himself aboard in a single fluid move, dropping to the deck and lying
still on the darkened stern. A second later, a thump banged against
the side as another body jumped onto the side of the moving boat. Dirk
saw the outline of a black-camouflaged man quickly slide over the
railing and onto the deck a few feet behind him.
"It's Pitt here," he whispered back to the shadow, not wishing to get
shot by mistake. "Who's there?"
"Gutierrez," came the gravelly voice of the SEAL commander. "We need
to get to the wheelhouse and stop this craft."
Gutierrez started to get up and creep forward when Dirk stuck out his
hand in a halting motion. Both men froze as Dirk trained his eyes and
ears on the port side of the deck. On the far side, he could see that
a stairwell led down from an open observation deck above their heads.
As the yacht headed into the cove, the lights from the dock flared over
the boat's stern and Dirk detected a slight movement in the shadows of
the stairwell. Slowly unholstering his 9mm, he took a bead on the
shadowy spot and waited. When the shadow suddenly appeared to descend
a step, Dirk squeezed the SIG Sauer's trigger twice.
A metallic clunk rang across the deck from a fallen handgun and the
long shadow slumped down the stairwell into the visible mass of a
crumpled man dressed in black fatigues.
"Nice shooting," Gutierrez grumbled. "Now, let's move."
As the commando crept forward, Dirk followed close behind, nearly
losing his footing and slipping to the deck at one point. Glancing
down, he noticed the deck was covered in a pool of blood from the
gunman Gutierrez had shot from the dock. The dead man's body lay
facedown next to a teak bar, a bent cigarette still clenched between
his lips.
Roaring away from the brightly lit dock, the yacht was now enshrouded
in total darkness as it sped across the cove at top speed. Nearly all
of the boat's lights had been extinguished, save for a few dim interior
floor lights The two men felt their way along to the main
rear cabin that housed the dining salon and skirted around to the
starboard-deck passageway. Gutierrez suddenly raised a hand and
stopped, taking a step back toward the salon.
"There's next to no cover along the side passageways. It would be
better if we split up. Take the port passage and try to move forward.
I'll work up the starboard side here," Gutierrez directed, knowing
another gunman was likely waiting around the corner. "We better work
fast, before we end up sailing to the wrong side of the DMZ."
Dirk nodded. "See you on the bridge," he whispered, then darted across
the stern deck. With his senses tuned high, he edged around the
portside corner and stepped onto the teak passageway leading forward.
Distant gunfire from the shore rattled over the yacht's pulsating
engines, but Dirk was focused on the sounds aboard the boat. Padding
silently, he crept forward until the passageway ended at a stairwell.
The bridge was almost in reach now, just up a level and another thirty
feet. As he peered up the stairs, the loud bark of automatic gunfire
suddenly cracked through the air. His heart skipped a beat, but then
he realized it was on the other side of the yacht.
Gutierrez had been waiting for the burst. Slinking forward on the
starboard side, he kept low to the ground in anticipation of an unseen
gunman. Reaching the opposite stairwell, he climbed it like a cat,
poised on the balls of his feet for a sudden barrage. He didn't have
to go far to find it. The SEAL had barely set foot on the landing when
a spray of gunfire whistled over his head. Hiding off the bridge wing,
a black-clad gunman fired with an AK-74.
Gutierrez barely escaped the initial fusillade. The gunman's burst was
thrown high when the yacht suddenly slowed and swerved into the narrow
cove inlet. Diving back for the stairwell, Gutierrez slid down the
first few steps before twisting around and aiming his MP5K. The SEAL
waited calmly for several seconds until the gunman's muzzle flashed
again. The incoming burst chewed up the deck just inches from his
head, peppering his face with teakwood splinters. Calmly adjusting his
aim, Gutierrez let off a solid burst from the Heckler &
lack Wind
Koch into the darkness. A brief muffled cry rang out, then another
flash of fire spewed from the concealed shooter's gun. Only this time,
the spray of yellow fire arced skyward, then ceased altogether as the
mortally wounded gunman fell dead to the deck.
On the other side of the yacht, Dirk heard the gunfire fall silent and
wondered whether Gutierrez had survived the firefight. Moving up the
port stairwell, he climbed two steps then froze at the sound of a faint
click behind him. Tilting his head back, he detected that the sound
came from a side cabin door at the base of the stairs. Descending
silently, Dirk crept back down the stairs until he stood in front of
the doorway. Gripping the SIG Sauer firmly in his right hand, he
reached for the brass door handle with his left hand and gentry turned
it to its stops. Holding the latch open for a second, he took a deep
breath, then shoved the door open and lunged in.
