"Audio and nav check," he barked.
"Bravo here. Nav confirmed. Out," came one voice.
"Charlie here. Nav confirmed. Out," followed a second voice, this one
with a slight Georgia twang.
"Delta here. Nav confirmed. Out," the third diver's voice copied.
"Roger, stand by," McCasland replied.
Above them, the two SEALs in the sampan had beached the boat next to a
battered and abandoned pier within sight of Kang's security men. Making
a show of repairing the boat, the two men clanged tools together and
cursed loudly as they pretended to fumble with the motor while the men
in the water carried out their mission.
Below the surface, McCasland activated his Miniature Underwater GPS
Receiver (MUGR), or "Mugger" as it was nicknamed. No larger than a
Palm Pilot, the small device contained a navigation system that was
calibrated by signals from the GPS satellite system. McCasland briefly
kicked up to a depth of ten feet, where the underwater receiver could
pick up the GPS signal and establish a fixed base point. A muted green
display screen popped on, displaying an animated trail that zigzagged
through and around a series of obstacles. Based on aerial survey
photographs and the description provided by Dirk and Summer, McCasland
had programmed a series of GPS way points into the Mugger. The
aggregate points created a path to the covered dock entrance they could
follow while completely submerged. All four divers held one of the
devices, which also showed one another's relative position with a tiny
flashing light. Swimming in complete darkness, they could follow the
path to the covered dock while staying within just a few feet of one
another.
"Okay, let's move," he spoke into his faceplate after descending
again.
With a deep thrust of his fins, McCasland kicked forward into the inky
water, his eyes glued to the electronic compass and depth gauge, which
he ensured never wavered from the twenty-foot mark. Reaching the
entrance to the private ship channel, he turned and swam into the
narrow inlet, passing almost directly beneath the security guards'
speedboat, which bobbed on the surface well above him. Over
McCasland's shoulder, the three other SEALs followed in a triangular
pattern a few feet behind.
Day or night, the SEAL divers would have been nearly impossible to
detect due to their use of rebreathers. Forgoing the standard dive
tank of compressed air, which generates telltale exhaust bubbles
visible on the surface, the Navy divers utilized a Carleton
Technologies VIPER system for their air supply. Embedded within a
sleek-looking backpack, the VIPER rebreather provided pure oxygen to
the divers that was recirculated through a chemical scrubber, which
removed harmful carbon dioxide while dispelling only a minute amount of
exhaust. The streamlined system could enable the divers to remain
underwater for up to four hours should the need arise. But with no
visible exhaust bubbles rising to the surface, their whereabouts were
safely concealed from the naked eye.
Following the Mugger's imaginary trail, the four divers swam through
the winding inlet, kicking through the black water until they
approached the entrance to the enclosed dock. The quarter-mile
submerged swim would have exhausted most sport divers, but years of
demanding physical training made it seem like crossing the street to
the hardened SEALs. Their heartbeats thumped just above resting as
they regrouped in front of the massive door to the enclosed dock.
McCasland then swam in a circular pattern until his hands found a pylon
that supported one side of the entrance. Following the pylon up, he
ascended slowly until finding the lower edge of the sliding door,
which
hung three feet beneath the water's surface. Confident he was at the
proper location, he descended again to the depth of the other divers.
"Proceed with preliminary recon. Regroup this position in three-zero.
Out."
From this point on, each diver had a different trail to follow inside
the covered dockyard. Dirk and Summer had drawn a detailed map of the
dock layout from memory, which was used to establish a different
reconnaissance point for each diver. McCasland had the farthest and
most dangerous assignment, to swim to the land's-end side of the
dockyard for a frontal view of the facility. Two other divers would
reconnoiter the main dock to verify and film the Baekje, while the
fourth diver would stand by as backup near the entrance door.
The bright overhead lights of the hangar illuminated the upper water
shallows, casting a dark shadow from the dock's supporting concrete
pilings. McCasland found that at a depth of fifteen feet, he could
just make out the dark outline of the pilings in the water ahead of
him. He held the Mugger to his chest and kicked harder, using his
vision to guide him quickly down the length of the dock. After passing
dozens of pilings, a solid wall of concrete suddenly rose up before him
and he knew that he had reached the end of the pier. Resting against a
pylon, he readied a digital camcorder and prepared to surface, fighting
back an uneasy feeling of defeat. He had felt a strange void while
swimming beneath the pier, sensing an absence of the mass he thought he
should feel nearby even though it was out of sight.
