Black Wind dp-18

by Clive Cussler

  Summer activated the communication system and called Ryan on the Sea Rover but was met with silence in return. After several additional attempts, the receiver crackled in her earpiece.

  “Starfish, this is Sea Rover. We do not copy, please repeat, over,” came a faint and fuzzy call from Ryan.

  “Our com signal must be blocked by the submarine's bulkheads,” Dirk said. “We can hear them, but they can't hear us.”

  “I'll keep trying in case they can pick up sporadic signals.”

  Summer continued calling for another ten minutes, speaking in a loud, clear voice, but received only the same frustrating reply from Ryan.

  “It's no use. They can't hear us. We're on our own,” Summer finally conceded.

  Dirk began flipping switches on the console, shutting down all nonessential electronics in order to conserve battery power. His hand came to the controls that powered Snoopy and he hesitated.

  “Any objection to taking Snoopy for a walk?”

  “We came here to explore the hangar, so we might as well finish the job. We still need to determine if the biological weapons are aboard or if there's any evidence they've been removed.”

  “My thoughts exactly,” Dirk said as he powered up the tiny ROV. Grasping the controls, he worked the vehicle out of its cradle and over the fallen propeller, then elevated it to eye level in front of the Starfish. Ahead lay the long dark shaft of the hangar stretching into the gloom toward the conning tower. He quickly toggled the ROVs thrusters forward and Snoopy sailed into the darkened hangar.

  Both their eyes shifted from observing the illuminated ROV out the viewing bubble to watching Snoopy's field of vision on the color monitor as it moved away from the submersible. The hangar appeared empty at first, but, as Snoopy moved forward, silt-covered objects began materialize. The camera lens glided up to a large encrusted mound ositioned on a platform to one side, beyond which several large cab-nets protruded from the hangar walls.

  “A spare aircraft engine,” Dirk remarked as he aimed Snoopy's eyes at the long metal block.

  “I'll bet those are storage bins for other spare parts and mechanic's tools,” Summer added, pointing at the image of the cabinets.

  “No doubt there's a floor jack in there somewhere,” Dirk lamented, knowing there was no way of retrieving any tools that might aid their escape.

  Slowly he led Snoopy down the cavernous hangar before nearly driving the ROV into a grouping of thin metal sheets hanging vertically. Backing up the camera, Dirk identified the structure as the tail assembly of an airplane, with the tip of the vertical stabilizer folded down, as well as both horizontal stabilizers. Swinging Snoopy ahead and to the side, they could clearly see it was part of the fuselage of an Aichi M6A1 Seiran float plane “Wow,” Summer murmured, impressed by both the size and condition of the twin-seat bomber. “Hard to believe they could fold up a plane and slide it in here.”

  Dirk led Snoopy alongside the fuselage for a side view of the craft. The camera showed that the wings were still attached to the fuselage but folded back toward the tail like the wings on a duck. Faintly visible beneath the silt, they could still make out the familiar red Japanese meatball" insignia painted on the wingtips.

  “It's still amazing to me that they could store, launch, and retrieve aircraft from a submarine,” Summer pondered.

  “Just roll the fuselage out onto the forward deck, raise the tail stabilizers, bolt on the wings and floats, and launch it off the catapult. A trained crew of four men were capable of assembling and launching a plane in under thirty minutes.”

  “I guess it's a good thing these big Sen Toku boats weren't around earlier in the war,” Summer replied.

  Dirk kept Snoopy nosing forward through the hangar. Gliding past the fuselage, the cameras revealed a pair of the plane's giant pontoons strapped to a wooden pallet on the deck. A blast from the ROV's thrusters dusted a layer of silt and mud off one of the pontoons, exposing a forest green paint scheme on the topsides and a shark gray tone on the pontoon's belly. A similar camouflage paint pattern would be found on the wings and fuselage.

  Once past the pontoons, the hangar grew empty for several feet as the ROV passed through a separate open compartment. Like its beagle namesake, Snoopy sniffed along, gingerly examining each silt-covered object or debris item carefully via the touch of Dirk's fingers. A set of low-slung racks gradually grew out of the darkness on either side of the hangar holding what Dirk immediately recognized as torpedoes. Four of the metallic fish rested in each rack, aerial torpedoes that at thirteen hundred pounds each were much smaller than the massive submarine-launched torpedoes found belowdecks.