He had expected the door to fly fully open, but, instead, it abruptly
stopped from the mass of a human being. Slightly thrown off balance by
the sudden jar, Dirk found himself bouncing off a muscular guard
standing with a surprised look inside the doorway. Facing just inches
away, Dirk noted a deep L-shaped scar on the man's chin and a bent
angular nose that had once been broken. In his hands he held an AK-74
rifle, which he was attempting to reload. The rifle's barrel was
pointed at the floor as the man fumbled with the clip, but he
immediately swung the stock up toward Dirk's right side. Lurching back
a step in order to bring the SIG Sauer to bear, Dirk was struck by the
rifle before he could aim and his shot fired harmlessly into the wall.
But rather than stiffly absorbing the blow, Dirk rolled to his right as
the rifle struck, at the same time swinging his left arm around. As he
pivoted with the force, he balled his left fist and threw a sharp
uppercut which landed fimly on the jaw of the man's face. The blow
sent the gunman staggering backward, where he tripped and fell over a
basket of laundered clothes.
For the first time, Dirk noticed that the cabin was a small laundry
room. A tiny washing machine and dryer sat against the far wall
while
an open ironing board stood next to the doorway. Regaining his
balance, he quickly leveled the SIG Sauer at the guard's chest and
squeezed the trigger.
There was no loud bark from the muzzle nor a kick to his wrist.
Instead, just a metallic click as the gun's firing pin beat down on an
empty chamber. Dirk grimaced as he realized that he had emptied the
pistol's thirteen-round magazine. Smiling in the face of the empty
handgun, Kang's guard rolled to his knees. In his right hand, he still
held the full ammo clip, which he expertly jammed into the stoc
k of the
assault rifle. Dirk knew there was no way he could reload the SIG
Sauer in time, but his body was already reacting with an alternate
plan. Barely seen out of the corner of his eye, the shiny object that
his hand was already reaching for was a last-gamble defense.
The chrome iron sitting atop the ironing board was not hot, nor even
plugged in. But it made for a sharp and nasty projectile. With a toss
that would have made John Elway proud, Dirk grabbed the iron and fired
it at the gunman like a bullet. The gunman, intent on training his
loaded rifle at Dirk, didn't even bother to duck. The flat side of the
iron struck his head like an anvil, smacking his skull with an audible
crack. The assault rifle fell to the floor first, followed by the
gunman, his eyes rolled far back in his head.
Beneath his feet, Dirk felt the boat's motors suddenly rumble louder
again. The yacht had cleared the inlet and was accelerating into the
Han River. It would easily outrun the special forces support vessel
stationed off the inlet. If it was to be stopped, he and Gutierrez
would have to act quick. But how many more gunmen were aboard? And,
more important, where was Gutierrez?
utierrez kneeled at the top of the starboard stairwell peering down the
passage, searching for shadows. The black silhouette of the gunman he
had dropped lay motionless on the deck beside the bridge. He could
detect no movement around the area, and no one was firing at him, at
least for the moment. No sense in waiting for reinforcements to
appear, he decided. Vaulting from the stairwell, he dashed across the
open passageway to the bridge wing and leaped over the dead gunman,
then burst through the open bridge door.
He half-expected a horde of armed guards waiting to greet him with a
cluster of hot muzzles pointing his way, but it was not the case. Just
three men stood on the expansive bridge, their eyes turned to him with
contempt. A burly, salt-faced man who was obviously the captain stood
at the helm, guiding the yacht toward the center of the Han River. Near
the port wing door stood a surly guard fingering an assault rifle, who
glared at the SEAL with anticipation. And at the rear of the
bridge, sitting in a raised leather captain's chair with a look of
disdain on his face, was none other than Kang himself. The mogul, whom
Gutierrez recognized from a briefing photo, was dressed in a burgundy
silk robe, having slept on his yacht in preparation for a last-minute
getaway.
As the four sets of eyes locked on one another, Gutierrez's reflexes
were already in motion. The trained SEAL quickly aimed his weapon at
the guard and squeezed the trigger, a full second before the other man
reacted. In a quick burst, three rounds spat from his gun, striking
the guard in a clean cluster across his chest. A stunned look spread
over the guard's face as he was thrown back against the bulkhead, but
his finger instinctively tightened in the trigger guard. A wild spray
of fire burst from his assault rifle, ripping across the deck and
toward Gutierrez. The SEAL stood helpless as a seam of lead flew in
his direction before the gunman sagged to the floor dead.
It took a split second for Gutierrez to take stock. He had been hit by
one round, which nipped him in the thigh. He felt a warm rivulet of
blood from the wound run down his leg and collect in his boot. Another
round nearly struck him in the abdomen but was deflected by his own
machine gun. The bullet had smashed into the MP5K's breech, he
realized, and rendered the firearm useless.
