Black Wind dp-18

by Clive Cussler

  Captain Hennessey watched with mild interest as the distant speck slowly grew larger, bearing down on a southerly heading. When it approached within five miles, he aimed his binoculars at the vessel, eye-tog a stout blue ship with a yellow funnel. In the fading evening dusk,

  Hennessey made it out to be a research vessel or special-purpose ship rather than a commercial freighter. He noted with annoyed curiosity that the ship was on a perfect collision course with the Odyssey's current heading. Hennessey stuck close to the helm for the next hour, watching the other vessel as it inched to within a mile of his starboard flank before appearing to slow and nose toward the southwest behind him.

  “He's slowing to cross our wake,” Hennessey said to the helmsman, dropping his binoculars from the mysterious blue ship. “The whole empty Pacific Ocean and he's got to run right down our path,” he muttered, shaking his head.

  The thought never occurred to him that it was anything more than a coincidental encounter. Nor would he ever suspect that a trusted crewman, one of a handful of Kang's men working on board as launch technicians, was feeding their exact position to the ship using a simple GPS receiver and portable radio transmitter. After crossing the length of the Pacific, the Koguryo had picked up the radio transmission twenty-four hours earlier and vectored in on the Odyssey's path like a homing pigeon to roost.

  As the lights of the unknown ship twinkled off the Odyssey's port stern in the evening darkness, Hennessey put the ship out of his mind and focused on the empty blackness before him. They were still nearly ten days to the equator and there was no telling what other obstacles might cross their path.

  The experienced assault team came quickly, in the dark of night and with complete surprise. After shadowing the Odyssey for most of the evening, the Koguryo had suddenly stopped its engines, letting the self-propelled platform churn on toward the horizon. In the pilothouse of the Odyssey, the night shift helmsman and watch officer relaxed as the lights of the other ship fell away. With an autopilot steering the platform, their only concerns were monitoring the radar screen and weather forecast. But on an empty sea in the dead of night, there was little cause for concern. Focus on duty waned as the two men paced the bridge, engaging in a tireless debate about World Cup soccer rather than studying the electronic monitors about them. Had either man watched the radarscope more closely, they would have had an inkling of things to come.

  Far from changing course or making repairs, the Koguryo had stopped to launch its high-speed tender. The open-decked, thirty-foot boat was a spacious and luxurious assault craft for Tongju, Kim, and the dozen other men dressed in black commando outfits who sat brandishing their assault rifles on leather-cushioned seats. Though low on stealth, the boat provided a fast and stable means of crossing open water to strike the platform with an ample attack force.

  The tender bounded in darkness across the rolling waves, racing across the open sea under a bright canopy of stars that spread from horizon to horizon. The speedy boat quickly gobbled up ground between itself and the moving platform, which was lit up against the night sky like a Times Square marquee. As the tender's pilot approached the shadow of the massive platform, he steered the boat dead center under the structure, threading the boat between the Odyssey's twin pontoons. Holding its speed, the boat darted under the platform and past the thick support columns, barely skimming under a set of massive triangular supports that horizontally crisscrossed the columns just twelve feet above the water. Slowing to match speeds with the Odyssey, he inched toward the forward starboard column, where a salt-encrusted steel stairway led up to the heights above. When he edged to within a few feet, one of the commandos leaped from the bow with a small line and quickly tied it to the stairwell post. One by one, the remaining commandos jumped onto the stairwell and began the long climb to the platform above. Pausing at the top steps to catch their breath, the team paused for a moment to regroup before Tongju nodded his head to proceed. The secure door to the stairwell had been left unlocked by one of Kang's crewmen already aboard and the commandos quickly slipped through and fanned out across the deck.

  Though Tongju had studied photos and plans of the Odyssey, he was still overwhelmed by the massive scale of the launch deck, which stretched well over a football field in length. At the far end stood the launch tower, separated by a large tract of open deck that led to the launch vehicle hangar. Along the recessed starboard beam sat the massive fuel storage tanks, which would gas up the rocket shortly before launch. On either side of the launch vehicle hangar stood two small buildings that housed the crew's quarters, offering accommodations for sixty-eight men plus a galley and medical station. That would be the first target.