  Dirk and Summer stared at the monitor, straining to see evidence of additional armament. But no other weaponry was visible. Dirk turned and noticed Summer peering at her watch, grimly cognizant of each minute that passed.

  “Let's keep going. There should be at least one more plane in here,” Dirk said, trying to keep her mind off the inevitable. The ROV again moved through a vacant compartment before emerging into the next hangar section. Seconds later, the tail and fuselage of a second Seiran bomber emerged into view, complete with folded wings. Just beyond was its matching pair of floats, strapped to the deck by cables. An assortment of wall-mounted tool bins followed and then twenty feet of empty space. Snoopy finally bumped up against the giant round hatch door that led to the submarine's forward deck.

  “Well, that's it,” Dirk said solemnly. “We've covered the length of the hangar and no sign of any aerial bombs other than the torpedoes. Summer said nothing for a moment, subconsciously biting her lower lip in dejection. ”Well ... there was no indication of a forced entry anywhere, nor did the silt appear to have been disturbed anytime recently. Perhaps they were destroyed in the torpedo blast?"

  “Could be. There's still a small section of hangar behind us we could take a look at.”

  Dirk quietly steered Snoopy back toward the submersible, reeling in its dangling electronic power cable while it progressed. The cockpit fell silent as brother and sister contemplated their predicament. Dirk silently cursed their bad luck and failure to locate the aerial bombs. As the ROV passed the second plane's fuselage and approached the first plane's set of pontoons, a quizzical look fell over Summer's face.

  “Dirk, hold it there for a second,” she said quietly, focusing on the monitor.

  “What is it?” he asked while neutralizing the position of the ROV.

  “Look at the pontoons. Do you notice anything different?”

  Dirk studied the monitor for a moment, then shook his head.

  “The pair at the end of the hangar were cabled directly to the deck,” Summer said. “But these two have a platform under each of them.”

  He looked at the images and his brow furrowed. Each of the pontoons sat balanced on a square-shaped platform roughly two feet high.

  Dirk eased the ROV around and alongside the base of one of the pontoons, then positioned it next to the platform. Spinning the ROV around, he applied the thrusters hard for a few seconds to try and blow away the encrusted sediment. He repositioned the ROV, then waited for the resulting cloud of sediment to subside. Peering through the murk, they could clearly see an exposed section of the platform. It was a hardwood crate built from what appeared to be mahogany. Dirk carefully studied the entire platform.

  “By God, that's got to be it.”

  “Are you sure?” Summer questioned.

  “Well, I can't say what's inside, but the exterior is the same construction and dimension as the bomb canister crates that I found smashed open on the I-403.”

  Dirk surveyed the crate from all angles, then confirmed that a matching crate was wedged beneath the second pontoon. Summer made a notation on the video files, documenting the exact location in the hangar where the crates were found. Pitt observed that each crate appeared to be held in place by the force of the pontoon, which was securely tied to the hangar deck by a half-dozen thick steel cables that crisscrossed the top of each float.
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br />   “Nice eye, Summer. You get a beer for that catch.”

  “Make mine a bottle of Martin Ray Chardonnay,” she replied with a half smile. “I'm just glad we know where they are now.”

  “It's going to take someone a little more doing to get these out of here.”

  “Us too, for that matter,” Summer replied glumly.

  The wheels in Dirk's mind were still churning to compute an escape plan as he guided the ROV back toward the submersible. He lost concentration when Snoopy's bright underwater lights approached and shined brilliantly into the submersible's cockpit. Blinded in the glare, he instinctively steered the ROV down toward the hangar deck as he brought it closer to the Starfish. But as it approached, the ROV suddenly hung suspended, failing to move the last few feet to its cradle.

  “Dirk, Snoopy's umbilical is caught on something,” Summer noticed, pointing out the bubble window.

  Dirk followed her guide and could see in the murkiness that the ROV's cable had snagged on some sort of debris lying on the hangar deck, about twenty feet in front of them.

