 
Black Wind

 

 By: Clive Cussler & Dirk Cussler

 

 Clive Cussler's dazzling new Dirk Pitt adventure

 

 "Clive the Mighty!"hailed Kirkus Reviews about Cussler's last Dirk

 Pitt novel, Trojan Odyssey."Hurricane Clive at his most tumultuous."

 Nobody has been able to match Cussler yet for the intricate plotting

 and sheer audacity of his work, and Black Wind sets the bar even

 higher.

 

 In the waning days of World War II, unbeknownst to all but a handful of

 people, the Japanese tried a last, desperate measure.Two submarines

 were sent to the West Coast of the United States, their cargo a

 revolutionary new strain of biological virus, their mission to unleash

 hell.

 

 Neither sub made it to the designated target.But that does not mean

 they were lost.

 

 Someone knows about the subs and what they carried, knows too where

 they might be, and has an extraordinary plan in mind for the prize

 inside-a plan that could reshape America, and the world, as we know it.

 All that stands in the way are three people: a marine biologist named

 Summer, a marine engineer named Dirk ... and their father, Dirk Pitt,

 the new head of NUMA.

 

 Pitt has faced devastating enemies before, has even teamed up with his

 children to track them down.But never has he encountered such pure

 evil-until now.

 

 Filled with breathtaking suspense and extraordinary imagination, Black

 Wind is yet further proof that when it comes to adventure writing,

 nobody beats Clive Cussler.

 

 Clive Cussler is the author or coauthor of twenty-seven other books,

 including the Dirk Pitt'* adventure Trojan Odyssey, the Kurt Austin

 novel Lost City, and the new Oregon series novels Golden Buddha and

 Sacred Stone.He is also the author of the nonfiction Sea Hunters and

 Sea Hunters II; these describe the true adventures of the real NUMA,

 which, led by Cussler, searches for lost ships of historic

 significance.With his crew of volunteers, Cussler has discovered more

 than sixty ships, including the long-lost Confederate submarine Hunley.

 He lives in Arizona.

 

 Dirk Cussler, an MBA from Berkeley, worked for many years in the

 financial arena, and now devotes himself full-time to writing.For the

 last several years, he has been an active participant and partner in

 his father's NUMA expeditions and served as president of the NUMA

 advisory board of trustees.He lives in Arizona.

 

 Jacket design 2004 Laurence Ratzkin Jacket illustration a. 2004 Craig

 White

 

 Photograph of the authors Paul Peregrine/ Peregrine Studios

 

 Visit our website at: www.penguin.com

 

 Visit the NUMA website at: www.numa.net a member of Penguin Group (USA)

 

 G. P. PUTNAM

 

 Penguin Group (USA) Inc

 

 DIRK PITT ADVENTURES BY CLIVE CUSSLER

 

 Trojan Odyssey

 

 Valhalla Rising

 

 Atlantis Found

 

 Flood Tide

 

 Shock Wave

 

 Inca Gold

 

 Sahara

 

 Dragon

 

 Treasure

 

 Cyclops

 

 Deep Six

 

 Pacific Vortex

 

 Night Probe

 

 Vixen 03

 

 Raise the Titanic

 

 Iceberg

 

 The Mediterranean Caper

 

 KURT AUSTIN ADVENTURES BY CLIVE CUSSLER WITH PAUL KEMPRECOS

 

 Lost City

 

 White Death

 

 Fire Ice

 

 Blue Gold Serpent

 

 OREGON FILES ADVENTURES BY CLIVE CUSSLER WITH CRAIG DIRGO

 

 Sacred Stone

 

 Golden Buddha

 

 NONFICTION BY CLIVE CUSSLER AND CRAIG DIR GO

 

 The Sea Hunters II

 

 Clive Cussler and Dirk Pitt Revealed

 

 The Sea Hunters

 

 G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS NEW YORK.

 

 Clive Cussler and DIRK CUSSLER

 

 G. p. Putnam's sons

 

 Publishers Since 1838

 

 Published by the Penguin Group

 

 Penguin Group (USA) Inc."375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014,

 USA Penguin Group (Canada), 10 Alcorn Avenue, Toronto, Ontario, Canada

 M4V 3B2 (a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.) Penguin Books Ltd, 80 Strand, London

 we2R

 

 Offices:

 

 80 Strand, London we2R ORL, England

 

 Copyright 2004 by Sandecker, RLLLP

 

 All rights reserved.No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned,

 or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission.

 Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted

 materials in violation of the author's rights.Purchase only

 authorized editions.

 

 Published simultaneously in Canada

 

 Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

 

 Cussler, Clive.Black wind / Clive Cussler and Dirk Cussler.

 

 p. cm.

 

 ISBN 0-399-15259-8

 

 1. Pitt, Dirk (Fictitious character)-Fiction. I. Cussler, Dirk.II.

 Title.

 

 PS3553.U75B56 2004 2004053536

 

 813'.54-dc22

 

 Printed in the United States of America 13579 10 8642

 

 This book is printed on acid-free paper.@ Book design by Lovedog

 Studio

 

 This is a work of fiction.Names, characters, places, and incidents

 either are the product of the author's imagination or are used

 fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead,

 businesses, companies,

 

 events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

 

 In memory of my mother, Barbara, whose love,

 

 compassion, kindness, and encouragement are deeply missed by all who

 knew her.

 

 DEC.

 

 Acknowledgments

 

 With appreciation and gratitude to Scott Danneker, Mikejntzpatrick,

 Mike Hance, and George Spyrou of Airship Management Services, for

 sharing the wondrous world of airship flight.

 

 Thanks also to Sheldon Harris, whose book Factories of Death has helped

 open the door to the horrors of biological and chemical warfare

 practiced during World War II and its thousands of forgotten victims.

 

 PROLOGUE

 

 Japanese Imperial submarine I-403 and Seiran float plane

 

 December 12, 1944 Kure Naval Base, Japan

 

 Lieutenant Commander Takeo Ogawa glanced at his wristwatch and shook

 his head in irritation.

 

 "Half past midnight already," he muttered anxiously."Three hours late

 and still we wait."

 

 A young ensign staring through the glazed eyes of a sleep-deprived

 insomniac nodded slightly at his superior's grieving but said nothing.

 Waiting atop the conning tower of the Japanese Imperial Navy submarine

 i-403, the two men gazed across the naval yard searching for signs of a

 pending arrival.Beyond the expansive naval base, a haphazard

 twinkling of nighttime lights glistened about the scenic Japanese city

 of Kure.A light drizzle fell, lending an eerie tranquility to the

 late hour, which was broken by the distant sounds of hammers, cranes,

 and welding torches.Repairs to enemy-damaged ships and new vessel

 construction persisted around the clock in other parts of the shipyard,

 in a futile rush to aid the increasingly bleak war effort.

 

 The distant whine of a diesel truck soon echoed across the water.

 

 the sound rising in intensity as the vehicle approached the submarine

 docks.Rounding the corner of a brick warehouse, a slate-colored Isuzu

 cargo truck rumbled into view and turned along the wharf.The driver

 inched his way cautiously toward the submarine's pen as he struggled to

 make out the edges of the darkened pier, barely visible under the

 truck's wartime-blackened headlights.Pulling alongside a large

 gangplank, the truck ground to a halt as its worn brakes squealed

 loudly in protest.

 

 A moment of silence ensued, then six heavily armed soldiers sprang from

 the truck bed and enveloped the vehicle in a perimeter guard.As Ogawa

 made his way down from the conning tower to the dock, he sensed one of

 the guards pointing a weapon in his direction.The soldiers were no

 Imperial Army regulars, he noted, but elite members of the feared

 Kempei Tai military police.

 

 Two uniformed men exited the cab of the truck and approached Ogawa.

 Recognizing a superior officer, Ogawa stood at attention and saluted

 smartly.

 

 "I've awaited your arrival, Captain," Ogawa stated with a tinge of

 annoyance.

 

 Captain Miyoshi Horinouchi ignored the innuendo.As staff operations

 officer for the Sixth Fleet, his mind was occupied with graver matters.

 The Japanese submarine fleet was slowly being decimated in the Pacific

 and the Imperial Navy had no answer for the antisubmarine warfare

 technologies being deployed by the American forces.Desperate battles

 by the fleet's submarines against overwhelming odds inevitably resulted

 in the loss of crew and vessels, which weighted heavily on Horinouchi.

 His short-cropped hair had turned prematurely white, and stress lines

 creased his face like dry riverbeds.

 

 "Commander, this is Dr.Hisaichi Tanaka of the Army Medical College.

 He will be accompanying you on your mission."

 

 "Sir, I am not accustomed to carrying passengers while on patrol,"

 Ogawa replied, ignoring the small bespectacled man at Horinouchi's

 side.

 

 "Your patrol orders to the Philippines have been rescinded," Horinouchi

 replied, handing Ogawa a brown folder."You have new orders.You are

 to take Dr.Tanaka and his cargo aboard and proceed immediately per

 fleet directives to strike at the enemy's doorstep."

 

 Glancing at one of the guards holding a German Bergman MP34 submachine

 gun pointed in his direction, Ogawa asserted, "This is most unusual,

 Captain."

 

 Horinouchi tilted his head to the side, then took a few steps to his

 right.Ogawa followed, leaving Tanaka out of earshot.Speaking

 softly, Horinouchi continued.

 

 "Ogawa, our surface fleet was annihilated at Leyte Gulf.We counted on

 a decisive battle to stop the Americans, but it was our own forces that

 were defeated instead.It is just a matter of time before all of our

 remaining resources will be assigned in defense of the homeland."

 

 "We will make the Americans pay heavily in blood," Ogawa said

 harshly.

 

 "True, but there is no question that they have the will to conquer,

 regardless of the losses.The slaughter of our own people will be

 appalling."Horinouchi contemplated the sacrifice of his own family

 and fell silent for a moment.

 

 "The Army has approached us for assistance in a valiant operation," he

 continued."Dr.Tanaka is affiliated with Unit 731.You will take

 him and his cargo across the Pacific and launch an attack on the

 American mainland.You are to avoid detection and protect your boat at

 all costs en route.Succeed, Ogawa, and the Americans will bow to a

 truce and our homeland will be preserved."

 

 Ogawa was stunned by the words.His fellow submarine commanders were

 waging a mostly defensive battle to protect the remnants of the surface

 fleet, yet he was to cross the Pacific single-handedly and launch an

 attack that would end the war.He might have ridiculed the idea, had

 it not been a fleet staff officer dictating the order to him out of

 desperation in the middle of the night.

 

 "I am most honored by your confidence, Captain Horinouchi.Rest

 assured my crew and officers will uphold the honor to the emperor.If

 I may ask, sir, what exactly is Dr.Tanaka's cargo?"Ogawa

 inquired.

 

 Horinouchi gazed forlornly across the bay for several seconds.

 "Maka^e," he finally muttered quietly."An evil wind."

 

 Under the watchful eye of Dr.Tanaka, a half-dozen oblong wooden

 crates were carefully loaded by the Kempei Tai guards into the forward

 torpedo room of the I-403 and tightly secured.Ogawa ordered the

 submarine's four diesel engines turned over and the deck lines

 released.At half past two in the morning, the iron sub nosed slowly

 into the inky harbor and inched its way past several other fleet

 I-boats docked in the yard.Ogawa noted with curiosity that Horinouchi

 sat silently in the darkened truck on the pier, refusing to leave until

 after the I-403 was well out of sight.

 

 Creeping past the docks and warehouses of the sprawling navy yard, the

 sub soon approached a massive shadow looming against the darkness

 ahead.Lying quietly in a repair dock, the massive battleship Yamato

 towered above the submarine like a behemoth.With its massive

 eighteen-inch guns and sixteen-inch-thick armor plating, the Yamato was

 the most feared vessel afloat.Ogawa admired the lines and armament of

 the world's largest battleship as he sailed past, then felt a touch of

 pity toward her.Like her sister ship, the Musashi, recently sunk in

 the Philippines, the Yamato, he feared, was destined to find her way to

 the bottom of the sea before the war was over.

 

 Gradually the lights of Kure fell away as the submarine snaked around

 several large islands, then entered the Seto Inland Sea.Ogawa ordered

 increased speed as the mountainous island outcroppings fell away and

 the first gray patches of predawn light tinted the eastern sky.As he

 marked their route in the conning tower with the I-403\ navigator,

 Ogawa was approached by the executive officer climbing up from below.

 

 "Hot tea, sir," Lieutenant Yoshi Motoshita said, thrusting a small cup

 toward the commander.A thin man with a warm demeanor, Motoshita

 mustered a grin even at five in the morning.

 

 "Yes, thanks," Ogawa replied crisply before gulping at the tea.The

 hot liquid was a welcome tonic against the chilled December air and

 Ogawa quickly drained the cup.

 

 "The sea is unusually calm this morning," Motoshita noted.

 

 "Fine conditions for fishing," Ogawa said reflectively.The son of a

 fisherman, Ogawa had grown up in a small village on the southern island

 of Kyushu.Accustomed to a hard life on the water, Ogawa had overcome

 a modest background by passing the formidable entrance exams to

 Etajima, the Japanese naval academy.After gaining his commission, he

 was drawn to the growing prewar submarine force and served on two boats

 before attaining command of the I-403 in late 1943.Under his

 leadership, the I-403 had sunk a half-dozen merchant ships, along with

 an Australian destroyer in the Philippines.Ogawa was considered one

 of the top submarine captains remaining in the rapidly shrinking

 underwater fleet.

 

 "Yoshi, we'll initiate a zigzag running pattern when we reach the

 strait, then submerge before we leave the mainland.We can take no

 chances with enemy submarines patrolling off our coast."

 

 "I will alert the crew, sir."

 

 "And Dr.Tanaka.See that he is situated comfortably."

 

 "I have offered him my cabin," Motoshita said with a pained look.

 "Judging by the stack of books he brought with him, I think he will

 keep himself occupied and out of our way."

 

 "Very well," Ogawa replied, wondering silently about his unwanted

 passenger.

 

 As a crimson sun crept up over the eastern horizon, the I-403 veered

 south from the Inland Sea into the Bungo Strait, a pathway above Japan's southern island of Kyushu that poured into the Pacific

 Ocean.A gray destroyer limped past the sub on its way back to port,

 listing heavily to one side and showing a rash of gaping holes in its

 bridge and decks, the result of a nasty encounter with a pair of U.S.

 Navy Hellcats.On the submarine, several petty officers crowded the

 conning tower to take a final glimpse of their green island nation,

 uncertain as all seamen departing for bat de whether they would return

 home again.

 

 When the approach to the Pacific became visible to the lookout, Ogawa

 issued the command to dive.A loud bell clanged throughout the

 submarine and sailors scurried to secure the deck and hatches.

 

 "Submerge to fifteen meters," Ogawa ordered from the bridge.

 

 Large ballast tanks were flooded with seawater and the diving planes

 tipped forward.With a rush of collapsing water, the I-403's nose

 dipped downward and the entire submarine was quickly gobbled up by the

 murky green sea.

 

 In the Pacific waters off the Bungo Strait, aggressive American

 submarines lurked in the depths hunting merchant supply ships or armed

 vessels en route from the Kure Navy Base.Submarine-against-submarine

 attacks were not unheard of and Ogawa was not about to make himself

 easy fodder.Entering the Pacific waters, he quickly aimed the I-403

 northeast and away from the bulk of the wartime traffic traveling south

 toward the Philippines.

 

 As were most subs of its era, the I-403 was powered by diesel and

 electric motors.In daylight hours, the I-403 would operate submerged,

 powered by battery-operated electric motors that pushed the sub along

 at a sluggish 6 knots per hour.Under cover of darkness, the I-403

 would surface and crank up the diesel engines, which propelled the boat

 to better than 18 knots, while recharging the batteries.But the I-403

 was no ordinary submarine.Stretching over 390 feet long, the I-403

 was one of a handful of Sen toku-class submarines, which were the

 largest built in their day.The massive iron vessel displaced over

 5,200 tons and was pushed through the water by four 7,700-horsepower

 diesel engines.The I-403's truly unique feature, however, was the

 vessel's armament of aircraft.The I-403 could carry three Seiran

 float planes which were small converted dive-bombers that could be

 launched from a catapult on the center bow.While traveling at sea,

 the planes were disassembled and stored in a 110-foot-long watertight

 hangar that stretched along the sub's deck.A shortage of aircraft had

 forced Ogawa to give up one of his seaplanes for coastal

 reconnaissance, however, and his vessel now carried just two of the

 Seiran aircraft.

 

 Once the I-403 had safely entered the Pacific, Ogawa retired to his

 cabin and reread the brief mission orders Horinouchi had given him. The

 succinct commands called for him to sail a northerly route across the

 Pacific, with a refueling stop in the Aleutians.He was to proceed to

 the northwest coast of the United States, where his two aircraft were

 to launch air attacks on the cities of Tacoma, Seattle, Victoria, and

 Vancouver.

 

 On the face of it, it appeared a futile gesture, thought Ogawa.Japan

 needed her submarines for homeland waters defense rather than

 instigating minuscule attacks with a pair of small aircraft.But there

 was the question of Dr.Tanaka and his unidentified cargo.

 

 Summoned to Ogawa's cabin, Tanaka bowed gracefully before entering the

 cramped quarters and seating himself at a small wooden table.The

 slightly built scientist bore a shrewish and unsmiling face.A pair of

 vacant black eyes that were magnified by thick glasses augmented his

 sinister appearance.

 

 Dispensing with formalities, Ogawa pressed immediately for the nature

 of the doctor's presence.

 

 "Dr.Tanaka, my written orders are to sail this vessel to the west

 

 coast of North America and launch an airborne attack on four cities.

 There is no mention of your duties or the nature of your cargo.I must

 ask what your role in the mission is."

 

 "Commander Ogawa, rest assured that my assignment here has been

 authorized at the highest levels," Tanaka replied in a quiet monotone

 voice."I will be providing technical assistance for the attack

 operation," he continued.

 

 "This is a warship.I fail to understand how a medical officer will

 assist in a naval strike," Ogawa countered.

 

 "Commander, I am with the Army Medical School's Epidemic Disease

 Prevention Study Group.We have received materials from a research

 facility in China that have enabled us to develop an effective new

 weapon against the enemy.Your submarine has been chosen as the means

 to launch the weapon for the first time against American forces.I am

 responsible for the security and deployment of the weapon on this

 mission."

 

 "These 'materials."They will be dropped from my aircraft?"

 

 "Yes, in special canisters that can be accommodated by your bombers.I

 have already made the necessary arrangements with your aviation

 ordnance crew."

 

 "And the men on my vessel.Are they in any danger with this weapon

 aboard?"

 

 "None whatsoever."Tanaka's face was inscrutable as he lied.

 

 Ogawa didn't believe him, but figured the risk of the American Navy's

 antisubmarine warfare forces were a greater risk to his sub than

 anything carried on board.Ogawa tried to procure what little

 information he could from Tanaka, but the Army doctor volunteered few

 additional facts.Whatever mystery was associated with the weapon, he

 kept close to the vest.There was something ominous about the man,

 Ogawa decided, and it made him uncomfortable.After sharing a quick

 cup of tea, he dismissed the eerie scientist.Sitting silently in his

 cabin, Ogawa cursed the Fleet Command for selecting his vessel for the

 assignment.It was a mission that he didn't want.

 

 The sporadic ocean traffic of merchant ships and fishing boats soon

 dissipated as the Japanese mainland fell behind the sub's wake and the

 vessel crawled farther north in latitude.For the next twelve days and

 nights, the crew embraced a normal operating schedule as the sub nosed

 northeast, surfacing at night to run at higher speed.The prospect of

 being detected by an Allied plane or ship was more remote in the north

 Pacific, but Ogawa took no chances and ran submerged during all

 daylight hours.Operating under the waves, the bottled-up sub became

 like an oven to the men who drove her.Interior temperatures would

 climb into the nineties from the machinery, while the confined air

 would grow foul to the breath over the hours.Evening darkness was

 eagerly anticipated by each crewman, knowing the sub would finally

 surface, open its hatches, and vent cold, fresh sea air into the dank

 interior.

 

 Naval authority on submarines was notably relaxed, even in the Japanese

 Navy, and operations on the I-403 were no different.Officers and

 enlisted crew mixed easily, sharing the same meals and suffering the

 same miseries aboard the cramped vessel. The I-403 had survived depth

 charge attacks on three different occasions and the near-death

 experiences had bonded the crew tightly together.They were survivors

 in a deadly game of cat and mouse and felt the I-403 was a lucky ship

 that could defy the enemy.

 

 On the fourteenth night, the I-403 surfaced near the Aleutian island of

 Amchitka and quickly found the supply ship Morioka anchored in a small

 cove.Ogawa gently brought his vessel alongside the surface ship and

 mooring lines were tossed across.As diesel fuel was pumped into the

 submarine's reservoir tanks, crewmen on each vessel bantered back and

 forth in the freezing cold.

 

 "Aren't you a little cramped in that anchovy tin?"asked a bundled

 yeoman at the ship's rail.

 

 "No, we've got plenty of room for our canned fruit, chestnuts, and

 sake!"yelled back a submariner, boastful of the superior food the

 undersea services were provided.

 

 The refueling operation was completed in less than three hours.One of

 the submarine's crewmen, diagnosed as suffering an acute bout of

 appendicitis, was transferred to the ship for medical attention.After

 rewarding the supply ship crew with a box of hard candies, the I-403

 cast off on an eastward tack toward North America.The skies gradually

 turned black and the gray-green ocean waters frothed with spray as the

 I-403 found herself sailing into the teeth of an early winter storm.

 The sub was tossed violently for three nights as waves flooded across

 the low deck and crashed into the conning tower as the sub attempted to

 recharge its batteries.A lookout was nearly washed overboard into the

 icy seas on one occasion, and many of the experienced crew succumbed to

 bouts of seasickness.Strong westerly winds aided the voyage, however,

 pushing the sub briskly through the swells and quickening its trek

 east.

 

 Gradually, the winds began to ease and the seas flattened.Ogawa was

 pleased to find his vessel had survived Mother Nature's buffeting with

 no damage.The battered crew regained their sea legs and their

 fighting morale as the seas stabilized and the submarine neared the

 enemy's homeland.

 

 "Captain, I have a final plot to the coast," Seiji Kakishita remarked

 as he unrolled a chart of the northeast Pacific Ocean in front of

 Ogawa.The I-403's navigator had ceased shaving, like many crewmen

 upon leaving port, and sported a straggly tuft of hair from his chin

 that created a cartoonish look about him.

 

 "What is our present position?"Ogawa inquired as he studied the

 map.

 

 "Right here," Kakishita replied as he pointed to a spot on the map with

 a pair of dividers."Approximately two hundred kilometers west of

 Vancouver Island.We have two more hours of darkness for surface

 running, which will bring us to within 150 kilometers of land by

 daybreak on our current heading."

 

 Ogawa studied the chart intently for a few moments before speaking.

 "We are too far north.I wish to launch the attack from a point

 central to the four targets in order to minimize flight time.Bring us

 south and we'll approach the coastline here," he said, stubbing his

 finger at the map.Beneath his fingertip lay the northwest tip of

 Washington State, an angular peak of land that jutted into the Pacific

 Ocean like the snout of a hungry dog. Just to the north lay the Strait

 of Juan de Fuca, which created a natural border channel with British

 Columbia and was the main thoroughfare for maritime traffic from

 Vancouver and Seattle into the Pacific Ocean.

 

 Kakishita hurriedly plotted a new route on the map and recalculated the

 distances."Sir, I compute that we can arrive at a position fifteen

 kilometers offshore from the point marked "Cape Alava' in twenty-two

 hours."

 

 "Excellent, Kakishita," Ogawa replied smugly as he eyed a nearby

 chronograph."That will allow us plenty of time to commence the attack

 before dawn."The timing was right.Ogawa wished to spend as little

 time as possible in high-traffic areas where they might be spotted

 before launching the strike.Things seemed to be falling into place,

 he thought.With a little luck, they might just be on their way home

 from a successful mission in just over twenty-four hours.

 

 A buzz of activity overtook the I-403 after it surfaced again that

 evening as preparations were made to launch the aerial strike.

 Mechanics pulled out the fuselage, wings, and pontoons of the aircraft

 and began piecing the parts together like some giant toy model.Seamen

 rigged the hydraulic catapult and carefully tested the device by which

 the planes would be launched.The pilots attentively studied

 topographic

 

 maps of the region, plotting their course to the drop zones and back.

