“Soju,” the man said. “A local rice brew. Help yourself while I try to get us past your friends in the cat.”
“Thank you for helping us,” Summer replied appreciatively. “By the way, my name is Summer Pitt, and this is my brother, Dirk.”
“Pleased to meet you. My name is Clive Cussler.”
Cussler returned to the junk's exposed wheel and slipped the engine into gear, tweaking the throttle slightly higher while nosing the bow farther toward midriver It took only a few minutes before the catamaran approached from downstream, pulling alongside and washing the junk in a flood of spotlights. Cussler slipped on a conical straw peasant's hat and hunched his tall frame low at the wheel.
Through the glare of the lights, he could see several men pointing automatic weapons at him. As the catamaran crept to within inches of the port beam, an unseen man on the bridge barked a question across through the boat's PA system. Cussler replied by shaking his head. Another command echoed across from the catamaran as the spotlights bounced about the junk. Cussler again shook his head, wondering whether the waterlogged coil of rope and wet pairs of footprints across the deck would be detected. For several long minutes, the catamaran held steady at the junk's side as if waiting to board. Then, with a sudden blast of its engines, the catamaran roared away, resuming its river search closer to shore.
Cussler guided the junk down the last vestiges of the Han River until its waters were swallowed by the Yellow Sea. As the sea-lanes opened and the potential for nearby water traffic fell away, Cussler punched a handful of electronic controls at the helm. Hydraulic winches began to whir as lines were pulled and yards were raised, pulling the traditional red, square-shaped lug sails of a classic junk to the peak of the main- and mizzenmasts. Cussler manually tied off the out haul lines and then powered off the small diesel motor. The old junk now leaped through the waves under the graceful power of its sails.
“You've got a beautiful vessel,” Dirk said, emerging from belowdecks dressed in jeans and a polo shirt. Summer followed him onto the deck, clad in an oversized pair of coveralls and a man's work shirt.
“The standard Chinese merchant ship that dates back almost two thousand years,” Cussler replied. “This one was built in Shanghai in 1907 for a wealthy tea trader. She's made entirely from a hard teakwood called ”Takien Tong.“ She's extremely durable and surprisingly seaworthy.”
“Where did you find her?” Summer asked.
“A friend of mine found her abandoned in a Malaysian boatyard and decided to refurbish her. Took him six years to complete the job. After he grew bored with sailing, I traded him a few antique cars for her. Plan to cruise the Asian Pacific in her. Started in Japan and am going to work my way down to Wellington.”
“You sail her by yourself?” Summer asked.
“She's been modified with a strong diesel engine and hydraulic lifts for the lug sails which are linked to a computerized automatic pilot. She's a breeze to manage, and can, in fact, sail herself.”
“Do you have a satellite phone aboard?” Dirk asked.
“Afraid not. A ship-to-shore radio is the best I can offer you. I didn't want any phone calls or Internet messages bothering me on this cruise.”
“Understandable. Where are you headed, and, for that matter, where are we located now?” he asked.
Cussler pulled out a marine navigation chart and held it under the weak light of the helm console. “We're entering the Yellow Sea about forty miles northwest of Seoul. I take it you aren't interested in staying aboard till Wellington?” he grinned, running an index finger across the chart. “How about Inchon?” he continued, tapping the map. “I can drop you there in about eight hours. I believe there's a U.S. Air Force base located somewhere near there.”
“That would be great. Anywhere we can find a phone and get ahold of someone at NUMA headquarters.”
“NUMA,” Cussler said, mulling over the word. “You're not from that NUMA ship that sank southwest of Japan?”
“The Sea Rover. Yes, we are. How did you know about that?” Summer asked.
“It was all over CNN. I saw them interview the captain. Told how the crew was rescued by a Japanese freighter following an explosion in the engine room.”
Dirk and Summer stared at each other in disbelief.
“Captain Morgan and the crew are alive?” she finally blurted.
“Yes, that was the fellow's name. I thought he said the whole crew was rescued.”
