Dirk Pitt18-Black Wind
Page 7
The twelfth hole of the Kasumigaseki Golf Club stretched 290 yards down
a tight fairway before it dog legged left to an elevated green tightly
guarded by a deep bunker in front. The U.S. ambassador to Japan,
Edward Hamilton, waggled the head of his oversized driver several times
before swinging hard into the golf ball, sending it soaring some 275
yards off the tee box and straight down the fairway.
"Fine shot, Ed," offered David Monaco, the British ambassador to Japan
and Hamilton's weekly golf partner for nearly three years. The lanky
Brit teed up his ball, then punched a long arcing shot that rolled
twenty yards past Hamilton's ball before bounding into a patch of tall
grass on the left fringe of the fairway.
"Nice power, Dave, but I think you found the rough," Hamilton said as
he spotted his playing partner's ball. The two men proceeded to walk
down the fairway while a pair of female caddies, in the unique
tradition of Japan's oldest country clubs, manhandled their golf bags
a respectable distance behind them. Lurking nearby, four
not-so-inconspicuous government bodyguards maintained a rough perimeter
around the duo as they made their way around the course.
The weekly outing at the golf course located south of Tokyo was an
informal way of sharing information about the goings-on in and around
their host country. The two allied ambassadors actually found it one
of their most productive uses of time.
"I hear you are making good progress on establishing the economic
partnership agreement with Tokyo," Monaco remarked as they hiked up the
fairway.
"It just makes sense for everyone involved to ease trade restrictions.
Our own steel tariffs may still get in the way of an agreement. The
trade attitudes here are certainly changing, however. I think South
Korea will even forge a partnership agreement with the Japanese
shortly."
"Speaking of Korea, I understand that some chaps in Seoul are going to
issue another appeal for the removal of U.S. armed forces in the Korean
National Assembly next week," Monaco said in a soft but accented
voice.
"Yes, we've heard that as well. The South Koreans' Democratic Labor
Party is using the issue as a divisive wedge to gain more political
power. Fortunately, they still only represent a small minority within
the National Assembly."
"It's a damn mystery how they can think that way, given the past
aggressiveness of the North."
"True, but it does play on a sensitive cultural issue. The DLP tries
to compare us to the historical foreign occupations of Korea by the
Chinese and the Japanese and it strikes a chord with the average man on
the street."
"Yes, but I would be surprised if the leaders of the party are
operating on a simply altruistic motive," Monaco said as the two
approached Hamilton's ball.
"My counterpart in Seoul tells me we have no definitive proof, but
we are pretty sure that at least some party officials are receiving
support from the North," Hamilton replied. Taking a 3-iron from his
caddy, Hamilton lined up the pin, then knocked another straight shot
that cut the corner of the dogleg and landed on the far side of the
green, avoiding the large bunker.
"I understand that support for the measure extends well beyond the DLP,
I'm afraid," Monaco continued. "The economic gains from reunification
are catching a lot of blokes' attention. I heard the president of
South Korea's Hyko Tractor Industries remark at a trade seminar in
Osaka how he could reduce labor costs and compete internationally if he
had access to the North's labor force."
Monaco strode through the rough grass for a minute before locating his
ball, then lofted a 5-iron shot that bounced up onto the green, rolling
shy of the pin by thirty feet.
"That's assuming a reunification would maintain free markets," Hamilton
replied. "It's still clear that the North would have the most to gain
from a reunification of both countries, and even more so if American
forces are not in play."
"I'll see if my people can find any connections," Monaco offered as
they approached the green. "But, for now, I'm just glad we're working
this side of the Sea of Japan."
Hamilton nodded in appreciation as he attempted a chip shot to the
hole. His club scuffed the ground before striking the ball, which
caused it to plop short of the pin by fifteen feet. He waited as
Monaco putted out in two strokes for par, then bent over the ball with
a putter for his own attempt at par. But as he swung through the ball,
a sudden thump emanated from his head, followed by a loud crack in the
distance. Hamilton's eyes rolled back and a shower of blood and tissue
sprayed out from his left temple and onto the pants and shoes of
Monaco. As the British diplomat looked on in horror, Hamilton fell to
his knees in a pool of blood, his hands still tightly clutching the
putter. He tried to speak but only a gurgle rolled from his lips
before he toppled stiffly onto the manicured grass surface. A fraction
of a second later, the dead man's bloodstained golf ball found the rim
of the hole and dropped into the cup with a clink.
