Dirk Pitt18-Black Wind

by Cussler, Clive

  "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