Black Wind dp-18

by Clive Cussler

  “Let's see what she'll deliver,” Dirk said, activating the six thrusters and pushing the throttles to their stops.

  The cigar-shaped submarine surged rather than leaped forward, amid a whine of electric motors and rushing water. Dirk adjusted a pair of diving planes slightly until they were at a submerged depth of twenty feet, then followed a compass-directed path toward the wreck of the Narwhal.

  Through his hands, the ride felt like driving a vacuum cleaner. The submersible bobbed and weaved through the current and maneuvered like they were in a bowl of molasses. But with the buzzing of the thrusters in his ears, there was no denying she was a speed demon. Even without a relative speed gauge inside the submersible, Dirk could tell from the water rushing past the view port that they were moving at a rapid clip.

  “I told you she was a thoroughbred,” Dahlgren grinned as he monitored an elapsed time clock on the console. Turning serious, he added, “We should be approaching Narwhal's position in about sixty seconds.” Dirk gradually eased off the throttles a minute later, throwing the motors into idle as the Badger's forward momentum waned. Floating to the surface, Dahlgren adjusted the ballast tanks to keep them low in the water in order to remain as covert as possible. With his expert touch, the submersible just barely broke the surface, showing less than a foot of its topside surfaces above the water.

  A few yards in front of them, they could see the demolished hull of the smoldering Narwhal, her stern raised high in the air at an awkward angle. Dirk and Dahlgren barely had a chance to gaze at the hulk before her stern tipped upward even higher, then the entire remnant slipped quietly under the waves. Scattered about was a handful of floating debris, some smoldering but none larger than a doormat. Dirk guided the Badger in a small circle around the wreckage, but there was no sign of life in the water. Dahlgren solemnly radioed Aimes on the Deep Endeavor and reported that all appeared lost in the explosion.

  “Captain Burch asks that we return to the Deep Endeavor at once,” Dahlgren added.

  Dirk acted as if he didn't hear the comment and guided the submersible closer to the platform. From their vantage point low in the water, there was little on the platform deck they could see beyond the top half of the Zenit and the upper portion of the hangar. But suddenly he halted the Badger and pointed a finger past the rocket.

  “Look, up there.”

  Dahlgren peered past the rocket but just saw the roof of the hangar and an empty helipad. Squinting harder, he gazed down slightly. Then it struck him. The large digital launch clock that read 00:52:00, fifty-two minutes.

  “That thing is going to fire off in less than an hour!” he exclaimed, watching the seconds tick down lower.

  “We've got to stop it,” Dirk said, a tinge of anger in his voice.

  “We'll have to get aboard and quick. Though I don't know about you, pardner, but I don't know a thing about missiles or platform launches.”

  “Can't be anything more than a little rocket science,” Dirk replied with a grimace, then jammed the submersible's throttles forward, surging the Badger toward the platform.

  The metallic red submersible surfaced again near the stern of the platform almost directly beneath the launch tower and Zenit rocket. Dirk and Dahlgren peered up at a large set of panels that protruded from the underside of the platform just below the base of the rocket. The flame deflector was designed to divert and dampen the rocket's fiery thrust, directing the launch tempest through the platform to the ocean below. Thousands of gallons of fresh water were released seconds before launch into the trench to help cool the exposed portions of the platform during the blazing inferno during the rocket's slow rise off the pad.

  “Remind me not to park here when that torch goes off,” Dahlgren said, trying to visualize the conflagration that would surround them if the rocket was ignited.

  “You don't have to ask twice,” Dirk replied.

  Their attention turned to the platform's thick support columns,

  searching for a way up to the main deck. Dahlgren was the first to spot the Koguryo's tender, tied up at the opposite side of the platform.

  “I think I see a stairwell on that forward column where the boat's tied up,” he said.

  Dirk took a quick bearing, then submerged the Badger and quickly ran her between the Odyssey's sunken pontoons to the bow end of the platform. Bobbing to the surface, they rose just astern of the white tender, where they floated cautiously eyeing the other craft.