 And the ordnance men, under the cautious direction of Dr.Tanaka,

 configured the bomb racks of the Seiran bombers to hold the twelve

 silver canisters still stored in the forward torpedo room.

 

 By three in the morning, the I-403 had crept quietly to its staging

 point off the Washington coast.A light drizzle was falling and the

 six lookouts Ogawa had stationed on deck strained to peer through the

 murky darkness for signs of other vessels.Ogawa himself paced the

 open bridge nervously in anxious wait to see the aircraft off, so that

 he could hide his submarine under the protection of the rolling seas.

 

 Another hour had ticked by when a hurried squat man in a grease-stained

 jumpsuit approached Ogawa tentatively.

 

 "Sir, sorry to report we are having troubles with the aircraft."

 

 "What is the problem at this late hour?"Ogawa countered, clearly

 annoyed.

 

 "Aircraft number one has been found to have a faulty magneto.We must

 replace it with a spare for the motor to operate.Aircraft number two

 has a damaged elevator, apparently due to shifting that occurred during

 the storm.This we can repair also."

 

 "And how long will it require to complete both repairs?"

 

 The mechanic looked skyward for a moment, contemplating his response.

 "Approximately one hour for the repairs, sir, plus another twenty

 minutes to load the ordnance from belowdecks."

 

 Ogawa nodded grimly."Proceed with all haste."

 

 One hour turned into two and still the planes were not ready.Ogawa's

 impatience grew as he noticed gray streaks in the eastern sky,

 signaling the approaching dawn.The drizzling rain had stopped and was

 replaced by a light fog that enveloped the sub, cutting visibility to

 less than a third of a mile.Sitting ducks, perhaps, but at least

 ducks in a blind, Ogawa thought.

 

 Then the stillness of the morning air was shattered as a cry from the

 sound-detection operator belowdecks pierced the air.

 

 "Captain, I have an echo!"

 

 "I've got you this time, Big Brother!"Steve Schauer yelled into the

 radio transmitter with a grin, then pushed a pair of throttles to their

 stops.Alongside him in the fishing trawler's cramped cabin, two

 teenage crewmen, exhausted and reeking of dead fish, looked at each

 other and rolled their eyes.Schauer ignored their looks as he lightly

 fingered the wooden wheel of the plodding fishing boat and began

 whistling an old drinking tune.

 

 A pair of fortyish siblings with youth in their veins, Steve and Doug

 Schauer had spent their lives fishing the waters in and around Puget

 Sound.With skill and hard work, they had thrown all their earnings

 into ever-larger fishing boats until they traded up for a matched pair

 of fifty-foot wooden hull trawlers.Working as a team, they

 successfully fished the Washington and Vancouver shorelines with an

 uncanny ability to sniff out large schools of halibut.After a

 three-day excursion, with their holds full of fish and their coolers

 empty of beer, the brothers would race each other back to port like a

 pair of kids on roller skates.

 

 "It ain't over till the paint scratches the dock," Doug's voice

 crackled over the radio.After a particularly good haul during the

 1941 season, the brothers had splurged on two-way radios for their

 boats.Though intended to help each other coordinate the catches, the

 brothers spent most of their time on the airwaves goading each other

 instead.

 

 As Schauer's boat chugged along at its top speed of 12 knots, the skies

 lightened from black to gray and a spotlight beam shining on the water

 ahead of the bow gradually lost its illuminating effect.Ahead, in the

 mist, Schauer saw the faint outline of a large black object lying low

 in the water.A second later, a small orange flash emanated from the

 object's center for a brief instant.

 

 "Is that a whale off the starboard bow?"The words had barely escaped

 his lips when a shrieking whistle creased past the cabin, followed by a

 volcanic explosion that erupted in the water off the port beam,

 showering the trawler in a downpour of seawater.

 

 Schauer stood stunned for a moment, his mind unable to comprehend what

 his eyes and ears had just absorbed.It took the sight of a second

 orange flash to jolt him into action.

 

 "Get down!"he shouted at the two men in the cabin as he spun the

 ship's wheel hard to port.The laden trawler was slow to respond, but

 it was enough to avoid the second shell from the I-403's 5.5-inch deck

 gun, which screamed into the water just astern of the boat.This time,

 the force of the explosion lifted the entire trawler out of the water

 and slammed it back down again hard, shearing the rudder off in the

 upheaval.

 

 Wiping blood out of his eyes from a gash to the temple, Schauer groped

 for the radio microphone.

 

 "Doug, there's a Jap sub.It's blasting the hell out of us.No joke.

 Keep to the north, and get help."

 

 He was still talking when the third shell found its mark, piercing the

 forward hold of the fishing boat before detonating.A furious

 explosion of splinters, glass, and mangled halibut blasted into the

 cabin, throwing the three men viciously to the back wall.Struggling

 to his feet, Schauer peered out a gaping hole in the front of the cabin

 and saw the entire bow of the trawler disintegrate into the sea before

 him.Instinctively grabbing the wheel for support, he looked on in

 disbelief as the remains of the boat began to sink rapidly beneath his

 feet.

 

 Peering through binoculars, Ogawa watched with grim satisfaction as the

 trawler slipped beneath the waves amid a scattering of flotsam.

 Rescuing survivors was out of the question, so he wasted no time in

 looking for bodies in the water.

 

 "Motoshita, have there been any additional sound recordings?"he asked

 his exec.

 

 "Negative, sir.The sound operator reported a possible secondary

 target before we initiated firing but the reading faded.It was either

 background noise, or a small vessel at best."

 

 "Have him keep sweeping.With this visibility, we will hear a vessel

 well before seeing her.And have the chief aircraft mechanic report to

 me.We've got to get those planes launched."

 

 As Motoshita scurried off, Ogawa stared toward the hidden coastline of

 Washington.Perhaps we'll get lucky, he thought.The trawler was

 likely a lone fishing boat and wouldn't have a radio.The guns could

 have been heard ashore, but, at this distance, would sound like an

 innocuous muffle.The charts showed few inhabitants residing along

 that stretch of coast as well.Perhaps-just perhaps-they could still

 pull off the mission undetected.

 

 The hairs on the back of Radioman First Class Gene Hampton's neck stood

 up like a grove of ponderosa pine.The voice ringing through his

 earphones had an air of urgency and authenticity that could not help

 but be believed.After confirming the message twice, Hampton popped

 out of his chair like a jack-in-the-box and bounded to the center of

 the bridge.

 

 "Captain, I just picked up a civilian Mayday message," he blurted

 excitedly."A fisherman says there's a Jap sub offshore shelling his

 brother's boat."

 

 "Did he sound coherent?"replied the ship's bearded, heavyset

 commander in a skeptical tone.

 

 "Yes, sir.Said he didn't see the sub because of the fog but got a

 radio call from his brother on another fishing boat.He heard a couple

 of shots fired from a big gun, then lost contact with his brother.I

 received a call from another boat confirming the sound of gunfire."

 

 "Did they provide a fix on the location?"

 

 "Yes, sir.Nine miles southwest of Cape Flattery."

 

 "Very well.Contact the Madison and tell her we are headed out of the

 strait to investigate a reported enemy contact, then provide a location

 fix to Navigation.Mr.Baker," he continued, turning to a tall

 lieutenant standing at his side, "let's go to General Quarters."

 

 As an alarm bell rang throughout the ship, the crew of the USS Theodore

 Knight scrambled to their battle stations, adorning helmets and kapoks

 as they ran.It wasn't the first time the Farragut-class destroyer had

 seen action.Launched in 1931 at the Bath Iron Works shipyard in

 Maine, the Theodore Knight had an active service duty garnering North

 Atlantic convoy duty in the early stages of the war.After dodging

 several U-boat attacks while escorting the merchant fleets, the

 341-foot-long destroyer was sent back for patrol and escort duty off

 the West Coast, sailing the waters from San Diego to Alaska.

 

 Trailing three miles behind, in the Strait of Juan de Fuca, was the

 Liberty Ship Madison, bound for San Francisco with a cargo of lumber

 and tinned salmon.Leaving the assigned cargo ship in its wake, the

 Theodore Knight broached the mouth of the Pacific as its captain,

 Lieutenant Commander Roy Baxter, ordered flank speed.The ship's twin

 diesel turbines churned the sleek gray ship through the water like a

 hound chasing a rabbit.The crew, accustomed to quiet, routine

 patrols, was at an unusually heightened sense of readiness at the

 prospect of facing the enemy.

 

 Even Baxter felt his heart beat a little faster.A twenty-year Navy

 man, he had seen action in the Atlantic but had grown bored with his

 recent assignment on the home shores.He relished the thought of

 tasting battle again, though remained skeptical about the radio report.

 Japanese subs had not been seen off the coast for over a year, he knew,

 and the Imperial Navy was now clearly on the defensive."Radar?" he

 demanded loudly.

 

 "Sir, I have three small vessels approaching the channel, two from the

 north and one from the west," replied the radarman without taking his

 eyes off his monitor."I have another indefinite target that appears

 to be stationary lying to the southwest."

 

 "Take us to the southern mark," Baxter barked."And have the forward

 batteries stand by for action."The commander had to suppress a grin

 of excitement as he issued the orders.Maybe we'll earn our pay today,

 he thought while strapping on his helmet.

 

 Unlike their American counterparts, most Japanese submarines in World

 War II were not equipped with radar.The early-warning technology was

 only first deployed on Imperial submarines in mid-1944, and then

 installed only on selected vessels.Most Japanese submarines instead

 relied upon sound-detection equipment to reveal a distant enemy.

 Although more limited in range than radar, sound detection could be

 utilized underwater, and aided many a sub in avoiding a fatal

 rendezvous with depth charges.

 

 Absent a radar unit, it was the I-403^ sound operator who first became

 aware of the destroyer bearing down on them.

 

 "Vessel approaching ahead ... sound intensity one," he reported at the

 first registering on his equipment.

 

 On deck, both of the aircraft had been moved out of their hangars,

 where the wings and pontoons were affixed, while repairs continued.It

 was the situation Ogawa feared most.With both planes assembled but

 neither ready for flight, they would have to be sacrificed should the

 submarine have to make an emergency dive.

 

 "Deck gun at the ready," he ordered, hoping the unwelcome intruder was

 yet another fishing boat.

 

 "Sound intensity two and increasing," the sound operator relayed

 calmly."It's a ship," he added, to no one's surprise.

 

 "Secure all aircraft and clear the aviation deck," Ogawa ordered an

 ensign, who sprinted down the large deck shouting at the mechanics and

 pilots as he ran.Tying down the two airplanes, the aviation crew

 quickly grabbed their work tools and scurried to the hangar.The

 watertight doors of the hangar were closed and sealed; then the men

 dropped down another hatch into the secure body of the submarine.

 

 "Sound intensity three, off our bow.May be a destroyer," the operator

 reported, correctly identifying the churning sound of the tin can's

 twin propellers.

 

 As if on cue, the gray ship materialized out of the fog a half mile

 away, the apparition of a steel wraith charging across the moor.White

 foam burst off the bow in angry torrents while wisps of dark smoke

 billowed from the funnel.The lean ship drove straight at the sub, an

 attacking lancer not to be denied.

 

 In an instant, the I-403's deck gun boomed as the submarine's

 experienced gun crew attempted to halt the oncoming dervish.The slim,

 head-on profile of the destroyer made for a difficult target, however,

 and the shell passed harmlessly to one side.Hurriedly, the gun crew

 took aim and fired again.

 

 Once identifying the ship as a destroyer, Ogawa recognized the futility

 of a surface duel with a superior vessel and immediately ordered a

 crash dive.The mission would have to be sacrificed for the safety of

 the ship and crew, he reasoned, if it wasn't already too late.

 

 As the dive alarm sounded, the gun crew fired off a last desperate shot

 before scrambling belowdecks to safety.The gunner's accuracy was

 nearly dead-on, but he overcompensated the approaching speed of the

 destroyer.The shell splashed into the water fifty feet directly ahead

 of the American ship's bow, blasting a spray of water onto its deck but

 causing no damage.

 

 The two forward batteries of the Theodore Knight ax last came to life,

 lobbing five-inch shells in succession toward the Japanese sub.The

 inexperienced and adrenaline-fortified gun crew fired high, however,

 placing the destroyer's shells harmlessly beyond the now-accelerating

 submarine.

 

 On the exterior bridge of the I-403, Ogawa hesitated momentarily before

 dropping down the hatch, taking a final glance at his approaching

 stalker.Movement caught his eye on the forward deck, where he was

 surprised to see a crewman striding toward one of the

 

 airplanes.It was a pilot, ignoring the dive command and climbing into

 his plane.In the spirit of the kamikaze, the pilot could not bear the

 thought of losing his aircraft and was willing to die with it instead.

 Ogawa cursed his foolish bravery, then ducked down into the bridge

 below.

 

 The ballast tanks were opened and a rush of seawater began flooding in

 to weigh the submarine down.The huge hull of the I-403 was a

 liability in this situation, requiring a notoriously long time to

 submerge.As Ogawa waited for the sub to make its agonizingly slow

 descent, he played one more card.

 

 "Prepare to fire torpedoes!"he commanded.

 

 It was a gamble, but a calculated one at that.With the destroyer

 directly ahead, Ogawa could let go a shot in the face of the ship and

 make the hunter fall prey to the victim.

 

 "Tubes loaded," the torpedo officer reported.

 

 "Stand by tubes number one and number two," Ogawa ordered.

 

 The destroyer was barely two hundred yards away and still belching fire

 from its five-inch guns.Amazingly, the destroyer's guns continued to

 miss their mark.The point-blank target of the sub slowly began to

 diminish as the nose of the undersea craft dipped beneath the waves and

 a wash of seawater gradually flooded over the forward deck.

 

 "Fire one!"Ogawa shouted.Counting off three seconds silently, he

 paused, then ordered, "Fire two!"

 

 With a blast of compressed air, the two torpedoes burst out of the

 forward tubes on a deadly streak toward the advancing destroyer.Each

 packing an 890-pound lethal warhead, the twenty-three-foot-long,

 oxygen-powered torpedoes accelerated quickly, racing toward the

 Theodore Knight at better than 45 knots.

 

 An ensign standing on the bridge wing of the destroyer noticed a seam

 of white trails under the water's surface burrowing toward the ship.

 

 "Torpedoes off the port and starboard bow!"he shouted, though his

 body remained frozen in rapt fascination as he watched the speeding

 explosives approach.

 

 In an instant, the torpedoes were on them.But either by

 miscalculation, divine intervention, or just plain luck, the two deadly

 fish somehow missed their target.The immobile ensign watched in

 amazement as the two torpedoes skimmed past both sides of the

 destroyer's bow, then raced down the length of the ship no more than

 ten feet from either side of the hull before disappearing beyond the

 stern.

 

 "She's diving, sir," noted the destroyer's helmsman as he watched the

 waves slosh over the bow of the sub.

 

 "Steer for the conning tower," Baxter commanded."Let's go right down

 her throat."

 

 Firing from the forward batteries had ceased, as the guns could no

 longer be trained on a target so low to the ship's bow.The bat de

 became a race, the destroyer boring in like a charging ram in an

 attempt to batter the I-403.But the submarine was gaining depth and,

 for a moment, appeared like it would successfully slip beneath the

 stalking ship.The Theodore Knight had crossed over the bowline of the

 sub, its keel missing the top deck of the descending sub by a matter of

 feet.But the destroyer drove forward, intent on crushing the

 submersing vessel.

 

 The aircraft were the first to feel the sharp wedge of the destroyer's

 prow.Partially submerged on the receding deck, the randomly aligned

 airplanes just caught the surging bow of the ship at mid height and

 were instantly dissected into large sections of mangled metal, fabric,

 and debris.The defiant pilot, who had climbed into the cockpit of the

 first airplane, received little time for impudence before realizing his

 wish to die with his plane in a crushing blow.

 

 The I-403 itself was now half submerged and had so far avoided damage

 from the assault.But the sub's conning tower was too great a

 protrusion and could not escape the charging wrath of the ship.With a

 crunching shear, the bow of the destroyer tore into the vessel's

 console, slicing through it like a scythe.Ogawa and his operations

 officers

 

 were killed instantly as the ship crushed into and through the control

 center of the sub.The entire structure was ripped away from the body

 of the submarine as the destroyer continued its onslaught, carving a

 mutilating gash along the rear spine of the I-403.Inside, the doomed

 crew heard the screeching grind of metal on metal before the torrents

 of seawater burst in and flooded the compartments.Death came quickly

 but painfully to the drowning men as the sub lurched, then dropped

 rapidly to the seafloor.A smattering of air bubbles and oil boiled to

 the surface to mark the gravesite, then all was silent.

 

 Aboard the Theodore Knight, the crew and officers cheered their

 destruction of the Japanese submarine as they watched the telltale

 slick of black oil and fuel pool on the surface like a death cloud

 above the sunken boat.How lucky they were to have found and destroyed

 an enemy vessel right on their own home shores, with not so much as a

 casualty on their own ship.Though the enemy had fought with valor,

 the victory had come easily.The crew would return to port as heroes,

 with a great tale to tell their grandchildren. What none of the men on

 the destroyer could have suspected or imagined, however, was the

 unspeakable horror that would have befallen their countrymen had the

 I-403 succeeded in its mission.Nor could they know that the horror

 still awaited, silently beckoning from the depths of the shattered

 wreckage.

 

 Mystery trawler and NUMA

 

 May 22, 2007 The Aleutian Islands, Alaska

 

 The winds swirled LIGHTLY about the faded yellow tin hut perched on a

 small bluff overlooking the sea.A few light snowflakes danced about

 the eaves of the structure before falling to the ground and melting

 amid the grass and tundra.Despite the nearby hum of a diesel

 generator, a wooly Siberian husky lay on a sun-exposed patch of loose

 gravel enjoying a deep sleep.A white-feathered arctic tern swooped by

 for a look, then stopped momentarily on the small building's roof.

 After curiously examining the odd assortment of antenna, beacons, and

 satellite dishes adorning the rooftop, the small bird seized a gust of

 wind and flew away in search of more edible offerings.

 

 The Coast Guard weather station on Yunaska Island was as tranquil as it

 was remote.Situated midway along the Aleutian chain of islands,

 Yunaska was one of dozens of volcanic uprisings that curved off the

 Alaskan mainland like an arched tentacle.Barely seventeen miles

 across, the island was distinguished by two dormant volcano

 

 <SL

 

 peaks at either end, which were separated by rolling grass hills.

 Absent a single tree or high shrub, the green island rose like an

 emerald from the surrounding frigid ocean waters in the late spring.

 

 Lying central to the North Pacific currents, Yunaska was an ideal

 location for tracking sea and atmospheric conditions that would brew

 into full-fledged weather fronts as they moved eastward toward North

 America.In addition to collecting weather data, the Coast Guard

 station also served as a warning and rescue relay station for troubled

 fishermen working the surrounding marine-rich waters.

 

 The site could hardly be considered a paradise for the two men assigned

 to man the station.The nearest village was ninety miles away across

 open water, while their home base in Anchorage was more than a thousand

 miles distant.The isolated inhabitants were on their own for a

 three-week stint until the next pair of volunteers was airlifted in.

 Five months out of the year, brutal winter weather conditions forced

 closure of the station except for minimal remote operations.But from

 May to November, the two-man crew was on call around the clock.

 

 Despite the seclusion, meteorologist Ed Stimson and technician Mike

 Barnes considered it a plum assignment.Stimson enjoyed being in the

 field to practice his science while Barnes relished the time off he

 would accrue after working a station shift, which he would spend

 prospecting in the Alaskan backcountry.

 

 "I'm telling you, Ed, you're going to have to find a new partner after

 our next R&R.I found a fissure of quartz in the Chugach Mountains

 that would knock your socks off.I know there's got to be a thick,

 juicy gold vein lying right beneath it."

 

 "Sure, just like that strike you made wild claims about on the McKinley

 River," Stimson chided.Barnes had a naive sense of optimism that

 always amused the elder meteorologist.

 

 "Just wait till you see me driving around Anchorage in my new Hummer,

 then you'll believe," replied Barnes somewhat indignantly.

 

 "Fair enough," Stimson replied."In the meantime, can you check

 

 the anemometer mounting?The wind readings have stopped recording

 again."

 

 "Just don't file a claim on my gold field while I'm up on the roof,"

 Barnes grinned while pulling on a heavy coat.

 

 "Not to worry, my friend.Not to worry."

 

 Two miles to the east, Sarah Matson cursed leaving her gloves back in

 the tent.Although the temperature was almost fifty, an offshore

 breeze made it feel much cooler.Her hands were wet from crawling over

 some sea-washed boulders and the sensitivity was evaporating from her

 fingertips.Climbing across a gully, she tried to forget about her icy

 hands and concentrate on moving closer to her quarry.Stepping quietly

 along a boulder-strewn path, she eased herself slowly to a prime

 vantage point beside a shallow rock outcropping.

 

 Barely thirty feet away lay a noisy colony of Steller's sea lions

 basking at the water's edge.A dozen or so of the fat-whiskered

 mammals sat huddled together like tourists jammed on the beach at Rio

 while another four or five could be seen swimming in the surf.Two

 young males barked loudly back and forth at each other, vying for the

 attention of a nearby female, who showed not the slightest sign of

 interest in either mammal.Several pups slept blissfully oblivious to

 the rancor, cuddled up close to their mother's belly.

 

 Pulling a small notepad from her jacket pocket, Sarah began jotting

 down particulars about each animal, estimating their age, sex, and

 apparent health condition.As accurately as she could, she carefully

 observed each sea lion for signs of muscle spasms, eye or nasal

 secretions, or excessive sneezing.After nearly an hour of

 observation, she replaced the notepad in her pocket, hoping that she

 would later be able to read the scribbled handwriting created by her

 frozen fingers.

 

 Slowly retracing her steps, Sarah edged away from the colony and

 

 made her way back across the gully.She found that her original

 footsteps had left indentations in the short grass and she easily

 followed her imprints leading inland and over a gradual rise.The cool

 sea breeze felt refreshing to her lungs as she hiked while the sparse

 beauty of the island made her feel energized and full of life.Belying

 her slender frame and delicate features, the flaxen-haired woman of

 thirty actually relished working outdoors.Growing up in rural

 Wyoming, Sarah had spent all her summer days hiking and horseback

 riding in the Teton Mountains with a pair of rambunctious brothers.A

 love of outdoor wildlife led her to study veterinary medicine at

 neighboring Colorado State University.After a number of research

 positions on the East Coast, she followed a favorite professor to the

 federal Centers for Disease Control with the promise that she wouldn't

 be stuck in a lab every day.In the role of field epidemiologist for

 the CDC, she was able to combine her passion for wildlife and the

 outdoors by helping track the spread of communicable diseases among

 animals that posed a health threat to humans.

 

 Finding herself in the Aleutian Islands was just the sort of outdoor

 adventure she craved, although the reason behind it tugged at her

 animal-loving heart.A mysterious number of sea lion deaths had been

 reported along the western Alaska Peninsula, although no known

 environmental catastrophe or human-induced culprit was suspected. Sarah

 and two associates had been sent from Seattle to diagnose the extent of

 the die-off and determine its range of dispersement. Starting with the

 outward Aleutian island of Attu, the team had begun island-hopping

 eastward, searching for signs of the outbreak while working their way

 toward the Alaskan mainland.Every three days, a small seaplane would

 pick the team up, then ferry them to the next designated island with a

 fresh drop of supplies.The second day on Yu-naska had failed to

 reveal indications of the ailment in the local sea lion population,

 which added a small sense of relief to Sarah.

 

 Blessed with high cheekbones and soft hazel eyes, the pretty scientist

 quickly ambled the two miles back to camp, easily spotting the trio

 

 of bright red tents some distance away.A squat, bearded man wearing a

 flannel shirt and a worn Seattle Mariners baseball cap was rummaging

 through a large cooler when Sarah approached the campsite.

 

 "Sarah, there you are.Sandy and I were just making plans for lunch,"

 Irv Fowler said with a smile.An easygoing man on the thin side of

 fifty, Fowler looked and acted like a man ten years his junior.

 

 A petite redheaded woman crawled out of one of the nearby tents

 clutching a pot and ladle."Irv's always making plans for lunch,"

 Sandy Johnson responded with a grin while rolling her eyes.

 

 "How did you two make out this morning?"Sarah inquired as she grabbed

 an empty campstool and sat down.

