Dirk Pitt18-Black Wind

by Cussler, Clive

an empty helipad. Squinting harder, he gazed down slightly. Then it

  struck him. The large digital launch clock that read 00:52:00,

  fifty-two minutes.

  "That thing is going to fire off in less than an hour!" he exclaimed,

  watching the seconds tick down lower.

  "We've got to stop it," Dirk said, a tinge of anger in his voice.

  "We'll have to get aboard and quick. Though I don't know about you,

  pardner, but I don't know a thing about missiles or platform

  launches."

  "Can't be anything more than a little rocket science," Dirk replied

  with a grimace, then jammed the submersible's throttles forward,

  surging the Badger toward the platform.

  The metallic red submersible surfaced again near the stern of the

  platform almost directly beneath the launch tower and Zenit rocket.

  Dirk and Dahlgren peered up at a large set of panels that protruded

  from the underside of the platform just below the base of the rocket.

  The flame deflector was designed to divert and dampen the rocket's

  fiery thrust, directing the launch tempest through the platform to the

  ocean below. Thousands of gallons of fresh water were released seconds

  before launch into the trench to help cool the exposed portions of the

  platform during the blazing inferno during the rocket's slow rise off

  the pad.

  "Remind me not to park here when that torch goes off," Dahlgren said,

  trying to visualize the conflagration that would surround them if the

  rocket was ignited.

  "You don't have to ask twice," Dirk replied.

  Their attention turned to the platform's thick support columns,

  searching for a way up to the main deck. Dahlgren was the first to

  spot the Koguryo's tender, tied up at the opposite side of the

  platform.

  "I think I see a stairwell on that forward column where the boat's tied

  up," he said.

  Dirk took a quick bearing, then submerged the Badger and quickly ran

  her between the Odyssey's sunken pontoons to the bow end of the

  platform. Bobbing to the surface, they rose just astern of the white

  tender, where they floated cautiously eyeing the other craft.

  "I don't think anyone is home," Dirk said, satisfied the boat was

  empty. "Care to tie us off?"

  Before he could get an answer, Dahlgren had already opened the

  submersible's top hatch and climbed out. Dirk purged the Badger's

  tanks of all seawater to attain maximum buoyancy, then nudged the

  submersible forward till he tapped the stern of the tender. Dahlgren

  immediately hopped from the sub to the boat, then from the boat to the

  platform, tightly clutching a mooring line while he moved. Dirk

  quickly shut down the submersible's power systems and climbed onto the

  platform as Dahlgren tied off the mooring line.

  "This way to the penthouse," Dahlgren said in a gentlemanly tone as he

  motioned an arm toward the adjacent stairwell. Climbing onto the metal

  stairs, the two men moved rapidly, racing up the steps in a measured

  pace, while careful to minimize the clamor of their movements. Reaching

  the top flight of steps, they stopped for a moment and caught their

  breath, then stepped onto the exterior deck of the platform.

  Standing on the forward corner of the platform, they came eye to eye

  with two enormous cigar-shaped fuel tanks that were encompassed by a

  maze of pipes and tubing. The massive white tanks stored the Zenit's

  flammable diet of kerosene and liquid oxygen. Beyond the tanks, at the

  rear of the platform, they saw the Zenit itself standing like a lonely

  monolith surrounded by open deck. They stood for a moment, mesmerized

  by the size and sheer power of the rocket with

  out even considering the lethality of its payload. Dirk then looked up

  at the hangar towering beside them, capped by a helipad at its forward

  edge.

  "I'm pretty sure the bridge sits above the hangar. That's where we

  need to get to."

  Dahlgren studied the structure methodically. "Looks like we'll have to

  go through the hangar to get there."

  Without another word, the two men took off at a fast jog, wary of being

  observed as they dashed to the end of the five-story-high hangar.

  Reaching the deck side with its open barn doors, Dirk carefully peered

  around the edge to look inside. The long narrow hangar looked like a

  huge empty cavern without the Zenit lying prone inside. With Dahlgren

  on his heels, Dirk slipped around the door and into the hangar, moving

  quietly behind a large generator mounted next to the wall. Voices

  suddenly echoed across the empty chamber and the men froze in their

  tracks.

  Midway down the length of the hangar, a door flew open on the opposite

  side and the voices fell quiet. Three gaunt-looking men in Sea Launch

  jumpsuits staggered through the door and into the hangar followed by

  two armed commandos. Dirk recognized the black commando outfits and

  the AK-74 assault rifles as those he'd seen on the men who attacked the

  Deep Endeavor. He and Dahlgren watched as the three men were marched

  to a fabricated storage room situated near the far end of the hangar.

  Two additional commandos stood guard over the storage bay and helped to

  herd the Sea Launch workers inside before closing and locking the door

  behind them.

