb and start hitchhiking."

  The large wooden sailboat creaked lazily down the river, its foremast

  sail and a small auxiliary motor pushing it along just 3 knots faster

  than the current. As the vessel crept closer, Dirk could see that it

  was a three-masted Chinese junk of about twenty-five meters in length.

  Unlike most dilapidated sailing boats in this part of the world, the

  junk appeared to be maintained in pristine condition. A string of

  multicolored Chinese lanterns hung gaily from bow to stern, lending a

  party like atmosphere to the boat. Constructed entirely of rich

  teak-wood, the highly varnished surfaces seemed to glisten under the

  swaying overhead lamps. Somewhere belowdecks, a pair of stereo

  speakers blared out an orchestral tune, which Dirk recognized as a

  Gershwin melody. Yet despite the festive atmosphere, there was not a

  soul to be seen on deck.

  "Ahoy! We're in the water. Can you help?"

  Dirk's muted shout went unanswered as the junk approached. He repeated

  the call, careful not to draw attention from the catamaran, which had

  completed a downstream turn and was now headed upriver. Swimming

  closer to the moving junk, Dirk thought he detected a shadowy movement

  on the stern, but, again, there was no response to his call for help. He tried a third time, failing to notice as he

  spoke that the muffled drone of the junk's motor audibly raised a

  note.

  The junk's golden teak hull began gliding past Dirk and Summer, an

  ornately carved dragon on the prow eyeing them maliciously in the water

  less than ten feet from the starboard beam. Like a phantom in the

  night, the junk slipped by strangely impervious to the voices calling

  from the water. As the stern and rudderpost floated past, Dirk

  abandoned hope of rescue from the junk and angrily wondered whether the

  pilot was asleep, drunk, or both.

  Peering toward the slowly approaching catamaran, he was startled by a

  sudden splash in the water near his head. It was an orange plastic

  float tied to a coil of rope, trailing back to the stern of the junk.

  "Grab hold and hang on tight," he instructed his sister, making sure

  Summer had a strong grip on the line before grasping it himself. As

  the line quickly drew taut, the force of the junk sailing faster than

  the river momentarily jerked them underwater. With a face full of

  water, they were dragged along the river's surface like a fallen

  water-skier who forgot to let go of the towline. Dirk slowly began

  pulling himself up the line hand over hand as his legs flailed out

  behind him. Reaching the high, blunt stern of the junk, he shimmied up

  the rope almost vertically until reaching the stern railing. A pair of

  hands emerged from the darkness, grabbing about his lapels and

  forcefully yanking him over the railing and onto the deck.

  "Thanks," Dirk muttered, paying little heed to a tall figure in the

  shadows. "My sister is still on the line," he gasped, standing and

  grabbing the line at the stern rail and pulling at it. The tall man

  stepped up behind him and clasped the line, throwing his weight into it

  with Dirk. Together, they hoisted Summer up the railing like a gigged

  flounder until she flopped over the railing and onto the deck in a

  soggy heap. A high-pitched bark erupted from across the deck and, in

  an instant, a small black-and-tan dachshund raced over to Summer and

  began licking her face.

  "Dark night for a swim, don't you think?" the stranger said in

  English.

  "You're American," Dirk stated with surprise.

  "Ever since being born in the Land of Lincoln," came the reply.

  Dirk studied the man beside him for the first time. He stood

  six-foot-three, nearly matching his own height, though he carried a

  good twenty pounds more heft. A wave of unruly white hair and a

  matching goatee indicated that he was at least forty years his senior.

  The man's blue-green eyes, which seemed to twinkle with mischief under

  the hanging lights, touched a nerve with him. He felt as if he was

  looking at an older version of his own father, he finally decided.

  "We're in great danger," Summer injected, rising to her feet. She

  scooped up the small dog as she stood and rubbed its ears briskly,

  which produced a sharp wag of its tail. "Our research vessel was sunk

  by these murderers and they mean to kill us," she said, nodding

  downriver toward the catamaran that was circling slowly in their

  direction.