 

 "Sandy's got the stats.We checked a large colony of Steller's on the

 eastern beach and they all looked fat and healthy.I found one

 cadaver, but by all appearances the fellow looked like he expired from

 old age.I took a tissue sample for lab analysis just to be sure."

 While he spoke, Fowler pumped the primer on a propane gas camp stove,

 then lit the hissing gas escaping beneath the burner, the blue flame

 igniting with a poof.

 

 "That's consistent with what I observed as well.It appears that the

 affliction has not spread to the sea lions of charming Yunaska," Sarah

 replied, her eyes sweeping the green landscape around them.

 

 "We can check the colony on the west coast of the island this

 afternoon, since our pilot won't be back to pick us up until

 morning."

 

 "That will be a bit of a hike.But we can stop for a chat at the Coast

 Guard station, which I recall our pilot saying was manned this time of

 year."

 

 "In the meantime," Fowler announced, placing the large pot on the

 portable stove, "it's time for the specialty of the house."

 

 "Not that fire-belching-" Sandy tried to declare before being cut

 off.

 

 "Yes, indeed.Cajun chili du jour," Fowler grinned, while scraping the

 lumpy brown contents of a large tin can into the heated pot.

 

 "As they say in N'Awlins," Sarah said with a laugh, "Laisse^ k bon

 temps rouler."

 

 Ed Stimson peered intently at a weather radar monitor watching a slight

 buildup of white electronic clouds fuzz up the upper portion of the

 green screen.It was a moderate storm front, some two hundred miles to

 the southwest, that Stimson accurately predicted would douse their

 island with several days of soggy weather.His concentration was

 interrupted by a rapping sound overhead.Barnes was still up on the

 tin roof fooling with the anemometer.

 

 Static-filled chatter suddenly blared through the hut from a radio set

 mounted on a corner wall.Nearby fishing boats, their captains yakking

 about the weather, constituted most of the garbled radio traffic

 received on the island.Stimson did his best to tune out the

 meaningless chatter and, at first, failed to detect the odd whooshing

 sound.It was a low resonance emanating from outside.Then the radio

 fell silent for a moment and he could clearly hear a rushing sound in

 the distance, something similar to a jet aircraft.For several long

 seconds, the odd noise continued, seeming to diminish slightly in

 intensity before ending altogether in a loud crack.

 

 Thinking it might be thunder, Stimson adjusted the scale view on his

 weather radar to a twenty-mile range.The monitor showed only a light

 scattering of clouds in the immediate vicinity, with nothing resembling

 thunderheads.Must be the Air Force up to some tricks, he figured,

 recalling the heavy air traffic in the Alaskan skies during the days of

 the Cold War.

 

 His thoughts were broken by a crying wail outside the door from the pet

 husky named Max.

 

 "What is it, Max?"Stimson called out while opening the door to the

 hut.

 

 The Siberian husky let out a death-shrieking howl as it turned,

 shaking, toward his master in the doorway.Stimson was shocked to see

 the dog's eyes glazed in a vacant stare while thick white foam oozed

 from

 

 his mouth.The dog stood teetering back and forth for a moment, then

 keeled over on its side, hitting the ground with a thud.

 

 "Jesus!Mike, get down here quick," Stimson yelled to his partner.

 

 Barnes was already climbing down the ladder from the roof but was

 having a hard time catching the rungs with his feet.Nearing the

 ground, he missed the last rung with his left foot altogether and

 lurched to the ground, staying semierect only by a hearty hand grasp on

 the ladder's rung.

 

 "Mike, the dog just ... are you okay?"Stimson asked, realizing

 something was not right.Running to his partner's side, he found

 Barnes in a state of labored breathing, and his eyes were nearly as

 glassy as Max's.Throwing his arm around the younger man's shoulder,

 Stimson half carried, half dragged Barnes into the shack and set him

 down in a chair.

 

 Barnes bent over and retched violently, then sat upright, clinging to

 Stimson's arm for support.Gasping in a hoarse voice, he whispered,

 "There's something in the air."

 

 No sooner had the words left his mouth when his eyes rolled up into the

 back of his head and he fell over stone dead.

 

 Stimson stood up in a state of shock, then found that the room was

 spinning like a top before his eyes.A throbbing pain racked his head

 while the grip of an iron vise suddenly began squeezing the air out of

 his lungs.Staggering to the radio, he tried to let out a brief cry

 for help but was unsure whether his lips could move because of numbness

 to his face.A burst of heat flared internally, like an invisible fire

 was consuming his organs.Choking for air and losing all sense of

 vision, he staggered and fell hard to the floor, dead before he hit the

 ground.

 

 Four miles east of the Coast Guard station, the three CDC scientists

 were just finishing their lunch when the invisible wave of death

 struck. Sarah was the first to detect something wrong when a pair of

 

 birds flying overhead suddenly stopped in mid flight as if they had

 struck an invisible wall and then fell to the ground wriggling.Sandy

 fell victim first, clutching her stomach and doubling over in agony.

 

 "Come now, my chili wasn't that bad," Fowler joked before he, too,

 became light-headed and nauseous.

 

 Sarah stood and took a few steps toward the cooler to retrieve some

 bottled water when fire shot through her legs and her thigh muscles

 began to spasm.

 

 "What's happening?"Fowler gasped as he tried to comfort Sandy before

 staggering to the ground in distress.

 

 For Sarah, time seemed to slow as her senses became dulled. Sluggishly,

 she dropped to the ground as her muscles weakened and refused to obey

 the commands sent by her brain.Her lungs seemed to constrict upon

 themselves, making each breath a painful stab of agony. A thumping

 noise began to ring through her ears as she fell prone on her back and

 stared blurry-eyed at the gray sky above.She felt the blades of grass

 dance and rustle against her body, but she was frozen, unable to

 move.

 

 Gradually, a fog enveloped her mind and a field of blackness began to

 encroach the edges of her vision.But a sudden intrusion jarred her

 senses momentarily.Into the sea of gray popped an apparition, a

 strange ghost with a tuft of black hair over a rubbery face that seemed

 to melt away like plastic.She felt the alien gaze upon her with

 frightening giant, three-inch-wide crystal eyes.But there appeared to

 be another set of eyes beyond the crystal lenses, gazing intently at

 her with a sense of grace and warmth.A pair of deep, opaline green

 eyes. Then everything turned to black.

 

 Sarah opened her eyes to a gray canopy above her, only this one was

 flat and without clouds.Shaking off the blurriness, her eyes slowly

 regained focus and she could see that it was not the sky above her but

 a ceiling.A softness beneath her revealed that she was lying in a bed

 with a thick pillow under her head.An oxygen mask was covering her

 face, which she removed, but she left alone the intravenous needle that

 was stuck in her arm.Carefully taking in the surroundings, her eyes

 gazed upon a small, simply decorated room featuring a small writing

 desk in one corner with an impressive painting of an old ocean liner

 above it, while off to the side was a small bath.The bed she lay in

 was mounted to the wall and the open door to a hallway had a step over

 threshold.The whole room seemed to be rolling, and she was uncertain

 if it was her head creating the motion as a result of the deep

 throbbing sensation that pounded at her temples.

 

 A movement caught her eye and she turned back to the doorway

 

 to find a figure standing there, looking at her with a slight grin.He

 was a tall man, broad-shouldered, but on a fit and somewhat wiry frame.

 He was young, perhaps in his late twenties, she guessed, but moved with

 the confidence of a more mature man.His skin showed the deep tan of

 someone who spent a good deal of time outdoors.Wavy black hair set

 off a rugged face that was more intriguing than classically handsome.

 But it was the eyes that radiated an aura about the man.They were a

 deep shade of iridescent green and revealed a sense of intelligence,

 adventure, and integrity all rolled into one.They were the eyes of a

 man who could be trusted.And they were the same green eyes, Sarah

 recalled, that she had seen before blacking out at the camp.

 

 "Well, hello, Sleeping Beauty."The words came from a warm, deep

 voice.

 

 "You ... you're the man at the camp," Sarah stammered.

 

 "Yes.My apologies for not properly introducing myself on the island,

 Sarah.My name is Dirk Pitt."He neglected to add "Junior," although

 he shared the same name as his father.

 

 "You know who I am?"she asked, still confused.

 

 "Well, not intimately," Dirk smiled non threateningly "but a brainy

 scientist named Irv told me a little about you and your project on

 Yu-naska.Irv seemed to think he poisoned everyone with his chili."

 

 "Irv and Sandy!Are they all right?"

 

 "Yes.They took a little nap, like you, but are fine now.They're

 resting just down the hall," Dirk said, motioning with his thumb toward

 the corridor.He could see the look of bewilderment in Sarah's eyes

 and touched her shoulder with his hand in a reassuring squeeze.

 

 "Don't worry, you're in good hands.You're aboard the National

 Underwater and Marine Agency research ship Deep Endeavor.We were

 returning from an underwater survey of the Aleutian Basin when we

 picked up a distress call from the Coast Guard weather station on

 Yu-naska.I flew to the station in a helicopter we have on board and

 happened to see your camp while flying back to the ship. I gave you

 and

 

 your friends an all-expense-paid aerial tour of Yunaska, but you slept

 through the whole thing," Dirk added with mock disappointment.

 

 "I'm sorry," Sarah murmured, feeling somewhat bashful."I guess I owe

 you a big thanks, Mr.Pitt."

 

 "Please, call me "Dirk.""

 

 "Okay, Dirk," Sarah replied with a smile, feeling an odd flutter as she

 spoke his name."How are the Coast Guard people?"

 

 Dirk's face went dark and a look of sorrow crossed his brow."I'm

 afraid we didn't make it in time.We found two men and a dog at the

 station.They were all dead."

 

 A shiver went up Sarah's spine.Two men dead, and she and her

 companions nearly as well.None of it made any sense.

 

 "What on earth happened?"Sarah asked in shock.

 

 "We don't know for sure.Our ship's doctor is running some tests, but,

 as you can imagine, his resources are somewhat limited.It appears to

 have been some sort of airborne fume or toxin.All we know for sure is

 that the Coast Guard station thought there was something in the air. We

 flew in with gas masks and were not impacted.We even took some white

 mice from our shipboard lab with us.They all survived fine, without

 any apparent symptoms.Whatever it was, it must have dissipated by the

 time we landed at the Coast Guard station.You and your team were

 apparently far enough away from the source to be impacted less

 severely.You probably didn't receive a full dose of whatever it

 was."

 

 Sarah's eyes dropped and she fell quiet.The horror and pain of the

 whole ordeal came back to her with a showering of fatigue.She wanted

 to sleep it all off and hope it was just a bad dream.

 

 "Sarah, I'll have the doctor check on you, then let you sleep some

 more.Perhaps later I can buy you a plate of king crab legs for

 dinner?"Dirk asked with a smile.

 

 Sarah smiled briefly in return."I'd like that," she murmured, then

 fell fast asleep.

 

 Kermit Burch stood at the helm reading a fax communique when Dirk

 stepped into the bridge from the starboard wing door.The seasoned

 captain of the Deep Endeavor shook his head slightly as he read the

 document, then turned to Dirk with a slightly annoyed look on his

 face.

 

 "We've notified the Coast Guard and the Department of Homeland

 Security, but nobody intends to do anything until the local authorities

 have filed their report.The village public safety officer from Atka

 is the area law enforcement official and he can't get to the island

 until morning," Burch snorted."Two men dead and they treat it as an

 accident."

 

 "We don't have much to go on," Dirk replied."I spoke with Carl Nash,

 our saltwater environmental analyst, who is well versed on terrestrial

 pollutants.According to Nash, there are naturally occurring

 environmental emissions, such as sulfuric volcanic releases, which

 could have killed the men.High concentrations of industrial

 pollutants are another potential culprit, although I'm not aware of any

 neighborhood chemical plants in the Aleutians."

 

 "The public safety officer told me it sounds to him like a classic case

 of carbon monoxide poisoning from the station house generator.Of

 course, that doesn't explain our friends from the CDC succumbing to

 similar effects four miles away."

 

 "Nor does it explain the dog I found dead outside of the station

 house," Dirk added.

 

 "Well, perhaps the CDC crew can shed some light on the matter.How are

 our three guests doing, by the way?"

 

 "A little groggy still.They don't remember much, other than that it

 struck pretty rapidly."

 

 "The sooner we get them to a proper medical facility, the sooner

 

 I'll rest easier.The nearest airfield is Unalaska, which we can make

 in under fourteen hours.I'll radio ahead for a medical flight to

 transfer them to Anchorage."

 

 "Captain, I'd like to take the helicopter back out and reconnoiter the

 island.We didn't have much of a chance to look around on the last

 flight.Maybe there's something we missed.Any objections?"

 

 "No ... just so long as you take that Texas joker with you," Burch

 replied with a pained grin.

 

 As Dirk ran through a preflight checklist from the pilot seat of the

 NUMA Sikorsky S-76C+ offshore helicopter, a sandy-haired man with a

 bushy mustache ambled across the flight platform.With scuffed cowboy

 boots, chiseled arms, and a ubiquitous scowl that hid a mordant sense

 of humor, Jack Dahlgren looked like a bull rider who got lost on the

 way to the rodeo.A notorious practical joker, Dahlgren had already

 worked his way under Burch's skin by spiking the galley's coffee urn

 with a cheap bottle of rum on their first night at sea.An engineering

 whiz who grew up in west Texas, Dahlgren knew his way around horses and

 guns, as well as every type of mechanical equipment that operated above

 or below the sea.

 

 "Is this the scenic island tour my travel agent recommended?"he asked

 Dirk, sticking his head through a sliding cockpit window.

 

 "Step right up, sonny boy, you won't be disappointed.All the water,

 rocks, and sea lions your eyes can absorb."

 

 "Sounds swell.I'll give you an extra quarter if you can find me a bar

 with a short-skirted waitress."

 

 "I'll see what I can do," Dirk grinned as Dahlgren climbed into the

 copilot's seat.

 

 The two men had become fast friends years before, while studying ocean

 engineering at Florida Atlantic University.Avid divers, they

 regularly cut classes together in order to spearfish the coral reefs

 lying off Boca Raton, using their fresh-caught fish to woo local

 sorority girls with barbecues on the beach.After graduating, Jack

 completed his college ROTC commitment in the Navy while Dirk obtained a

 master's degree from the New York Maritime College and trained at a

 commercial dive school.The two men were reunited when Dirk joined his

 father at NUMA as a special projects director and convinced his old

 friend to accompany him at the prestigious research agency.

 

 After years of diving together, there was almost an unspoken bond

 between the two men.They knew they could depend on each other and

 performed at their best when the chips were down.Dahlgren had seen

 the look of determination in Dirk's eyes before and knew the dogged

 persistence that came with it.The mysterious events on Yu-naska were

 weighing on his friend, Dahlgren noticed, and he wasn't likely to let

 it go.

 

 The main rotor blade of the Sikorsky wound to a high pitch as Dirk

 gently eased the helicopter up and off a small landing platform mounted

 amidships of the Deep Endeavor.Climbing to one hundred feet, Dirk

 held the helicopter stationary for a moment, admiring the bird's-eye

 view of the NUMA research ship.The wide-beamed, turquoise-colored

 survey ship had a stubby look to her 270-foot length.But the lack of

 a svelte streamline made for a stable work platform, ideal for

 operating the myriad of cranes and hoists strategically positioned

 about the large, open stern deck.In the middle of the deck, a bright

 yellow submersible sparkled like a jewel in the late afternoon sunlight

 as it rested on a large wooden cradle, while several technicians

 tinkered with its thrusters and electronics.One of the technicians

 stood and waved his cap toward the suspended helicopter.Dirk threw

 the man a quick wave, then banked the chopper and headed northeast

 toward the island of Yunaska, less than ten miles away.

 

 "Back to Yunaska?"asked Dahlgren.

 

 "The Coast Guard station we scouted this morning."

 

 "Great," Dahlgren moaned."We acting as a flying hearse?"

 

 "No, just checking out the source of whatever killed the men and

 dog."

 

 "And are we looking for animal, vegetable, or mineral?"Dahlgren asked

 through his headset, his teeth mashing a large wad of gum.

 

 "All three," Dirk replied."Carl Nash told me that a toxic cloud could

 be created by anything from an active volcano to an algae bloom, not to

 mention your garden-variety industrial pollutant."

 

 "Just stop at the next walrus and I'll ask for directions to the

 closest pesticide factory."

 

 "That reminds me, where's Basil?"Dirk asked, his eyes glancing about

 the cockpit.

 

 "Right here, safe and sound," Dahlgren replied, grabbing a small cage

 from beneath his seat and holding it up in front of his face.Inside,

 a small white mouse peered back at Dahlgren, his tiny whiskers

 twitching back and forth.

 

 "Breathe deep, little friend, and don't go to sleep on us," Dahlgren

 requested of the furry rodent.He then strung the cage from an

 overhead lanyard, like a canary in a coal mine, so they could easily

 see if the mouse succumbed to any toxins in the air.

 

 The grassy island of Yunaska crested out of the slate green water ahead

 of them, a sprinkling of light cirrus clouds dancing about the larger

 of the island's two extinct volcanic peaks.Dirk gradually increased

 the helicopter's altitude as they approached the craggy shoreline, then

 banked left along the water's edge.Flying counterclockwise around the

 island's perimeter, it took only a few minutes before they spotted the

 yellow building of the Coast Guard station.Bringing the helicopter to

 a hover, Dirk and Dahlgren carefully examined the ground surrounding

 the station for any unusual signs.Dirk eyed the body of Max the husky

 still lying outside the hut's door and it brought back to mind the look

 of pain and horror on the dead men's faces inside when he and Dahlgren

 first landed at the station earlier in the day.He carefully shelved

 his emotions and shifted his mental motor to discovering the source of

 the deadly toxic breeze.

 

 Dirk nodded past the windscreen to the right."The prevailing winds

 come from the west, so the source would likely have come from farther

 up the coast.Or possibly from offshore."

 

 "Makes sense.The CDC team was camped to the east of here and they

 obviously caught a less lethal dose of the mystery gas," Dahlgren

 replied while peering at the ground through low-power binoculars.

 

 Dirk applied a gentle force to the cyclic control lever and the

 helicopter edged forward and away from the yellow structure.For the

 next hour the two men strained eyeballs searching the grassy island for

 signs of a natural or man-made origin to the toxin.Dirk traced wide

 semicircular arcs north and south across the island, expanding their

 way west until they reached the western coast and returned to the

 vicinity of the Coast Guard station.

 

 "Nothing but grass and rocks," Dahlgren grumbled."The seals can keep

 it, as far as I'm concerned."

 

 "Speaking of which, take a look down there," Dirk replied, pointing to

 a small gravel beach ahead of them.

 

 A half-dozen brown sea lions lay stretched out on the ground, seemingly

 enjoying the rays of the late afternoon sun.Dahlgren looked closer

 his forehead suddenly wrinkling in puzzlement.

 

 "Geez, they're not moving.They've all bought it, too."

 

 "This thing must not have come from Yunaska but from the sea, or the

 next island over."

 

 "Amukta is the next rock pile to the west," Dahlgren replied, running

 his finger across a chart of the region.

 

 Dirk could clearly see the dirty gray outline of the island on the

 horizon."Looks to be about twenty miles from here."

 

 Eyeing the helicopter's fuel gauge, he continued, "I think we've got

 time for a quick gander before our fuel runs low.Okay if you miss

 your pedicure treatment in the ship's salon?"

 

 "Sure I'll just reschedule it with my body wrap tomorrow," Dahlgren

 replied.

 

 "I'll let Burch know where we're headed," Dirk said, dialing up the

 ship's radio frequency.

 

 "Tell him to hold supper in the galley," Dahlgren added while rubbing

 his stomach."I'm working up an appetite taking in all this

 scenery."

 

 As Dirk radioed the survey ship, he guided the Sikorsky toward the

 island of Amukta, skimming low over the open water.The powerful

 helicopter, designed for offshore oil transport, flew straight as a

 rail under Dirk's firm hand.After cruising steadily for ten minutes,

 Dahlgren quietly lifted an arm and pointed out the cockpit window to an

 object on the horizon.It was a white speck, growing larger by the

 second, until it slowly revealed itself as a large boat complete with

 trailing wake.Without a word, Dirk applied gentle pressure to his

 left pedal control until the helicopter eased about on the same line as

 the boat.Approaching rapidly, they could see it was a steel-hulled

 fishing trawler, running to the southwest at full bore.

 

 "Now, there's a tub calling out for a little spit and polish," Pitt

 remarked as he eased off the throttle to match speeds with the boat.

 

 Though not appearing particularly old, the fishing vessel had obvious

 signs of hard use over the years.Scrapes, dents, and grease marks

 abounded both on the hull and throughout the open deck.Its original

 coating of white paint was worn thin in the spots where rust had not

 yet declared victory.By outward appearance, she looked as tired as

 the frayed bald tires hanging over her sides like a string of donuts.

 Yet like many disheveled-appearing work boats her twin diesel engines

 were newly rebuilt and pushed the hulk hard through the waves with a

 barely a wisp of black smoke from the funnel.

 

 Dirk studied the boat carefully, noting with interest that no flags

 flew from the mast, which might identify nationality.Both the bow

 sides and the stern were absent a ship name or home port.As he

 perused the stern deck, two Asian men in blue jumpsuits stepped into

 view and peered at the helicopter with looks of angst.

 

 "Don't look overly friendly now, do they?"Dahlgren remarked before

 waving and grinning toward the boat.The two jumpsuits simply scowled

 in return.

 

 "You wouldn't be, either, if you worked on that mangy derelict," Dirk

 said as he steadied the Sikorsky in a hover just aft of the churning

 boat."Anything strike you as odd about that fishing boat?"he asked,

 eyeing the stern deck.

 

 "You mean the fact that no fishing equipment is anywhere to be seen?"

 

 "Precisely," Dirk replied, inching the helicopter closer to the boat.

 He noted an odd trestle mounted in the center of the deck, built up

 approximately fifteen feet high.No streaks of rust could be seen on

 the metal framing, indicating it was a recent addition to the boat.In

 a star-shaped pattern at the base of the trestle was a gray powdery

 marking that appeared singed into the surface of the deck.

 

 As the helicopter crept closer, the two men on deck suddenly began

 jabbering animately with each other, then ducked down a stairwell.At

 the head of the stairwell, five sea lion carcasses were stretched out

 on the deck side by side like sardines in a tin.To the left of the

 corpses was a small steel pen, which contained three live sea lions.

 

 "Since when has the demand for seal blubber surpassed the market for

 crab legs?"Dahlgren said idly.

 

 "Not sure, but I don't think Nanook of the North would be too happy

 about these guys stealing his dinner."

 

 Then came the flash of fire.Dirk detected it out of the corner of his

 eye and instinctively pressed hard on the left foot pedal, throwing the

 Sikorsky into a quick half spin.The move saved their lives.As the

 helicopter began to turn, a spray of bullets found their mark and burst

 into the machine.But rather than smashing into the forward section of

 the cockpit, the hail of fire entered in front of the pilots and ripped

 into the instrument panel.The console, gauges, and radio shattered

 into bits, but the pilots and critical mechanical components went

 unharmed.

 

 "Guess they didn't like the Nanook comment," Dahlgren dead-panned as he

 watched the two men in jumpsuits reappear and fire into the helicopter

 with automatic rifles.

 

 Dirk said nothing as he throttled up the Sikorsky to its maximum thrust

 and attempted to swing clear of the gunmen.On the port half deck of

 the trawler, the two men were continuing to fire their Russian-made

 AK-74s at the helicopter.Without contemplating their target, they

 foolishly aimed their fire at the cabin rather than the more

 susceptible rotors.Inside the helicopter, the rackety sound of the

 machine-gun fire was lost to the whine of the engine and rotors.Dirk

 and Dahlgren could hear only a slight tapping behind them on the

 fuselage.

 

 Dirk wheeled the helicopter around in a wide arc to the starboard side

 of the trawler, putting the ship's bridge between him and the gunmen,

 shielding themselves from the gunfire.Temporarily free from attack,

 he muscled the helicopter level, then aimed it toward the island of

 Amukta looming in the distance.

 

 But the damage had been done.The cockpit began filling with smoke as

 Dirk fought the fiercely bucking controls.The rain of lead had

 smashed into the electronics, pierced hydraulic lines, and riddled the

 control gauges.Dahlgren detected a warm trickle on his ankle and felt

 down to find a neat hole shot through his calf.Several rounds had

 also found the turbine, but still the rotor chugged on, coughing and

 cajoling itself in gasps.

