Black Wind dp-18

by Clive Cussler

  “We shall, knowing that vermin like you won't have long to breathe,” Dirk cursed.

  He and Dahlgren watched silently as Tongju and his men jogged across the platform toward the forward support column and disappeared down the stairwell. A few minutes later, they observed the tender speeding away toward the Koguryo, which was now positioned nearly two miles from the Odyssey. From their captive position, they had a clear view of the launch clock as it ticked down to 00:26:00, twenty-six minutes. Dirk looked up and morbidly studied the Zenit's huge thrusters that hung several feet above their heads. At the first seconds of launch, 1.6 million pounds of thrust would be expelled onto them like a firestorm, incinerating their bodies to ashes. At least it would be a quick death, he thought.

  “I guess that's the last time I let you talk me into crashing a party uninvited,” Dahlgren said, breaking the tension.

  “Sorry, I guess we were a little underdressed,” Dirk replied without humor. He tugged and twisted at the binding ropes, searching for an avenue of escape, but there was little room to even wiggle his hands.

  “Any chance you can slip your ropes?” he asked hopefully of Dahlgren.

  “Afraid not. This guy definitely earned his merit badge in knot tying,” Dahlgren said, pulling at his restraints.

  A loud clanging across the platform seized their attention, which was followed by a deep rumbling beneath their feet. The rushing sound of flowing liquid bellowed up behind them, roaring up and overhead through a series of pipes built into the launch tower. The pipes creaked and groaned around them as they protested the flow of the supercooled liquid oxygen and kerosene being pumped into the Zenit.

  “They're fueling the rocket,” Dirk observed. “Too dangerous to do with the crew aboard so they wait until just prior to launch, after the platform has been evacuated.”

  “That makes me feel so much better. I just hope the guy manning the pump doesn't get sloppy and overfill the tank.”

  They both looked up at the rocket in apprehension, knowing that a spill of liquid oxygen would burn right through their skin. The rocket shuddered and wailed as it drank in the liquid fuel, seeming to come alive with the infusion. Pumps and motors whirred above their heads as priming fuel was released into the rocket engine's initial combustion chamber. Both men stared up in numbed silence at the mouth of the rocket thrusters, contemplating the impending conflagration that would rain upon them. Dirk thought of Sarah and felt a sudden pang in his chest, realizing he would never see her again. Worse still, he remembered that she was visiting Los Angeles. She, too, might well succumb to the effects of the missile launch, a launch that he had failed to prevent. Then his sister and father sprang to mind and he felt remorse in that they would never know what befell his disappearance. There certainly wouldn't be any remains left to bury, he thought morbidly. His attention was drawn to a low hiss, caused by puffs of white steam venting out of several safety valves along the Zenit's exterior. As the chilled oxygen warmed in the daytime air, the expanding vapor was purged from the rocket, accumulating in wispy clouds above their heads. To the cruel irony of the two captives awaiting death in their last minutes, the sky seemed to darken over them as the vapor shadows obscured the rays of the sun. But Dirk's heart suddenly skipped a beat when he realized that the shadow cast over them above the rocket was slowly creeping across the platform deck.

  Even from high in the sky, the Sea Launch platform and Zenit rocket looked impressive. But for the men in the Icarus, the focus was not one of sightseeing. There was no puttering around the airspace this time as the blimp came floating directly over the stationary platform.

  “There's the Badger. She's tied up alongside the forward support column,” Giordino said, pointing toward a corner of the platform where the red submersible could be seen bobbing in the water.

  “Dirk and Jack clearly made it aboard,” Pitt replied with a touch of concern.

  Upon receiving a radio call from Summer on the Deep Endeavorthat the Narwhal had been attacked, Pitt immediately yanked the blimp around to the south and came charging back at full speed. The twin Porsche engines affixed to the gondola whined as the rpm's climbed and the airship was pushed to its top speed of 50 knots. On the horizon, Pitt and Giordino could see the black smoke from the Narwhal's smoldering hull rising like a beacon before the ship slipped underwater. Pitt willed the blimp toward the debris as fast as the ungainly airship would go while Giordino focused the long-distance camera at the site ahead. As they grew nearer, they observed the Koguryo distancing herself from the platform, while discovering little remains of the Coast Guard vessel through the magnified camera lens.