Quietly breaking the water's surface beneath the edge of the dock, his
eyes confirmed the empty feeling in his stomach. The giant covered
dockyard was bare. There was no four-hundred-foot cable ship tied up
in front of him. In fact, the main dock was completely empty.
McCasland silently scanned the facility with his camera, finding only
one vessel in the entire structure, a beat-up tugboat perched on a
dry-dock. Nearby, a group of bored dockworkers on the graveyard shift
were chasing each other around in a forklift, the only signs of life in
the massive structure.
His filming complete, McCasland ducked underwater and kicked back along
the dock toward the main entrance door. Reaching the support pylon, he
pulled up the Mugger and saw that the other three divers had already
returned and were waiting in the surrounding waters a few feet away.
"Mission complete," he said curtly, then swam off into the inlet.
The four SEALs made their way back to the beached sampan and silently
crawled inside. The mock fishermen suddenly found the cure to the
ailing motor and restarted the outboard engine. With more vocal
cursing, they cruised past Kang's inlet and motored off into the
night.
Once out of sight, McCasland sat up and took off his faceplate, taking
a breath full of the dank port air while staring at the twinkling
waterfront lights. A drop of rain struck him on the face, then another
and another. Shaking his head, he sat silently while a healthy deluge
opened up from the skies on the frustrated commando.
Webster, Peterson, and Burroughs returned to the NUMA headquarters
building at exactly six o'clock and found a subdued scene when they
arrived at Gunn's office. The results of the SEAL team's
reconnaissance mission had just been received, and Gunn, Dirk, and
Summer sat morosely discussing the report.
"Disappointing news, I'm afraid," Gunn said. "The cable ship wasn't
there."
"How could it come and go without being seen?" Webster wondered.
"We've got Interpol and customs authorities on the lookout for that
vessel all throughout Asia Pacific."
"Perhaps a few of them are on Kang's payroll," Summer said.
Webster brushed aside the suggestion. "We're certain the
reconnaissance team didn't misidentify anything?"
"There apparently was nothing in the enclosed dock to see. A video
feed of the surveillance is being sent by satellite right now. We can
take a look for ourselves on the admiral's viewing monitor," Gunn
replied.
For the second time that day, he led a procession to the admiral's
former office. As he approached the corner suite, he was surprised to
hear a familiar laugh emanating from the office as a hazy cloud of
smoke drifted out the open door.
Entering the threshold, Gunn was shocked to find Al Giordino sitting on
the couch. With a wild wave of his dark curly hair askew, the newly
appointed NUMA director of underwater technology sat reclining with his
legs up on the coffee table, a stubby cigar dangling from his lips. He
was dressed in a worn NUMA jumpsuit and looked like he just stepped off
a boat.
"Rudi, my boy, here flogging the crew a little late tonight, aren't
we?" Giordino asked before blowing a puff of smoke from the cigar
skyward.
"Somebody's got to mind the store while you're out basking on a warm
tropical beach."
Dirk and Summer grinned as they entered the room and spotted Giordino,
who was like a favorite uncle to them. They didn't immediately see
their father, who stood at the opposite end of the office gazing at the
lights across the Potomac. His six-foot-three frame stood tall against
the window, having lost little of its younger muscular leanness. A
touch of gray at the temples and a few slight wrinkles around the eyes
hinted at his age. The weathered, tan face of Dirk Pitt, the legendary
special projects director and now head of NUMA, broke into a broad grin
at the sight of his children.
"Dirk, Summer," he said, his sparkling green eyes glowing with warmth
as he threw his arms around his two kids.
"Dad, we thought you and Al were still in the Philippines," Summer said
after giving her father a hug and a peck on the cheek.
"Are you kidding?" Giordino piped in. "The old man practically swam
across the Pacific to get back here when he heard you were missing."
The elder Pitt smiled. "I was just jealous of you two taking a tour of
Northeast Asia without me," he grinned.
"We made some notes of places to avoid," Dirk laughed in reply.
Pitt visibly warmed in the presence of his two kids. The veteran
marine engineer brimmed with a radiant serenity at the world that had
recently changed around him. His personal life had been completely
jarred by the sudden appearance of his two grown children just a few
years earlier whom he never knew existed. But they quickly became a
close part of his life, joining him in his underwater work, as well as
sharing personal time with him and his new wife. The sudden dose of
responsibility had nudged him to take stock of his life and he had
finally married his longtime love, Colorado congresswoman Loren Smith.
