price. Besides, there's a whole mind-set that we'll need to contend
with if we bring on the northern worker. After all, no socialist state
was ever admired for its devotion to quality output."
"Nothing that a dose of retraining and a taste of capitalistic wages
wouldn't quickly solve," Kang countered.
"Perhaps. But, face it, there is no consumer market for automobiles in
the North. The country is an economic mess, and the average man on the
street is primarily concerned with putting a meal on the table. The
disposable income just isn't there to aid my industry."
"Yes, but you are looking at the present, not the future. Our two
countries are on an inescapable collision course toward unification,
and those that are prepared today will reap the riches tomorrow. You
had the vision to expand your manufacturing presence to India and the
United States and now you are a major player in the auto industry. Have
the vision of a unified Korea and help place our homeland at the
forefront of world leadership."
The auto exec blew a large puff of blue cigar smoke toward the ceiling
as he contemplated Kang's words. "I can see the wisdom in your
thinking. I'll have my strategy office look into it, perhaps work up
some contingencies. I'm not sure I have the stomach for dealing with
the political issues and approvals, with both the North and South
Korean governments, to establish a presence in the North just yet," he hedged.
Kang set down his vodka gimlet and smiled. "I have friends and
influence in both governments that can come to your aid when the time
is right," he replied with understatement.
"Most gracious of you. And there is something I can do for you; my
good friend, in return?" the exec replied with a smirk.
"The resolution in the National Assembly to expel the U.S. military
from our soil is gaining momentum," Kang answered. "Your support of
the resolution would sway a good deal of political opinion."
"The embarrassing news incidents with the American military personnel
are admittedly making things touchy in some areas of our business.
However, I am not convinced the security concerns regarding an American
force withdrawal are unfounded."
"Of course they are," Kang lied. "The American presence promotes
aggression from the North. Their removal will only stabilize relations
between our countries and allow our ultimate reunification."
"You really think it's the right thing to do?"
"It could make us very rich men, Song-woo," Kang replied.
"We already are," the auto executive laughed as he snuffed out his
cigar in a porcelain ashtray. "We already are."
Kang shook hands good-bye with his fellow industrialist, then took a
quick ear-popping elevator ride a hundred floors down to the lobby of
the sprawling business center. An accompanying bodyguard attired in
black spoke into a handheld radio, and, seconds later, a red Bentley
Arnage RL limousine pulled up to the curb to collect them. As Kang
rode silently in the leather-bound backseat, he allowed a sense of
self-congratulations to overtake him.
The plan of events was going better than expected. The staged murder
of a young girl by the American airman had caused widespread outrage
across the country. Mothers were staging numerous protests outside of
American military bases, while a mob of loud anotous college students had marched on the U.S. embassy. Kang's corporate
administrative staff had orchestrated an intense letter-writing
campaign that bombarded a score of local politicians with demands to
oust the foreign armed forces. And Kang's extortion of several
National Assembly leaders had initiated the political resolution that
South Korea's president would soon have to contend with. Now he was
working the business leadership community, which had the real clout
with both the media and the members of the National Assembly.
The North Korean leadership in Pyongyang was doing their part in the
deception by talking up reunification on every public front. As a
goodwill gesture signaling improved relations, they temporarily lifted
a majority of the travel restrictions to the north. With additional
fanfare, they announced that an army armored division was being pulled
back from the DMZ in a peaceful move, though failed to admit that they
were just being repositioned a short distance away. Facts to the
contrary, a peaceful and friendly front was being promoted in the
spirit that a Madison Avenue ad exec would admire.
The Bentley drove into downtown Seoul, turning through the gates of a
nondescript low-rise glass building marked with a small sign, stating
simply: kang enterprises-semiconductor division. The luxury car
continued past a crowded parking lot, then down a small alleyway that
led to the back of the building and the shoreline of the Han River. The
driver stopped in front of a private dock, where Kang's Italian motor
yacht was tied up. A servant welcomed Kang and his bodyguard aboard as
the engines were started, and, before he had entered the main cabin,
the yacht was cast off for its commute back to Kang's estate.