  “You might not want to cruise too close to that support ship,” Giordino cautioned after several tight passes over the Narwhal site failed to reveal any survivors.

  “You think she's carrying SAMs?” Pitt asked.

  “She stung the Narwhal with a surface-to-surface, so it's a betting chance.”

  “I'll keep the platform positioned in between us. That should dissuade them from firing on us and, hopefully, alleviate your Hindenburg fears.”

  Pitt brought the airship down to an altitude of five hundred feet and eased back on the high-reving motors as they approached the platform. Giordino focused the WES COM camera onto the Koguryo standing off in the distance, eyeing it warily for signs of a potential strike on the blimp. The shuttle boat suddenly lurched into view on the monitor as it pulled up alongside the ship. Pitt and Giordino watched as Tongju and the last of his assault team climbed onto the larger vessel. Pitt noted that Jack and his son were not among the group.

  “The last of the rats leaving the platform?” Giordino asked.

  “Could be. Doesn't look like they are sending the tender back. Let's see if we can find anyone left minding the store.”

  The blimp drifted over the stern of the platform and Pitt guided the airship along the length of the portside deck toward the bow. Not a soul could be seen wandering the deck below. Giordino pointed out the backward-ticking clock on the hangar, which read 00:27:00, twenty-seven minutes. As they floated past the forward edge, Pitt turned and ran across the Odyssey's bow and alongside the roof-mounted pilothouse. Giordino swung the camera until it pointed into the windows of the platform's command station. On the monitor, they could see clearly into the bridge. Scanning back and forth, there was not a solitary sign of life.

  “Looks like the ghost ship Mary Celeste around here,” Giordino said.

  “No doubt about it. They're getting ready to light the fuse.”

  Pitt turned the blimp's controls again and brought the airship down the length of the starboard side, then circled tightly around the Zenit rocket. Plumes of white smoke spewed from the release valves on the rocket, venting the warming fuel. Giordino panned up and down the rocket with the camera system.

  “She looks gassed and ready to roll at any minute.”

  “Twenty-six minutes, to be precise,” Pitt said, eyeing the countdown clock.

  Giordino let out a whistle as he glanced at the clock. A slight movement on the monitor brought his eyes back to the rocket display, but he still almost missed it. He curiously tweaked the focus down the length of the rocket until the monitor suddenly filled with the image of two men standing at the base of the tower.

  “It's Dirk and Jack! They're tied to the tower.”

  Pitt stared at the screen for a moment and nodded, his eyes squinting in recognition. Without saying a word, he quickly scanned the platform for a spot to bring the blimp down. Though the rear deck of the platform offered a large open space between the hangar and the launch tower, a tall crane was angled up and inward, impeding the airspace. The airship's fabric sides might gash open if contact were made with the structure.

  “Nice of them to leave the can opener out for us,” Giordino said as he peered at the imposing crane.

  “No troubles. We'll just have to make like a helicopter.”

  Skimming over the hangar and descending rapidly, Pitt eased the blimp down toward the
large round helipad mounted above the pilothouse. With a finesse touch, he eased the blimp down until the gondola lightly kissed the pad.

  “Can I trust you not to go off sightseeing without me?” Pitt asked as he hastily climbed out of the pilot's seat.

  “Cross my heart.”

  “Give me ten minutes. If we're not back, then just get this thing the hell away from the platform before she lights up.”

  “I'll keep the meter running,” Giordino replied, giving Pitt a nod of good luck.

  In a flash, Pitt was out the gondola door and sprinting across the pad. As he disappeared down a stairwell, Giordino looked at his watch and anxiously started counting the seconds.

  Tongju climbed aboard the Koguryo and immediately raced to the bridge, where Captain Lee and Kim stood surveying the Odyssey.

  “You cut your departure a little thin,” Lee said soberly. “They have already commenced fueling the rocket.”