  The assault team was primed to strike simultaneously, five men to the hangar, three to the bridge, and the balance to the crew's quarters. Most of the forty-two-man crew aboard the Odyssey had little to do until the platform reached the launch site and spent the hours reading, playing cards, or watching movies. By 3 a.m." only a handful of men were still awake, mostly crewmen assigned to sail the platform or monitor the launch vehicle. When the commandos struck the crew's quarters with drill precision, the confused technicians and engineers were too stunned to react. With a blast of light and prodding from the muzzles of AK-74 assault rifles, the sleeping men were quickly roused at gunpoint. Two men playing cards in the galley thought it was some sort of equatorial prank before a swinging rifle butt knocked one to the floor. A startled chef in the kitchen dropped a stack of pans at the sight of the armed men, doing more to wake the disbelieving crew than the gunmen themselves.

  In the launch vehicle hangar, it was a similar story. The small commando team rapidly swept through the air-conditioned building that housed the cradled Zenit rocket, rounding up a handful of engineers without a fight. On the bridge situated high atop the launch vehicle hangar, the two men manning the helm couldn't believe their eyes when Tongju walked in and calmly leveled his Glock pistol at the executive officer's ear. In less than ten minutes, the entire platform was secured by Tongju's men. Not a shot fired, the Sea Launch crew never expected to be commandeered in the middle of the Pacific.

  The commandos were surprised to find that most of the platform's marine crew were Filipino while the launch team was an assorted mix of American, Russian, and Ukrainian engineers. The subdued multinational crew was herded to the galley where they were held at gunpoint, except for the dozen of Kang's planted crew members and satellite company representatives, who took over operational control of sailing the platform. Even Captain Hennessey, captured and roughly bound by one of Kim's men, was forced to the galley in shock, with the rest of his crew.

  On the bridge, Tongju radioed the Koguryo that the platform was taken with no resistance. Examining an unfurled navigation chart left on a side table, he barked at one of Kang's crewmen now manning the helm.

  “Revise bearing to fifteen degrees north-northeast. We are diverting to a new launch site.”

  As the crack of dawn approached, the Koguryo maneuvered alongside the northbound Odyssey and slowed to match speeds with the platform as it mashed through five-foot swells. Edging to within twenty feet of the Odyssey, Captain Lee held the Koguryo perfectly in tandem with the moving platform's starboard beam. In the wheel-house of the Odyssey, a nervous helmsman ensured that the autopilot was properly engaged as the ex-cable-laying ship hove to alongside.

  On the top deck of the hangar, Tongju supervised the movement of a large crane as it was swung out over the starboard edge of the platform. A heavy block and hook swung wildly from the end of the crane for a moment before being lowered to the rear deck of the Koguryo. A ready signal was relayed over the marine radio and the crane began hoisting up a square metal container the size of a sofa, which was swung over and lowered to the platform's main deck. Stored inside were the special canisters containing the freeze-dried chimera cultures ready to be inserted into the payload aerosol dispenser.

  While the deadly virus was being hoisted to the platform, the Koguryo's tender ferr
ied over a dozen launch and payload specialists, who immediately swarmed into the rocket hangar and began dissecting the Zenit's payload section. An additional security contingent was also ferried over to help relieve Tongju's assault commandos.

  Tongju returned to the pilothouse and peered out the heavy-paned windows at the rolling sea two hundred feet beneath him. The swaying of the platform was slight as the motion rolled up from the distant pontoons beneath the surface. Gazing to his right, he saw the Koguryo begin to peel away from the Odyssey, its ferrying services complete for the time being.

  “Increase speed to maximum,” his said to the helmsman.

  The nervous Filipino adjusted the propulsion controls on both pontoons and then watched as the digital speed indicator slowly counted upward.

  “Twelve knots, sir. Maximum cruising speed,” the seaman replied, his eyes twitching back and forth.

  Tongju nodded in satisfaction, then reached for an overhead radio transmitter and called Captain Lee on the Koguryo.