But the changes continued, as even his professional life saw an
upheaval. With Admiral Sandecker unexpectedly taking the vice
presidency, Pitt was suddenly thrust into the top spot at NUMA. While
special projects director, he experienced several lifetimes' worth of
adventure and challenges that took him to the four corners of the
globe. The hazards had taken a toll on him, both physically and
mentally, and now he was glad to ease back on the more vigorous demands
of the job. As NUMA's chief director, his administrative and political
duties often exceeded his interests, but he still ensured that he and
Al spent plenty of time in the field, testing new equipment, exploring
prospective marine sanctuaries, or just pushing the limits of the deep.
Deep inside, the flame still burned brightly when it came to exploring
the unknown or solving an ancient mystery and his old-fashioned sense
of propriety never waned. The kidnapping of his children and the
sinking of the Sea Rover triggered an anger inside that brought back
the old resolve he'd felt time and again to make right in the world.
"Dad, what's the situation with the toxic Japanese cargo ship in the
Philippines?" Dirk asked. "I understand that it was leaky chemical
munitions causing the reef kill."
"That's right, a mixture of mustard and lewisite in this case. More
biochemical hazards left over from World War Two. We actually have the
leak contained. Nobody was volunteering to conduct a costly excavation
and removal of the munitions, so we did the next best thing. Bury
them."
"Lucky for us that underwater sandbank was right there," Giordino
explained. "We just fired up a water pump and filled the cargo hold
with sand, then sealed it back up. As long as nobody goes digging
around down there, there should be no more toxic leakage and the
damaged reef should rejuvenate itself in a few years."
An administrative aid poked her head through the door and spoke to
Gunn. "Sir, the video feed from the Pentagon is available for viewing
now," she said, then disappeared out the door like a rabbit down a
hole.
Gunn seized the moment to introduce the Homeland Security and FBI men
to Pitt and Giordino, then herded everyone toward a large, flat-panel
monitor that was hidden behind a sliding panel. Typing in a few quick
commands on a keyboard, the screen suddenly illuminated with the image
of a large, enclosed dockyard. The camera's eye panned around the
facility, showing a series of empty docks. After less than a minute's
running time, the video ended and the screen went blank.
"That's Kang's facility, no doubt about it. But there's no sign of the
Baekje" Dirk said.
"The Navy report stated that a small tug and a speedboat were the only
vessels observed on Kang's property," Gunn said. "Like Elvis, the
Baekje has apparently left the building."
Webster cleared his throat. "I have confirmed with Interpol and the
Korean National Police that Inchon port traffic has been monitored
around the clock since the crew of the Sea Rover were rescued and the
alert bulletin issued. No vessel matching the Baekje's description
has been seen entering or departing the port since."
"Someone's on the take," Giordino sneered.
Webster returned the comment with an indignant look. "A remote
possibility but not likely. Despite its heavy traffic, Inchon is not a
particularly large port. Somebody should have reported seeing her
depart."
"She may have made a stealthy getaway right after Dirk and Summer left
the
ship," Gunn conjectured, "which was before the Interpol alert was
issued."
"Or there's another possibility," Pitt suggested. "The ship may have
been camouflaged or reconfigured to resemble another vessel. She may
have sailed out of port in broad daylight looking like an ordinary
tramp freighter."
"Or the Love Boat" Giordino added.
"Whatever her disposition, the fact remains that without the ship we
have insufficient evidence to make a move against Kang with the Korean
authorities," Webster said.
"What about Dirk and Summer?" Pitt replied with rising anger. "Do you
think they showed up on Korean soil aboard the Queen Mary?"
"The proof against Kang has to be ironclad," Webster replied with a
stressed look. "There's a serious political problem with South Korea
right now. Our people in the State Department have their knees
shaking, and even the Pentagon is nervous as hell. The prospect of
losing our military presence in Korea is very real and nobody wants to
jeopardize a precarious situation at this critical juncture in time."
"So you're afraid to ask South Korea to investigate Kang?" Pitt
asked.
"This comes from the top. We're to stay away from Korea until after
the National Assembly vote on the expulsion of our military forces."
"What does the admiral have to say about this?" Pitt asked of Gunn.
Gunn shook his head slowly. "Admiral, er, Vice President Sandecker has
informed me that the president is deferring to the State Department for
reaction to the sinking of the Sea Rover. Dirk and Summer's indictment
of Kang has unfortunately resulted in the edict that Jim just
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