  "If we can get to the Sea Launch crew, they'll know how to stop the

  launch," Dirk said in a low voice.

  "Right. We ought to be able to take care of Mutt and Jeff, once their

  friends leave," Dahlgren replied, motioning toward the two storage bay

  guards.

  Creeping to a vantage spot near the transporter erector they waited and

  watched as the first two commandos chatted with the guards for

  a moment, then left through the side door. Ducking and weaving through

  an array of electronic test racks and tool bins that lined the sides of

  the hangar, Dirk and Dahlgren quietly crept closer to the guarded

  storage bay. Along the way, they passed a rack of tools marked

  hydraulic engineer. Hesitating for a second, Dirk grabbed a

  long-handled wooden block mallet while Dahlgren grabbed an oversized

  box wrench for insurance. Scrambling past the end of the transporter

  erector they silently darted behind a work platform that sat a hundred

  feet from the storage room.

  "What now, maestro?" Dahlgren whispered, seeing that there was nothing

  but open deck between them and the storage bay.

  Dirk crouched against a wheel of the work platform and looked across

  toward the guards. The two armed commandos were engaged in an animated

  conversation with each other, paying little attention to the rest of

  the hangar. He then took a studious look at the platform they had

  ducked behind. It was a motorized work platform that rose up and down

  to allow access to the topsides of the thirteen-foot-diameter rocket.

  Dirk patted his hand on the wheel beside him and threw a crooked grin

  toward Dahlgren.

  "Jack," he whispered, "I believe you shall drive in the front door

  while I waltz in the back door."

  Seconds later, Dirk quietly made his way down the side of the hangar,

  careful to move only wh
en the guards showed their backs in his

  direction. After several short running bursts, he reached the rear of

  the hangar, where he made his way across the width section undetected.

  As long as the guards stayed positioned near the front of the storage

  bay, he could approach from behind without being seen.

  Dahlgren, meanwhile, was left with the more daring part of the

  offensive. Climbing onto the motorized work platform, Dahlgren grabbed

  hold of the cabled control box, then lay flat on the platform. A

  canvas tarp was partially rolled up on one side, which he used to cover

  himself with. Peering through a crack at the guards, he gently tapped

  at the raise button on the controls when the guards were

  turned the other way. With barely a whir, the platform rose a half

  foot. Out of audio range, the two guards were oblivious. Dahlgren

  waited again until the guards were looking away, then hit the control

  button again, this time holding it down firmly. The work platform rose

  quietly like an elevator, its electric motor barely humming. Dahlgren

  held his breath and waited until the scaffold reached a height of

  fifteen feet before releasing the button to stop. Peeking down at the

  guards, Dahlgren could see that the movement had gone undetected. "Now

  for the fun part," he muttered to himself. Hitting the drive controls,

  the entire work platform lurched forward on its four wheels, rolling

  ahead at a slow crawl. Dahlgren adjusted the drive mechanism to aim

  the platform directly toward the storage building and two guards, then

  hunkered down under the canvas tarp and lay still.

  The towering platform crept halfway across the hangar like a robot

  before one of the guards detected its movement. From under the tarp,

  Dahlgren heard an excited rush of gibberish in an Asian tongue, but,

  thankfully, no sound of gunfire followed. A loud cry of "Saw!"

  screeched through the air, and was repeated a few seconds later as the

  confused guards called for the contraption to halt. Dahlgren ignored

  the cry and kept rolling across the floor. Peeking through a crack in

  the canvas, he saw the roofline of the storage shed approaching and

  knew he was close to the guards. He waited until the platform rolled

  to within five feet of the storage building, then pressed the stop

  button. The confused guards fell silent as the raised platform quietly

  rolled to a standstill.

  The tension in the air was palpable and Dahlgren milked it for full

  effect. Beneath him, the two guards stared nervously at the mysterious

  platform, their fingers sweaty on the triggers of their guns. From

  their vantage, the bewildering platform had rolled across the floor

  empty but for a tarp and a loose spool of rope. Perhaps it was just a

  simple mechanical failure that caused it to roll forward. Cautiously, they stepped closer to inspect the platform. Concealed in the tarp,

  Dahlgren held his breath and then hit the control button.

  Like a mechanical ghost, the platform suddenly began lowering itself.

  The two guards jumped back as the accordion-support structure slowly

  collapsed and the wooden scaffold dropped toward the ground. Then, at

  a height of six feet, the platform abruptly stopped. The platform

  stood a good six inches taller than either man and they both stood back

  several feet, trying to eye who or what was driving the thing. Finally,

  one of the guards approached on his tiptoes and began thrusting the

  muzzle of his assault rifle into the roll of canvas while his partner

  stood back peering around the hangar suspiciously.