 

 "I'll try for the island, but be prepared to ditch," Dirk shouted over

 the racket of the disintegrating engine.A foul blue smoke filled the

 cockpit, accompanied by the acrid odor of burning wiring.Through the

 haze, Dirk could barely make out the island ahead, and what looked like

 a small beach.

 

 In his hands, the control stick shook like a jackhammer.Dirk used all

 his strength to hold the craft steady and willed it forward as it began

 to shake itself apart.Agonizingly close, he could see the shoreline

 beckoning as the aircraft lurched ahead low to the sea, smoke belching

 its wheels skimming just above the surf.But just short of the

 shoreline, the shot-up turbine could take no more.Digesting a handful

 of its own parts, the turbine wailed before grinding to a halt with a

 loud pop.

 

 As the turbine died, Dirk pulled on the collective control lever with

 all his might to keep the nose up as power to the rotors was lost.The

 tail rotor sliced down into the water, acting as an anchor to slow the

 forward progress of the entire craft.The Sikorsky hung suspended for

 a moment in the air before gravity caught up and the cabin dropped to

 the water, slapping the surface with a smack.The main rotor spun into

 the surf, attempting to whip through the sea, but the sudden impact

 with the water cracked the main spindle and the entire rotor

 cartwheeled off to the side fifty feet before sinking in a spray of

 foam.

 

 The cabin of the Sikorsky remarkably held together during the crash and

 bobbed on the surface for a second before being sucked under the waves.

 Through the smashed windshield, Dirk caught a glimpse of a wave

 breaking over a sandy beach before the icy water filled the cockpit and

 stung his body.Dahlgren was trying to kick out a side-panel door as

 the green water enveloped them rapidly, rising to the cockpit ceiling.

 In unison, each man raised his head and took a last gasp of air before

 the murky cold water rose over them.Then the turquoise helicopter

 disappeared completely from the surface in a swirl of bubbles, sinking

 swiftly to the rocky seafloor.

 

 Captain Burch immediately launched a search-and-rescue mission after he

 lost radio contact with Dirk and Dahlgren.He brought the Deep

 Endeavor to Dirk's last reported position, then began a visual search

 for the two men, sailing west in a zigzag pattern from Yunaska to

 Amukta.Every available crewman was called to the deck to scan the

 horizon for signs of the men or helicopter, while in the ship's radio

 shack the radioman continued a tireless call for the missing

 aircraft.

 

 After three hours of searching, no trace was found of the helicopter

 and an apprehensive dread fell over the ship's crew.The Deep Endeavor

 had worked its way close to Amukta Island, which was little more than a

 steep volcanic cone popping out of the sea.Dusk was approaching and

 the sky turned a purplish red on the western horizon as the day's light

 slowly diminished.Executive Officer Leo Delgado was studying the

 steep shape of the mountainous island when a faint blur caught his

 eye.

 

 "Captain, there's smoke on the shoreline," he reported, pointing a

 finger toward the hazy spot on the island.

 

 Burch held a pair of binoculars to his eyes and looked intently at the

 spot for several moments.

 

 "Burning debris, sir?"Delgado asked, fearful of the answer.

 

 "Perhaps.Or it could be a signal fire.Can't tell from here.

 Delgado, take two men in the Zodiac and see what you can find on shore.

 I'll bring the ship in behind you as close as I can get."

 

 "Yes, sir," Delgado responded, already crossing the bridge before the

 captain had finished speaking.

 

 A gusty breeze had kicked up, making the evening seas choppy by the

 time the Zodiac was lowered into the water.Delgado and the two

 crewmen got doused with cold sea spray repeatedly as the rubber boat

 bounced over the swells in their anxious drive to the shore.The skies

 were nearly dark and the helmsmen had a difficult time tracking the

 wisps of smoke against the black backdrop of the peaked island.The

 island appeared to be surrounded by a steep and rocky shoreline and

 Delgado wondered whether they would even be able to get ashore.

 Finally, he spotted a quick glimpse of the fire's flame and directed

 the Zodiac toward it.A small channel through the rocks opened up,

 leading to a pebble-strewn patch of beach.Gunning the motor to ride

 the crest of a wave in, the twelve-foot rubber boat bounded through the

 channel and ground to the shore with a crunch as the hull plate scraped

 some small rocks before sliding to a stop.

 

 Delgado jumped out of the inflatable boat and ran apprehensively toward

 the smoky fire.Two shadowy figures could be seen hunched over the

 smoldering driftwood fire trying to keep warm, their backs turned to

 Delgado.

 

 "Pitt?Dahlgren?Are you guys okay?"Delgado shouted out hesitantly

 before approaching too close.

 

 The two soggy-looking derelicts slowly turned toward Delgado as if

 rudely interrupted from an important meeting.Dahlgren was holding a

 half-eaten crab claw in one hand, while the head of a white

 

 mouse peeked out of his chest pocket sniffing the night air.Dirk

 stood holding a sharp stick, the end of which pierced the shell of a

 huge Alaskan king crab whose spiny legs Dirk dangled over the open

 flame.

 

 "Well," Dirk said, tearing a steaming leg off the big crustacean, "we

 could use some lemon and butter."

 

 After briefing Burch on their encounter with the fishing trawler, Dirk

 and Dahlgren limped to the ship's medical station for treatment of

 their wounds and to slip into some dry clothes.Dahlgren's bullet

 wound had pierced the meaty section of his left calf but, fortunately,

 had missed damaging any tendons.As the ship's doctor inserted sutures

 to close up the wound, Dahlgren nonchalantly lit up a cigar while lying

 on the examination table.When the smoke hit the physician's nostrils,

 he nearly ripped out the sutures by hand before forcing Dahlgren to

 douse the smelly tobacco.With a grin, the doctor handed Dahlgren a

 pair of crutches and told him to stay off his leg for three days.

 

 Dirk had his bloodied cheek and forehead cleaned and bandaged after

 catching a face full of shattered glass when the helicopter hit the

 surf.Remarkably, the two men incurred no other injuries from the

 crash and sinking of the Sikorsky.Dirk had saved them from drowning

 when he noticed a fuselage door had popped off during the crash

 landing.After the helicopter filled with water, Dirk grabbed Dahlgren

 and swam out the opening and made for the surface.With the aid of

 Dahlgren's trusty Zippo lighter, they were able to ignite some dry

 driftwood on the beach and stave off hypothermia until Delgado arrived

 in the rubber boat.

 

 Captain Burch, meanwhile, reported the loss of the helicopter to NUMA

 headquarters, as well as reporting the incident to the Coast Guard and

 the Atka village public safety officer.The nearest Coast Guard patrol

 vessel was hundreds of miles away at Attu Is

 

 land.Information about the fishing trawler was reported in detail but

 the odds for an interdiction were slim at best.

 

 After donning a black turtleneck sweater and jeans, Dirk made his way

 to the wheelhouse.Burch was leaning over the chart table plotting a

 course through the Aleutian Islands.

 

 "Aren't we heading back to Yunaska to retrieve the bodies of the Coast

 Guardsmen?"Dirk asked.

 

 Burch shook his head."Not our job.Better to leave them be and allow

 the proper authorities to handle the investigation.I'm laying a

 course for the fishing port at Unalaska to disembark the CDC

 scientists."

 

 "I'd rather make for that trawler," Dirk said.

 

 "We've lost our helicopter and they have an eight-hour lead on us. We'd

 be lucky to find them, assuming we could even outrun them.The Navy,

 Coast Guard, and local authorities have all been alerted to your

 description.They have a better chance of finding that trawler than we

 do."

 

 "Perhaps, but their resources are all thin in this part of the world.

 Those chances are slim at best."

 

 "There's little more we can do.Our survey work is finished and we

 need to get those injured scientists appropriate medical care.There's

 no sense in hanging around any longer."

 

 Dirk nodded."You're right, of course."Wishing there was a way to

 find the trawler, he headed down the ladder to the ship's galley for a

 cup of coffee.Dinner had long since been served and a cleanup crew

 was working over the kitchen before shutting down.Dirk filled a mug

 of coffee from a large silver urn, then turned and spotted Sarah

 sitting in a wheelchair at the end of the dining hall.The

 golden-haired woman sat alone at a table, peering out a large porthole

 at the moonlit water outside.She was dressed in the dull medical ward

 attire of cotton pajamas, slippers, and a blue robe but still gave off

 a vibrant glow.As Dirk approached, she looked up and her eyes

 twinkled.

 

 "Too late for dinner?"he asked apologetically.

 

 "Afraid so.You missed the chef's special Halibut Oscar, which was

 truly excellent."

 

 "Just my luck," Dirk replied, drawing a chair and sitting down directly

 across from her.

 

 "What happened to you?"Sarah asked with concern in her voice as she

 eyed the bandages on Dirk's face.

 

 "Just a little accident with the helicopter.I don't think my boss is

 going to like the news," he said with a grimace, thinking about the

 expensive helicopter sitting at the bottom of the sea.Dirk proceeded

 to describe the events of the flight, all the while gazing intently

 into Sarah's hazel-colored eyes.

 

 "Do you think the fishing boat had something to do with the death of

 the Coast Guardsmen and us getting sick?"she asked.

 

 "It only goes to figure.They obviously weren't too keen on us seeing

 them poaching sea lions, or whatever else they were up to."

 

 "The sea lions," Sarah murmured."Did you see any sea lions on the

 west end of the island when you flew over?"

 

 "Yes, Jack spotted several just past the Coast Guard-station on the

 western shore.They all appeared to be dead."

 

 "Do you think the Deep Endeavor could obtain one of the cadavers to

 study?I could arrange to have the specimen sent to the state lab in

 Washington we are working out of."

 

 "Captain Burch isn't eager to stick around the area, but I'm sure I can

 convince him to retrieve one for scientific purposes," Dirk said before

 taking a long draw from his coffee."We are actually headed back to

 port in Seattle, so could deliver it there in a few more days."

 

 "We could perform an autopsy of the animal and determine the source of

 death relatively quickly.I'm sure the Alaska state authorities will

 take some time to release the cause of death of the two Coast

 Guardsmen, and they might not want the CDC looking over their

 shoulder."

 

 "Do you think there might be a link with the dead sea lions that were

 found on the other Aleutian islands?"

 

 "I don't know.We believe the cadavers found near the mainland were

 infected by a canine distemper virus."

 

 "Distemper?From dogs?"

 

 "Yes.A viral outbreak likely occurred through contact between an

 infected domestic dog and one or more sea lions.Distemper is very

 contagious and could spread rapidly through a concentrated sea lion

 population."

 

 "Wasn't there a similar outbreak in Russia a few years ago?"Dirk

 tried to recall.

 

 "Kazakhstan, actually.Thousands of Caspian seals died in 2000 due to

 an outbreak of distemper near the Ural River along the Caspian Sea."

 

 "Irv told me you found healthy, uninfected sea lions on Yunaska."

 

 "Yes, the distemper did not appear to have reached this far west. Which

 will make an examination of the dead sea lions you saw from the

 helicopter that much more intriguing."

 

 A quiet pause fell over the couple and Sarah could see a faraway look

 in Dirk's eyes as the wheels churned inside his head.After a moment,

 she broke the silence.

 

 "The men on the boat.Who do you think they were?What were they

 doing?"

 

 Dirk stared out the porthole for a long minute."I don't know," he

 replied quietly, "but I intend to find out."

 

 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.

 "Though not one hundred percent certain, we are fairly confident the

 sea lion was killed by hydrogen cyanide poisoning."

 

 "Cyanide?"Dirk asked with an arched eyebrow.

 

 "Yes," Sandy replied."It makes sense.Cyanide is actually expelled

 rapidly from the human body.In the case of Sarah, Irv, and me, our

 bodies had naturally purged most, if not all, of the cyanide toxins

 before we stepped in the door of the Anchorage hospital.Hence, no

 trace remained when our blood samples were taken."

 

 "I've contacted the Alaska State Coroner's Office and informed them of

 our findings.They have not completed the autopsy report on the two

 Coast Guardsmen yet, but they will know what to look for.I am

 convinced that is what killed them," Sarah said with a tinge of

 sadness.

 

 "I always thought cyanide had to be ingested in order to be lethal,"

 Dirk remarked.

 

 "That's what's commonly known, but it's not the only deadly form of the

 poison.Everyone knows of cyanide tablets carried by wartime spies, the deadly Jim Jones cyanide-laced Kool-Aid that killed hundreds

 in Jonestown, Guyana, and the Tylenol poisonings, which used cyanide.

 But cyanide gas has also been used as a killing agent.The French

 tried variations of cyanide gas against the Germans in the trenches

 during World War One.And though the Germans never used it on the

 battlefield, they did use a form of cyanide in the concentration camp

 gas chambers during the Second World War."

 

 "The infamous Zyklon B," Dirk recalled.

 

 "Yes, a beefed-up fumigant originally developed to kill rodents," Sarah

 continued."And, more recently, Saddam Hussein was suspected of using

 a form of cyanide gas in attacks on Kurdish villages in his own

 country, although it was never verified."

 

 "Since we packed in our own food and water supplies," Sandy piped in,

 "the airborne poisoning makes sense.It would also explain the deaths

 of the sea lions."

 

 "Is it possible for the cyanide to have originated from a natural

 source?"Dirk inquired.

 

 "Cyanide is found in a variety of plants and edibles, from lima beans

 to choke cherriesBut it's as an industrial solvent where it is most

 prevalent," Sarah explained."Tons of the stuff are manufactured each

 year for electroplating, gold and silver extraction, and fumigants.

 Most people probably come in contact with some form of cyanide every

 day.But to answer your question, it's unlikely to exist in a gaseous

 state from a natural source sufficient to reach any sort of lethality.

 Sandy, what did you find in the historical profile of cyanide deaths in

 the U.S.?"

 

 "There's been a slew of them, but most are individual accidents or

 suspected homicides or suicides resulting from ingestion of solid

 cyanides."Sandy reached down and picked up a manila folder she had

 brought along and skimmed through one of the pages inside.

 

 "The only significant mass death was related to the Tylenol poisonings,

 which killed seven people, again by ingestion.I found only two

 references for multiple deaths from suspected cyanide gas.A family of

 four died in the Oregon town of Warrenton back in 1942, and in 1964

 three men were killed in Butte, Montana.The Montana case was listed

 as a mining accident due to extraction solvents.The Oregon case was

 listed as undetermined.And I found next to nothing for prior

 incidences in and around Alaska."

 

 "Then a natural-occurring release doesn't sound very likely," Dirk

 remarked.

 

 "So if it was a man-made airborne release, who did it and why?"Sandy

 asked while jabbing her fork into a bowl of angel-hair pasta.

 

 "I think the 'who' was our friends on the fishing boat," he said

 drily.

 

 "They weren't picked up by the authorities?"Sarah asked.

 

 Dirk shook his head in disgust."No, the trawler disappeared.By the

 time the local authorities arrived in the area, they were long gone.

 The official assessment is that they were presumed to be foreign

 poachers."

 

 "I suppose it's possible.It sounds a little dangerous to me, but I

 guess they could release the gas from their boat upwind of a sea lion

 colony," Sarah replied, shaking her head.

 

 "A fast way to do a lot of killing," Dirk added."Though poachers

 armed with AK-47s does seem a little extreme.And I'm still wondering

 about the retail market for sea lions."

 

 "It is perplexing.I haven't heard of anything like it before."

 

 "I hope that you two don't suffer any ill effects from the exposure,"

 Dirk said, looking at Sarah with concern.

 

 "Thanks," Sarah replied."It was a shock to our system, but we'll be

 fine.The long-term effect for minimal exposure has not been proven to

 be dangerous."

 

 Dirk pushed away a cleaned plate of Pasta Alfredo and rubbed his taut

 stomach with satisfaction.

 

 "Excellent dining choice."

 

 "We eat here all the time," Sarah said as she reached over and

 out-grabbed Dirk for the bill.

 

 "I insist on returning the favor," Dirk said, looking at Sarah with a

 serious smile.

 

 "Sandy and I have to travel to the CDC research lab in Spokane for a

 few days, but I'd love to take you up when we return," she replied,

 intentionally leaving Sandy out of the equation.

 

 Dirk smiled in acknowledgment."I can't wait."

 

 The landing wheels of the Gulfstream V jet dropped slowly from the

 fuselage as the sleek aircraft aligned its nose at the runway.Its

 wings cut through the moist, hazy air like a scalpel, as the

 nineteen-passenger luxury business jet dropped gracefully out of the

 sky until its rubber tires touched the tarmac with a screech and a wisp

 of blue smoke.The pilot guided the plane to the corporate jet

 terminal of Tokyo's modern Narita International Airport before shutting

 down the high-pitched turbines.As a ground crew chocked the wheels of

 the jet, a gleaming black Lincoln limousine glided up, stopping

 precisely at the base of the plane's passenger stairwell.

 

 Chris Gavin squinted in the bright sun as he stepped down from the jet

 and climbed into the waiting limo, followed by a legion of assistants

 and assorted vice presidents.As chief executive officer of SemCon

 Industries, Gavin commanded the largest semiconductor manufacturing

 company in the world.The flamboyant and free-spending corporate

 chief, who inherited the company from a visionary father, had alienated

 many of his countrymen in the United States by closing profitable

 factories and brusquely laying off thousands of workers at home in

 order to move production to newer and cheaper facilities offshore.

 Profits would be higher, he promised his shareholders, while taking

 personal delight in broadening his elaborate lifestyle to a worldwide

 setting.

 

 Exiting the airport grounds located some sixty-six kilometers northeast

 of Tokyo, the limo driver entered the Higashi Kanto Expressway and

 headed toward Japan's capital city with his cargo of high-salaried

 executives.Twenty minutes later, the driver turned south, exiting the

 highway some twenty kilometers short of Tokyo.The limo soon entered

 the industrial section of Chiba, a large port city on the eastern edge

 of Tokyo Bay.The driver wound past a number of large drab

 manufacturing buildings before pulling up in front of a sleek glass

 building overlooking the bay.The modern structure looked more like an

 executive office building than the industrial fabrication plant it

 contained, with its shimmering face of gold reflective windows rising

 four stories high.Mounted on the roof in huge block letters was

 a blue semcon neon sign, which could be seen for miles away.A large

 crowd of factory workers, all clad in pale blue lab coats, waited

 anxiously on the grounds for the arrival of their CEO to officially

 open the new facility.

 

 The crowd cheered and cameras flashed as Gavin exited the limo and

 waved to the assembled employees and media, baring a wide, capped-tooth

 grin.After a pair of long-winded welcome speeches by the mayor of

 Chiba and the new plant manager, Gavin offered a few polished words of

 thanks and inspiration to the employees, then hoisted a comically

 oversized pair of scissors and cut a thick ribbon stretched tight

 across the entrance to the new building.As the crowd applauded

 politely, a muffled boom echoed from somewhere in the depths of the

 building, which some mistook for a firing of celebratory fireworks. But

 then a succession of louder explosions rocked the building and the

 assembly of employees suddenly gasped in confusion.

 

 In the heart of the building's silicon chip fabrication center, a

 small

 

 timed charge had detonated on a tank of silane gas, a highly flammable

 substance used in the growth of silicon crystals.Exploding like a

 torpedo, the tank had flung metallic fragments at high velocity into a

 half-dozen additional silane and oxygen tanks stored nearby, causing

 them to burst in a series of concussions that culminated in a massive

 fireball inside the building.Soaring temperatures soon caused the

 exterior windows to blast out in a burst of hot air, showering the

 stunned crowd with a hail of glass and debris.

 

 As the building shook and flames roared from the roof, the panicked

 employees began to scramble in all directions.Gavin stood holding the

 pair of giant scissors, a look of stunned confusion on his face.A

 sharp pain suddenly pierced his neck, jolting his senses. Instinctively

 rubbing the ache with his fingers, he was shocked to feel a small

 barbed steel ball the size of a BB lodged in his skin.As he extracted

 the tiny pellet with a trickle of blood, a nearby woman screamed and

 ran by him, a large sliver of fallen window glass protruding from her

 shoulder.A couple of terrified assistants quickly grabbed Gavin and

 led him toward the limo, shielding him from a nosy photographer eager

 to snap an embarrassing shot of the corporate mogul in front of his

 burning building.

 

 As he was whisked to the limo, Gavin's legs suddenly turned to rubber.

 He turned toward one of his assistants to speak but no words came from

 his lips.As the car door was opened, he sprawled forward into the

 car, falling chest first onto the carpeted floor.A confused aide

 rolled him over and was horrified to find that the CEO was not

 breathing.A panicked attempt at CPR was performed as the limo

 screeched off to a nearby hospital, but it was to no avail.The

 mercurial self-centered leader of the global company was dead.

 

 Few people had paid any attention to the bald man with dark eyes and

 droopy mustache who had crowded up close to the speaker's platform.

 Wearing a blue lab coat and plastic identification badge, he looked

 like any other SemCon employee.Fewer still noticed that he carried a

 plastic drinking cup with an odd bamboo straw sticking out

 

 the top.And in the confusion of the explosions, not a single person

 had noticed as he pulled out the straw, placed it to his lips, and

 fired a poisoned bead at the head of the giant corporation.

 

 Casually losing himself in the crowd, the bald assassin made his way to

 the edge of the property's grounds, where he tossed his cup and lab

 coat into a streetside trash can.Hopping onto a bicycle, he paused

 briefly as a clanging fire truck roared down the street toward the

 engulfed building.Then, without looking back, he casually pedaled

 away.

 

 A dinging bell echoed in Dahlgren's mind like some distant train at a

 railroad crossing.The feverish hope that the sound was part of a

 dream fell away as his consciousness took hold and told him it was a

 ringing telephone.Groping for the receiver on his nightstand, he

 yawned a weary "Hullo."

 

 "Jack, you still sawing logs?"Dirk's voice laughed over the line.

 

 "Yeah, thanks for the wake-up call," he replied groggily.

 

 "I thought bankers didn't like to stay up late."

 

 "This one does.And likes to drink vodka, too.I think a dinosaur

 crapped in my mouth during the night," Dahlgren said with a belch.

 

 "Sorry to hear.Say, I'm thinking of taking a drive to Portland to

 stretch out my sea legs and take in a car show.Care to ride

 shotgun?"

 

 "No thanks.I'm supposed to take the teller kayaking today.That is,

 if I can still stand up."

 

 "Okay.I'll send over a Bombay martini to get you started."

 

 "Roger that," Dahlgren replied with a grimace.

 

 Dirk headed south from Seattle on Interstate 5 in the NUMA jeep,

 enjoying the sights of the lush forested region of western Washington.

 He found cross-country drives relaxing, as they allowed his

 

 mind to roam freely with the open countryside.Finding himself making

 good time, he decided to detour west along the coast, taking a side

 road to Willapa Bay before continuing south along the Pacific waters of

 the large bay.Soon he reached the wide blue mouth of the Columbia

 River, and cruised the same shores upon which Lewis and Clark had

 triumphantly set foot back in 1805.

 

 Crossing the mighty river over the four-mile-long Astoria-Megler

 Bridge, Dirk exited at the historic fishing port of Astoria.As he

 stopped at a red light on the bridge off ramp, a road sign caught his

 eye.In white letters on a green field, warrenton 8 mi.was preceded

 by an arrow pointing west.Prodded by curiosity, he followed the sign

 right, away from Portland, and quickly traversed the few miles to

 Warrenton.

 

 The small town at Oregon's northwest tip, originally built on a tidal

 marsh as a fishing and sport boat passage to the Pacific, supported

 some four thousand residents.It took Dirk only a few minutes of

 driving about the town before he found what he was looking for on Main

 Street.Parking his jeep next to a white Clatsop County official

 vehicle, he strolled up a concrete walkway to the front door of the

 Warrenton Community Library.

 

 It was a small library but looked like it had been in existence for six

 or seven decades.A musty smell of old books and older dust wafted

 lightly in the air.Dirk walked straight to a large metal desk, from

 which a fiftyish woman with contemporary eyeglasses and short blond

 hair looked up suspiciously.A plastic green badge pinned to her

 blouse revealed her name: margaret.

 

 "Good morning, Margaret.My name is Dirk," he said with a smile."I

 wonder if you might have copies of the local newspaper from the

 nineteen forties?"

 

 The librarian warmed slightly."The Warrenton News, which went out of

 print in 1964.We do have original copies from the nineteen thirties

 through the sixties.Right this way," she said.

 

 Margaret walked to a cramped corner of the library, where she

 

 pulled out several drawers of a filing cabinet before discovering the

 location of the 1940s editions.