  “I don't think anyone is home,” Dirk said, satisfied the boat was empty. “Care to tie us off?”

  Before he could get an answer, Dahlgren had already opened the submersible's top hatch and climbed out. Dirk purged the Badger's tanks of all seawater to attain maximum buoyancy, then nudged the submersible forward till he tapped the stern of the tender. Dahlgren immediately hopped from the sub to the boat, then from the boat to the platform, tightly clutching a mooring line while he moved. Dirk quickly shut down the submersible's power systems and climbed onto the platform as Dahlgren tied off the mooring line.

  “This way to the penthouse,” Dahlgren said in a gentlemanly tone as he motioned an arm toward the adjacent stairwell. Climbing onto the metal stairs, the two men moved rapidly, racing up the steps in a measured pace, while careful to minimize the clamor of their movements. Reaching the top flight of steps, they stopped for a moment and caught their breath, then stepped onto the exterior deck of the platform.

  Standing on the forward corner of the platform, they came eye to eye with two enormous cigar-shaped fuel tanks that were encompassed by a maze of pipes and tubing. The massive white tanks stored the Zenit's flammable diet of kerosene and liquid oxygen. Beyond the tanks, at the rear of the platform, they saw the Zenit itself standing like a lonely monolith surrounded by open deck. They stood for a moment, mesmerized by the size and sheer power of the rocket with out even considering the lethality of its payload. Dirk then looked up at the hangar towering beside them, capped by a helipad at its forward edge.

  “I'm pretty sure the bridge sits above the hangar. That's where we need to get to.”

  Dahlgren studied the structure methodically. “Looks like we'll have to go through the hangar to get there.”

  Without another word, the two men took off at a fast jog, wary of being observed as they dashed to the end of the five-story-high hangar. Reaching the deck side with its open barn doors, Dirk carefully peered around the edge to look inside. The long narrow hangar looked like a huge empty cavern without the Zenit lying prone inside. With Dahlgren on his heels, Dirk slipped around the door and into the hangar, moving quietly behind a large generator mounted next to the wall. Voices suddenly echoed across the empty chamber and the men froze in their tracks.

  Midway down the length of the hangar, a door flew open on the opposite side and the voices fell quiet. Three gaunt-looking men in Sea Launch jumpsuits staggered through the door and into the hangar followed by two armed commandos. Dirk recognized the black commando outfits and the AK-74 assault rifles as those he'd seen on the men who attacked the Deep Endeavor. He and Dahlgren watched as the three men were marched to a fabricated storage room situated near the far end of the hangar. Two additional commandos stood guard over the storage bay and helped to herd the Sea Launch workers inside before closing and locking the door behind them.

  “If we can get to the Sea Launch crew, they'll know how to stop the launch,” Dirk said in a low voice.

  “Right. We ought to be able to take care of Mutt and Jeff, once their friends leave,” Dahlgren replied, motioning toward the two storage bay guards.

  Creeping to a vantage spot near the transporter erector they waited and watched as the first two commandos chatted with the guards for a moment, then left through the side door. Ducking and weaving through an array of electronic test racks and tool bins that lined the sides of the hangar, Dirk and Dahlgren quietly crept closer to the guarded storage bay. Along the way, they passed a rack of tools marked hydraulic engineer. Hesitating for a second, Dirk grabbed a long-hand
led wooden block mallet while Dahlgren grabbed an oversized box wrench for insurance. Scrambling past the end of the transporter erector they silently darted behind a work platform that sat a hundred feet from the storage room.

  “What now, maestro?” Dahlgren whispered, seeing that there was nothing but open deck between them and the storage bay.

  Dirk crouched against a wheel of the work platform and looked across toward the guards. The two armed commandos were engaged in an animated conversation with each other, paying little attention to the rest of the hangar. He then took a studious look at the platform they had ducked behind. It was a motorized work platform that rose up and down to allow access to the topsides of the thirteen-foot-diameter rocket. Dirk patted his hand on the wheel beside him and threw a crooked grin toward Dahlgren.