  Dahlgren knew that he would have only one chance to disable the guard

  and discreetly extended his right arm above his head to prepare for the

  blow. Through the ruffled canvas, he could feel the prodding of the

  guard move closer until the thrusting muzzle finally struck home

  against his thigh. The startled guard hesitated for a second before

  pulling the gun back to fire. But it was all the time that Dahlgren

  needed to swing the heavy box wrench out from under the canvas and down

  hard in a pendulum motion toward the man's head. The hard metal face

  of the wrench struck the guard square on the jaw with a muffled thump,

  by some miracle not crushing the bone. But the blow was powerful

  enough to send the man straight to sleep and the unconscious guard

  crumpled raggedly to the floor without firing a shot.

  Dahlgren's strike had yanked back the screening cover of the canvas as

  the second guard swung around to find his partner lying senseless on

  the floor. Dahlgren stared back helplessly at the guard, holding the

  bloody wrench clasped in his hand. Without hesitation, the guard

  raised his AK-74 at Dahlgren and squeezed the trigger. But a

  simultaneous blur from behind flew through the air and collided with

  the back of the man's head, sending him tumbling to the ground as the

  burst of fire sprayed from his gun. The jolt was just enough to alter

  his aim and the bullets struck harmlessly beneath Dahlgren's raised

  perch. As the guard fell to the ground, Dahlgren could see the tall

  figure of Dirk standing twenty feet behind, a determined expression on

  his face. In a desperate move to save his friend's life, Dirk had

  tossed the mallet like a long-handled ax, the hammer spinning through

  the air until the business end struck the guard's head like a croquet

  ball.

  The guard was only stunned by the blow, however, and dazedly rose to

  his knees, trying to retrain his gun. Dahlgren quickly jumped from the

  scaffold and reeled back to swing the wrench again when a burst of

  gunfire split the air. Dahlgren froze as a neat row of bullet holes

  popped through the platform support just inches from his head. The

  sound of spent shell casings rattled across the floor as the echo of

  the gunfire through the hangar gradually subsided.

  "I would advise you not to move either, Mr. Pitt," spat the menacing

  voice of Tongju, who stood in the side doorway cradling a machine

  gun.

  Dirk and Dahlgren were held at gunpoint as Tongju and his team of

  commandos herded the remaining Sea Launch crew members into the storage

  shed. When Captain Christiano was lastly escorted in, one of the

  guards turned to Tongju.

  "These two as well?" he asked, nodding toward the NUMA captives.

  Tongju shook his head no with a faint look of pleasure. The guard then

  sealed the heavy metal door to the storage bay shut, securing the

  handle with a chain and padlock. Locked inside, thirty Sea Launch

  crewmen were crammed into a black, windowless box with no means of

  escape.

  Once the door was secured, Tongju walked over to the hangar wall, where

  Dirk and Dahlgren stood staring at a pair of gun muzzles aimed at their

  ribs. Tongju gazed at Dirk with a mixed look of respect and disdain.

  "You have an annoying proclivity for survival, Mr. Pitt, which is

  exceeded only by your irritating penchant for intrusion."

  "I'm just a bad penny," Dirk replied.

  "Since you have taken such a keen interest in our operation, perhaps

  you would enjoy a front-row viewing of the launch?" Tongju said,

  nod
ding toward three of the guards.

  Before Dirk could reply, the guards were prodding rifles into their

  backs, steering them in the direction of the open hangar doors. One of

  the guards reached up onto Dahlgren's work platform and snatched the

  coil of rope that lay next to the canvas roll. Tongju hung back a

  moment, ordering his remaining assault team to the tender, before

  following behind. As they walked, the two prisoners glanced at each

  other in mental search of an escape plan, but their options were slim.

  Dirk knew that Tongju would not hesitate to kill them instantly, and

  relish the opportunity.

  Tongju caught up with them as they marched out of the hangar and into

  the bright sunshine that washed down on the open deck.

  "You know, of course, that military units are on their way to the

  platform at this very moment," Dirk said to the assassin, silently

  hoping his words were true. "The launch will be stopped and you and

  your men will be captured, or perhaps killed."

  Tongju looked up at the launch clock, then turned to Dirk and smiled,

  his yellow-stained teeth glistening in the sunlight.

  "They will not arrive in time. And if they do, there will be no

  consequence. The soft American military will not attack the platform

  for fear of killing the innocent workers aboard. There is no way to

  stop the countdown now. The launch will proceed, Mr. Pitt, and bring

  an end to the meddlesome activities of both you and your countrymen."

  "You'll never escape alive."

  "Nor you, I'm afraid."

  Dirk and Dahlgren fell silent as they trudged across the open platform,

  feeling like two men marching to the gallows. As they approached the