depths. The electrical surge popped through to the end of
the rod, igniting a brilliant arc of yellow light that flared from the
tip, burning at several thousand degrees.
"Let's start at the top right corner and work down," Summer directed.
Dirk maneuvered the submersible to the corner seam and held it
stationary while Summer extended the right mechanical arm toward the
hangar wall until the high-temperature flame flared against the
surface. With the Starfish suspended against a light current, Summer
applied the heat from the arc to cut through the sixty-year-old plating
weld. Progress was measured in inches, as the swaying of the
submersible undermined the cutting efficiency. But, gradually, a
surgical line appeared on the hangar wall, which lengthened as Dirk
slid the Starfish down the seam. After fifteen minutes, the electrode
rod burned down to the stub. Summer shut off the electrical power and
replaced the electrode, then powered it up again and continued cutting.
The tedious process continued until a fine cut was made around the
entire perimeter seam of the hangar wall. With just a few inches to
go, Summer worked the free mechanical claw into an open gap and grabbed
onto the panel. She then cut the last of the seam, then yanked with
the secured claw. The cut section broke free and fell back onto the
main deck of the submarine with a swirling cloud of sediment.
Dirk backed the Starfish away and waited for the water to clear before
moving up to their newly created entryway. As he maneuvered back in,
he could see that they had measured perfectly. The pair of aircraft
pontoons sat directly in front of the opening, the wooden crates
sitting just below. He crept the submersible in as close as he could
get, bumping the hangar ceiling a time or two before setting it down on
the deck near a large protruding iron loop. Through the circular
eyelet ran several cables, which secured the nearest pontoon to the
deck while the submarine was in motion.
"Let's torch those cables, then figure out a way to slide that pontoon
out of the way," he suggested.
Summer reignited the underwater torch and quickly cut through the first
of three steel-braided cables. The corroded lines disintegrated
quickly under the flame of the cutting rod and she soon ate through the
second cable. She was surprised when the pontoon lurched slightly as
the second cable fell away. When the third cable cut free, she was
shocked to see the pontoon rise gracefully off the deck and float to
the top of the twelve-foot hangar ceiling.
"It's still holding air," she blurted.
"Compliments to the engineers who built her. That will make our job a
little easier," Dirk replied as he maneuvered the Starfish alongside
the wooden crates. Summer grabbed control of both mechanical arms and
gently danced their claws over one of the containers. Manipulating the
metal fingers, she grasped the top lid on either side and lifted the
arms up. The once durable hardwood lid rose like a damp pancake before
it split in two as Summer tried to place it off to one side.
"So much for the boxed set," Dirk said drily.
Inside, however, they could see the bonanza. Six silver-porcelain
aerial bombs sat secure and intact, aligned in a neat row. Dirk and
Summer looked at each other with a profound sense of relief.
"Guess it's our lucky day after all," Summer said triumphantly.
"They're still here, safe and sound."
Dirk carefully inched the Starfish closer to the crate as Summer
prepared for the harrowing prospect of removing the fragile bombs from
their disintegrating case.
"Be gentle, sis. Remember, they're made of glass," he cautioned.
Summer hardly needed the warning as she manipulated the mechanical arms
with great caution. Working with the nearest bomb, she gently slid the
canister away from the others, then gingerly worked the claws
underneath either end. Moving with patient deliberation, she lifted
the bomb up and away, then set it into a padded mesh box that had been
hastily attached to the front of the submersible. Confident that the
canister was stable, she moved the arms back and retrieved the next
bomb in the crate. Lifting and laying it next to the first snugly in
the box, she grasped its tail fin with one claw, then snatched the fin
of the first bomb with the other claw and locked both arms in place.
"Bombardier to pilot. Ready for takeoff," she said. Fearful of
damaging dangerous cargo, two bombs would be all that the Starfish
would safely transport at a time.
The submersible made a slow ascent to the surface, where the bombs were
carefully unloaded and stored in a makeshift container that the ship's
carpenter had hurriedly constructed.
"Two down, ten to go," Dirk reported to Morgan and Ryan. "Both crates
are readily accessible with the mechanical arms, so, if the second
batch is intact, we should be able to recover all twelve canisters."
"The weather is holding," Morgan replied. "If we work through the
night at the same pace, we should have the recovery operation complete
by morning."
"I'm all for that," he replied with a grin. "With all these dives, I'm
beginning to feel like a yo-yo."