  “A minor delay, due to an unexpected interruption,” Tongju replied. Scanning the horizon, he noted the airship drifting slowly back toward the platform. “Have you detected any more approaching vessels?”

  The captain shook his head. “No, none yet. Besides the airship, there has just been the lone research ship that was following behind the Coast Guard vessel,” he said, pointing to a radar blip on the opposite side of the platform. “She's remained in her present position, two miles to the northeast of the platform.”

  “And no doubt has radioed for assistance. Those damn Ukrainians, he spat. ”They have brought us too close to shore and placed the mission in peril. Captain, we must get under way immediately after liftoff. Adjust course due south at full power to Mexican waters before laying in for our rendezvous point."

  “What about the airship?” Kim asked. “It must be destroyed as well, for it can track our escape.”

  Tongju studied the silver blimp, which sat hovering on the Odyssey's helicopter pad.

  “We cannot fire upon them while they are positioned near the platform. They can do no harm at this late time. Perhaps they will stupidly burn in the launch themselves. Come, let us enjoy the liftoff. We will dispense with them later.”

  With Kim in tow, Tongju left the bridge and quickly made his way aft to the launch control center. The brightly lit bay was packed with white-coated engineers sitting at workstations arranged in a horseshoe shape around the room. On the front center wall was a large flat-panel video screen that showed a full image of the Zenit rocket at the launch tower, wisps of vapor emanating from its sides. Tongju spotted Ling hunched over a monitor conversing with a technician and approached the launch operations engineer.

  “Ling, what is the launch status?” Tongju asked.

  The round-faced engineer squinted at Tongju through his glasses.

  “The fueling will be complete in another two minutes. One of the backup flight control computers is not responding, there's a low-pressure reading in one of the cooling lines, and the number two auxiliary turbo pump indicator shows a fluid leakage.”

  “What does that mean for the launch?” Tongju asked, a sudden flush rising over his normally placid face.

  “None of the items, either individually or collectively, are mission critical. All other systems are showing nominal. The launch will proceed as scheduled,” he said, eyeing a digital launch clock beneath the video panel, “in exactly twenty-three minutes and forty-seven seconds.”

  At twenty-three minutes and forty-six seconds, Jack Dahlgren looked up from the Odyssey's ticking launch clock to the Icarus, which seemed to be fixed hovering above the pilothouse. He knew there was no chance that they could have been spotted by the high-flying gondola, but he still wondered if Pitt or Giordino might somehow find a way to stop the launch. He strained to turn toward Dirk beside him, expecting his friend to be looking at the blimp with hopeful optimism. Instead, Dirk was oblivious to the airship, his full attention focused on defiantly trying to break the bounds of his ropes. Jack started to offer some words of encouragement but his lips froze when he saw a movement inside the hangar. He blinked and took another hard look. Sure enough, he could see it was a man sprinting through the hangar directly toward them.

  “Dirk, there's somebody coming our way. Is that who I think it is?”

  Dirk glanced toward the hangar while continuing to strain at his bound hands and feet. He squinted at the lone figure bursting out of the hangar and tearing across the platform carrying what looked like a long stick in his hand. The figure was tall and lean with dark hair and Dirk suddenly stopped struggling at the ropes when he recognized the gait.

  “I don't ever recall seeing my father move that fast before,” he said to Dahlgren, a broad grin spreading across his face.

  As the head of NUMA drew closer, they could see that it was a fire ax, not a stick, that he toted in his right hand as he ran. Sprinting up to the tower, the elder Pitt smiled in relief at seeing that the two men were uninjured.

  “I thought I told you boys never to accept a ride with strangers,” he gasped, patting his son on the shoulder as he examined the rope restraints.

  “Sorry, Dad, but they offered us the moon and the stars,” Dirk grinned, then added, “Thanks for dropping by to get us.”

  “I've got a taxi waiting. Let's just get out of here before they ignite this thing.”

  Eyeing the center of the rope, he took a full swing and laid the blade through the rope that secured Dirk's elbows. With another swing, he cut the wrist binds, the blade of the ax ringing loudly as it cut through to the tower beam. As Dirk worked to untie his ankles, Pitt repeated his Paul Bunyan routine on Dahlgren's ropes. The two men quickly scrambled to their feet as Pitt tossed the ax aside.

