Dirk Pitt18-Black Wind

by Cussler, Clive

  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,