  “We are progressing on schedule. Please notify Inchon that we are in control of the launch vessel and intend to initiate launch countdown in approximately thirty hours. Out.”

  The apprehensive helmsman stared straight ahead, avoiding the gaze of Tongju. Whatever fearful thoughts tumbled around his head about Tongju's intent were minuscule compared to the commando leader's true objective.

  IT took the launch vehicle engineers just under twenty-four hours to convert the rocket's payload into a weapon of mass horror. Like surgeons conducting a transplant operation, the engineering team carefully removed several sections of the outer payload fairing and delved into the inner workings of the mock satellite. Fake components, built to resemble communication transponders, were removed and replaced with small electric pumps, which would drive the aerosol system. Lines and fittings were attached to the phony solar panels, which would open in flight to spread the rejuvenated virus, disseminating it as a fine mist across the California sky.

  Working in protective clean room bunny suits, the technicians performed a final test on the dispensing system, ensuring it was fully functional for the short rocket flight. The final step of the operation was then reached: inserting the chimera virus into the payload vehicle. The canisters from Inchon containing the freeze-dried germs were carefully mounted to the satellite frame and steel braided lines from the hydrogenation tanks were connected to the aerosol system. When activated, a software-controlled program would vacuum-mix the powdered substance with purified water, then transfer the live fluid through the vaporizer and out into the atmosphere.

  With the deadly cocktail loaded aboard, the payload fairing was reassembled around the satellite. Propellant explosives were inserted at key points inside the fairing to blast the payload doors away at the appointed moment during flight. When the final section of the nose cone housing was sealed into place, the tired engineering team congratulated one another briefly and then staggered toward the crew's quarters. A few precious hours of sleep was all they could ask for before it would be time to start the final launch countdown.

  Without publicly raising the color-coded Threat Advisory System, the Department of Homeland Security quietly issued an elevated marine port and airport security alert. Stepped-up screening and random searches were performed on all aircraft and vessels originating from an Asian locale, with special inspections for biological and chemical agents. At Vice President Sandecker's insistence, the Coast Guard was ordered to stop, board, and search all Japanese- or Korean-flagged inbound ships with a fully armed security contingent. All available Coast Guard cutters were put to sea along the West Coast, concentrated around the commercial hubs of Seattle, San Francisco, and Los Angeles.

  In San Francisco, Rudi Gunn coordinated NUMA's interdiction support with the local Coast Guard commandant. When the research vessel Blue Gllartived from Monterey, Gunn immediately assigned her picket duty ten miles off the Golden Gate Bridge. He then jumped up to Seattle, where he directed local NUMA resources in support of coastal screening, and enlisted the aid of the Canadian Coast Guard in Vancouver to search all British Columbia-bound ships.

  Dirk and Summer flew to San Diego, where they were welcomed by the city's trademark seventy-two-degree balmy weather. Taking a short cab ride from San Diego International Airport's Lindbergh Field to Shelter Island, it took them only a few minutes to locate the Deep Endeavor tied up at the end of a large municipal dock. As they approached the ship, Dirk noticed that an odd-shaped submersible painted a metallic burnt orange sat on the vessel's stern deck.

  “Well, if it isn't the Prisoners of Zenda,” Jack Dahlgren called from the bridge wing upon spotting the twosome boarding the ship. Dirk's close friend hopped down a stairwell and met them at the head of the gangway.

  “Heard you two enjoyed a seaside tour of the Korean Peninsula,” Dahlgren laughed as he shook Dirk's hand firmly, then gave Summer a hug.

  “Yes, but we somehow missed the Mkhelin-mt&A attractions,” Summer grinned back.

  “Now, wait, that DMZ tour was pretty stimulating,” Dirk said, feigning seriousness. Turning to Dahlgren, he asked, “You and the crew ready to do a little search-and-seizure work?”

  "Yep. A Coast Guard team joined us an hour ago so we're ready to shove off at any time.

  “Good. Let's get after it, then.”