Six hundred yards away, a short, stout Asian man dressed in blue stood
up in the bunker of the eighteenth hole. The sun glared off his bald
head and brightened a lifeless pair of coal black eyes that were made
more menacing by a long, thin Fu Manchu mustache. His squat, powerful
build was more aptly suited to wrestling than golf, but his fluid
movements revealed a flexibility to his strength. With the bored
demeanor of a child putting away his toys, the man carefully
disassembled an M-40 sniper rifle and placed the gun parts in a
concealed compartment inside his golf bag. Pulling out a sand wedge,
he forcefully lofted an overpowered shot out of the bunker in a spray
of sand. He then calmly three-putted to finish his round, then
strolled slowly to his car and stowed his clubs in the trunk. Exiting
the parking lot, he patiently gave way as a flood of police cars and
ambulances came streaking up to the clubhouse with sirens blaring, then
he eased his car into the adjacent road where he quickly became lost in
the local traffic.
A pair of technicians wearing protective gear steered the Deep
Endeavor's Zodiac to the western shore of Yunaska, where they selected
a young male sea lion from the assortment of dead mammals strewn about
the beach. The animal was carefully wrapped in a synthetic sheet, then
placed into a heavy body bag for transport back to the ship. The NUMA
research vessel stood off nearby with spotlights beaming on the water,
guiding the rubber boat back in short order. A section of the galley
was cleared away and the sealed cadaver was stored in a cold freezer
for the remainder of the voyage, just next to a crate of frozen
sherbet.
Once all was secured, Captain Burch pushed the research vessel hard
toward the island of Unalaska, with its port city of the same name,
situated more
than two hundred miles away. Running at top speed all
through the night, Burch was able to bring the Deep Endeavor into the
commercial fishing port just before ten the next morning. A weathered
ambulance waited at the dock to transfer Sarah, Irv, and
Sandy to the town's small airfield, where a chartered plane was waiting
to whisk them to Anchorage. Dirk insisted on pushing Sarah to the
ambulance in her wheelchair and gave her a long kiss on the cheek as
she was loaded in.
"We've got a date in Seattle, right? I still owe you a crab dinner,"
Dirk said with an engaging smile.
"I wouldn't miss it," Sarah replied sheepishly. "Sandy and I will be
down just as soon we're okay to leave Anchorage."
After seeing the CDC team off, Dirk and Burch met with the village
public safety officer and gave him a full report of the incident. Dirk
provided a detailed description of the mystery fishing trawler and
convinced the VPSO to furnish him with a listing of registered fishing
vessels from the state licensing authority. The VPSO also agreed to
check with the local commercial fishing entities for information but
didn't hold out much hope. Japanese and even Russian fishing boats
were known to ply the territorial waters illegally on occasion in
search of fertile fishing grounds and had the habit of disappearing
whenever the authorities tried to pursue them.
Burch wasted little time in the port city before turning the Deep
Endeavor south, and sailing toward Seattle. Like everyone else, the
crew of the ship had plenty of questions about the events of the
preceding day but few answers.
Sarah, Irv, and Sandy endured a noisy and bumpy flight to Anchorage on
one of the local twin-engine island-hoppers, arriving at the city's
international airport late in the evening. Two exuberant college
interns from the regional CDC office met them at the airport and
transferred them to Alaska Regional Hospital, where they underwent a
battery of toxicology tests and examinations. By this time, the
threesome had regained their strength and were showing no outward
signs
of illness. Oddly, the medical staff was unable to diagnose any
abnormal toxicity levels or other ailment with any of the three. After
an overnight stay for observation, Sarah, Irv, and Sandy were released
from the hospital with a clean bill of health as if nothing at all had
happened to them.
Six days later, the Deep Endeavor cruised quietly into Puget Sound,
turning east into the Shilshole Bay just north of Seattle. The
research vessel tied up momentarily at the Ballard Locks, where
controlled floodgates raised the ship and released it into the fresh
water of the ship canal. The Deep Endeavor continued on into Lake
Union before slowing along the north shore. Burch inched the vessel up
to a private dock jutting from a small modern-looking glass building
that housed the NUMA northwest field office. A gathering of the crew's
wives and children lined the dock, waving enthusiastically as the ship
approached.
"Looks like you've got your own welcoming committee, Dirk," Burch
remarked, pointing to two figures waving at the end of the pier. Dirk
looked out the bridge window and recognized Sarah and Sandy among the
happy throng greeting the turquoise ship. Sarah looked radiant in a
pair of blue capri pants and a maize satin blouse, which complemented
her trim figure.
"You two look like the model of health," Dirk said as he warmly greeted
the pair.
