of the high-speed catamaran as it burst out of the inlet. A pair of
bright spotlights flared from beside the wheelhouse, sweeping back and
forth rapidly across the water. It would be only seconds before one of
the beams fell on the small white skiff heading across the river.
"Time to exit stage right," Dirk said, swinging the boat around so that
the bow pointed downstream. Summer quickly slipped over the
side followed by Dirk, who hesitated a moment, flinging a pair of life
jackets out away from the boat before he rolled into the water.
"Let's angle across and slightly upriver to put as much distance as
possible between us and the drifting boat," he said.
"Right. We'll surface for air at the count of thirty."
The clatter of machine-gun fire suddenly tore through the night air
while a seam like spray of bullets slapped into the water a few yards
in front of them. One of the spotlights had found the skiff and a
guard opened fire as the catamaran raced toward it.
In unison, Dirk and Summer ducked under the water, kicking down to a
depth of four feet before angling into the current. The powerful flow
of the river made them feel like they were swimming in place as they
inched their way toward mid-river Gaining ground upriver was hopeless
as the current overpowered them, but it pushed them downstream at a
much slower pace than the drifting skiff.
The deep pulsations of the catamaran's diesel engines resonated through
the water and they could feel the boat as it approached the skiff.
Counting time with each breaststroke, Dirk hoped that Summer would not
get separated from him in the darkness. Swimming at night in the black
water, their only indication of direction was the tug of the river's
current. As he approached the count of thirty, he eased slowly to the
surface, breaking the water with barely a ripple.
Just ten feet away, Summer's face emerged from the water and Dirk could
hear her breathing deeply. Glancing briefly at each other, then back
toward the skiff, they quickly gulped a deep swallow of fresh air and
resubmerged, kicking back into the river current for another count of
thirty.
The quick glimpse Dirk made toward the skiff was a reassuring one.
Kang's catamaran had barreled in on the skiff from upriver with guns
blazing and was now creeping up close to assess the damage. No one on
board had bothered to look across the river, assuming that Dirk and
Summer were still in the boat. In their brief time in the water,
they
had already established a separation of nearly a hundred meters from
the skiff.
As the catamaran approached the drifting boat, Tongju ordered his
gunmen to cease firing. There was no sign of the two escapees, whom
Tongju expected to find sprawled dead in the bottom of the
bullet-ridden boat. Looking down from the upper deck of the catamaran,
Tongju cursed to himself as they pulled alongside and shined a light
into the skiff. The small boat was completely empty.
"Search the surrounding water and shoreline," he ordered crisply. The
catamaran circled around the skiff while the spotlights were splayed
across the water, all eyes peering intently into the darkness.
Suddenly, a gunman on the bow of the catamaran yelled out.
"There, in the water ... two objects!" he cried, pointing an arm off
the port bow.
Tongju nodded at the words. This time they are finished, he thought
with ruthless satisfaction.
After their fourth submerged interval, Dirk and Summer reunited on the
surface and took a moment to rest. Fighting their way across the
current, they had distanced themselves from the skiff by almost four
hundred meters.
"We can swim on the surface for the time being," Dirk said between deep
breaths. "Give us a chance to see what our friends are up to."
Summer followed her brother's lead and rolled onto her back, kicking
into a backstroke that allowed them to watch the distant catamaran as
they moved farther across the river. Kang's boat was idling near the
skiff, its spotlights circling the immediate area around them. Shouting
erupted from the catamaran and the boat suddenly raced downriver a
short distance. Gunfire exploded again for a moment, then ceased as
the boat stopped in the water.
Tongju had raced the catamaran toward the two objects spotted floating
on the water and watched with disdain as his gunmen blasted away at the
empty life vests that Dirk had tossed into the water. The
boat idled around the life jackets for several minutes, waiting for the
two escapees to surface in case they were hiding submerged nearby,
before resuming the search. Dirk and Summer struggled toward midriver
as they watched the catamaran begin making a wide-circle search around
the skiff and life jackets. With each loop around the still-drifting
skiff, the catamaran's pilot enlarged the circle in an ever-expanding
spiral.
"Won't be too many more minutes before they work their way up and out
our direction," Summer lamented.