  Dahlgren escorted Dirk and Summer up to the bridge, where they were greeted by Leo Delgado and Captain Burch, then introduced to a uniformed Coast Guard sea marshal named Aimes.

  “What's our intercept procedure, Lieutenant?” Dirk asked, noting the insignia on Aimes's uniform.

  “Call me Bill,” replied Aimes. A studious man with cropped blond hair, Aimes took his duty seriously but hated unnecessary formality “We'll be assisting the regional Coast Guard vessels as a backup, when and if commercial traffic gets particularly heavy. Otherwise, we'll be assigned to ad hoc survey and reconnaissance. Under legislative rule, we can intercept and board all inbound commercial vessels up to twelve miles offshore. As NUMA's Coast Guard representative, I will lead all boardings and searches with my team but will be assisted by several of your crewmen who have undergone a brief training session.”

  “What are the chances we could actually locate a weapons cache or bomb hidden on a large containership?” Summer wondered.

  “Better than you might think,” Aimes replied. “As you know, we work closely with the Customs Department under the direction of the Homeland Security Department. Our customs agents are located at foreign ports around the globe and are on site to inspect and seal all cargo containers before the goods are allowed to ship. Upon arriving in U.S. ports, containers are verified by customs agents as having not been opened or tampered with before acceptance into this country. The Coast Guard provides an advance check of the ship and containers before they have a chance to reach port.”

  “There's plenty of places on a ship outside of the cargo containers where somebody could hide a bomb,” Dahlgren stated.

  “That's a more difficult problem, but it's where the dogs come into play,” Aimes replied, nodding his head toward the far end of the bridge. Dirk noticed for the first time that a pair of yellow Labrador retrievers were tied to a bulkhead stanchion and lay asleep on the deck. Summer had already made her way over to the dogs and begun scratching them contentedly behind the ears.

  “The dogs are trained to sniff out a variety of explosive compounds commonly used in bomb manufacture. Best of all, they can run through a ship in quick order. If a biological bomb is being smuggled in on a containership, there's a good chance those boys could sniff out the explosives component of it.”

  “That's what we're looking for,” Dirk said. “So, we'll be working off of San Diego?”

  “No,” Aimes replied, shaking his head. “There's only minimal commercial traffic that moves through San Diego and the regional Coast Guard vessels are more than adequate to handle the volume. We've been ordered to patrol a quadrant southwest of the Port of Los Angeles in support of the
L.A.-Long Beach Coast Guard Marine Safety Group. Once on site, we'll coordinate local positioning and boarding through Icarus!”

  “Icarus?” Dahlgren asked.

  “Our all-seeing eye in the sky on the project,” Dirk said with a knowing smile.

  As the Deep Endeavor chugged toward the Pacific, cruising past Coronado Island and a Navy aircraft carrier inbound from the Indian Ocean, Dirk and Summer went aft and studied the strange submersible that faintly resembled a steroid-augmented earthworm. The bullet-shaped vessel was dotted with a series of bladed propulsion units mounted irregularly about the main body like glued-on heat pumps. Strutted beneath the front of its bullet nose stood a giant coring device that stood ten feet long, protruding upward like a unicorn's horn. Bathed in its garish orange red metallic hue, the submersible reminded them of a giant insect from a fifties horror film.

  “What's the story on this contraption?” Summer asked of Dahlgren.

  “Your father didn't tell you about the Badger? It's a prototype that he authorized. That's why we were here in San Diego. Some of our engineers have been working on a joint venture with Scripps Institute to develop this hot rod. It's a deep-water corer designed to gather sediment samples from the seabed. The scientific community is anxious to gather sediment and organism samples around volcanic hydrothermal vents, many of which are located ten thousand feet or deeper.”

  “What's with all the propulsion units?” Dirk asked. “To get to the bottom in a hurry. She's a real speed buggy. Rather than waiting for gravity to pull her to the seafloor, she has a hydrogen fuel cell power plant that allows her to submerge at speed to the bottom. She allows you to descend, take a core sample, and then pop back to the surface without twiddling your thumbs all day. Less time spent diving and surfacing means more core samples for the geologists to pick through.”