  “Jack,” he whispered, “I believe you shall drive in the front door while I waltz in the back door.”

  Seconds later, Dirk quietly made his way down the side of the hangar, careful to move only when the guards showed their backs in his direction. After several short running bursts, he reached the rear of the hangar, where he made his way across the width section undetected. As long as the guards stayed positioned near the front of the storage bay, he could approach from behind without being seen.

  Dahlgren, meanwhile, was left with the more daring part of the offensive. Climbing onto the motorized work platform, Dahlgren grabbed hold of the cabled control box, then lay flat on the platform. A canvas tarp was partially rolled up on one side, which he used to cover himself with. Peering through a crack at the guards, he gently tapped at the raise button on the controls when the guards were turned the other way. With barely a whir, the platform rose a half foot. Out of audio range, the two guards were oblivious. Dahlgren waited again until the guards were looking away, then hit the control button again, this time holding it down firmly. The work platform rose quietly like an elevator, its electric motor barely humming. Dahlgren held his breath and waited until the scaffold reached a height of fifteen feet before releasing the button to stop. Peeking down at the guards, Dahlgren could see that the movement had gone undetected. “Now for the fun part,” he muttered to himself. Hitting the drive controls, the entire work platform lurched forward on its four wheels, rolling ahead at a slow crawl. Dahlgren adjusted the drive mechanism to aim the platform directly toward the storage building and two guards, then hunkered down under the canvas tarp and lay still.

  The towering platform crept halfway across the hangar like a robot before one of the guards detected its movement. From under the tarp, Dahlgren heard an excited rush of gibberish in an Asian tongue, but, thankfully, no sound of gunfire followed. A loud cry of “Saw!” screeched through the air, and was repeated a few seconds later as the confused guards called for the contraption to halt. Dahlgren ignored the cry and kept rolling across the floor. Peeking through a crack in the canvas, he saw the roofline of the storage shed approaching and knew he was close to the guards. He waited until the platform rolled to within five feet of the storage building, then pressed the stop button. The confused guards fell silent as the raised platform quietly rolled to a standstill.

  The tension in the air was palpable and Dahlgren milked it for full effect. Beneath him, the two guards stared nervously at the mysterious platform, their fingers sweaty on the triggers of their guns. From their vantage, the bewildering platform had rolled across the floor empty but for a tarp and a loose spool of rope. Perhaps it was just a simple mechanical failure that caused it to roll forward. Cautiously, they stepped closer to inspect the platform. Concealed in the tarp, Dahlgren held his breath and then hit the control button.

  Like a mechanical ghost, the platform suddenly began lowering itself. The two guards jumped back as the accordion-support structure slowly collapsed and the wooden scaffold dropped toward the ground. Then, at a height of six feet, the platform abruptly stopped. The platform stood a good six inches taller than either man and they both stood back several feet, trying to eye who or what was driving the thing. Finally, one of the guards approached on his tiptoes and began thrusting the muzzle of his assault rifle into the roll of canvas while his partner stood back peering around the hangar suspiciously.

  Dahlgren knew that he would have only one chance to disable the guard and discreetly extended his right arm above his head to prepare for the blow. Through the ruffled canvas, he could feel the prodding of the guard move closer until the thrusting muzzle finally struck home against his thigh. The startled guard hesitated for a second before pulling the gun back to fire. But it was all the time that Dahlgren needed to swing the heavy box wrench out from under the canvas and down hard in a pendulum motion toward the man's head. The hard metal face of the wrench struck the guard square on the jaw with a muffled thump, by some miracle not crushing the bone. But the blow was powerful enough to send the man straight to sleep and the unconscious guard crumpled raggedly to the floor without firing a shot.