  "I heard the machine-gun fire," the man replied.

  "They intend to make another deadly attack. We need to alert the

  authorities," she pleaded.

  "Thousands of additional lives are at risk," Dirk added somberly.

  The white-haired man perused the odd pair up and down. Summer, soaked

  but elegant still in her ripped silk cocktail dress, appeared an

  unusual companion for Dirk, who was battered and bruised in a shredded

  blue jumpsuit. Neither attempted to conceal the handcuff shackles that

  dangled from their wrists.

  A slight grin fell across the man's lips. "I guess I'll buy it. We

  better hide you belowdecks until we get past that cat. You can stay in

  Mauser's cabin."

  "Mauser? How many people are aboard?" Dirk asked.

  "Just me and that fellow who's kissing your sister," he replied. Dirk

  turned to see the small dachshund happily licking the water off

  Summer's face.

  The junk's owner quickly led them through a bulkhead door and down a

  flight of steps that led to a tastefully decorated stateroom.

  "There's towels in the bath and dry clothes in the closet. And here,

  this will warm you up." He grabbed a bottle sitting on a side table

  and poured them each a glass of the clear fluid. Dirk downed a shot

  quickly, tasting a bitter flavor from the smooth liquor that clearly

  packed a high alcohol content.

  "Soju," the man said. "A local rice brew. Help yourself while I try

  to get us past your friends in the cat."

  "Thank you for helping us," Summer replied appreciatively. "By the

  way, my name is Summer Pitt, and this is my brother, Dirk."

  "Pleased to meet you. My name is Clive Cussler."

  Cussler returned to the junk's exposed wheel and slipped the engine

  into gear, tweaking the throttle slightly higher while nosing the bow

  farther toward midriver It took only a few minutes before the

  catamaran approached from downstream, pulling alongside and washing the

  junk in a flood of spotlights. Cussler slipped on a conical straw

  peasant's hat and hunched his tall frame low at the wheel.

  Through the glare of the lights, he could see several men pointing

  automatic weapons at him. As the catamaran crept to within inches of

  the port beam, an unseen man on the bridge barked a question across

  through the boat's PA system. Cussler replied by shaking his head.

  Another command echoed across from the catamaran as the spotlights

  bounced about the junk. Cussler again shook his head, wondering


  whether the waterlogged coil of rope and wet pairs of footprints across

  the deck would be detected. For several long minutes, the catamaran

  held steady at the junk's side as if waiting to board. Then, with a

  sudden blast of its engines, the catamaran roared away, resuming its

  river search closer to shore.

  Cussler guided the junk down the last vestiges of the Han River until

  its waters were swallowed by the Yellow Sea. As the sea-lanes opened

  and the potential for nearby water traffic fell away, Cussler punched a

  handful of electronic controls at the helm. Hydraulic winches began to

  whir as lines were pulled and yards were raised, pulling the

  traditional red, square-shaped lug sails of a classic junk to the peak

  of the main- and mizzenmasts. Cussler manually tied off the out haul

  lines and then powered off the small diesel motor. The old junk now

  leaped through the waves under the graceful power of its sails.

  "You've got a beautiful vessel," Dirk said, emerging from belowdecks

  dressed in jeans and a polo shirt. Summer followed him onto the deck,

  clad in an oversized pair of coveralls and a man's work shirt.

  "The standard Chinese merchant ship that dates back almost two thousand

  years," Cussler replied. "This one was built in Shanghai in 1907 for a

  wealthy tea trader. She's made entirely from a hard teakwood called

  "Takien Tong." She's extremely durable and surprisingly seaworthy."

  "Where did you find her?" Summer asked.

  "A friend of mine found her abandoned in a Malaysian boatyard and

  decided to refurbish her. Took him six years to complete the job.