Less than a mile away, Tongju peered at the NUMA vessel through a pair
of high-powered marine binoculars. For nearly forty minutes, Kang's
personal executioner studied the Sea Rover, making careful mental notes
on passageways, stairwells, hatches, and other elements of the ship
that he could detect in the distance. At last satisfied with his
observations, the bald assassin entered the Baekje's bridge and walked
into a small side anteroom. A pug-faced man with short-cropped hair
sat in a wooden chair intently studying a set of ship plans. He
stiffened slightly as Tongju entered the room.
"Sir, the assault team has studied the plans to the NUMA research
vessel that was relayed by the Kang Shipping corporate office. We have
formulated an assault and seizure strategy and are prepared to commence
at your direction." Ki-Ri Kim spoke in a clipped, blunt tone that
could be expected from a former special operations commando of the
Korean People's Army.
"From the bits of underwater communication that we have been
able to intercept, it appears that they have located the weapons and
are in the process of retrieving them from the seabed," Tongju said in
a quiet voice. "I have notified the captain that we will be launching
the operation tonight."
A broad grin fell over the commando's face before he uttered the single
word "Excellent."
"As we formulated," Tongju continued, "I will lead Team A to capture
the starboard and bow sections and you will lead Team B to take the
port and stern sections. Have the men assembled for a final briefing
at 01:00. We will commence the strike at 02:00."
'"My men will be ready. They are curious to know, however, if we will
be expecting any resistance?"
Tongju snarled a confident reply. "None whatsoever."
Shortly after midnig
ht, the Starfish bobbed to the surface of the moon
pool, its bright orange frame reflecting golden rays through the water
from the blazing underwater lights. Dirk and Summer stood watching on
the deck as the submersible was hoisted from the water and parked
gently on a platform. A pair of technicians working the graveyard
shift rolled a portable hoist to the submersible's front skids and
began the delicate process of removing the two porcelain bombs wedged
into the mesh basket.
Dirk walked around and helped open the Starfish's rear entry hatch
and lent a hand as Ryan and an engineer named Mike Farley corkscrewed
their way out of the cramped compartment.
"Nice work, Tim. That makes a total of eight. I take it you accessed
the second case without any problems?" Dirk asked.
"Piece of cake. We cut the cables on the second pontoon and she
floated out of the way like the first. Mike deserves the credit,
though. He operates those mechanical arms like a surgeon."
A likable, soft-spoken man who smiled constantly, Farley grinned
modestly. "The second crate fell apart like it was made of mashed
potatoes. But all six bombs were lying there intact. We snatched the
first two, and the remaining four are readily accessible. Be mindful
of the current, though, it seems to have picked up since our last
dive."
"Thanks, Mike, will do."
Dirk proceeded to help the technician crew change out the batteries on
the Starfish, then methodically worked through the pre dive checklist,
ensuring that all onboard systems were operating properly. Shortly
after 1 a.m." he and Summer squeezed back into the submersible and
were released into the moon pool for another dive to the I-411. They
relaxed in their slow descent, saying little to each other. The
around-the-clock, repetitive dives were beginning to take their toll,
casting a veil of fatigue over them. But Dirk was enlivened by the
fact they were recovering the bombs intact and would soon find out what
biological agent they contained.
Summer let out a wide yawn. "Wish I was back in my bunk snoozing like
the rest of the crew," she murmured. "We'll have the last two dives
complete before everyone even wakes up."
"Look on the bright side," Dirk smiled. "We'll be first in line for
breakfast."
They came out of the darkness like muted demons, gliding across the
water in silence. Black-clad men in black rubber boats dashing across
a blackened sea. Tongju led the assault from the first boat,
accompanied by five gritty-looking and heavily armed commandos, while
Kim followed behind in a second boat with a similar contingency.
Together they raced toward the Sea Rover in rubber Zodiacs propelled by
high-power electric motors, beefed-up versions of the trolling motors
used by lake fishermen to cruise quietly. Only, these boats were
capable of running at 30 knots, emitting just a barely detectable hum.
Running in the dead of night, the only audible evidence of their
presence were the waves smacking against their semirigid hulls. On
board the Sea Rover, the helmsman on watch glanced at a sweeping
radarscope on the bridge, observing the large smudge of a ship off the
starboard bow. The large cable ship that had stood a mile off the Sea
Rover since they arrived on site was still sitting parked in the same
position. He watched as a pair of faint white smudges appeared
against the screen's green background periodically, positioned
somewhere between the two ships. Too faint for a vessel this far from
shore, he reckoned. More likely some cresting waves registering on the
equipment.