The other men on the bridge noticed it as well. The burly captain,
standing just a few feet from Gutierrez, let go of the ship's wheel and
plunged at the wounded SEAL. Unsteady from the wound to his left leg,
Gutierrez stood inert as the captain barreled into him. The captain
used his bulk to throw a bear hug around the SEAL and then slam him
into the helm. Gutierrez could feel the breath forced from his lungs
and felt as if his ribs were going to snap as the captain tried to
squeeze the life out of him. But in Gutierrez's right hand, he still
held the compact MP5 machine gun, which he swung upward and smashed
against the back of the captain's skull. To his astonishment, nothing
happened. The captain seemed to squeeze even tighter, and Gutierrez
could see a kaleidoscope of stars starting to shimmer before his
eyes as the oxygen in his blood ebbed. Sharp pains flared from the
wound in his leg while hammering pangs throbbed against his temples.
Again, he thrust the gun's stock against the man's head and, again, the
grip seemed only to tighten. Desperation started to seep into the
SEAL's mind as he approached the verge of passing out and he wildly
thrust the gun at the man's head again and again. Gutierrez sensed his
body falling and presumed he was blacking out. But he was suddenly
jarred conscious by a collision to his body.
The repeated blows had finally knocked the stubborn captain cold and
the two of them fell hard to the deck, Gutierrez still embraced in the
captain's bear hug. The SEAL gasped for breath as the man's iron grip
fell slack and he crawled to his knees inhaling deeply.
"An impressive display. But, regrettably, it shall be your last." The
voice of Kang spat with the flavor of venom. While grappling with the
yacht's captain, Kang had approached and leveled a Glock automatic
pistol at Gutierrez's head. The SEAL searched for a defense but there
was none. The guard's AK-74 was wedged in the dead man's hands across
the bridge and his own weapon lay empty and useless in his right hand.
On his knees, weakened from gunshots and the struggle with the captain,
there was nothing he could do. With a resolute look of defiance, he
stared up at Kang and the Glock pistol aimed inches from his face.
The single gunshot burst through the bridge like a crack of thunder.
Gutierrez felt nothing and was surprised by the sudden stunned look in
Kang's eyes. Then he realized that the Korean's hand, the one holding
the pistol, had disappeared along with the gun amid a shower of crimson
blood. Two more cracks filled the air and a splattering of blood flew
out of Kang's left knee and right thigh. With a garbled cry of agony,
Kang fell to the deck, grasping the remains of his bleeding hand and
writhing in misery. As he fell, Gutierrez looked across the bridge to
where the gunshots had originated.
Standing across the deck in the port doorway, Dirk held an AK-74 at eye
level, the smoking barrel still leveled at the prone figure of
Kang. A relieved look spread across his face as he made eye contact
with Gutierrez and realized the SEAL was still alive.
Dirk walked across the bridge, noting the pilotless yacht was still
barreling across the width of the Han River at nearly 40 knots. Off
the starboard beam but falling rapidly behind was the SEAL support
ship, fighting to keep up with the faster yacht. Across the river, but
now directly ahead, was the brightly illuminated river dredge he had
seen before, sl
owly scooping a channel lane near the opposite bank.
Dirk stared at the dredge a moment, thinking of the dead SEAL on the
dock and the Coast Guardsmen killed in Alaska. Then he turned back to
the wriggling figure of Kang and stepped close to the mogul, who was
bleeding heavily onto the deck.
"Your ride is over, Kang. Enjoy your stay in hell."
Kang peered up at Dirk with an angry look and grunted an obscenity but
Dirk turned and walked away before he could finish. Stepping to the
helm, he reached down and yanked Gutierrez to his feet.
"Nice going, partner, but what took you so long?" Gutierrez rasped.
"Just had to get a few things ironed out," Dirk replied as he
half-dragged the SEAL to the side railing.
"We better stop this cruise ship now," Gutierrez grunted. "I didn't
expect to find the big cheese aboard. Intel will be anxious to get him
under the hot spotlight."
"I'm afraid Kang has an appointment with the grim reaper," Dirk said,
grabbing a life preserver off the bulkhead and throwing it over
Gutierrez's head and shoulders.
"My orders are to take him alive," Gutierrez protested. But before he
could argue further, Dirk grabbed him firmly by the lapels and rolled
the both of them over the side railing and into the water below. Dirk
ensured he was positioned beneath Gutierrez and took the brunt of the
blow as they struck and bounced across the water, nearly knocking the
wind out of him from the high-speed impact. After a quick submersion,
they bobbed to the surface as the yacht roared past them, Dirk holding
the SEAL commander afloat.
The crew of the following support ship saw them go over the side and
quickly broke off the chase to pull them out of the water. But Dirk's
and Gutierrez's eyes were on the yacht as they floated in the water,
Dirk Pitt18-Black Wind Page 57