Summer retold the story of their attack on the ship and abduction by Kang's men and their uncertainty over the fate of their crew members.
“I suspect there's more than a few people out there looking for you,” Cussler said. “You're safe for now. There's some sandwiches and beer in the galley. Why don't you two grab a bite and get some rest. I'll wake you when we reach Inchon.”
“Thank you. I'll take you up on that,” Summer replied, heading belowdecks.
Dirk lingered a moment, standing at the rail and watching the first glimmer of daybreak attempt to paint the eastern horizon. As he contemplated the events of the past three days, a hardened resolve surged through his exhausted body. By some miracle, the Sea Rover's crew had survived the sinking of the NUMA research ship. But Kang still had blood on his hands, and the stakes were now dramatically higher. If what Kang had told them was true, then millions of lives were at risk. The madman would have to be stopped, he knew, and quick.
on Sea Launch platform Odyssey and airship Icarus June 16, 2007 Long Beach, California Though it was A cool, damp Southern California morning, Danny Stamp could feel the sweat beginning to drip from his underarms. The veteran engineer was as nervous as a teenager on prom night awaiting his first make-out session. But as those who knew him could affirm, he always felt this way when his baby was on the move.
No diaper-clad infant, his baby today was a 209-foot Zenit-3SL liquid-fuel rocket that was in the delicate process of being transferred to its launch platform. The roundish and slightly balding launch vehicle director peered purposefully over the railing of a large ship's superstructure as the $90 million rocket he was responsible for inched into view below his feet. As the huge white cylinder rolled slowly out of its horizontal berth on a centipede like cradle, Stamp's eyes were drawn to the large blue letters emblazoned on the rocket's housing that read sea launch.
Incorporated in the nineteen nineties, Sea Launch was an international commercial venture formed to provide rocket-launch services a *
geared primarily for satellite telecommunications operators. The American aerospace giant Boeing was the prime founder, signing on to handle launch operations as well as integrating the customer's satellite payloads into the rocket housing. Turning swords into rubles, a pair of Russian companies joined the consortium by providing the actual rockets, or “launch vehicles,” as they are known in the parlance. Ex-military rockets that once carried nuclear warheads, the Zenits were tried-and-true launch vehicles that were perfectly suited to commercial applications. But it was a Norwegian firm, Kvaerner, that provided perhaps the most unique asset to the venture. Starting with a used North Sea oil platform, the Oslo firm constructed a self-propelled floating launchpad that could be positioned for launching in almost any ocean waters of the world.
Though an interesting selling point, practicality dictates that there is only one area on the globe worth launching from and that is the equator. For a geosynchronous satellite, which remains in a fixed relative orbital position following the earth's rotation, there is no more direct path to orbit than from the equator. Less rocket fuel burned in pushing a satellite to orbit can allow for a heavier satellite payload. Satellite owners, seeking to maximize revenues from their multimillion-dollar investments, can thus add more capacity to their satellites or additional operating fuel to extend the satellite's life. Integrating the satellites into the launch vehicle in Long Beach, then sailing the rocket to the equator for launch had grown from an intriguing idea to an efficient business model in the high-stakes, high-risk game of commerc
ial space operations.
A handheld Motorola radio fastened to Stamp's belt suddenly cackled with static. “Rollout complete. Ready for crane hook-up,” barked the unseen voice. Stamp paused and studied the Zenit rocket, which protruded from the ship's stern like a stinger on a wasp. In an unusual bid for flexibility, the Sea Launch team actually assembled the rocket and its payload in the bowels of a custom-fitted ship named the Sea Launch Commander. Officially known as the “Assembly and Command Ship,” the 660-foot cargo-designed vessel contained myriad computer bays on its upper deck, as well as a mission operations command center, which directed the complete launch operation at sea. On the lower deck was a cavernous assembly compartment that housed the Zenit rocket components. Here, an army of white-smocked engineers and technicians bolted together horizontally the segmented Russian rocket sections utilizing a rail system that ran nearly the length of the ship. Once the rocket assembly was complete, the mission satellite was encapsulated into the upper-section payload fairing and then the entire launch vehicle was rolled at a snail's pace out the stern of the Sea Launch Commander.