The two rubberized cresting waves throttled back as they approached
within a hundred meters of the NUMA ship, creeping the remaining
distance at a slow crawl. Tongju brought his boat alongside the
starboard flank of the Sea Rover and waited momentarily while Kim's
craft skirted around the ship's stern and eased up on the port side. In
unseen unison, a pair of rubber-coated grappling hooks sailed up from
the sea on either side of the ship, catching secure grips around the
Sea Rover's lower-deck railing. Narrow rope ladders trailing off the
grappling hooks provided the means of entry. In orderly unison, the
commandos quickly scrambled up the swaying lines.
On the port deck, a sleepless marine biologist was taking in the night
sky when he heard something strike the ship. A pronged hook
materialized around the railing just a few feet away. Curious, he bent
over the side to look down the trailing rope just as a black-capped
head emerged from the other side. In mutual surprise, the two men
banged heads together with a crack. The startled scientist fell back,
groping for words to cry out, but, in an instant, the commando was on
deck, brandishing an assault rifle. The rifle stock caught the
unfortunate biologist across the jawbone and the man crumpled in an
unconscious heap.
The two commando teams assembled independently, then moved forward
along the deck, intent on subduing the bridge and radio room first
before any calls for help could be sent. Silently creeping through the
sleeping ship, their 2 a.m. raid found the vessel ghostly quiet.
On the bridge, the Sea Rover's helmsman and second officer were
sipping coffee while discussing college football. Without warning,
Tongju and two of his men burst through the starboard wing door, aiming
their weapons at the men's faces.
"Down on the deck!" Tongju yelled in clear English. The second officer quickly dropped to his knees, but the helmsman panicked.
Dropping his coffee, he bolted for the port wing in a futile attempt at
escape. Before Tongju or his men could cut the man down, one of Kim's
commandos appeared in the doorway, striking the man in the chest with
his assault rifle, then kicking him in the groin for good measure. The
helmsman withered to the deck, groaning in agony.
Scanning the bridge, Tongju saw that the adjacent communications bay
was empty and nodded at one of the commandos to stand guard over the
equipment. He then walked toward the door to the captain's cabin
situated off the back of the bridge. With a silent nod, he ordered one
of his men to charge in.
Morgan was asleep in his bunk when the commando burst into his cabin,
flicked on the light, and leveled his AK-74 assault rifle at the
captain's head. The salty captain awoke immediately and sprang out of
bed clad in T-shirt and boxers, bullying toward the man with the gun.
"What's this all about?" he barked, storming his way toward the
bridge. The startled commando hesitated in the doorway as the burly
captain bore toward him. With a nearly invisible flick of his arm,
Morgan knocked the muzzle of the firearm away from his chest and toward
the ceiling, then, with his free right hand, shoved the commando out
the door with the strength of a barreling freight train. The shocked
commando went sprawling across the bridge, falling on his backside and
sliding with a thud into the forward bulkhead.
The commando was still slid
ing across the deck when Tongju leveled his
Glock 22 semiautomatic pistol and fired a single shot at Morgan. The
.40 caliber slug ripped into and through Morgan's left thigh, throwing
a spray of blood onto the wall behind him. Morgan cursed as he grabbed
his leg before crumpling to the deck.
"This is a United States government vessel," he hissed defiantly.
It is my ship now," Tongju replied coolly, "and any more insolence from
you, Captain, and I shall place the next bullet into your skull." To
emphasize his words, he stepped forward and flung his right leg toward
the kneeling captain, the heel of his black boot striking Morgan high on the cheekbone and sending him sprawling flat to the
deck. The proud captain slowly gathered himself back to his knees and
stared quietly at his captor, eyes burning with hatred.
Unable to warn his fellow shipmates, Morgan could only watch helplessly
as the small team of intruders took over his ship. Little resistance
was met elsewhere on the vessel as the commandos rounded up the
sleeping crew at gunpoint. Only in the engine room did a brawny
machinist's mate surprise one of the commandos, crushing a pipe wrench
through his skull. The machinist was quickly subdued by gunshots from
another assailant, but the wounds would not prove lethal. Sporadic
gunfire began to resonate throughout the ship as the commando teams
worked through the Sea Rover. In less than twenty minutes, the assault
team had achieved their objective and taken control of the 350-foot
research vessel.
Tim Ryan and Mike Farley were in the undersea operations control room
monitoring the current dive of the Starfish when a pair of commandos
Dirk Pitt18-Black Wind Page 26