Dirk scanned the watery horizon. They had worked their way about a
mile into the river but were still barely a quarter of the way across
the vast waterway. They could turn back and try for the nearest
shoreline, but that would entail crossing the path of the advancing
catamaran. Or they could continue with their original plan of
traversing the river toward the lights on the opposite shore. But
fatigue was beginning to creep up on them, hastened by their long
immersion in the cool water. Another three-mile swim would be a tall
order, made more difficult by the repeated submergings they would have
to perform to avoid Kang's boat. Whether they could in fact survive
the game of cat and mouse with Tongju and his gunmen would be uncertain
at best.
But there was a third option. The small vessel with the colored lights
that they had earlier noticed upriver was approaching on a nearby path
about a half mile away. In the darkness, Dirk had trouble identifying
the boat, but it appeared to be a wooden sailing vessel of some kind. A
small red sail, revealed under the white mast light to be square shaped
in dimension, was raised near the bow, but the boat didn't appear to be
moving much faster than the current.
Dirk gauged the path of the boat and swam another hundred yards toward
the center of the river, then stopped. Summer swam past before
realizing her brother had halted.
"What gives? We need to keep going," she whispered after swimming back
to him.
Dirk nodded downriver toward the catamaran. The sleek vessel had
arced well out into the river as it circled downstream. He mentally
calculated the trajectory of the yacht if it held its current circular
course.
"They'll be within sight of us on the next upriver pass," he said
quietly.
Summer could see he was right. The bright beams of the searchlights
would shine upon their position on the next loop. They would have to
remain submerged for several minutes to guarantee their con
cealment.
Dirk took a quick glance upriver. "Sister, I think it's time for
Plan
B."
"Plan B?" she asked.
"Yes, Plan B. Stick out your thumb and start hitchhiking."
The large wooden sailboat creaked lazily down the river, its foremast
sail and a small auxiliary motor pushing it along just 3 knots faster
than the current. As the vessel crept closer, Dirk could see that it
was a three-masted Chinese junk of about twenty-five meters in length.
Unlike most dilapidated sailing boats in this part of the world, the
junk appeared to be maintained in pristine condition. A string of
multicolored Chinese lanterns hung gaily from bow to stern, lending a
party like atmosphere to the boat. Constructed entirely of rich
teak-wood, the highly varnished surfaces seemed to glisten under the
swaying overhead lamps. Somewhere belowdecks, a pair of stereo
speakers blared out an orchestral tune, which Dirk recognized as a
Gershwin melody. Yet despite the festive atmosphere, there was not a
soul to be seen on deck.
"Ahoy! We're in the water. Can you help?"
Dirk's muted shout went unanswered as the junk approached. He repeated
the call, careful not to draw attention from the catamaran, which had
completed a downstream turn and was now headed upriver. Swimming
closer to the moving junk, Dirk thought he detected a shadowy movement
on the stern, but, again, there was no response to his call for help. He tried a third time, failing to notice as he
spoke that the muffled drone of the junk's motor audibly raised a
note.
The junk's golden teak hull began gliding past Dirk and Summer, an
ornately carved dragon on the prow eyeing them maliciously in the water
less than ten feet from the starboard beam. Like a phantom in the
night, the junk slipped by strangely impervious to the voices calling
from the water. As the stern and rudderpost floated past, Dirk
abandoned hope of rescue from the junk and angrily wondered whether the
pilot was asleep, drunk, or both.
Peering toward the slowly approaching catamaran, he was startled by a
sudden splash in the water near his head. It was an orange plastic
float tied to a coil of rope, trailing back to the stern of the junk.
"Grab hold and hang on tight," he instructed his sister, making sure
Summer had a strong grip on the line before grasping it himself. As
the line quickly drew taut, the force of the junk sailing faster than
the river momentarily jerked them underwater. With a face full of
water, they were dragged along the river's surface like a fallen
water-skier who forgot to let go of the towline. Dirk slowly began
pulling himself up the line hand over hand as his legs flailed out
behind him. Reaching the high, blunt stern of the junk, he shimmied up
the rope almost vertically until reaching the stern railing. A pair of
hands emerged from the darkness, grabbing about his lapels and
forcefully yanking him over the railing and onto the deck.
"Thanks," Dirk muttered, paying little heed to a tall figure in the
shadows. "My sister is still on the line," he gasped, standing and
grabbing the line at the stern rail and pulling at it. The tall man
stepped up behind him and clasped the line, throwing his weight into it
with Dirk. Together, they hoisted Summer up the railing like a gigged
flounder until she flopped over the railing and onto the deck in a
soggy heap. A high-pitched bark erupted from across the deck and, in
an instant, a small black-and-tan dachshund raced over to Summer and
began licking her face.