  “Dad, the Sea Launch platform team is locked up inside the hangar. We need to get them out.”

  Pitt nodded. “I thought I heard some banging around in there. Lead on.”

  Almost as one, the three men dashed back across the open platform at full speed, knowing that every second counted. As they ran, Dirk looked at the launch clock above his head. Just twenty-one minutes and thirty-six seconds remained before the platform would be engulfed in a blasting inferno. As if that wasn't enough motivation to move faster, a sudden whirring noise erupted from inside the hangar. An electronic command had been issued from the Koguryo's launch control software and the hangar's large barn doors began sliding closed in preparation for the blastoff.

  “The doors are closing,” Dahlgren huffed. “We've got to hurry.”

  Like a trio of Olympic sprinters heading to the tape, the men bolted side by side toward the shrinking gap of the closing doors. Though he still had plenty of fire in his step, Pitt eased back as they approached the opening and let Dirk and Dahlgren jump through first. Following single file, he turned and slid sideways through the gap just before the doors sealed shut.

  Midway down the hangar, they could hear the sound of muffled voices and a metallic banging as the men inside the metal shed fought to extricate themselves. Dirk, Dahlgren, and Pitt scurried to the shed and examined the chained and padlocked door as they caught their breath.

  “That chain isn't going to give, but maybe we can pry the door off its hinges ... if we can find a crowbar around here,” Dahlgren said, scanning the area for a potential tool.

  Pitt glanced at the motorized work platform Jack had ridden across the hangar and reached up and grabbed the control box, which dangled from the railing.

  “I think we've got our crowbar right here,” he said, lowering the platform a few feet, then rolling the device up to the front of the shed. As Dirk and Dahlgren looked on, Pitt grabbed a loose end of the padlock chain and wrapped it tightly around the platform's railing, then yelled at the men inside the shed: “Stand back from the door.”

  Waiting a second, he then hit the raise button and watched as the platform rose slowly, drawing the chain tight. The lifting mechanism groaned and strained for a moment as the wheels of the platform rocked across the floor. Then, with a loud crack, the shed's door ripped of
f its hinges and popped into the air, slamming against the platform with a shudder before dropping and dangling from the chain midair. Pitt quickly backed the platform out of the way as the Sea Launch crew surged out of the claustrophobic shed.

  The crewmen had been given little to eat since the Odyssey was commandeered and they appeared weak and haggard from the stress of their captivity. Yet an underlying anger purveyed over the men, a group of seasoned professionals who didn't take kindly to having given up their rocket and platform.

  “Is the captain and launch manager here?” Pitt shouted over the cries of thanks from the released crew.

  A battered Captain Christiano elbowed his way through the throng, followed by a thin, distinguished-looking man with a goatee.

  “I'm Christiano, captain of the Odyssey. This is Larry Ohlrogge, platform launch manager,” he added, nodding to the man beside him “Has the platform been secured from those scum?” he spat with contempt.

  Pitt shook his head. “They've evacuated the platform in preparation for launching the rocket. We don't have much time.”

  Ohlrogge noted the erector transporter had been returned to the hangar and that the hangar doors had been closed.

  “We're talking minutes,” he said with alarm in his voice.

  “About eighteen, to be precise. Captain, get your crew to the helipad now,” Pitt directed. “There's an airship waiting that can evacuate everyone from the platform if we move quick.”

  Turning to Ohlrogge, Pitt added, “Is there any way we can stop the launch?”

  “The launch sequence is completely automated and controlled by the assembly and command ship. Presumably, these terrorists have duplicated that functionality on their own vessel.”

  “We can mechanically halt the fueling of the rocket,” Christiano noted.

  “It is too late,” Ohlrogge said, shaking his head. “There is an override control in the bridge that would be our only hope at this late time,” he added grimly.

  “The elevator at the rear of the hangar leads to the bridge deck. The helipad is just above,” Christiano said. “Then let's get moving,” Pitt replied.