Kang's assistant, Kwan, bowed as the tycoon entered a small inte-"or
cabin he used as a working office aboard the boat. As was his
tradition, Kwan provided daily briefings to his boss, either on board
the yacht or at the estate, at the end of each workday. A pile of
two-page briefing reports that bested the intelligence reports of many
Western
leaders lay stacked on the table. Kang quickly scanned the assorted
briefings, which detailed everything from forecast quarterly earnings
at his telecom subsidiary, to military exercises of the South Korean
army, to personal profiles of which politician was cheating on his
wife. Items related to subversive activities or from protected sources
were printed on a special orange paper that dissolved when immersed in
water and were destroyed immediately after Kang's viewing.
After addressing a number of business issues, Kang rubbed his eyes and
asked, "What have we heard from Tongju on the Back/e?"
Kwan's face visibly paled. "We have a problem with the marine
equipment for the recovery operation," he replied tentatively. "The
Japanese submersible we leased was damaged while being transported to
the Baekje. It was the fault of some careless dockworkers."
Kwan watched as a vein stood out on Kang's temple and began throbbing
violently. The anger rose quickly in the man but came out in a
controlled hiss.
"This bungling must stop! First we lose two of our agents in America
on a simple assassination attempt and now this. How long before
repairs to the damage can be completed?"
"At least three months. The Shinkai is out," Kwan said quietly.
"We have a timetable to adhere to," Kang replied with agitation. "We're
talking days, not months."
"I have initiated a complete search of available submersibles in the
region. The other potential Japanese deep-water submersible is
undergoing a refit, and all the Russian vessels are currently operating
/> in Western waters. The nearest available submersible that is suitable
for the recovery is a Ukrainian vessel currently operating in the
Indian Ocean. It will take three weeks to have her on-site,
however."
"That is too late," Kang mumbled. "The momentum we have built in the
National Assembly for the referendum is peaking. There will be a
forced vote within a few weeks. We must act before then. I need not
remind you that we had committed to strike during the G8 assemblage,"
he said, his eyes simmering with anger.
An anguished silence filled the room. Then Kwan ventured to speak.
"Sir, there may be another option. We were told that an American
scientific research vessel has been operating in Japanese waters with a
deep-sea submersible. I was able to track the vessel down earlier
today as it was taking on fuel in Osaka. It is a NUMA ship, fully
capable of deep-water recovery."
"NUMA again?" Kang mused. His face pinched up as he contemplated the
successful foundation he had laid for the project and the potential
risk of delay. Finally, he nodded his head at Kwan.
"It is imperative that we initiate the recovery as soon as possible.
Obtain the American submersible, but do it quietly and without
incident."
"Tongju is there to lead the operation," Kwan replied confidently. "At
your instructions, he will proceed. He will not fail us."
"See to it," Kang replied, his dark eyes boring through Kwan with
seething intolerance.
Six-foot swells carrying caps of white foam atop their shoulders pushed
and prodded at the Sea Rover, causing her decks to roll gently with the
undulating seas. A high-pressure front was slowly moving out of the
East China Sea, and Captain Morgan noted with satisfaction that the
strong southerly winds had gradually softened since they had entered
the sea located southeast of the Japanese mainland the night before. As
Morgan watched from the bridge, a gray dawn slowly washed the research
ship in a bath of muted light. Near the rising and falling bow, he
spotted a solitary figure standing at the rail scanning the horizon. A
wavy patch of black hair could be seen fluttering in the wind above the
upturned collar of his navy blue foul-weather jacket.
Dirk breathed in a deep lungful of the sea air, tasting the damp
saltiness of it on his tongue. The ocean always invigorated him, both
physically and mentally, the blue vastness providing a tranquil tonic
that
Uowed him to think and act more clearly. Not one capable of working
behind a desk, he was addicted to the outdoors, flourishing when at one
with what Mother Nature had to offer.
After watching a pair of gulls arc lazily above the ship in search of a
morning meal, he made his way aft and climbed up to the elevated
bridge. Morgan thrust a steaming mug of coffee into his hand as he
entered the ship's control room.
"You're up early," the captain boomed, a jovial grin on his face even
at the early hour of the day.
"Didn't want to miss out on any of the fun," Dirk replied, taking a
long draw at the coffee. "I figured we would be approaching the search
area shortly after dawn."
"Pretty near," Morgan said. "We're about forty minutes from the
Swordfisffs reported position where she sank the Japanese sub."
"What's the depth here?"
A young helmsman in a blue jumpsuit eyed the depth monitor and crisply
announced, "Depth 920 feet, sir."
"Looks like territory for a deep-water AUV search," Dirk said.