“Proceed with hookup. Transfer when ready,” Stamp spoke into the radio with a slight Midwestern accent. He glanced up at a huge crane system built onto the edge of the towering launch platform. A pair of tilted M-shaped trusses extended off one end of the platform, dangling several lines of thick cable. The floating platform, christened Odyssey, had been positioned just aft of the Sea Launch Commander, its crane system hanging directly above the prone rocket. The crane's winch lines were silently dropped down to the launch vehicle, where teams of engineers in hard hats attached the cables to a series of slings and lift points along the length of the rocket.
“Sea Launch Commander, this is Odyssey” a new voice blared through Stamp's radio. “Ready to transfer launch vehicle.”
Stamp nodded to a short fellow standing beside him, a bearded man named Christiano who captained the Sea Launch Commander. Christiano spoke into his own radio.
“This is Commander. Proceed with transfer at will. Good luck, Odyssey.”
Seconds later, the cable lines drew taut and the horizontal rocket was lifted slowly off its cradle. Stamp held his breath as the Zenit rocket was hoisted high into the air until it hung suspended far above the decks of the Commander. The unfueled rocket was just a fraction of its launch weight, so the process was akin to lifting an empty beer can. But Stamp couldn't help feeling nervous watching the huge rocket dangling in midair above him.
After a tantalizingly slow rise to the top of the launch platform, the crane operations crew activated the movable winch and the launch vehicle was tugged horizontally into an environmentally controlled hangar on Odyssey's high deck. Once the tip of the rocket had cleared the hangar doors, the entire launch vehicle was gently nested down into a wheeled cradle. When the floating platform reached the designated launch site, the cradle device would roll the rocket out of its hangar and tilt it up on end for firing.
“Launch vehicle secure. Well done, gentlemen. The beers are on me tonight. Odyssey out.”
Stamp visibly relaxed, a broad grin spreading across his face. “Piece of cake,” he said to Christiano as if the outcome was never in doubt.
“Looks like we'll make the scheduled launch date in seventeen days after all,” Christiano replied as he watched the empty launch vehicle cradle slide back into the ship's lower-deck hangar. “The long-range weather forecast is still looking favorable. After final checks and fueling, the Odyssey can depart in four days and we'll follow in the Commander forty-eight hours later after additional spares and provisions are put aboard. We'll easily catch up with her before reaching the launch site.”
“A good thing, too,” Stamp said with relief. “There's a penalty clause in the customer contract that's a killer if we are late to launch.”
“Nobody could have predicted the dockworkers' strike would delay receipt of the Zenit rocket components by fifteen days,” Christiano said, shaking his head.
“The launch vehicle team did a heckuva job making up lost schedule. I'm not looking forward to seeing the overtime charges but the team must have set a record for assembly and integration. Even with our paranoid customer shielding the mission payload from everyone.”
“What's so terribly secretive about a broadcast television satellite?”
“Search me,” Stamp said, shrugging his shoulders. “Typical Asian lack Wind reticence, I guess. The whole operation doesn't make sense to me. They've got a relatively lightweight satellite that they could have easily launched off the Chinese Long March rocket for a couple of million dollars less than our fees.”
“Angst with the Chinese isn't an unusual sentiment in the Far East.”
“True, but usually overlooked when it comes to dollars and cents. Perhaps it's due to the head of the telecommunications firm. He's apparently a real maverick.”
“He owns the company outright, doesn't he?” Christiano asked, his eyes searching skyward trying to recall.
“Yep,” Stamp replied. “Dae-jong Kang is one rich and powerful man.”
Kang leaned back in the padded leather chair of his cherry-wood study and listened intently as a pair of engineers from his Inchon facility provided a technical briefing. Tongju safsilently at the back of the room, his dark eyes scrutinizing the men out of habit. One of the engineers, a slight, disheveled man with glasses and a deeply receding hairline, spoke to Kang with a raspy voice.