 

 "What exactly is it that you are looking for?"she asked, more out of

 nosiness than of a desire to help.

 

 "I'm interested in the story of a local family that died suddenly from

 poisoning back in 1942."

 

 "Oh, that would be Leigh Hunt," Margaret exclaimed with a knowing

 smugness."He was a friend of my father.Apparently, that was quite a

 shock around here.Let's see, I think that happened during the

 summer," she said while flipping through the cabinet."Did you know

 the family?"she asked Dirk without looking up.

 

 "No, just a history buff interested in the mystery of their deaths."

 

 "Here we go," the librarian said, pulling out an edition of the daily

 newspaper dated Sunday, June 21, 1942.It was a small journal, mostly

 containing weather, tide, and salmon-fishing statistics combined with a

 few local stories and advertisements.Margaret flattened out the paper

 on top of the filing cabinet so Dirk could read the headline story.

 

 Four Dead on De Laura Beach

 

 Local resident Leigh Hunt, his two sons Tad (age 13) and Tom (age 11),

 and a nephew known only as Skip, were found dead Saturday, June 20th,

 on De Laura Beach.The four went out clamming in the afternoon,

 according to Hunt's wife Marie, and failed to return home for dinner.

 County Sheriff Kit Edwards discovered the bodies, which showed no signs

 of a struggle or physical injury."Not finding any physical marks, we

 immediately suspected smoke inhalation or poisoning.Leigh had a large

 supply of a cyanide treatment in his workshop that he used for tanning

 leather," Edwards remarked."He and the boys must have been exposed to

 a strong dose before they went to the beach, and the poison caught up

 with them there," he stated.Funeral arrangements are pending

 examination of the bodies by the county coroner.

 

 "Is there a follow-up news report on the coroner's findings?"he

 asked.

 

 Margaret rifled through another dozen editions of the News before

 finding a small article related to the deaths.Reading out loud, she

 cited that the coroner's office confirmed accidental cyanide inhalation

 as the suspected cause of death.

 

 "My father never did believe it was an accident," Margaret added, to

 Dirk's surprise.

 

 "It doesn't make sense that they would have died later at the beach

 after inhaling the fumes in Hunt's work shed," Dirk mused.

 

 "Papa said the same thing," Margaret replied, letting down her guard

 slightly. "And he said the authorities never did consider the

 birds."

 

 "Birds?"

 

 "Yes.About a hundred seagulls were found dead on the beach around the

 area that Hunt and the boys were found.Fort Stevens, the Army base,

 was right near that beach.Papa always suspected it was some sort of

 Army experiment that accidentally killed them.Guess nobody will ever

 know for sure."

 

 "Wartime secrets can be difficult to unlock sometimes," Dirk replied.

 "Thank you for your help, Margaret."

 

 Dirk returned to the jeep and drove through the town to the coastal

 highway and turned south.A short stretch of pavement later, he

 approached a small side road marked de laura beach road.The road led

 through an open pair of gates marked fort stevens state park before

 narrowing through thick underbrush.Dirk jammed the jeep into low gear

 and surged over a jagged ridge before descending to a large abandoned

 gun emplacement overlooking the ocean.Battery Russell had been one of

 several coastal defense sites guarding the entrance to the Columbia

 River which sprang up during the Civil War, then were later updated

 with huge long-range guns during World War II.From the emplacement,

 Dirk had a clear view of the shimmering blue waters at the mouth of the

 Columbia River, as well as the De Laura Beach below, which was dotted

 with afternoon pic nickers.Dirk soaked in a few deep breaths of the

 fresh sea air, then drove back out the small road, pulling off nearly

 into the brush at one point to let an oncoming black Cadillac pass by.

 Driving a quarter mile farther, he stopped the car at a large

 historical marker along the roadside that caught his eye.Carved on a

 massive gray slab of granite was a highly detailed engraving of a

 submarine, beneath which was inscribed:

 

 On June 21, 1942, a 5.5" shell exploded here.One of 17 fired at

 Columbia River Harbor Defense Installations by the Japanese Submarine

 I-25.The only hostile shelling of a military base on the U.S. mainland

 during World War II and the first since the War of 1812.

 

 As he read the inscription, he instinctively moved away from the road

 as the Cadillac returned and passed by slowly, to avoid kicking up

 dust.Dirk studied the submarine carving for a long moment and started

 to walk away.But something caught his eye and he looked again.It

 was the date.June 21, just a day after Hunt and the boys were found

 dead on the beach.

 

 Dirk reached into the jeep's glove compartment and pulled out a

 cellular phone, leaning against the car's hood as he dialed the number.

 After four rings, a deep and jolly voice boomed through the handset.

 

 "Perlmutter here."

 

 "Julien, it's Dirk.How's my favorite nautical historian?"

 

 "Dirk, my boy, so good to hear from you!I was just enjoying some

 pickled green mangoes your father sent me from the Philippines.Pray

 tell, how are you enjoying the Great White North?"

 

 "We just finished our survey in the Aleutians, so I am back in the

 Pacific Northwest.The islands were quite beautiful, though, but it

 was a little cold for my blood."

 

 "Heavens, I can imagine," Perlmutter's voice bellowed."So, what's on

 your mind, Dirk?"

 

 "World War Two-era Japanese submarines, to be exact.I'm curious

 about their record of attacks on the U.S. mainland and any unusual

 weaponry in their arsenals."

 

 "Imperial submarines, eh?I recall they made some fairly harmless

 attacks on the West Coast, but I have not delved into my Japanese

 wartime files in some time.I'll have to do some nosing about for

 you."

 

 "Thanks, Julien.And one more thing.Let me know if you run across

 any references to the use of cyanide as an armament."

 

 "Cyanide.Now, that would be nasty, wouldn't it?"Perlmutter asked

 rhetorically before hanging up.

 

 Contemplating the enormous collection of rare maritime history books

 and manuscripts jammed into his Georgetown carriage house, St.Julien

 Perlmutter needed only a few seconds of pondering to pinpoint the

 material he was looking for.Perlmutter resembled an overgrown Santa

 Claus, with sparkling blue eyes, a huge gray beard, and an enormous

 belly that helped him tip the scales at nearly four hundred pounds.

 Besides a penchant for gourmet foods, Perlmutter was known as one of

 the world's foremost maritime historians, in large part due to his

 peerless collection of sea-related ephemeris.

 

 Clad in silk pajamas and a paisley robe, Perlmutter padded across a

 thick Persian carpet to a mahogany bookcase, where he examined several

 titles before pulling down a book and two large binders with his meaty

 hands.Satisfied it was the material he was looking for, the immense

 man returned to an overstuffed red leather chair, where a plate of

 truffles and a hot pot of tea beckoned him.

 

 Dirk continued on his drive to Portland, where he found the antique

 auto auction he was looking for at a large, grassy fairgrounds at the

 city's edge.Scores of people milled about the gleaming autos, most

 

 from the forties, fifties, and sixties, which were neatly lined up on

 the wide grass field.Dirk sauntered by the cars, admiring the paint

 jobs and mechanical restorations, before heading to a large

 white-canopied tent where the auctioning was taking place.

 

 Inside, loudspeakers blared out the auctioneer's grating staccato voice

 as he spat out price bids like a rapid-fire machine gun.Grabbing a

 side seat away from the blare, Dirk watched in amusement as the team of

 auctioneers, wearing a ridiculous combination of seventies-style

 tuxedos and cheap cowboy hats, pranced around in a futile attempt to

 hype the excitement, and price, of each car.After several Corvettes

 and an early Thunderbird were passed through, Dirk sat up as a 1958

 Chrysler 300-D drove up onto the stage.The huge car was painted an

 original Aztec turquoise, enhanced by miles of gleaming chrome and a

 pair of rear tail fins that jutted into the air like the dorsal fin of

 a shark.In a reaction only a true car fanatic could understand, Dirk

 felt his heartbeat quicken simply at the sight of the artistic mass of

 steel and glass.

 

 "Perfectly restored to concourse condition by Pastime Restorations of

 Golden, Colorado," the auctioneer pitched.He resumed his vocal

 convulsions, but bidding on the car surprisingly stalled early.Dirk

 raised his hand in the air and was soon dueling for the car with an

 overweight man wearing yellow suspenders.Dirk quickly countered his

 opponent's bids in rapid succession, showing his intent was serious.

 The tactic worked.Yellow Suspenders shook his head after the third

 bid and headed toward the bar.

 

 "Sold to the man in the NUMA hat!"the auctioneer barked as the

 surrounding crowd applauded politely.Though it cost him several

 months' salary, Dirk recognized it was a good buy, knowing that less

 than two hundred Chrysler 300-D convertibles were manufactured in

 1958.

 

 As he arranged to have the car shipped up to Seattle, his cell phone

 started to ring.

 

 "Dirk, it's Julien.I have some information for you."

 

 "That was fast service."

 

 "Well, I wanted to get back to you before supper," Perlmutter replied,

 contemplating his next meal.

 

 "What can you tell me, Julien?"

 

 "After Pearl Harbor, the Japanese placed nine or ten submarines on

 station along the West Coast, but they were gradually pulled off as the

 battle action moved to the South Pacific.The Japanese submarines were

 primarily on reconnaissance missions, observing the major bays and

 harbors while trying to track major ship movements.They did manage to

 sink a handful of merchant ships early in the war and create a dose of

 psychological fear in the general public along the way.As for actual

 land attacks, the first occurred in early 1942, when the I-17 lobbed a

 few shells near Santa Barbara, damaging a pier and an oil derrick.In

 June of '42, the I-25 fired upon Fort Stevens, near Astoria, Oregon,

 while the I-26 bombarded a radio station on Vancouver Island in Canada.

 No fatalities were recorded in either of the attacks.In August of

 1942, the I-25 returned near Cape Blanco, Oregon, and launched a

 seaplane armed with incendiary bombs in an attempt to set fire to the

 nearby forests.The attack was a failure, as only one small fire was

 ignited in the region."

 

 "Sounds like they were primarily nuisance attacks," Dirk commented.

 

 "Yes, there was nothing overly strategic about their actions.Things

 slowed down after the incendiary attack, as the submarines were moved

 north to support the Aleutian campaign.Imperial submarines were

 heavily involved in supporting the capture and later evacuation of Attu

 and Kiska islands during fighting in 1943.The Japanese lost five subs

 during the Aleutian battles as our sonar technology really began to

 pick them out of the seas.After the fall of Kiska, just a few

 Imperial submarines continued to operate in the north and western

 Pacific.The I-180 was attacked and sunk near Kodiak, Alaska, in April

 of 1944, then things were pretty quiet on the home front until the

 I-403 was sunk off Cape Flattery, Washington, in January 1945."

 

 "Odd that one would get tagged off the West Coast at a point in the war

 when their navy was on its last legs."

 

 "It's even more queer when you consider that the I-403 was one of their

 big boats.Apparently, it was planning an air attack when it was

 surprised by an American destroyer."

 

 "Hard to believe they constructed submarines back then capable of

 carrying an airplane," Dirk marveled.

 

 "Their big boats could carry not just one but actually three airplanes.

 They were massive beasts."

 

 "Did you find any indication that the naval forces used cyanide

 weapons?"

 

 "None that was recorded in battle, but they did exist.It was the

 Imperial Army, I believe, and its biological warfare unit in China,

 that experimented with biological and chemical weapons.They did fool

 around with cyanide artillery shells, among other things, so it is

 possible the Navy tried experimenting with them, but there is no

 official record of their use."

 

 "I guess there is no way to prove it, but I suspect the I-25 launched a

 cyanide shell that killed four people the day before it attacked Fort

 Stevens."

 

 "Quite possible.May be hard to prove, as the I-25 was later lost in

 the South Pacific, presumably sunk near Espiritu Santo Island in 1943.

 But with one possible exception, all accounts I have seen indicate that

 the Japanese vessels were armed only with conventional weapons."

 

 "And the exception?"

 

 "The I-403 again.I found a reference in a postwar Army journal

 stating that a shipment of Maka^e ordnance was transferred to the Navy

 and delivered to the submarine in Kure prior to her last sailing.I've

 never seen a reference to Maka^e before, however, and could find no

 other references in my ordnance and munitions files."

 

 "Any idea what the term means?"

 

 "The best translation I can make of it is "Black Wind.""

 

 Dirk made a short phone call to Leo Delgado, then reached I Dahlgren,

 who was drinking a beer in a lounge overlooking Lake i Washington

 following his morning kayak with the bank teller.

 

 "Jack, you up for a dive tomorrow?"Dirk asked.

 

 "Sure.Spearfishing in the Sound?"

 

 "I've got something a little bigger in mind."

 

 "King salmon are game for me."

 

 "The fish I'm interested in," Dirk continued, "hasn't swum in over

 sixty years."

 

 Irv Fowler woke up with a raging headache.Too many beers the night

 before, the scientist mused as he dragged himself out of bed.Chugging

 down a cup of coffee and a donut, he convinced himself he felt better.

 But as the day wore on, the pain seemed to swell, with little relief

 offered despite his multiple hits on a bottle of aspirin.Eventually,

 his back joined in the game, sending out waves of pain with every

 movement he made.By midafternoon, he felt weak and tired, and left

 early from his temporary office at Alaska State Health and Social

 Services to drive back to his apartment and rest.

 

 After he downed a bowl of chicken soup, his abdomen started firing off

 streaks of shooting pain.So much for home remedies, he thought. After

 several fitful naps, he staggered into the bathroom for another dose of

 aspirin to help kill the pain.Looking into the glassy-eyed worn and

 weary face that stared back at him from the mirror, he noticed a bright

 red rash emerging on his cheeks.

 

 "Damndest flu I've ever had," he muttered aloud, then fell back into

 bed in a heap.

 

 Security was tight at the Tokyo Hilton Hotel and guests for the private

 banquet were required to pass through three separate checkpoints before

 gaining entry to the lavish dining hall. The Japan Export

 Association's annual dinner was an extravagant affair featuring the

 best local chefs and entertainers performing for the country's top

 business leaders and dignitaries.Executives from Japan's major

 exporting companies helped sponsor the dinner on behalf of their major

 trading partners.In addition to key customers, in-country diplomats

 from all the Western and Asian countries that constituted Japan's

 primary trading partners were treated as special guests.

 

 The recent assassination of U.S. Ambassador Hamilton and the bedlam at

 the SemCon factory opening had created a buzz in the crowd and heads

 turned when the American embassy's deputy chief of mission Robert

 Bridges entered the room, accompanied by two undercover security men.

 

 Though a career diplomat, Bridges was more at home working policy

 strategies or conducting business security briefings rather than

 socializing in mass crowds.Hamilton had been by far the better

 glad-hander, Bridges thought as he made small talk with a Japanese

 trade representative.A dinner host soon arrived and escorted him to a

 small banquet table, where he was seated with a number of European

 diplomats.

 

 As traditional dishes of sashimi and soba noodles were brought to the

 tables, a troupe of geisha dancers glided elegantly about a raised

 stage, dressed in brightly colored kimonos and twirling bamboo fans as

 they pirouetted.Bridges downed a shot of warm sake to help deaden the

 pain of listening to the French ambassador drone on about the poor

 quality of Asian wines while he watched the dancers spin.

 

 As the first course was finished, a litany of corporate executives ok

 to the stage to promote their self-importance with blustery speeches.

 Bridges took the opportunity to visit the restroom and, with large

 bodyguard leading the way, walked down a side corridor and into the

 men's room.

 

 The bodyguard scanned the tiled restroom, finding only a waiter washing

 his hands in a sink at the far end.Letting Bridges pass to the

 urinal, the bodyguard closed the door and stood facing the interior.

 

 The bald waiter slowly finished washing his hands, then turned his back

 to the bodyguard as he dried his hands from a paper towel rack.When

 he spun back toward the door, the bodyguard was shocked to see a .25

 automatic in the waiter's hand.A silencer was affixed to the muzzle

 of the small handgun, with the business end pointed directly at the

 bodyguard's face.Instinctively grabbing for his own weapon, the

 bodyguard had barely moved his hand when the .25 emitted a muffled

 cough.A neat red hole appeared just above the bodyguard's left

 eyebrow and the large man raised up and back momentarily before

 collapsing to the floor with a thud, a river of red blood running from

 his head.

 

 Bridges failed to detect the muffled gunshot but heard the bodyguard

 collapse.Turning to see the waiter pointing the gun at him, Bridges

 could only mutter, "What the hell?"

 

 The bald man in the waiter suit stared back at him with deathly cold

 black eyes, then broke into a sadistic grin that revealed a row of

 crooked yellow teeth.Without saying a word, he squeezed the trigger

 two times and watched as Bridges grasped his chest and fell to the

 ground.The assassin pulled a typewritten note out of his pocket and

 rolled it up tight into the shape of a tube.He then bent over and

 wedged it into the dead diplomat's mouth like a flagpole.Carefully

 disassembling his silencer and placing it in his pocket, he gingerly

 stepped over the two bodies and out the door, disappearing down a hall

 toward the kitchen.

 

 The fiberglass bow of the twenty-five-foot Parker work-boat plunged

 through the deep, wide swells, cutting a white foamy path as it rolled

 through the trough before cresting on the peak of the next wave. Though

 tiny in comparison to most vessels in the NUMA fleet, the durable

 little boat, identified on the stern as the Grunion, was ideal for

 surveying inland and coastal waterways, as well as supporting

 shallow-water dive operations.

 

 Leo Delgado rolled the helm's wheel to the right and the Grunion

 quickly nosed to starboard and out of the path of a large red freighter

 bearing down on them near the entrance of the Strait of Juan de Fuca.

 

 "How far from the strait?"he asked, spinning the wheel hard to port a

 moment later in order to take the passing freighter's wake bow on.

 

 Standing alongside in the cramped cabin, Dirk and Dahlgren were hunched

 over a small table studying a nautical chart of their present position

 near the entrance to the Pacific Ocean, some 125 miles west of

 Seattle.

 

 "Approximately twelve miles southwest of Cape Flattery," Dirk said over

 his shoulder, then dictated latitude and longitude coordinates to

 Delgado.The Deep Endeavor's first officer reached over to a keyboard

 and tapped the position into the small boat's computerized navigation

 system.A few seconds later, a tiny white square appeared in the upper

 corner of a flat-screen monitor that hung from the ceiling.At the

 lower edge of the monitor, a small white triangle flashed on and off,

 representing the Grunion as it motored into the Pacific.With the aid

 of a satellite Global Positioning System interface, Delgado was able to

 steer a path directly toward the marked position.

 

 "Now, you guys are sure Captain Burch isn't going to find out we

 borrowed his support boat and are burning his fuel just for a pleasure

 dive?"Delgado asked somewhat sheepishly.

 

 "You mean this is Burch's private boat?"Dirk replied with mock

 horror.

 

 "If he comes snooping, we'll just tell him that Bill Gates stopped by

 and offered us a few million stock options if he could take the Grunion

 out for a spin," Dahlgren offered.

 

 "Thanks.I knew I could trust you guys," Delgado muttered, shaking his

 head."By the way, how good is your fix on the submarine's

 location?"

 

 "Came right out of the official Navy report on the sinking that

 Perlmutter faxed me," Dirk replied, grabbing the cabin door sill for

 balance as the boat rolled over a large swell."We'll start with the

 position that was recorded by the destroyer after she sank the

 I-403."

 

 "Too bad the Navy didn't have GPS back in 1945," Delgado lamented.

 

 "Yes, the wartime action reports weren't always entirely accurate,

 especially where locations are concerned.But the destroyer had not

 traveled very far from shore when it engaged the sub, so their reported

 position ought to put us in the ballpark."

 

 When the Grunion reached the marked position, Delgado eased the

 

 throttle into neutral and began keying a search grid into the

 navigation computer.On the back deck, Dirk and Dahlgren unpacked a

 Klein Model 3000 side-scan sonar system from a reinforced plastic

 crate.As Dirk hooked up the cables to the operating system, Dahlgren

 reeled a yellow cylindrical sonar tow fish out over the stern gunwale

 and into the water.

 

 "The fish is out," Dahlgren yelled from the back deck, whereupon

 Delgado applied a light throttle and the boat edged forward.In a

 matter of minutes, Dirk had the equipment calibrated, resulting in a

 continuous stream of contrasting shadowy images sliding across a color

 monitor.The images were reflections of sound waves emitted from the

 tow fish which bounced off the seafloor and were recaptured and

 processed into visual recordings of protrusions or cavities on the sea

 bottom.

 

 "I have a one-mile-square grid plotted around the Theodore Knight's

 reported position at the time she rammed the sub," Delgado said.

 

 "That sounds like a good starting range," Dirk replied."We can expand

 the grid if we need to."

 

 Delgado proceeded to steer the boat down a white line on the monitor

 until the end of the grid was reached, then he spun the wheel around

 and brought the boat down the next line in the opposite direction. Back

 and forth the Grunion sailed, in narrow two-hundred-meter paths, slowly

 chewing up the grid while Dirk kept a sharp eye for a long, dark shadow

 on the sonar monitor that would represent the I-boat lying on the

 bottom.

 

 An hour went by and the only recognizable image that appeared on the

 sonar screen was a pair of fifty-five-gallon drums.After two hours,

 Dahlgren broke out tuna sandwiches from an ice chest and tried to

 relieve the tedium by telling an assortment of weakly humorous redneck

 jokes.Finally, after three hours of searching, Dirk's voice suddenly

 cut through the damp air."Target!Mark position."Gradually, the

 fuzzy image of an elongated object rolled across the screen, joined by

 two smaller protrusions near one end and a large object lying next to

 it amidships.

 

 "Lord have mercy!"Dahlgren shouted, studying the image."Looks like

 a submarine to me."

 

 Dirk glanced at a scale measurement at the bottom of the screen. "She's

 about 350 feet long, just as Perlmutter's records indicate. Leo, let's

 take another pass to verify the position, then see if you can park us

 right on top of her."

 

 "Can do," Delgado replied with a grin while swinging the Grunion around

 for another run over the target.The second-pass image showed that the

 submarine was clearly intact and appeared to be sitting upright on the

 bottom.As Delgado punched the precise location into the GPS system,

 Dirk and Dahlgren hauled in the sonar tow fish then unpacked a pair of

 large dive bags.

 

 "What's our depth here, Leo?"Dahlgren called out as he poked his feet

 through the leggings of a black neoprene wet suit.

 

 "About 170 feet," Delgado replied, eyeing a humming fathometer.

 

 "That will only give us twenty minutes of bottom time, with a

 twenty-five-minute decompression stop on the way up," Dirk said,

 recalling the recommended dive duration from the Navy Dive Tables.

 

 "Not a lot of time to cover that big fish," Dahlgren considered.

 

 "The aircraft armament is what I am most interested in," Dirk replied.

 "According to the Navy report, both aircraft were on deck when the

 destroyer attacked.I'm betting those two sonar images off the bow are

 the Seiran bombers."

 

 "Suits me fine if we don't have to get inside that coffin."Dahlgren

 shook his head briefly, considering the scene in his head, then

 proceeded to strap on a well-worn lead weight belt.

 

 When Dirk and Dahlgren were suited up in their dive gear, Delgado

 brought the Grunion back over the target position and threw out a small

 buoy tied to two hundred feet of line.The two black-suited divers

 took a giant step off the rear dive platform and plunged fin first into

 the ocean.

 

 The cold Pacific water was a shock to Dirk's skin as he dropped beneath

 the surface and he paused momentarily in the green liquid, waiting for

 the thin layer of water trapped by the wet suit surface to match the

 warmth of his body heat.

 

 "Damn, I knew we should have brought the dry suits," Dahlgren's voice

 crackled in Dirk's ears.The two men wore full-face AGA Divator MKII

 dive masks with an integrated wireless communication system, so they

 could talk to each other while underwater.

 

 "What do you mean, it feels just like the Keys," Dirk joked, referring

 to the warm-water islands at the south end of Florida.

 

 "I think you've been eating too much smoked salmon," Dahlgren

 retorted.

 

 Dirk purged the air out of his buoyancy compensator and cleared his

 ears, then flipped over and began kicking toward the bottom following

 the anchored buoy line.Dahlgren followed, tagging a few feet behind.

 A slight current pushed them toward the east, so Dirk compensated by

 angling himself against the flow as he descended, trying to maintain

 their relative position over the target.As they swam deeper, they

 passed through a thermocline, feeling the water temperature turn

 noticeably colder in just an instant.At 110 feet, the green water

 darkened as the murky water filtered the surface light.At 120 feet,

 Dirk flipped on a small underwater light strapped to his hood like a

 coal miner.As they descended a few more feet, the elongated, dark

 shape of the Japanese submarine suddenly grew out of the depths.