  “I'm surprised we even made it so far through this obstacle course,” he replied.

  Reversing direction, he backed up the ROV until the cable straightened from its grasp around what looked to be a small engine sitting in a tubular frame three feet off the ground.

  “A gas-powered compressor, I bet,” he said, noticing a pair of decayed hoses connected to one end of the motor.

  “What's with the big handle?” Summer asked, eyeing a large metal tod protruding from one side of the block. A round, shovel-type grip was attached to the end.

  “It has an old mechanical starter. Kind of like pulling the rope on a lawn mower, only pumping the handle cranks the motor over. I saw a Swiss-made compressor on a dive boat once that had the same setup-” Dirk stared at the handle for a moment, not moving the ROV.

  “You're going to bring Snoopy home?” Summer finally asked.

  “Yes,” he replied with a sudden gleam in his eye. “But first he's going to help get us out of here.”

  On board the Sea Rover, nervous apprehension was creeping over the captain and crew. It had been nearly ninety minutes since they last communicated with the Starfish and Morgan was anxiously preparing to call in an emergency rescue. The Sea Rover was not carrying a backup submersible, and the nearest NUMA submersible was at least twelve Hours away.

  “Ryan, let's contact the Navy's Deep Submergence Unit. Notify them of our situation and request the ETA on a deep-water rescue vehicle,” Morgan barked, silently dreading the thought.

  If Dirk and Summer were in real trouble, he knew they had only a matter of minutes, not hours. Their chances of rescue would be as slim as a dime.

  “Okay, Summer, hold the take-up reel.” Dirk had positioned Snoopy near the top of the hangar ceiling a few feet past the compressor when he gave the command to Summer. She pressed a button on the console that stopped an automatic spool from reeling in the ROV's power cable. Dirk gently moved the ROV back toward the compressor, watching the cable slacken beneath it. Like an anaconda coiling about its prey, he carefully manipulated the ROV in a circular motion above the compressor, letting the slack cable wrap loosely around the protruding handle. After dancing the ROV around and around several times, he successfully engineered five loops about the handle, which he tightened by drawing the ROV up and away.

  “Okay, activate the take-up spool and I'll pull with Snoopy!” “That compressor must weigh three hundred pounds. Even underwater, you'll never budge it,” Summer replied, wondering if her brother had lost his mind.

  “It's not the compressor I'm after, it's the handle.”

  Toggling the ROV's controls, he increased the power to Snoopy, now pointed in the direction of the submersible. The ROV surged forward until its power cord tightened around the metal handle. Its small thrusters churning the water, the little ROV fought to move forward but could not muster enough force to budge the handle. Then Summer joined in, reeling in the other end of the cable with the automatic take-up spool until the cord went taut around the base of the handle. Though both ends of the handle were now being yanked at, it was the lower end snagged by Summer that did the trick. The boxed end of the metal bar slid off the sprocketed knuckle that turned the flywheel and the whole handle slipped free of the compressor, gliding through the water toward the Starfish. Dirk carefully dragged it in a horizontal position, so as not to lose his coiled grip, and gently tugged it to the front of the submersible.

  “I don't think Ryan is going to appreciate how you're treating his ROV,” Summer said with feigned concern.

  “I'll buy him a new one if this works.”

  “And what exactly is it that you have in mind?” Summer asked, still not sure of his intent.

  “Why, just a little bit of leverage, my dear sister. If you'd be so kind as to grab my newfound crowbar with the left mechanical arm, you'll see what I mean.”

  Dirk guided the ROV close to the left side of the Starfish, towing the handle with it. Summer then activated the controls of the left mechanical arm and opened its clawlike hand. Working in unison, they brought the two devices together until Summer could securely snatch one end of the handle with the vise-strong claw. Dirk then slackened the ROV cable and slowly backed Snoopy away, unraveling the cable off the free end of the bar. Once clear, he activated the cable spool up and returned Snoopy to the Starfish, securing the ROV in its cradle.

  “For a beagle, Snoopy makes for a pretty good retriever,” Summer remarked.

  “Let's see now if our mechanical arm can make for a good floor jack,” Dirk replied.