“As you know, the Koreasat 2 satellite was delivered to the launch provider's facility approximately three weeks ago, where it was encapsulated inside the payload fairing, or nose cone section, of the Zenit rocket. The entire launch vehicle has since been loaded onto the self-propelled launch platform, which is preparing for departure to the equator.”
“There have been no security lapses?” Kang asked, throwing a cold glance toward Tongju.
The engineer shook his head. “We've had our own security team protecting the satellite around the clock. The Sea Launch team suspects nothing. By all external appearances, the satellite is designated for television broadcast services. Now that the satellite is enshrouded in the rocket housing, there is little chance of suspicion.” The engineer swallowed a sip of coffee from an overflowing mug, spilling a few drops of the hot liquid on the sleeve of his worn checkered sport coat. The brown stain matched a similar pattern of spots on his tie.
“The aerosol device ... it was verified as operational?” Kang asked. “Yes. As you know, we made a number of modifications from the small-scale model that was tested in the Aleutian Islands. There is no longer a dual agent capability, as the deployment of the cyanide mixture was eliminated from the mission. Plus, the system was redesigned with removable canisters that will allow us to arm the payload with the bio agent just hours before launch. And, of course, it is a much higher volume system. The Aleutian test model, you may recall, carried less than five kilograms of biochemical compound, while the satellite vehicle will deploy 325 kilograms of the chimera agent after hydrogenation Before the satellite was encapsulated at the Sea Launch facility, we conducted a final late-night test under secure conditions. The test results were flawless. We are confident the aerosol system will operate as designed over the target.”
“I do not expect any failures from our equipment,” Kang stated. “The launch operation will be the most critical phase of the mission,” the raspy-voiced engineer continued. “Lee-Wook, have we obtained the necessary command and control data to proceed with an independent launch?”
The second engineer, a younger, greasy-haired man with a broad nose, was clearly intimidated by Kang's presence.
“There are two primary components to the launch process,” Lee-Wook replied, stuttering slightly. “The first is positioning and stabilizing the floating launch platform, then erecting, fueling, and preparing the rocket for launch. We have obtained the Sea Launch operating procedures for these steps,” he said, neglecting to mention the cash bribes involved, “which our team has reviewed and practice
d thoroughly. In addition, we have obtained the services of two Ukrainian launch specialists formerly employed by Yuzhnoye, the manufacturer of the Zenit rocket. They are assisting with trajectory and fueling computations and will be on hand to assist with the mechanical preparations.”
“Yes, I am aware of the enticements required to obtain them,” Kang replied with distaste. “I believe the Russians could teach the West a thing or two about capitalistic extortion.”
Lee-Wook ignored the comment and continued speaking, his stutter finally under control. “The second critical component is the actual launch initiation and flight control. During a normal launch at sea, the Sea Launch assembly and command ship performs these controls. For our launch, this duty will be handled by the Baekje. We have refitted the ship with the necessary communications equipment and computer hardware required to execute the launch and flight control,” Lee-Wook said, his voice almost at a whisper. “Our last input has been the software that monitors, tracks, and commands the launch vehicle. The actual launch from the floating platform is a highly automated process, so the software plays a critical role. There are several million lines of software code that support the launch, telemetry, and tracking phases.”
“Have we re-created the necessary software for our mission?”
“It would have required many months to write and test the software on our own. We were fortunate in that all of these software programs are contained within the databases of the assembly and command ship. As the payload customer, our team has had almost unlimited access to the ship for the last three weeks while the Koreasat 2 satellite was being integrated with the launch vehicle. Once on board, our systems team found it relatively easy to breach the vessel's mainframe computers and acquire the software code. Under the nose of their computer experts, we downloaded copies of the software and, over a four-day period, transmitted the code by satellite link direct from the Sea Launch vessel to our laboratory at Inchon.”
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