 

 The huge black submarine lay quietly at the bottom, a silent iron

 mausoleum for the sailors who died on her.She had landed on her keel

 when she sank and sat proudly upright on the bottom, as if ready to set

 sail again.As Dirk and Dahlgren drew closer, they were amazed at the

 sheer size of the vessel.Descending near the bow, they could barely

 see a quarter of the ship before its bulk disappeared into the murky

 darkness.Dirk hovered over the bow for a moment, admiring the

 impressive girth, before examining the catapult ramp that angled down

 the center deck.

 

 "Dirk, I see one of the planes over here," Dahlgren said, pointing an

 arm toward a pile of debris lying off the port bow."I'll go take a

 look."

 

 "The second plane should be farther back, according to the sonar

 reading.I'll head in that direction," Dirk replied, swimming along

 the deck.

 

 Dahlgren quickly darted over to the wreckage, which he could easily see

 was the remains of a single-engine float plane dusted in a heavy layer

 of fine silt.The Aichi M6A1 Seiran was a sleek-looking monoplane

 specially designed as a submarine-launched bomber for the big I-boats.

 Its rakish design, similar in appearance to a Messerschmitt fighter,

 was made comical by the attachment of two huge pontoons braced several

 feet below the wing, which looked like oversized clown shoes extending

 beyond the fuselage.Dahlgren could see only a split portion of one

 pontoon, though, as the left float and wing had been heared off by the

 charging American destroyer.The fuselage and right wing remained

 intact, propped up at an odd angle by the damaged pontoon.Dahlgren

 swam to the seafloor in front of the plane, studying the visible

 undercarriage and wing bottom of the bomber.Moving closer, he fanned

 an accumulation of silt away from several protrusions, revealing a set

 of bomb grips.The clasps that secured the bomber's payload were empty

 of armament.

 

 Gliding slowly up the side of the fuselage, Dahlgren kicked over to the

 half-crushed cockpit canopy and wiped away a layer of silt from the

 glass enclosure.Shining his light inside, he felt his heart pound

 rapidly at the startling sight.A human skull stared up at him from

 the pilot's seat, the bared teeth seeming to smile at him in a macabre

 grin.Playing the light about the cockpit, he recognized a pair of

 deteriorated flying boots on the floorboard, a sizable bone remnant

 jutting out of one opening.The collapsed bones of the pilot still

 occupied the plane, Dahlgren realized, the flier having gone down with

 his ship.

 

 Dahlgren slowly backed away from the aircraft, then called Dirk on the

 radiophone.

 

 "Say, old buddy, I've got the business end of one of the float planes

 here, but it doesn't look like she had any weapons mounted when she

 sank.Airman Skully sends his regards, though."

 

 "I've found the remains of the second plane and she's clean as well,"

 Dirk replied."Meet me at the conning tower."

 

 Dirk had found the second bomber lying thirty yards away from the sub,

 flipped over on its back.The two large pontoons had been ripped off

 the Seiran bomber when the sub went under, and the plane's fuselage,

 with wings still attached, had fluttered down to the bottom.He could

 easily see that no ordinance was mounted on the undercarriage and found

 no evidence that a bomb or torpedo had fallen away when the plane

 sank.

 

 Swimming back to the sub's topside deck, he followed the

 eighty-five-foot-long catapult ramp along the bow until reaching a

 large round hatch.The vertical hatch capped the end of a large

 twelve-foot-diameter tube, which was mounted at the base of the conning

 tower and stretched aft for more than one hundred feet.The airtight

 tube had been the hangar for the Seiran aircraft, storing the sectional

 pieces of the planes until they were ready for launching.Set back

 above the tubular section was a small platform containing

 triple-mounted 25mm antiaircraft guns, which still sat with their

 barrels pointed skyward waiting for an unseen enemy.

 

 Instead of a large metal sail rising upward, Dirk found a huge hole in

 the center of the I-403, the gaping remains of where the conning tower

 had been sheared off in the collision.A small school of ling-cod swam

 around the jagged crater's edge, feeding on smaller marine life and

 adding a splash of color to the dark scene.

 

 "Wow, you could drive your Chrysler through that hole," Dahlgren

 remarked as he swam up alongside Dirk and surveyed the crater.

 

 "With change to spare.She must have gone down in a hurry when the

 sail ripped off."The two men silently visualized the violent

 collision between the two war vessels so many years before and

 imagined

 

 the agony of the helpless crew of the I-403 as the submarine sank to

 the bottom.

 

 "Jack, why don't you take a pass through the hangar and see if you can

 eyeball any ordnance," Dirk said, pointing a gloved hand toward a gash

 along the top of the aircraft hangar."I'll go belowdecks and do the

 same."

 

 Dirk glanced at the orange face of his Doxa dive watch, a gift from his

 father on his last birthday."We've only got eight more minutes of

 bottom time.Let's be quick."

 

 "I'll meet you back here in six," Dahlgren said, then disappeared with

 a kick of his fins through the gash in the hangar wall.

 

 Dirk entered the gloomy crevice adjacent to the hangar, diving past a

 jagged edge of mangled and twisted steel.As he descended, he could

 make out the sub's unusual twin side-by-side pressured hulls, which ran

 lengthwise down the keel.He entered an open bay and quickly

 identified it as the remains of the control room, as evidenced by a

 large mounted helm's wheel, now covered in barnacles.An array of

 radio equipment was fixed to one side of the room-while an assortment

 of mechanical levers and controls protruded from another wall and

 ceiling.Shining his light on one set of valves, he made out barasuto

 tanku in white lettering, which he presumed operated the ballast

 tanks.

 

 Kicking his fins gently, Dirk moved forward at a deliberate pace trying

 not to stir up sediment from the deck.As he passed from one

 compartment to the next, the submarine seemed to echo with the life

 from the Japanese sailors.Dining plates and silverware were strewn

 across the floor of a small galley.Porcelain sake vials were still

 standing in cabin shelves.Gliding into a large wardroom where

 officers' staterooms lined one side, Dirk admired a small Shinto shrine

 mounted on one wall.

 

 He continued forward, cognizant of his dwindling bottom time but

 careful to take in all that his eyes could absorb.Moving past a

 maze

 

 of pipes, wires, and hydraulic lines, he reached the chief's quarters,

 near the forward part of the ship.At last, he approached his

 objective, the forward torpedo room, which loomed just ahead. Thrusting

 ahead with a powerful scissors kick, he advanced to the torpedo room

 entrance and prepared to pass in.Then he stopped dead in his

 tracks.

 

 He blinked hard, wondering if his eyes were playing tricks on him. Then

 he turned off his light and looked through the hatch again.He was not

 imagining what he saw.

 

 In the inky bowels of the rusting warship, entombed at the bottom of

 the sea for over sixty years, Dirk was welcomed by a faint but distinct

 flashing green light.

 

 Dirk pulled himself through the hatch and into the pitch-black darkness

 of the torpedo room, save for the penetrating beam of light.As his

 eyes adjusted to the blackness, the flashing green light became

 clearer.It appeared to be a pair of tiny lights, situated at eye

 level, and fixed at the far side of the room.

 

 Dirk turned his own light back on and surveyed the room.He was in the

 upper torpedo room, one of two torpedo bays the I-403 had stacked

 vertically at the bow of the sub.Near the forward bulkhead, he could

 see the round chamber hatches for the four twenty-one-inch-diameter

 torpedo tubes.Lying in racks on either side of the room were six of

 the huge Type 95 torpedoes, large and deadly fish that were both more

 reliable and more explosive than the American counterpart during the

 war.Jumbled on the floor, Dirk shined his light on two additional

 torpedoes that had been jarred out of their racks when the submarine

 had slammed into the bottom.One torpedo lay flat on the floor, its

 nose angled slightly off bow from where it had rolled after

 

 hitting the deck.The second torpedo was propped on some debris near

 its tip, pointing its nose lazily upward.It was just above this

 second torpedo where the eerie green light flashed on and off.

 

 Dirk floated over to the pulsating light, putting his face mask up

 close to the mystery beam.It was nothing more than a small stick-on

 digital clock wedged at the end of the torpedo rack.Fluorescent green

 block numbers flashed a row of zeroes, indicating an elapsed time that

 had run out more than twenty-four hours before.Days, weeks, or months

 before, it would be impossible to tell.But it certainly could not

 have been placed there sixty years earlier.

 

 Dirk plucked the plastic clock and stuffed it in a pocket of his BC,

 then peered upward.His expended air bubbles were not gathering at the

 ceiling, as expected, but were trailing upward and through a shaft of

 pale light.He kicked up with his fins and found that a large hatch to

 the open deck had been wedged open several feet, easily allowing a

 diver access to and from the torpedo bay.

 

 A crackly voice suddenly burst through his earpiece."Dirk, where are

 you?It's time to go upstairs," Dahlgren's voice barked.

 

 "I'm in the forward torpedo room.Come meet me on the bow, I need

 another minute."

 

 Dirk looked at his watch, noting that their eight minutes of bottom

 time had expired, then swam back down to the torpedo rack.

 

 Two wooden crates were crushed beneath one of the fallen torpedoes,

 split open like a pair of suitcases.Constructed of hardwood mahogany,

 the crates had amazingly survived the ravages of salt water and

 microorganisms and were in a minimal state of decay.He curiously

 noted that no silt covered the broken crates, unlike every other object

 he had seen on the submarine.Someone had recently fanned away the

 sediment to reveal the crates' contents.

 

 Dirk swam over to the closest crate and looked inside.Like a half

 carton of eggs, six silver aerial bombs were lined up in a

 custom-fitted casemate.Each bomb was nearly three feet long and

 sausage-shaped, with a fin-winged tail.Half of the bombs were still wedged under the torpedo,

 but all six had been broken up by the torpedo's fall.Oddly,

 to Dirk, they appeared to be cracked rather than simply crushed.Running

 his hand over an undamaged section of one of the bombs, he was

 surprised to feel the surface had a glassy smoothness to the touch.

 

 Kicking his fins gentry, Dirk then glided over to the other crate and

 found a similar scene.All of the bomb canisters had been crushed by

 the falling torpedo in the second crate as well.Only this time, he

 counted five bombs, not six.One of the casings was empty.Dirk

 shined his light around and surveyed the area.The deck was clear in

 all directions, and no fragments were evident in the empty slot.One

 of the bombs was missing.

 

 "Elevator, going up," Dahlgren's voice suddenly crackled.

 

 "Hold the door, I'll be right there," Dirk replied, glancing at his

 watch to see that they had overrun their bottom time by almost five

 minutes.Examining the smashed crates a last time, he tugged on one of

 the less mangled bombs.The ordnance slipped out of its case but fell

 apart into three separate pieces in Dirk's hands.As best he could, he

 gently placed the pieces into a large mesh dive bag, then, holding

 tight, he kicked toward the open hatch above.Pulling the bag through

 the hatch after him, Dirk found Dahlgren hovering above the sub's bow a

 few yards in front of him.Joining his dive partner, the two wasted no

 time in kicking toward their decompression stop.

 

 Tracking their depth as they rose, Dirk flared his body out like a

 sky-diver at forty feet to slow his ascent and purged a shot of air out

 of his BC.Dahlgren followed suit and the two men stabilized

 themselves at a depth of twenty feet to help rid their bodies of

 elevated levels of nitrogen in their blood.

 

 "That extra five minutes on the bottom cost us another thirteen of

 decompression time.I'll be sucking my tank dry before thirty-eight

 minutes rolls around," Dahlgren said, eyeing his depleted air gauge.

 Before Dirk could answer, they heard a muffled metallic clang in the

 distance.

 

 "Never fear, Leo is here," Dirk remarked, pointing at an object forty

 feet to their side.

 

 A pair of silver scuba tanks with attached regulators dangled at the

 twenty-foot mark, tied to a rope that ascended to the surface.At the

 other end of the rope, Delgado stood munching a banana on the back deck

 of the Grunion, tracking the men's air bubbles and making sure they

 didn't stray too far from the boat.After hovering for a

 fifteen-minute decompression stop at twenty feet, the men grabbed the

 regulators affixed to the dangling tanks and floated up to ten feet for

 another twenty-five-minute wait.When Dirk and Dahlgren finally

 surfaced and climbed aboard the boat, Delgado acknowledged the men with

 just a wave as he turned the boat for landfall.

 

 As the boat motored into the calmer waters of the Strait of Juan de

 Fuca, Dirk unwrapped the bomb canister fragments and laid them on the

 deck.

 

 "No sign of one of these on the aircraft, or in the hangar?"Dirk

 asked.

 

 "Definitely not.There was plenty of parts, tools, and other debris in

 the hangar, but nothing that looked like that," Dahlgren replied,

 eyeing the pieces."Why would a canister crack open like that?"

 

 "Because it's made of porcelain," Dirk replied, holding a shard up for

 Dahlgren's closer inspection.

 

 Dahlgren ran a finger over the surface, then shook his head."A

 porcelain bomb.Very handy for attacking tea parties, I presume."

 

 "Must have something to do with the payload."Dirk rearranged the

 fragments until they fit roughly together, like pieces of a jigsaw

 puzzle.The payload armament had long since washed away in the sea,

 but several compartmentalized sections formed in the interior were

 clearly evident.

 

 "Looks like different combustibles were to react together when

 detonated."

 

 "An incendiary bomb?"Dahlgren asked.

 

 "Perhaps," Dirk replied quietly.He then reached into the side

 

 pocket of his BC and pulled out the digital timer."Someone went to a

 fair amount of trouble to retrieve one of these bombs," he said,

 tossing the timer over to Dahlgren.

 

 Dahlgren studied the device, turning it over in his hands.

 

 "Maybe it was the original owner," he finally said with seriousness.

 Raising his arm with the timer in his palm, he showed Dirk the backside

 of the clock.In raised lettering on the plastic case was an

 indecipherable line of Asian script.

 

 Like A pack of hyenas fighting over a freshly killed zebra, the

 president's security advisers were biting and yipping at each other in

 a self-serving attempt to dodge responsibility over the events in

 Japan.Tempers flared across the Cabinet Room, situated in the West

 Wing of the White House.

 

 "It's a breakdown of intelligence, clear and simple.Our consulates

 are not getting the intelligence support they need and two of my people

 are dead as a result," the secretary of state complained harshly.

 

 "We had no advance knowledge of an increase in terrorist activity in

 Japan.Diplomatic feeds from State reported that Japanese security

 forces were in the dark as well," the deputy CIA director fired back.

 

 "Gentlemen, what's done is done," the president interjected as he

 attempted to light a large old-fashioned smoking pipe.Bearing the

 physical appearance of Teddy Roosevelt and the no-nonsense demeanor of

 Harry Truman, President Garner Ward was widely admired by the public

 for his common sense and pragmatic style.The

 

 first-term president from Montana welcomed spirited debate among his staff

 and cabinet but had a low tolerance for finger-pointing and

 self-serving pontification.

 

 "We need to understand the nature of the threat and the motives of our

 opponent, and then calculate a course of action," the president said

 simply "I'd also like a recommendation as to whether Homeland Security

 should issue an elevated domestic security alert."He nodded toward

 Dennis Jimenez, sitting across the Cabinet Room conference table, who

 served as secretary of the homeland security department."But first,

 we need to figure out who these characters are.Martin, why don't you

 fill us in on what we know so far?"the president said, addressing FBI

 Director Martin Finch.

 

 An ex-Marine Corps MP, Finch still sported a crew cut and spoke with

 the blunt voice of a basic training drill sergeant.

 

 "Sir, the assassinations of Ambassador Hamilton and Deputy Chief of

 Mission Bridges appear to have been performed by the same individual.

 Surveillance video from the hotel where Bridges was killed exposed a

 suspect dressed as a waiter who was not known to be an employee of the

 hotel.Photographs from the video were matched to eyewitness accounts

 of an individual seen at the Tokyo area golf course shortly before

 Ambassador Hamilton was shot."

 

 "Any tie-in to the killing of the executive Chris Gavin and the Sem-Con

 plant explosion?"the president inquired.

 

 "None that we have been able to identify, although there is a potential

 indicator in the note left with Bridges's body.We are, of course,

 treating it as a related incident."

 

 "And what of the suspect?"the secretary of state asked.

 

 "The Japanese authorities have been unable to make a match in their

 known criminal files, or provide a possible identification, for that

 Matter.He was not a previously recognized member of the Japanese Red

 Army cell.He is apparently something of an unknown.The Japanese law

 enforcement agencies are cooperating fully in the manhunt and have

 placed their immigration checkpoints on high alert."

 

 "Despite no prior connection, there would seem to be little doubt that

 he is operating under the auspices of the Japanese Red Army," the CIA

 deputy added.

 

 "The note left with Bridges.What did it say?"asked Jimenez.

 

 Finch rifled through a folder, then pulled out a typewritten sheet.

 

 "Translated from Japanese, it says: "Be vanquished, American

 imperialists who soil Nippon with greed, or death will blow her cold,

 sweet breath to the shores of America.JRA."Classic fringe cult

 hyperbole."

 

 "What is the state of the Japanese Red Army?I thought they were

 essentially dissolved a number of years ago," President Ward asked.

 Waiting for the reply, he tilted his head back and blew a cloud of

 cherry-scented tobacco smoke toward the paneled ceiling before Finch

 answered.

 

 "As you may know, the Japanese Red Army is a fringe terrorist group

 that grew out of a number of communist factions in Japan during the

 seventies.They promote an anti-imperialist rant and have supported

 the overthrow of the Japanese government and monarchy by both

 legitimate and illegitimate means.With suspected ties to the Middle

 East and North Korea, the JRA was behind a number of bombings and

 hijackings, culminating in the attempted takeover of the U.S. embassy

 in Kuala Lumpur in 1975.They seemed to lose support in the nineties,

 and by 2000 the known leadership of the organization had been largely

 apprehended.Though many believed the organization was dead,

 indications of the group's stirrings have been seen again in the last

 two years.Published doctrines and active media reporting in Japan

 have provided a new sounding board, gaining more reception in the

 country's declining economic climate.Their message has focused on

 anti-American and anticapitalist tenets, rather than the anarchistic

 overthrow of the government, which has found a degree of support within

 a fragment of the population's youth.Oddly, there is no visible front

 man, or poster child, for the group."

 

 "I can endorse Marty's comments, Mr.President," the deputy CIA

 

 director offered."Until the hits on our people, we've had no overt

 record of activity from these people in a number of years.The known

 leadership is behind bars.Quite frankly, we don't know who is now

 calling the shots."

 

 "Are we confident there is no Al Qaeda connection here?"

 

 "Possible, but not likely," Finch replied."The method of

 assassination is certainly not their style, and there has been no real

 radical Islamic presence visible in Japan.At this juncture, we have

 absolutely no evidence to suggest a link."

 

 "Where are we with the Japanese on this?"the president asked.

 

 "We have an FBI counterterrorist team in-country working closely with

 the Japanese National Police Agency.The Japanese authorities are

 quite cognizant of the nefarious nature of these assassinations in

 their country and have assigned a large task force to the

 investigation.There is little more in the way of assistance we could

 ask of them that they haven't already offered up."

 

 "I have initiated a request through State to the Japanese Foreign

 Ministry for an update to their profile of high-risk aliens," Jimenez

 interjected."We'll issue a border security alert watch, in

 coordination with the FBI."

 

 "And what are we doing elsewhere abroad to prevent any more target

 shooting?"the president asked, addressing the secretary of state.

 

 "We have issued heightened security alerts at all of our embassies,"

 the secretary replied."We have also assigned additional security

 protection to our senior diplomats, and placed a temporary travel

 restriction for all State Department personnel within their host

 country.For the time being, our ambassadors abroad are under lock and

 key."

 

 "Any opinion that there is an imminent threat domestically, Dennis?"

 

 "Not at this time, Mr.President," the homeland security director

 replied."We've tightened our travel and immigration inspections on

 incoming traffic from Japan but don't feel it is necessary to raise the

 domestic security alert."

 

 "Do you concur, Marty?"

 

 "Yes, sir.Like Dennis, all our indications suggest that the incidents

 are isolated to Japan."

 

 "Very well.Now what about the deaths of those two Coast Guard

 meteorologists in Alaska?"the president asked, drawing another puff

 on his pipe.

 

 Finch rifled through some documents before responding."That would be

 the island of Yunaska in the Aleutians.We have an investigative team

 presently on site working with local officials.They are also looking

 at the destruction of a NUMA helicopter as a related incident.

 Preliminary indications are that the acts were the result of rogue

 poachers who used cyanide gas to subdue a herd of sea lions.We're

 trying to track down a Russian fishing trawler that was known to be

 fishing the local waters illegally.Officials on-site appear confident

 that they will apprehend the vessel."

 

 "Cyanide gas to hunt sea lions?There are lunatics all over this

 planet.All right, gentlemen, let's give it our all to find these

 murderers.Allowing our diplomatic representatives to be gunned down

 without repercussion is not the message I want to be giving the world.

 I knew Hamilton and Bridges.They were both good men."

 

 "We'll find them," Finch promised.

 

 "Make sure," the president said, tapping his downturned pipe bowl

 against a stainless steel ashtray for effect."I fear these characters

 have more up their sleeve than we realize and I want none of what

 they're selling."As he spoke, a glob of burned tobacco plopped

 unceremoniously into the ashtray, and nobody said a word.

 

 Although Keith Catana had been in South Korea only three months, he had

 already identified his favorite off-base watering hole.Chang's Saloon

 appeared little different from the dozen or so other bars of "A-Town,"

 a seedy entertainment section on the fringe of Kunsan City that catered

 to the American servicemen stationed at Kunsan Air Force Base.Chang's

 skipped the loud blaring music that emanated from most of the other

 bars and offered a decent price for an OB beer, one of the local Korean

 brews.But perhaps more important, in Catana's eyes, Chang's attracted

 the best-looking working girls of A-Town.

 

 Abandoned by two buddies who decided to pursue a group of American

 servicewomen headed to a dance club around the corner, Catana sat

 silently nursing his fourth beer, welcoming the early periphery of a

 warm buzz.The twenty-three-year-old master sergeant was an avionics

 specialist at the air base, supporting F-16 attack jets of the Eighth

 Fighter Wing.Located just a few minutes' flight time from

 

 the DMZ, his squadron stood in constant preparedness for an aerial

 counter strike should North Korea initiate an invasion of the South.

 

 Sentimental memories of his family back in Arkansas were suddenly

 jolted from his brain when the door to the bar flung open and in

 strolled the most stunning Korean woman Catana had ever laid eyes on.

 Four beers were not enough to deceive himself; she was a genuine

 beauty.Her long, straight black hair accentuated a delicate, almost

 porcelain-skinned face that featured a petite nose and mouth but

 stunningly bold black eyes. A tight leather skirt and silk top

 accentuated her small build but magnified a distorted symmetry created

 by her large, surgically enhanced breasts.

 

 Like a tigress searching for prey, the woman surveyed the crowded bar

 from front to back before focusing on the lone airman sitting alone in

 a corner.With her sights locked, she swiveled her way over to

 Catana's table and smoothly slipped into the chair facing him.

 

 "Hello, Joe.Be a friend and buy me a drink?"she purred.

 

 "Glad to," Catana stammered in reply.She was definitely in a

 different league from the normal A-Town hookers, he thought, and not

 the type that caters to enlisted servicemen.But who was he to argue?

 If the heavens intended to drop this creature in his lap on payday,

 then good fortune was indeed smiling his way.

 

 It took only one quick beer before the harlot invited him back to her

 hotel room.Catana was pleasantly surprised that the woman didn't

 wrangle about price, or, in fact, mention it at all, he thought

 oddly.

 

 She led him to a cheap motel nearby, where they walked arm in arm down

 its seedy hallway that was complete with red lights.At the end of the

 hall, the woman unlocked the door to a small, hot corner room.Sleep

 wasn't the major draw of the room, Catana could see, as evidenced by a

 condom machine mounted near the bed.

 

 After closing the door, the woman quickly stripped off her top, then

 embraced Catana in a deep, passionate kiss.He paid little attention

 to a noise near the closet as he soaked in the warmth of the exotic

 woman, intoxicated by a combination of her beauty, the alcohol,

 

 and the expensive perfume she wore.His pleasurable delirium was

 suddenly jolted by a sharp jab to his buttocks, followed by a hot,

 searing pain.Whirling unsteadily around, he was shocked to find

 himself facing another man in the room.The stocky bald man grinned a

 crooked smile through his long mustache, his dark cold eyes seeming to

 penetrate right through Catana's skull.In his hands, he held a fully

 depressed hypodermic needle.