  His eyes studied a row of battery ampere gauges on the submarine's control panel. They had spent more than an hour operating the ROV and their power level had been drained to barely thirty percent. Time was running short if they were to have any hope of making it back to the surface on their own.

  “Let's do this on one try. Purging tanks,” he said, pushing a pair of buttons that pumped water out of the ballast tank in order to increase buoyancy. He then powered up the main thrusters to the submersible. Summer had meanwhile brought the mechanical arm around the front of the Starfish to its full dexterity and studied the position of the wedged propeller. It would have to be lifted and pushed forward slightly for them to pry themselves away, but there was little space to work the handle in. After leaning the handle against one of the skids and shortening her grip, she was able to work eight inches of the metal bar under the tip of the fallen propeller.

  “Ready,” she said tentatively, wiping a sweaty palm on her pant leg. Dirk was also sweating profusely, as the cramped cockpit had grown hot once the air-conditioning was shut down to conserve power.

  “Pry us out of here,” Dirk said, his hand at the ready on the thruster controls. With tense anticipation, Summer gently shifted the controls that raised the mechanical arm. Where the hydraulic power of the arm was insufficient to lift the arm on its own, the added leverage of the metal handle prying against the deck was just enough to budge it. Creeping ever so slowly, the propeller blade rose an inch, then two, then a few more. Dirk could feel the rear of the submersible tilt off the deck slightly from the added buoyancy. When Summer had safely jimmied the blade above the height of the front skids, he slammed the power controls to maximum reverse thrust.

  There was no immediate blast of power or skyrocketing acceleration by the Starfish but rather just a slight jerk as it backed tail first on the deck. The submersible slid up and away from the grasp of the propeller as the blade slipped down the compressor handle and clanged back to the hangar deck just inches in front of the Starfish's skids.

  “Nicely done, sis. What do you say we go get some fresh air?” Dirk said, adjusting the thrusters to raise the Starfish up and out of I-411's hangar.

  “I'm with you,” Summer replied with obvious relief.

  Almost the second they cleared the walls of the hangar deck, the deep voice of Ryan blew loudly through communication earphones.

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sp; “Starfish, this is Sea Rover. Do you read, over,” came a monotonous tone that had obviously been repeating the phrase a thousand times over in the last few hours.

  “This is Starfish” Summer responded. “We read you loud and clear. Have initiated ascent, please stand by for recovery.”

  “Roger, Starfish” Ryan replied in a suddenly excited pitch. “You have some folks worried up here. Do you need assistance?”

  “Negative. We just stubbed our toe down here. All is well; we'll be topside shortly.”

  “Copy that. Standing by for recovery.”

  Their ascent time, aided by controlled positive buoyancy, was slightly quicker than their descent, and in ten minutes they could make out the glowing bright lights of the Sea Rover's moon pool. The faint outline of the ship appeared as the submersible drew closer and Dirk tweaked the Starfish's thrusters with what little remaining power he had to guide them to the center of the glowing ring of beacons. Dirk and Summer both let out a silent sigh of relief as they popped through the hole in the ship's bottom and bobbed to the surface of the pool. Morgan, Ryan, and a half-dozen crew members ringed the moon pool and watched intently as the Starfish was plucked from the water by a hoist and lowered gently to the deck. Dirk powered down the submersible as Summer opened the rear hatch and the two climbed out for a grateful breath of fresh air.

  “We were afraid you got lost down there,” Morgan smiled, then looked quizzically at the compressor handle that was still lodged in the grip of the left mechanical arm.

  “That's our walking stick,” Summer explained. “We took a walk where we ought not to have gone and had a little trouble getting back out.”

  “Well,” Morgan asked, unable to refrain from the other concern on his mind, “what did you find?”

  “Two cartons of eggs waiting to be delivered,” Dirk said with a grin.

  The Sea Rover's crew worked feverishly to repair the Starfish's mechanical arm and replenish the submersible's drained batteries while Dirk, Summer, and Morgan formulated a salvage strategy. Reviewing the video footage recorded by Snoopy, they calculated the exact position in the sub's hangar where the bomb crates were situated. Studying the video closely, they determined that the hangar's bulkhead walls were constructed in ten-foot sections.