  Dahlgren's strike had yanked back the screening cover of the canvas as the second guard swung around to find his partner lying senseless on the floor. Dahlgren stared back helplessly at the guard, holding the bloody wrench clasped in his hand. Without hesitation, the guard raised his AK-74 at Dahlgren and squeezed the trigger. But a simultaneous blur from behind flew through the air and collided with the back of the man's head, sending him tumbling to the ground as the burst of fire sprayed from his gun. The jolt was just enough to alter his aim and the bullets struck harmlessly beneath Dahlgren's raised perch. As the guard fell to the ground, Dahlgren could see the tall figure of Dirk standing twenty feet behind, a determined expression on his face. In a desperate move to save his friend's life, Dirk had tossed the mallet like a long-handled ax, the hammer spinning through the air until the business end struck the guard's head like a croquet ball.

  The guard was only stunned by the blow, however, and dazedly rose to his knees, trying to retrain his gun. Dahlgren quickly jumped from the scaffold and reeled back to swing the wrench again when a burst of gunfire split the air. Dahlgren froze as a neat row of bullet holes popped through the platform support just inches from his head. The sound of spent shell casings rattled across the floor as the echo of the gunfire through the hangar gradually subsided.

  “I would advise you not to move either, Mr. Pitt,” spat the menacing voice of Tongju, who stood in the side doorway cradling a machine gun.

  Dirk and Dahlgren were held at gunpoint as Tongju and his team of commandos herded the remaining Sea Launch crew members into the storage shed. When Captain Christiano was lastly escorted in, one of the guards turned to Tongju.

  “These two as well?” he asked, nodding toward the NUMA captives.

  Tongju shook his head no with a faint look of pleasure. The guard then sealed the heavy metal door to the storage bay shut, securing the handle with a chain and padlock. Locked inside, thirty Sea Launch crewmen were crammed into a black, windowless box with no means of escape.

  Once the door was secured, Tongju walked over to the hangar wall, where Dirk and Dahlgren stood staring at a pair of gun muzzles aimed at their ribs. Tongju gazed at Dirk with a mixed look of respect and disdain.

  “You have an annoying proclivity for survival, Mr. Pitt, which is exceeded only by your irritating penchant for intrusion.”

  “I'm just a bad penny,” Dirk replied.

  “Since you have taken such a keen interest in our operation, perhaps you would enjoy a front-row viewing of the launch?” Tongju said, nodding toward three of the guards.

  Before Dirk could reply, the guards were prodding rifles into their backs, steering them in the direction of the open hangar doors. One of the guards reached up onto Dahlgren's work platform and snatched the coil of rope that lay next to the canvas roll. Tongju hung back a moment, ordering his remaining assault team to the tender, before following behind. As they walked, the two prisoners glanced at each other in mental search of an escape plan, but their options were slim. Dirk knew that Tongju would not hesitate to kill them insta
ntly, and relish the opportunity.

  Tongju caught up with them as they marched out of the hangar and into the bright sunshine that washed down on the open deck.

  “You know, of course, that military units are on their way to the platform at this very moment,” Dirk said to the assassin, silently hoping his words were true. “The launch will be stopped and you and your men will be captured, or perhaps killed.”

  Tongju looked up at the launch clock, then turned to Dirk and smiled, his yellow-stained teeth glistening in the sunlight.

  “They will not arrive in time. And if they do, there will be no consequence. The soft American military will not attack the platform for fear of killing the innocent workers aboard. There is no way to stop the countdown now. The launch will proceed, Mr. Pitt, and bring an end to the meddlesome activities of both you and your countrymen.”

  “You'll never escape alive.”

  “Nor you, I'm afraid.”

  Dirk and Dahlgren fell silent as they trudged across the open platform, feeling like two men marching to the gallows. As they approached the launch tower, all of the men could not help but look up at the shimmering white rocket that towered over them. The captives were led to the very base of the standing rocket, which clung to the tower several feet above them. Dirk and Dahlgren were shoved against a tower bracing and ordered to stand still as the guard with the rope began cutting it into several lengths with a serrated knife.

  Tongju stood and casually unholstered his Glock, aiming it at Dirk's throat, as a guard hog-tied his wrists and elbows behind his back and around a tower support beam. The guard then tied his ankles together and wrapped them to the beam before moving over to Dahlgren and roping him to the tower in the same fashion.

  “Enjoy the launch, gentlemen,” Tongju hissed, then turned and walked away.