"Dark night for a swim, don't you think?" the stranger said in
English.
"You're American," Dirk stated with surprise.
"Ever since being born in the Land of Lincoln," came the reply.
Dirk studied the man beside him for the first time. He stood
six-foot-three, nearly matching his own height, though he carried a
good twenty pounds more heft. A wave of unruly white hair and a
matching goatee indicated that he was at least forty years his senior.
The man's blue-green eyes, which seemed to twinkle with mischief under
the hanging lights, touched a nerve with him. He felt as if he was
looking at an older version of his own father, he finally decided.
"We're in great danger," Summer injected, rising to her feet. She
scooped up the small dog as she stood and rubbed its ears briskly,
which produced a sharp wag of its tail. "Our research vessel was sunk
by these murderers and they mean to kill us," she said, nodding
downriver toward the catamaran that was circling slowly in their
direction.
"I heard the machine-gun fire," the man replied.
"They intend to make another deadly attack. We need to alert the
authorities," she pleaded.
"Thousands of additional lives are at risk," Dirk added somberly.
The white-haired man perused the odd pair up and down. Summer, soaked
but elegant still in her ripped silk cocktail dress, appeared an
unusual companion for Dirk, who was battered and bruised in a shredded
blue jumpsuit. Neither attempted to conceal the handcuff shackles that
dangled from their wrists.
A slight grin fell across the man's lips. "I guess I'll buy it. We
better hide you belowdecks until we get past that cat. You can stay in
Mauser's cabin."
"Mauser? How many people are aboard?" Dirk asked.
"Just me and that fellow who's kissing your sister," he replied. Dirk
turned to see the small dachshund happily licking the water off
Summer's face.
The junk's owner quickly led them through a bulkhead door and down a
flight of steps that led to a tastefully decorated stateroom.
"There's towels in the bath and dry clothes in the closet. And here,
this will warm you up." He grabbed a bottle sitting on a side table
and poured them each a glass of the clear fluid. Dirk downed a shot
quickly, tasting a bitter flavor from the smooth liquor that clearly
packed a high alcohol content.
"Soju," the man said. "A local rice brew. Help yourself while I try
to get us past your friends in the cat."
"Thank you for helping us," Summer replied appreciatively. "By the
way, my name is Summer Pitt, and this is my brother, Dirk."
"Pleased to meet you. My name is Clive Cussler."
Cussler returned to the junk's exposed wheel and slipped the engine
into gear, tweaking the throttle slightly higher while nosing the bow
farther toward midriver It took only a few minutes before the
catamaran approached from downstream, pulling alongside and washing the
junk in a flood of spotlights. Cussler slipped on a conical straw
peasant's hat and hunched his tall frame low at the wheel.
Through the glare of the lights, he could see several men pointing
automatic weapons at him. As the catamaran crept to within inches of
the port beam, an unseen man on the bridge barked a question across
through the boat's PA system. Cussler replied by shaking his head.
Another command echoed across from the catamaran as the spotlights
bounced about the junk. Cussler again shook his head, wondering
whether the waterlogged coil of rope and wet pairs of footprints across
the deck would be detected. For several long minutes, the catamaran
held steady at the junk's side as if waiting to board. Then, with a
sudden blast of its engines, the catamaran roared away, resuming its
river search closer to shore.
Cussler guided the junk down the last vestiges of the Han River until
its waters were swallowed by the Yellow Sea. As the sea-lanes opened
and the potential for nearby water traffic fell away, Cussler punched a
handful of electronic controls at the helm. Hydraulic winches began to
whir as lines were pulled and yards were raised, pulling the
traditional red, square-shaped lug sails of a classic junk to the peak
of the main- and mizzenmasts. Cussler manually tied off the out haul
lines and then powered off the small diesel motor. The old junk now
leaped through the waves under the graceful power of its sails.
"You've got a beautiful vessel," Dirk said, emerging from belowdecks
dressed in jeans and a polo shirt. Summer followed him onto the deck,
clad in an oversized pair of coveralls and a man's work shirt.
"The standard Chinese merchant ship that dates back almost two thousand
years," Cussler replied. "This one was built in Shanghai in 1907 for a
wealthy tea trader. She's made entirely from a hard teakwood called
"Takien Tong." She's extremely durable and surprisingly seaworthy."
"Where did you find her?" Summer asked.
"A friend of mine found her abandoned in a Malaysian boatyard and
decided to refurbish her. Took him six years to complete the job.
Dirk Pitt18-Black Wind Page 36