 

 Pain and confusion overwhelmed Catana as his body suddenly went numb.

 He tried to raise his hands but his limbs were useless.Even his lips

 refused to cooperate with his brain in voicing a cry of protest.It

 took just a few seconds before a wave of blackness rolled over him and

 all feeling departed his senses.

 

 It was hours later when the incessant pounding jarred him from a state

 of unconsciousness.The pounding was not in his head, as he first

 imagined, but came externally, from the motel room door.He noticed a

 warm stickiness enveloping him as he fought to clear the fog from his

 vision.Why the pounding?Why the wetness?The dimly lit room and

 cobwebs in his mind refused to reveal the mystery..

 

 The banging ceased for a moment, then a loud blow struck the door,

 bashing it open with a flood of light.Squinting through the

 brightness, he saw a company of policemen storm into the room, followed

 by two men with cameras.As his eyes adjusted to the sudden infusion

 of light, he was able to notice what the wetness was around him.

 

 Blood.It was everywhere: on the sheets, on the pillows, and smeared

 all over his body.But mostly it was pooled about the prone figure of

 the nude woman lying dead beside him.

 

 Catana instinctively lurched back from the body in shock at the sight

 of the corpse.As two of the policemen pulled him off the bed and

 handcuffed his wrists, he cried out in horror.

 

 "What happened?Who did this?"he said in a daze.

 

 He looked on in shock as a third policeman pulled back a sheet

 partially covering the woman, fully exposing a body that had been

 brutally mutilated.To Catana's further bewilderment, he saw that the

 body was not that of the beautiful woman he had met the night before

 but rather was of a young girl whom he did not know.

 

 Catana sagged as he was dragged out of the room amid a flurry of

 photographs.By noon that day, the story of the rape and savage murder

 of a thirteen-year-old Korean girl by a U.S. serviceman was a

 countrywide horror.By evening, it had become a national outrage.And

 by the time of the girl's funeral two days later, it was a full-blown

 international incident.

 

 The high noonday sun shimmered brightly off the sapphire waters of the

 Bohol Sea, forcing Raul Biazon to squint as he gazed toward the large

 research vessel moored in the distance.For a moment, the Philippine

 government biologist thought the sun's rays were playing a trick on his

 eyes.No respectable scientific research ship could possibly be

 emblazoned in such a lively hue.But as the small weather-beaten

 launch in which he rode drew closer, he saw that there was nothing

 wrong with his vision.The ship was in fact painted a glistening

 turquoise blue from stem to stern, which made the vessel appear as if

 it belonged under the sea rather than bobbing atop it.Leave it to the

 Americans, Biazon thought, to escape the ordinary.

 

 The launch pilot guided the worn wooden boat alongside a stepladder

 suspended over the side of the ship and Biazon wasted no time in

 leaping aboard.Speaking briefly to the pilot in Tagalog, he turned

 and scampered up the ladder and sprang onto the deck, nearly colliding

 with a tall brawny man who stood at the rail.With thinning blond

 

 hair and sturdy build, there was a Viking-like air about the man who

 was dressed in an immaculate white warm-weather captain's uniform.

 

 "Dr.Biazon?Welcome aboard the Mariana Explorer.I'm Captain Bill

 Stenseth," the man smiled warmly through gray eyes.

 

 "Thank you for receiving me on such short notice, Captain," Biazon

 replied, regaining his stance and composure."When a local fisherman

 informed me that a NUMA research vessel was seen in the region, I

 thought you might be able to offer some assistance."

 

 "Let's head to the bridge and out of the heat," Stenseth directed, "and

 you can fill us in on the environmental calamity you mentioned over the

 radio."

 

 "I hope that I am not interfering with your research work," Biazon said

 as the two men climbed a flight of stairs.

 

 "Not at all.We've just completed a seismic mapping project off

 Mindanao and are taking a break to test some equipment before heading

 up to Manila.Besides," Stenseth said with a grin, "when my boss says,

 "Stop the boat," I stop the boat."

 

 "Your boss?"Biazon inquired with a confused look.

 

 "Yes," Stenseth replied as they reached the bridge wing and he pulled

 open the side door."He's traveling on board with us."

 

 Biazon stepped through the door and into the bridge, shivering

 involuntarily as a blast of refrigerated air struck his

 perspiration-soaked body.At the rear of the bridge, he noticed a

 tall, distinguished-looking man in shorts and a polo shirt bent over a

 chart table studying a map.

 

 "Dr.Biazon, may I present the director of NUMA, Dirk Pitt," Stenseth

 introduced."Dirk, this is Dr.Raul Biazon, hazardous wastes manager

 with the Philippines Environmental Management Bureau."

 

 Biazon was shocked to find the head of a large government agency

 working at sea so far from Washington.But one look at Pitt and Biazon

 knew he wasn't the typical government administrator.Standing nearly a

 foot taller than his own five-foot-four frame, the NUMA chief carried a

 tan, lean, muscular body that showed few indications of having spent

 much time behind a desk.Though Biazon wouldn't know, the senior Pitt

 was nearly the spitting image of his son who carried the same name. The

 face was weathered and the ebony hair showed tinges of gray at the

 temples, but the opaline green eyes sparkled with life.They were eyes

 that had absorbed much in their day, Biazon gauged, reflecting an

 assorted mix of intelligence, mirth, and tenacity.

 

 "Welcome aboard," Pitt greeted warmly, shaking Biazon's hand with a

 firm grip."My underwater technology director, Al Giordino," he added,

 jabbing a thumb over his shoulder toward the far corner of the

 wheelhouse.Curled up asleep on a bench seat was a short, thick man

 with dark curly hair.A light snore drifted from the man's lips with

 each breath of air that exhaled from his barrel-shaped chest.His

 powerful build reminded Biazon of a rhinoceros.

 

 "Al, come join the party," Pitt yelled across the bridge.

 

 Giordino pried his eyes open, then popped instantly awake.He quickly

 stood and joined the other men at the table, showing no signs of

 slumber.

 

 "As I told the captain, I appreciate your offer of assistance," Biazon

 said.

 

 "The Philippine government has always been supportive of our research

 work in your country's waters," Pitt replied."When we received your

 radio call to help identify a toxic marine affliction, we were glad to

 help.Perhaps you can tell us a little more about the specifics of the

 outbreak."

 

 "A few weeks ago, our office was contacted by a resort hotel on anglao

 Island.The hotel's management was upset because a large quantity of

 dead fish were washing up on the guest beach."

 

 "I could see where that would tend to dampen the holiday makers'

 spirits," Giordino grinned.

 

 "Indeed," Biazon replied sternly."We began monitoring the shoreline

 and have witnessed the fish kill growing at an alarming rate.Dead

 marine life is washing ashore along a ten-kilometer stretch of beach

 now, and growing day by day.The resort owners are all up in arms, and

 we, of course, are concerned about potential damage to the coral

 reef."

 

 "Have you been able to diagnose what is killing the fish?"Stenseth

 asked.

 

 "Not yet.Toxic poisoning is all we can infer.We have sent samples

 to our departmental lab in Cebu for analysis but are still awaiting the

 results."The look on Biazon's face revealed his dissatisfaction with

 the snail-paced response from the agency lab.

 

 "Any speculation as to the source?"Pitt asked.

 

 Biazon shook his head."We initially suspected industrial pollutants,

 which, regrettably, are an all too common source of environmental

 damage in my country.But my field team and I have scoured the

 impacted coastal region and failed to locate any heavy industrial

 businesses operating in the area.We also examined the coastline for

 obvious spillways or illegal dump sites but came up empty.It is my

 belief that the source of the kill originates at sea."

 

 "Perhaps a red tide?"Giordino said.

 

 "We do experience toxic phytoplankton outbreaks in the Philippines,"

 Biazon said, "though they are typically seen during the warmer late

 summer months."

 

 "It might also be some covert offshore industrial dumping," Pitt

 replied."Where exactly is the impacted area, Dr.Biazon?"

 

 Biazon glanced at the map, which showed Mindanao and the southern

 Philippine island groupings."Off the province of Bohol," he said,

 pointing to a large round island north of Mindanao."Panglao is a

 small resort island located here, adjacent to the southwest coast.Its

 about fifty kilometers from our present position."

 

 "I can have us there in under two hours," Stenseth said, eyeing the

 distance.

 

 Pitt nodded toward the map."We've got a ship full of scientists who

 can help find the answers.Bill, lay a course in to Panglao Island and

 we'll take a look."

 

 "Thank you," a visibly relieved Biazon said.

 

 "Doctor, perhaps you'd like a tour of the ship while we get under way?"

 Pitt offered.

 

 "I'd like that very much."

 

 "Al, you care to join us?"

 

 Giordino looked at his watch pensively."No, thanks.Two hours will

 be just enough time for me to finish my project," he replied, easing

 himself back down on the bench seat and drifting rapidly back to

 sleep.

 

 The Mariana Explorer cruised easily through a flat sea and arrived at

 Panglao Island in just over ninety minutes.Pitt studied an electronic

 navigational map of the area that was displayed on a color monitor as

 Biazon denoted a rectangular area where the fish kill was occurring.

 

 "Bill, the current runs east to west through here, which would suggest

 that the hot zone is located at the eastern end of Dr.Biazon's box.

 Why don't we start to the west and work our way east into the current,

 taking water samples at quarter-mile increments."

 

 Stenseth nodded."I'll run a zigzag course, to see if we can gauge how

 far from shore the toxin is concentrated."

 

 "And let's deploy the side-scan sonar.Might as well see if there's

 any obvious man-made objects involved."

 

 Dr.Biazon watched with interest as a towed sonar fish was deployed

 off the stern, then the Mariana Explorer began following a dot-to-dot

 path laid out on the navigation screen.At periodic intervals, a team

 of marine biologists collected seawater samples from varying depths. As

 the ship moved to the next position, the collected samples were sent

 down to the shipboard laboratory for immediate analysis.

 

 On the bridge, Giordino tracked the signals from the side-scan sonar.

 The electronic image of the shallow seafloor revealed an interweaving

 mix of flat sand bottom and craggy coral mounts as the ship sailed over the fringes of a coral reef.In a short time, his

 trained eyes had already discerned a ship's anchor and an outboard

 motor | lying beneath the well-traveled waters.As the monitor

 revealed each object, Giordino reached over and punched a mark button

 on the con| sole, which flagged the location for later assessment.

 

 Pitt and Biazon stood nearby, admiring the tropical beaches of Panglao

 Island less than a half mile away.Pitt glanced down at the water

 alongside the ship, where he spotted a sea turtle and scores of dead

 fish floating belly-up.

 

 "We've entered the toxic zone," Pitt said."We should know the results

 shortly."

 

 As the research vessel plowed west, the concentration of dead fish in

 the water increased, then gradually fell away until the blue sea around

 them grew empty again.

 

 "We're a half mile beyond Dr.Biazon's grid," Stenseth reported.

 "Judging by the water, it looks like we're well clear of the toxic

 zone.""Agreed," Pitt replied."Let's stand by here until we see what

 kind of results the lab has found."

 

 As the ship ground to a halt and the sonar tow fish was retrieved, Pitt

 led Biazon down a level into a teak-paneled conference room, followed

 by Giordino and Stenseth.Biazon studied the portraits of several

 famous underwater explorers which lined one wall, recognizing the

 images of William Beebe, Sylvia Earle, and Don Walsh.As they were

 seated, a pair of marine biologists clad in the requisite white lab

 coats entered the conference room.A short, attractive female, her

 brunet hair tied back in a ponytail, walked to a suspended viewing

 screen at the front of the room, while her male assistant began typing

 commands into the computer-driven projection system.

 

 "We have completed an assessment of forty-four discrete water samples

 collected, which were analyzed using molecular separation of existing

 toxic molecules," she said in a clear voice.As she spoke, an image

 appeared on the screen behind her, similar to the navigation screen

 Biazon had noticed the ship tracking to earlier.A zigzag line line

 punctuated by forty-four large dots ran parallel to an outline of the

 pang lao Island shoreline.Each dot was color-coded, though Biazon

 noted that most of them glowed green.

 

 "The samples were measured for toxic content in parts per billion, with

 positive results occurring in fifteen of the samples," the biologist

 stated, pointing to a row of yellow dots."As you can see from the

 chart, the concentration increases as the samples moved east, with the

 highest reading registered here," she said, tracing past a few

 orange-colored dots to a lone red dot near the top of the map.

 

 "So the source is from an isolated location," Pitt said.

 

 "The samples tested negative beyond the red point, indicating that it

 is likely of a concentrated origin spreading east with the current."

 

 "That would seem to dispel the red tide theory.Al, do the results

 mesh with anything we picked up on the sonar?"

 

 Giordino walked over to the console and leaned over the operator's

 shoulder, typing in a quick series of commands.A dozen As suddenly

 appeared on the projection screen, overlaid at random points along the

 zigzag tracking line.Each AT was lettered, beginning with A at the

 bottom, proceeding to L near the top.

 

 "Al's "Dirty Dozen' hit list," he smiled, retaking his seat."We ran

 over twelve objects that appeared man-made.Mostly chunks of pipe,

 rusty anchors, and the like.Three items appeared that could be

 suspected culprits," he said, eyeing a sheet of handwritten notes.

 "Mark Cwas a trio of fifty-five-gallon drums lying in the sand."

 

 Every eye in the room jumped to the A'marked Con the overhead.The

 water samples on either side of the mark were all illuminated with

 green dots, which signified a negative test result.

 

 "No toxins registered in the vicinity," Pitt said."Next."

 

 "Mark F looks to be a wooden sailboat, perhaps a local fishing boat.

 She's sitting upright on the bottom with her mast still standing."

 

 This AT was located adjacent to the first yellow dot.Pitt commented

 that it was still down current of the toxic readings.

 

 "Strike two.But you're getting warmer."

 

 "My last mark is a little odd, as the image was just at the range of ij

 the sonar," Giordino said, pausing with uncertainty.

 

 "Well, what did it look like?"Stenseth asked.

 

 "A ship's propeller.Looked like it was protruding from the reef.I

 couldn't make out any sign of the ship that went with it, though. Might

 just be a lone propeller that got bashed off against the reef.I

 tagged it at mark K"

 

 Every voice in the room fell silent as their eyes found the A'marked

 Kon the overhead screen.It was positioned right above the red

 dot..;

 

 "It would appear there's something more to it than just a propeller,"

 Pitt said finally."Leaking fuel from a submerged ship, or perhaps its

 cargo?"

 

 "We did not detect abnormally high readings of petroleum compounds in

 the water samples," the NUMA biologist stated.

 

 "You never did tell us what you found," Giordino said, raising a dark

 eyebrow at the biologist.

 

 "Yes, you said you did identify toxins in the water, didn't you?"

 Biazon asked anxiously."What was it that you found?"

 

 "Something I've never encountered in salt water before," she replied,

 shaking her head slowly."Arsenic."

 

 The coral reef exploded with a rainbow of colors arranged in a serene

 beauty that put a Monet landscape to shame.Bright red sea anemones

 waved their tentacles lazily in the current amid a carpet of

 magenta-colored sea sponges.Delicate green sea fans climbed

 gracefully toward the surface beside round masses of violet-hued brain

 coral.Brilliant blue starfish glowed from the reef like bright neon

 signs, while dozens of sea urchins blanketed the seafloor in a carpet

 of pink pincushions.

 

 Few things in nature rivaled the beauty of a healthy coral reef, Pitt

 reflected as his eyes drank in the assortment of colors.Floating just

 off the bottom, he peered out his faceplate in amusement as a pair of

 small clown fish darted into a crevice as a spotted ray cruised by

 searching for a snack.Of all the world's great dive spots, he always

 felt it was the warm waters of the western Pacific that held the most

 breathtaking coral reefs.

 

 "The wreck should be slightly ahead and to the north of us,"

 

 Giordino's voice crackled through his ears, breaking the tranquility.

 After mooring the Mariana Explorer over the site of the maximum toxin

 readings, Pitt and Giordino donned rubberized dry suits with full

 faceplates to protect them from potential chemical or biological

 contaminationDropping over the side, they splashed into the clear

 warm water that dropped 120 feet to the bottom.\

 

 The readings of arsenic in the water had been startling to everyone.

 Dr.Biazon reported that arsenic seepage had been known to occur in

 mining operations around the country and that several manganese mines

 operated on Bohol Island, but added that none were located near

 Panglao.Arsenic was also utilized in insecticides, the NUMA biologist

 countered.Perhaps an insecticide container was lost off a vessel, or

 intentionally dumped? There was only one way to find out, Pitt

 declared, and that was to go down and have a look.

 

 With Giordino at his side, Pitt checked his compass, then thrust his

 fins together, kicking himself at an angle across the invisible

 current.The visibility was nearly seventy-five feet and Pitt could

 observe the reef gradually rising to shallower depths as he glided just

 above the bottom.His skin quickly began to sweat under the thick dry

 suit, its protective layer providing more insulation than was required

 in the warm tropical waters.

 

 "Somebody turn on the air-conditioning," he heard Giordino mutter,

 verbalizing his own sentiments.

 

 With eyes aimed forward, he still saw no signs of a shipwreck, but

 noted that the coral bottom rose up sharply ahead.To his right, a

 large underwater sand dune boiled up against the reef, its rippled

 surface stretching beyond Pitt's field of vision.Reaching the coral

 uplift, he tilted his upper body toward the surface and thrust with a

 large scissors kick to propel himself up and over its jagged edge.He

 was surprised to find that the reef dropped vertically away on the

 other side, creating a large crevasse.More surprising was what he saw

 at the bottom of the ravine.It was the bow half of a ship.

 

 "What the heck?"Giordino uttered, spotting the partial wreckage of

 the ship.

 

 Pitt studied the partial remains of the ship for a moment, then laughed

 through the underwater communication system."Got me, too.It's an

 optical illusion.The rest of the ship is there, it's just buried

 under the sand dune."

 

 Giordino studied the wreck and saw that Pitt was right.The large sand

 dune that affronted the reef had built up partway into the crevasse and

 neatly covered the stern half of the ship.The current swirling

 through the crevasse had halted the onslaught of the sand at a point

 amidships of the wreck in a nearly perfect line, which gave the

 impression that only half a ship existed.

 

 Pitt turned away from the exposed portion of the ship, swimming over

 the empty sand dune for several yards before it dropped sharply beneath

 him.

 

 "Here's your propeller, Al," he said, pointing down.

 

 Beneath his fins, a small section of the ship's stern was exposed.The

 brown-encrusted skin curved down to a large brass propeller, which

 protruded from the sand dune like a windmill.Giordino kicked over and

 inspected the propeller, than swam up the sternpost several feet and

 began brushing away a layer of sand.From the curvature of the stern,

 he could tell that the ship was listing sharply to its port side, which

 was also apparent from the exposed bow section.Pitt floated over and

 watched as Giordino was able to expose the last few letters of the

 ship's name beaded onto the stern.

 

 "Something maru is the most I can get," he said, struggling to trench

 into a refilling hole of sand.

 

 "She's Japanese," Pitt said, "and, by the looks of the corrosion, she's

 been here awhile.If she's leaking toxins, it would have to be from

 the bow section."

 

 Giordino stopped digging in the sand and followed Pitt as he swam

 toward the exposed front of the ship.The vessel eerily emerged

 again

 

 from the sand dune at its main funnel, which jutted nearly horizontally, its top edged meshed into the coral wall.From its small

 bridge' section and long forward deck, Pitt could see that the vessel

 was a common oceangoing cargo ship.He judged her length at slightly

 more than two hundred feet.As they swam over the angled topside, he

 could see that the main deck had vanished, its wooden planking

 disintegrated long ago in the warm Philippine waters.

 

 "Those are some ancient-looking hoists," Giordino remarked, eyeing a

 small pair of rusty derricks that reached across the deck like

 outstretched arms.

 

 "If I had to guess, I'd say she was probably built in the twenties,"

 Pitt replied, kicking past a deck rail that appeared to be made of

 brass.Pitt made his way along the deck until he reached a pair of

 large square hatch covers, the capstones to the ship's forward cargo

 holds.With the freighter's heavy list, Pitt had expected to find the

 hatch covers pitched off the storage compartments, but that wasn't the

 case.Together, the two men swam around the circumference of each

 hatch, searching for damage or signs of leakage.

 

 "Locked down and sealed tight as a drum," Giordino said after they

 returned to their starting point.

 

 "There must be a breach somewhere else."

 

 Silently finishing his thought, Pitt slowly ascended until he could

 look down the curving starboard side and exposed hull.Surrounding the

 ship, the coral reef rose sharply on either side.Following his

 instincts, he swam down the starboard hull all the way to the partially

 exposed keel line, then moved slowly toward the bow.Kicking just a

 short distance, he suddenly halted.Before him, a jagged

 four-foot-wide gash stretched nearly twenty feet down the starboard

 hull to the very tip of the bow.The sound of whistling burst through

 his ears as Giordino swam up and surveyed the gaping wound.

 

 "Just like the Titanic" he marveled."Only she scraped herself to the

 bottom on a coral head instead of a chunk of ice."

 

 "She must have been trying to run aground on purpose," Pitt surmised.

 

 "Outrunning a typhoon, probably."

 

 "Or maybe a Navy Corsair.Leyte Gulf is just around the corner, where

 the Japanese fleet was decimated in 1944."

 

 The Philippine Islands were a hotly contested piece of real estate in

 World War II, Pitt recalled.More than sixty thousand Americans lost

 their lives in the failed defense and later recapture of the islands, a

 forgotten toll that exceeded the losses in Vietnam.On the heels of

 the surprise attack at Pearl Harbor, Japanese forces had landed near

 Manila and quickly overrun the U.S. and Philippine forces garrisoned at

 Luzon, Bataan, and Corregidor.General MacArthur's hasty retreat was

 followed by three years of Japanese oppressive rule, until American

 advances across the Pacific led to the invasion of the southern island

 of Leyte in October 1944.

 

 Just over a hundred miles from Panglao, the province of Leyte and its

 adjoining gulf was the site of the largest air sea battle in history.

 Days after MacArthur and his invasion force landed on "Leyte, the

 Japanese Imperial Navy appeared and successfully divided the American

 supporting naval force.The Japanese came within a hair of destroying

 the Seventh Fleet, but were ultimately turned back in a devastating

 defeat, losing four carriers and three battleships, including the

 massive battlewagon Musashi.The crippling losses finished the

 Imperial Navy's brief dominance in Pacific waters and led to the

 country's military collapse within a year.

 

 The sea channels surrounding the southern Philippine islands of Leyte,

 Samar, Mindanao, and Bohol were littered with sunken cargo transport,

 and warships from the conflict.It would be no surprise to Pitt if the

 toxins were related to combat wreckage.Eyeing the gash in the cargo

 ship's hull, it was easy to presume that the vessel was a victim of

 war.

 

 Pitt mentally envisioned the Japanese-flagged freighter under air

 

 attack, the desperate captain electing to run the ship aground in a

 perilous attempt to save the crew and cargo.Slicing into the coral

 reef, the bow quickly filled with water as the ship ricocheted off the

 sides of the crevasse.With a full head of steam, the ship literally

 drove itself over onto its port side.Whatever cargo the captain had

 tried to save lay hidden and dormant for decades to follow.

 

 "I think we definitely hit the jackpot," Giordino said in a morose

 tone.

 

 Pitt turned to see Giordino's gloved hand pointing away from the hull

 and toward the adjacent reef Gone was the vibrant red-, blue-, and

 green-colored corals they had witnessed earlier.In a fan-shaped

 pattern stretching around the ship's bow, the coral was uniformly

 tinted a dull white.Pitt grimly noted that no fish were visible in

 the area as well.

 

 "Bleached dead from the arsenic," he noted.

 

 Turning back to the wreck, he grabbed a small flashlight clipped to his

 buoyancy compensator and ducked toward the gap in the hull.Edging his

 way slowly into the ship's underside, he flicked on the light and

 sprayed its beam across the black interior.The lower bow section was

 empty but for a mass of thick anchor chain coiled in a huge pile like

 an iron serpent.Creeping aft, Pitt moved toward the rear bulkhead as

 Giordino slipped through the gash and followed behind him.Reaching

 the bulkhead, Pitt panned his light across the steel wall that

 separated them from the forward cargo hold.At its lower joint with

 the starboard bulkhead, he found what he was looking for.The pressure

 from the outer hull's collision with the reef had buckled one of the

 plates on the cargo hold's bulkhead.The bent metal created a

 horizontal window to the cargo hold several feet wide.