"No small part in thanks to you," Sandy gushed. "Just one night in
Alaska Regional Hospital and we were on our way good as new."
"How's Irv?"
"He's fine," Sarah replied. "He's staying in Anchorage for a few more
weeks to coordinate the completion of our sea lion study with the
Alaska Department of Fish and Game. They agreed to provide field
support to help finish our research investigation."
"I'm so glad everybody is well. So what was the medical diagnosis in
Anchorage?" Dirk asked.
Sandy and Sarah glanced at each other briefly with a searching look,
then shrugged and shook their heads in unison.
"They didn't find anything," Sarah finally said. "It's something of a
mystery. We all showed signs of an inflamed respiratory track, but
that was about it. Blood and urine samples came back clean. If we did
inhale a toxin, it was purged from our systems by the time we reached
Anchorage."
"That's why we're here to pick up the sea lion. Hopefully, there will
be some indicators still evident in the animal's tissue," Sandy said.
"So, you're not here to see me?" Dirk intoned sadly with an
exaggerated frown on his face.
"Sorry, Dirk," Sarah laughed. "Why don't you come meet us at the lab
later this afternoon after we do our analysis? We can go grab a late
lunch."
"I would like to know the results," he agreed, then led the two on
board to retrieve the frozen sea lion.
Once the mammal was hauled away, Dirk and Dahlgren helped secure the
ship, transferring ashore the sensitive high-tech survey gear that was
stored in an adjacent warehouse. With their docking shores complete,
the crew of the Deep Endeavor gradually dispersed to enjoy a few days
of R&R before the next project set sail.
Dahlgren approached Dirk with a rucksack tossed over one shoulder and
the pair of crutches under one arm. Only a slight limp was noticeable
from his calf wound when he walked.
"Dirk, I'm off to rustle up a date with a sexy teller I met at the bank
before we shipped out. Should I see if she has a cute friend?"
"No, thanks. Think I'll get cleaned up and go see what Sarah and Sandy
discovered from our sea lion Popsicle."
"You always did have a thing for the brainy types," Dahlgren
chuckled.
"What's with the crutches? You've been off those things for three days
now."
"Never underestimate a woman's sense of sympathy," Dahlgren grinned,
placing one crutch under an arm and pretending to limp in agony.
"If I were you, I wouldn't underestimate a woman's ability to detect
bad acting," Dirk replied with a laugh. "Happy hunting."
Dirk borrowed the keys to a turquoise NUMA Jeep Cherokee and drove a
short distance to his rented town house overlooking Lake Washington.
Although he called Washington, D.C." his home, he enjoyed the
temporary assignment in the Northwest. The lush wooded surroundings,
the cold, clear waters, and the youthful and vibrant residents who
thrived in the sometimes bleak and damp weather made for a refreshing
environment.
Dirk showered and threw on a pair of dark slacks and a thin pullover
sweater, then downed a peanut butter sandwich and an Olympia beer while
listening to a litany of messages on his answering machine. Satisfied
that the earth had not come to a stop in his absence, he hopped into
the Jeep and headed north on 1-5. Exiting east past the lush Jackson
Park Golf Course, Dirk turned north and soon entered the park like
grounds of Fircrest Campus.
Fircrest was an old military complex that
had been turned over to the state of Washington and now housed offices
and operations for a variety of state government agencies. Dirk
spotted a complex of square white buildings surrounded by mature trees
and parked in an adjacent lot fronted by a large sign, stating:
Washington state public health laboratories.
A perky receptionist phoned up to the small CDC office shared by the
state lab and a few moments later Sarah and Sandy appeared in the
lobby. A portion of the cheeriness they showed earlier in the day had
clearly left their faces.
"Dirk, it's good of you to come. There's a quiet Italian restaurant
down the street where we can talk. The Pasta Alfredo is great, too,"
Sarah suggested.
"Sure thing. Ladies first," Dirk replied as he held the front door
open for the two scientists.
After the threesome shoehorned into a red vinyl booth at the nearby
neighborhood restaurant, Sarah explained their findings.
"An examination of the sea lion revealed the classic signs of
respiratory seizure as the cause of death. An initial blood test
failed to reveal any concentrated levels of toxicity, however."
"Similar to the test results for you three in Anchorage," Dirk added
between bites of bread.
"Exactly. Our vitals showed fine, though we still experienced
weakness, headaches, and signs of respiratory irritation by the time we
reached Anchorage," Sandy added.
"So we went back and carefully reexamined the animal's blood and tissue
and finally detected trace elements of the toxin," Sarah continued.