"I'll have Summer wake up Audry and get her ready for work," Morgan
replied with a grin.
Audry was the variant of an Autonomous Underwater Vehicle, which the
NUMA scientists who built her had instead dubbed "Autonomous Underwater
Data Recovery Vehicle." A state-of-the-art self-propelled sensing
unit, Audry contained a side-scan sonar, a magnetometer, and a
sub-bottom profiler, all packaged into a torpedo-shaped casing that was
simply dropped over the side of the ship. The combined sensors
provided the capability to seismically map the seafloor for natural or
man-made objects, as well as peer beneath the seabed for buried
anomalies. The fish-shaped sensor could skim above the seafloor at a
depth of five thousand feet, propelled by a powerful battery pack,
which eliminated the need for a lengthy and cumbersome tow cable.
As the Sea Rover approached the search area, Dirk assisted Sum* mer in
downloading the search parameters into Audry's navigatiot| computer.
"We'll use the side-scan sonar only so we can run wider search! lanes,"
Dirk instructed. "If the I-411 is out there, we ought to be able| to
see her sitting up off the bottom."
"How large a search grid?" Summer asked as she tapped instructions
into a laptop computer.
"We have only a rough fix from the Swordfish, so we'll likely have
plenty of ground to cover. Let's set the initial search grid at five
by five miles."
"That's still within range of the data relay system. I'll do a quick
systems check, then we should be ready to deploy."
As Audry's software program was reconfigured, the Sea Rover dropped a
pair of self-positioning transducers into the water at either end of
the search grid. With built-in GPS satellite receivers, the
transducers would relay underwater navigational guidance to Audry that
would enable the vehicle to run a precise back-and-forth grid pattern
several dozen feet above the seafloor. Audry in return would upload
packets of data to the transducers at periodic intervals, detailing the
sonar's search results.
"Ready with the winch," a crewman's voice shouted.
Dirk gave the thumbs-up signal, then he and Summer watched as the
eight-foot-long, lemon-colored survey vehicle was lifted out of a rack
on the rear deck and lowered over the side railing into the water. A
white plume of spray from the tail indicated that Audry's small
propeller was churning, then the grips from the winch were let go.
Lunging like a thoroughbred out of the gates at Santa Anita, the
torpedo- shaped vehicle surged down the length of the Sea Rover before
submerging under a wave and into the depths.
"Audry has some legs on her," Dirk noted.
"She's undergone a recent modification and is now capable of running
her surveys at a speed of 9 knots."
"At that pace, she may not give me much time for my favorite part of
the search."
"What's that?" Summer asked, a quizzical look on her face.
"Why, having a beer and a peanut butter sandwich while waiting for the
results," he grinned.
While Audry motored back and forth down neat imaginary lanes a hundred
feet above the seafloor, Summer monitored the vehicle's progress on a
computer display aboard the Sea Rover. At twenty-minute intervals, a
digital data upload was wirelessly transmitted from the transducers to
the ship, where further electronic processing converted the binary data
bits into a graphical image of the sonar readings. Dirk and Summer
took turns scanning through the imag
es of the seabed, searching for
linear or angular shapes that might signify a shipwreck.
"Looks like a pepperoni pizza," Dirk mused as he studied the
rock-strewn bottom, seeing odd-shaped boulders that threw off round
shadows against the flat backdrop.
"Don't tell me you're hungry again," Summer replied, shaking her
head.
"No, but I bet Audry is. What kind of mileage does she get on a tank
of battery acid?"
"The batteries for high-speed operation are only designed to last eight
hours. We never run her past seven hours, though, to make sure she has
enough juice to propel herself from deep water to the surface. She's
been in the water now about six hours," Summer said, glancing at her
watch, "so we'll need to call her back for a battery change within the
next hour."
A pop-up window suddenly appeared on the computer screen, signaling
receipt of the latest data upload.
"Only one more file to go till we've covered the first search box,"
remarked, standing up from his computer console chair and
stretching his arms. "I better identify the boundaries of the next
search grid. Can you take a look at the next data feed?"
"Sure, I'll just go ahead and find it for you," Summer joked as she
took his seat and typed a string of commands into the keyboard. A new
set of images appeared on the screen, a five-hundred-meter swath of
ocean bottom scrolling from top to bottom, which resembled the aerial
view of a hard-packed dirt road through the desert. Summer had
Dirk Pitt18-Black Wind Page 22