 

 Pitt eased up to the hole, careful not to kick up silt around him, then

 stuck his head in and pulled in the flashlight.A huge lifeless eye

 stared back at him just inches away, nearly causing him to recoil until

 he saw that it belonged to a grouper.The fifty-pound green fish

 drifted back and forth across the compartment in a slow maze, its gray

 belly pointing up toward the trail of Pitt's rising exhaust bubbles.

 Peering past the dead fish into its black tomb, Pitt's blood went cold

 as he surveyed the hold.Scattered in mounds like eggs in a henhouse

 were hundreds of decaying artillery shells.The forty-pound

 projectiles were ammunition for the 105mm artillery gun, a lethal field

 weapon utilized by the Imperial Army during the war.

 

 "A Welcome-to-the-Philippines present for General MacArthur?"Giordino

 asked, peering in.

 

 Pitt silently nodded, then pulled out a plastic-lined dive bag.

 Giordino obliged by reaching over and grabbing a shell and inserting it

 in the bag as Pitt sealed and wrapped it.Giordino then reached over

 and picked up another highly corroded shell, holding it just a few

 inches off the bottom.Both men looked on curiously as a brown oily

 substance leaked out of the projectile.

 

 "That doesn't resemble any high-explosives powder I've ever seen," 'is

 said, gingerly setting the weapon down.

 

 "I don't think they are ordinary artillery shells," Pitt replied as he

 noted a pool of brown ooze beneath a nearby pile of ordnance."Let's

 get this one back to the shipboard lab and find out what we've got," he

 said, carrying the wrapped ordnance under his arm like a football.

 Gliding forward along the bow section, he slipped through the open hull

 and back into the bright sunlit water.

 

 Pitt had little doubt that the armament was a lost World War II cache.

 Why the arsenic, he did not know.The Japanese were innovative in

 their weapons of war and the arsenic-laced shells might have been

 another device in their arsenal of death.The loss of the Philippines

 would have effectively spelled the end of the war for the Japanese and

 they may have prepared to use the weapons as part of a last-gasp

 measure against a determined enemy.

 

 As they surfaced with the mysterious shell, Pitt felt a strange sense of

 relief.The deadly cargo that the ship carried so many years ago had

 never reached port.He was somehow glad that it had ended up sunk on

 the reef, never to be fielded in the face of battle.

 

 Japanese Imperial submarine I-413 and Numa submersible Starfish

 

 June 4, 2007 Kyodongdo Island, South Korea

 

 At fifty-five meters in length, the steel-hulled Benetti yacht was

 impressive even by Monte Carlo affluent standards.The custom-built

 Italian yacht's lush interior featured an array of marble flooring,

 Persian carpets, and rare Chinese antiques, which filled the cabins and

 salons with warm elegance.A collection of fifteenth-century oil

 paintings by the Flemish master Hans Memling dotted the walls, adding

 to the eclectic feel.The glistening maroon-and-white exterior, which

 featured a wide band of wraparound dark-tinted windows, was given a

 more traditional appearance, with inlaid teak decking and brass

 fittings on the outside verandas.The entire effect was a tasteful mix

 of old-world charm combined with the speed and function of modern

 design and technology.Always turning heads as it roared by, the

 vessel was an admired fixture on the Han River in and about Seoul.To

 the local society crowd, an invitation aboard was a highly desired mark

 of prominence, providing the rare opportunity to sil with the boat's

 enigmatic owner.

 

 Dae-jong Kang was a leading icon of South Korean industry and he seemed

 to have his hands in everything.Little was known of the mercurial

 leader's early background, aside from his sudden appearance during

 the economic boom of the nineties as the head of a regional

 construction company.But upon his taking over the reins, the low-tech

 firm became a corporate Pac-Man, gobbling up companies in the shipping, electronics, semiconductor, and telecommunications industries in

 a series of leveraged buy outs and hostile takeovers.The businesses

 were all rolled under the umbrella of Kang Enterprises, a privately

 held empire entirely controlled and directed by Kang himself.Unafraid

 of the public spotlight, Kang mixed freely with politicians and

 business leaders alike, wielding additional influence on the board of

 directors of South Korea's largest companies.

 

 The fifty-year-old bachelor held a veil of mystery over his private

 life, however.Much of his time was spent sequestered at his large

 estate on a secluded section of Kyodongdo Island, a lush mountainous

 outpost near the mouth of the Han River on the western Korean coast.

 There he dabbled with a stable of Austrian show horses or worked on his

 golf game, according to the few who had been invited inside the private

 enclave.More carefully hidden was a dark secret about the

 iconoclastic businessman that would have completely shocked his

 corporate cronies and political patrons.Unknown to even his closest

 associates, Kang had operated for over twenty-five years as a sleeper

 agent for the Democratic People's Republic of Korea, or North Korea, as

 it was known by the rest of the world.

 

 Kang was born in the Hwanghae Province of North Korea shortly after the

 Korean War.At the age of three, his parents were killed in a railroad

 derailment, blamed on South Korean insurgents, and the infant boy was

 adopted by his maternal uncle.The uncle, a founding member of the

 Korean Workers' Party in 1945, had fought with Kim Il Sung and his

 anti-Japanese guerrilla forces based in the Soviet Union during World

 War II. When Kim Il Sung later rose to power in North Korea, the uncle

 was richly rewarded with a series of provincial government

 appointments, brokering himself into ever more important spheres of

 influence until, ultimately, gaining a seat as an elite ruling member

 of the Central People's Committee, the top executive decision-making

 organization in North Korea.

 

 During his uncle's ascension, Kang received a thorough indoctrination

 in the Korean Workers' Party dogma while obtaining the best

 state-sponsored education the fledgling country could offer. Recognized

 early as a fast learner who excelled at his studies, Kang was groomed

 as a foreign operative, with sponsorship from his uncle.

 

 Blessed with a keen financial mind, command like leadership skills, and

 a ruthless heart, Kang was smuggled into South Korea at the age of

 twenty-two and set up as a laborer at a small construction company.

 With brutal efficiency, he quickly worked his way up to foreman, then

 arranged a series of "accidental" work site deaths that killed the

 firm's president and top managers.Forging a series of ownership

 transfer documents, Kang quickly took control of the business within

 two years of his arrival.With secret direction and capital infusion

 from Pyongyang, the young communist entrepreneur slowly expanded his

 network of commercial enterprises over the years, focusing on products

 and services most beneficial to the North.Kang's forays into

 telecommunications provided access to Western network communications

 hardware valuable to the military's command and control systems.His

 semiconductor plants secretly built chips for use in short-range

 missiles.And his fleet of cargo ships provided the means for covertly

 transferring defense technology to the government of his homeland.The

 profits from his corporate empire that were not smuggled north in the

 form of Western goods and technology were spent bribing key politicians

 for government contracts or utilized for the hostile acquisition of

 other companies.Yet Kang's zealous appropriation of power and

 technology was almost peripheral to his primary objective, set forth by

 his handlers so many years before.Kang's mission, in the simplest of

 provisions, was to promote the reunification of the two Korean

 countries, but on North Korea's terms.

 

 The sleek Benetti yacht slowed its engines as it entered a narrow

 inlet off the Han River that wound snakelike into a protected cove.As

 the boat eased through the inlet, the pilot increased the throttle

 again, racing the boat smoothly across the calm waters of the interior

 lagoon.A yellow floating dock bobbed gently on the opposite side of

 the | cove, which quickly grew larger in size as the yacht drew near.

 The big; vessel stormed toward the dock, swinging parallel at just the

 last, minute as its engines were cut.A pair of black-uniformed men

 grabbed the bow and stern lines and tied off the vessel as the pilot

 finessed her the last few feet to the dock. The shore crew quickly

 rolled a stepped platform against the yacht's side, the upper step

 matching the foot level of the first deck.

 

 A cabin door popped open and three gray-looking men in dark blue suits

 stepped down onto the dock and instinctively peered up at the large

 stone structure perched above them.Jutting from a cliff that rose

 nearly vertically above the dock nestled an immense stone house that

 was half-carved into the crown of the bluff.Thick walls surrounded

 the house, lending a medieval look to the compound, although the house

 itself was clearly of Asian design, with a deep angular tiled roof

 capping the brownstone walls.The entire structure sat two hundred

 feet above the water, accessible by a steep set of stairs carved into

 the rock on one side.The three men noted that twelve-foot-high stone

 walls ran all the way down to the water's edge, ensuring a high degree

 of privacy.A tight-lipped guard standing at the dock's footing with

 an automatic rifle slung over his shoulder ensured even more.

 

 As the men in suits made their way along the dock, a door opened from a

 small structure near the landing and out walked their host to greet

 them.There was no question that Dae-jong Kang had an imposing air

 about him.At an even six feet tall and weighing two hundred pounds,

 his physical mass was large by Korean standards.But it was his stern

 face and penetrating eyes that indicated a willful presence.Under the

 right circumstances, his piercing glare could almost cut a

 

 man in two.A practiced but insincere smile helped break down barriers

 when he needed to, but an icy-cold aloofness always lingered over him

 like a cloud.He was a man who reeked of power and was not afraid to

 use it.

 

 "Welcome, gentlemen," Kang said in a smooth voice."I trust your

 voyage from Seoul was enjoyable?"

 

 The three men, all leading party members in the South Korean National

 Assembly, nodded in unison.The senior member of the political trio, a

 balding man named Youngnok Rhee, replied for the group: "A trip down

 the Han River is a delight in such a beautiful boat."

 

 "It is my preferred means of commuting to Seoul," Kang replied,

 implying the boredom he found flying in his private helicopter."Right

 this way," he motioned toward the small building at the base of the

 cliff.

 

 The politicians followed him obediently past a small security station

 and down a narrow passageway to a waiting elevator, the shaft of which

 had been carved directly into the cliff.The visitors admired an

 ancient painting of a tiger hung on the elevator's back wall as it rose

 rapidly to the main house.When the doors opened, the men stepped out

 into an expansive, ornately decorated dining room.Beyond an elegant

 mahogany dining table, floor-to-ceiling glass walls offered a

 breathtaking view of the Han River delta, where the grand river's

 waters emptied into the Yellow Sea.A sprinkling of worn sampans and

 small cargo boats dotted the horizon, fighting their way upriver toward

 Seoul with a supply of trade goods.Most of the boats clung to the

 south bank of the river, well away from the imaginary demarcation line

 with North Korea that ran down the river's center.

 

 "An incredible view, Mr.Kang," offered the tallest of the three

 politicians, a man named Won Ho.

 

 "I enjoy it, for the vista encompasses both our countries," Kang

 replied with intent."Please be seated."He waved a hand as he spoke,

 then took a seat at the head of the table.A cadre of uniformed

 servants began shuttling in an array of fine wines and gourmet

 dishes,

 

 while the conversation among the seated men drifted toward politics..;

 A medley of spicy fragrances filled the air as they dined on

 daiji-bulgog^l or pork marinated in a spicy garlic sauce, accompanied

 by jachae guij, an assortment of marinated vegetables.Kang played the

 gregarious host to his guests until they had comfortably imbibed,

 then he applied the knife.

 

 "Gentlemen, it's high time we take seriously the effort to unify our

 two countries," he spoke slowly, for effect."As a Korean, I know that

 we are one country in language, in culture, and in heart.As a

 businessman, I know how much stronger we could be economically in the

 global markets.The Sino-American threat, which has long justified the

 use of our countries as pawns to the superpowers, is no more.It is

 long past time that we throw off the shackles of foreign domination and

 do what is right for Korea.Our destiny is as one, and we should seize

 the opportunity now."

 

 "The goal of unification beats strongly in all our hearts, but the

 reckless leadership and military juggernaut of North Korea mandates

 that we tread with caution," replied the third politician, a beady-eyed

 man named Kim.

 

 Kang brushed aside the comment."As you know, I recently toured North

 Korea as part of a fact-finding trip sponsored by the Ministry of

 Unification.We found their economy to be in a moribund state, with

 food shortages widespread and rampant.The depleted economic state has

 taken a toll on the North Korean military as well.The military forces

 we witnessed appeared ill-equipped and extremely low morale," he

 lied.

 

 "Yes, I can attest to their struggles," Won Ho replied."But do really

 think reunification would be a benefit to our own economy?

 

 "The northern provinces offer an abundance of cheap labor that is

 readily accessible.We would immediately become more competitive on

 the world markets, as our average labor costs would diminish

 substantially.I have assessed the impact to my own enterprises and

 make no secret of the fact that my profits could be boosted

 dramatically.In

 

 Hdition, the northern province economies would provide a new, un-ned

 consumption market that South Korean business is poised to No,

 gentlemen, there is no question that unification would provide an

 economic windfall to all of us in the south."

 

 "There is still the issue of North Korea's hard-line contention in the

 matter," Won Ho stated."We cannot simply achieve reunification

 unilaterally."

 

 "Yes," Kim added."They have repeatedly insisted that the United

 States military presence be removed from our soil before reunification

 can be considered."

 

 "That is why," Kang continued calmly, "I am asking the three of you to

 support the resolution recently introduced in the National Assembly

 demanding the removal of all American military forces from South

 Korea."

 

 A stunned silence fell over the room as the three politicians digested

 Kang's words.Kang had brought them there for a reason, they knew, but

 the politicians had figured the corporate giant was seeking legislative

 tax relief or some other aid to his business empire.Not one of them

 expected a demand so risky to their political careers.The elder

 statesman Rhee finally cleared his throat and spoke deliberately.

 

 "That particular resolution was introduced by radical elements in the

 assembly.There is little chance it would ever pass a full vote."

 

 "There is if the three of you came on record in support of it," Kang

 replied.

 

 "That's impossible," Kim stammered."I cannot support weakening our

 military defense for the asking while North Korea continues to consign

 all its resources toward boosting its military might."

 

 "You can and you will.With the recent murder of the girl in Kun-san

 City by the American serviceman, there is a firestorm of animosity

 toward the American military from the mainstream populace.It is

 incumbent upon you to place pressure on our president to act and act

 now."

 

 "But the American forces are essential for our security.There are

 

 over thirty-five thousand troops stationed in our defense," Kim argued

 before being cut off.

 

 "May I remind you," Kang hissed, his face contorting into an evil

 smirk, "that I have paid and negotiated your way into the position that

 you hold today."The controlled rage glowed from his eyes like burning

 embers.

 

 Rhee and Won Ho slumped back in their chairs and nodded gravely,

 knowing their political futures were finished if knowledge of their

 graft over the years was ever released to the press."Yes, it will be

 done," Won Ho said meekly.

 

 Kim, however, appeared oblivious to Kang's rage.Shaking his head, he

 replied firmly, "I'm sorry, but I cannot support placing our country at

 risk of military defeat.I will not vote in favor of the resolution."

 He turned and peered at his fellow politicians with a look of scorn.

 

 The room fell silent again for several moments before the servants

 returned to clear away the dinner dishes.Kang leaned over and

 whispered something into the ear of one of the servants, who quickly

 paced back to the kitchen.Seconds later, a side door opened and two

 hulking security guards, attired in black from head to toe, entered the

 room.Without saying a word, they strode to either side of Kim's

 chair, grabbed his arms, and yanked the politician roughly to his

 feet.

 

 "What is the meaning of this, Kang?"he cried.

 

 "I will suffer your foolishness no more," Kang replied coldly.With a

 wave of his hand, the two thugs muscled Kim to a veranda door that

 opened onto an outside balcony.Flailing and struggling hopelessly

 against the stronger men, Kim was dragged outside and to the edge of

 the balcony wall, which jutted over the face of the rock cliff.

 Obscenities burst from his mouth as he demanded to be let go but his

 pleas were ignored.As Rhee and Won Ho looked on in horror, the two

 men in black hoisted Kim up off his feet, then unceremoniously pitched

 his thrashing body over the wall.

 

 Kim's screaming voice could be heard trailing away for several seconds

 as he plunged down the cliff wall.A faint thud signaled that his body

 had struck the beach landing below and his screaming suddenly ceased.

 Rhee and Won Ho turned ashen white as the two thugs calmly returned to

 the dining hall.Kang sipped at a glass of wine, then spoke to the

 security men in a nonchalant tone.

 

 "Retrieve the body and take it to Seoul.Plant him on a street near

 his residence and make it look like a hit-and-run traffic accident," he

 ordered.

 

 As they left the room, Kang turned to the frightened politicians and

 asked with icy politeness, "You will stay for dessert, won't you?"

 

 Kang peered out the dining hall window and watched as Rhee and Won Ho

 anxiously boarded his yacht below.Kim's body, wrapped in brown

 blanket, had been crudely dumped on the boat's stern deck and covered

 with a tarp but was readily distinguishable to the two shaken men as

 they climbed aboard.Observing the yacht-as it cast off and began its

 fifty-mile trek upriver to Seoul, Kang turned as a man entered the room

 and approached.He had a scrawny build and greased-back black hair,

 with pale skin that seldom saw the light of day.His blue suit was

 well worn, and his choice of tie dated, but his white shirt was

 starched crisp.What Kang's administrative assistant lacked in panache

 he made up for in thrift and efficiency.

 

 "Your meeting was a success?"the man asked Kang, with a dose of

 subservience.

 

 "Yes, Kwan.Rhee and Won Ho are going to promote our initiative for

 the removal of U.S. forces through the National Assembly.It was

 unfortunate that we had to eliminate Kim, but it was apparent that he

 had lost his loyalty to us.His death will send a strong message to

 the other two."

 

 "A sensible decision.Sir, a courier from Yonan is arriving by boat this evening to receive the prototype missile guidance chip set that

 has passed final test at our semiconductor facility.Do you wish also

 to relay a briefing status?"

 

 Like a foreign embassy in a hostile nation, Kang and his superiors in

 North Korea relied on couriers to funnel information, technology, and

 contraband out of the South.Although the Internet had become the

 spy's best friend when it came to dispatching information, there was

 still the need for one-on-one contact to transfer hard goods.An aged

 fisherman in a beat-up sampan, easily neglected by the Navy patrols,

 was the favored agent's disguise for crossing the DMZ to Kang's

 estate.

 

 "Yes, we can report that a National Assembly vote will be brought forth

 on the expulsion resolution within the next several weeks, and that

 progress is being made on its passage.Our organized student protests

 are gaining momentum, and our media payoffs will ensure continued press

 attention and coverage of the U.S. serviceman murder incident," Kang

 said with a wry smile."Our external disruption plan is proving to be

 most effective.What remains to be seen is whether we can implement

 the chimera project quickly enough to maximize the Americans' strife.

 What is the latest from the biochemical laboratory?"

 

 "The news is most promising.The lab team has completed their study of

 the test results from the Aleutian Islands and verified that the virus

 was successfully rejuvenated during flight release.In addition,

 dispersion of the virus through the mock-up missile-borne vapor

 mechanism covered a ground path larger than anticipated.The program

 engineers are confident that the full-scale deployment system already

 built will be operationally successful."

 

 "Providing we can generate sufficient quantities of the virus.It was

 most unfortunate that all but one of the canisters on the I-403

 submarine was destroyed."

 

 "An unforeseen circumstance.Since most of the recovered agent was

 utilized in the Aleutian test firing, very little was left available

 for

 

 laboratory growth purposes.Dr.Sarghov at the bio lab informs me it

 will take over three months to cultivate quantities necessitated by the

 orogram.For this reason, we have initiated your request to attempt

 recovery of the second Japanese armament stock."

 

 "A second Japanese submarine," Kang muttered, picturing an Imperial

 Japanese submersible lying torpedoed on the ocean floor."An amazing

 intelligence discovery that there was not one but two submarines

 destroyed carrying such a virulent cargo.How soon before recovery

 operations commence?"

 

 "The submarine must be located first.We have the Baekje en route to

 Yokohama to pick up a leased submersible that will be required for the

 deep-water recovery operation.Once on-site, we expect the survey to

 take approximately two days, and the entire recovery operation to be

 completed within ten days."

 

 "And Tongju?"

 

 "He will meet up with the salvage ship in Yokohama and remain on board

 to lead security operations."

 

 "Very good," Kang said, rubbing his hands together in satisfaction.

 "Things are proceeding nicely, Kwan.The domestic pressures on the

 Americans will soon be very hot and the chimera project will be a sharp

 kick to their sides.We must soon prepare for the coming offensive and

 restoration of the country under our home flag."

 

 "You will hold a place of high honor in the new Korea," Kwan stroked.

 

 Kang looked again at the sweeping panorama to the north before him. The

 rolling hills of his native North Korea lay just across the Han River,

 stretching wide across the far horizon.

 

 "It is time we regain our country," he muttered softly.

 

 Kwan started to leave the room, then stopped and turned.

 

 "Sir, there is one other item that has cropped up related to the

 chimera project."

 

 Kang nodded at his assistant to proceed.

 

 "The helicopter that was shot down in the Aleutians was operated

 

 by an American government research vessel from the National Un-I

 derwater and Marine Agency.Our crew believed the pilot and crew :

 were killed, which was initially confirmed by an Alaskan media report

 of a fatal helicopter crash.However, our U.S. field operations team

 monitoring the Americans' response to the test reported that the pilot,

 a special projects director named Pitt, and his copilot had in fact

 survived the crash."

 

 "That is of little consequence," Kang replied irritably.

 

 Kwan cleared his throat nervously."Well, sir, I had our team track

 the pilot upon his return to home port in Seattle.Two days after

 their return, the NUMA men were seen in a small survey boat headed for

 the region where the I-403 is located."

 

 "What?That's not possible," Kang belched with sudden anger, made

 visible by a large vein that throbbed on his forehead."How would they

 have any knowledge of our activities?"

 

 "I do not understand it, either.They are undersea professionals.

 Perhaps our recovery operation was witnessed by others and they were

 simply monitoring the I-403 for looters.Or perhaps it is just a

 coincidence.They may have been performing an engineering or

 archaeological assessment."

 

 "Perhaps.But this is no time to compromise the project.Have them

 both taken care of," Kang directed.

 

 "Yes, sir," Kwan replied, backpedaling out of the room quickly."It

 will be handled at once."

 

 To the ancient Aztecs of central Mexico, it-was known as the "Great

 Leprosy."The ghastly plague of death had appeared sometime after the

 arrival of Hernando Cortes and his troops in 1518.Some believe a

 rival conquistador named Narvaez, sailing from Cuba, had carried the

 scourge.Whoever the carrier, the results proved horrific.When

 Cortes entered Mexico City after a four-month siege against the forces

 of Montezuma in 1521, he was shocked at what he found.Stacks upon

 stacks of dead, decaying bodies were piled high in homes, on the

 streets, everywhere the eye could see throughout the city.No

 casualties of battle, the dead were all victims of disease.

 

 No one knows the origins of Variola major, but the deadly virus, better

 known as "smallpox," has left an expansive path of tragedy around the

 globe.Though smallpox epidemics have been recorded in civilizations

 as far back as the ancient Egyptians, history knows the disease best as

 the scourge of the Americas, leaving its deadliest mark on

 

 the highly susceptible natives of the western continents.Introduced

 to the New World by the crews of Christopher Columbus, smallpox wreaked

 havoc throughout the entire West Indies and virtually decimated the

 original Carib Indians who greeted Columbus on his first voyage west.

 

 The Cortes/Narvaez introduction of smallpox into Mexico is estimated to

 have killed nearly half of the three hundred thousand inhabitants

 of Mexico City in 1521.Cumulative deaths throughout the country from

 the highly contagious disease easily numbered in the millions.Similar

 devastation transpired in South America as well.When Pizarro landed

 in Peru in 1531 on his great quest for gold, the smallpox virus was

 already annihilating the Inca population.With his army of less than

 two hundred men, Pizarro would never have ransacked the Inca empire had

 the culture not been preoccupied with a chaotic struggle against the

 ravaging disease.More than five million Incas may have died from

 smallpox, which all but eradicated their entire civilization.

 

 In North America, Native American tribes were not immune to the

 onslaught.Numerous tribes of river valley Mound Builders vanished

 altogether from smallpox, while the Massachusetts and Narragansett

 tribes were nearly wiped out.Estimates suggest that the population of

 the New World declined by ninety-five percent in the century following

 the arrival of Columbus, attributable primarily to smallpox.

 

 The lethal virus didn't stop there, flaring up in sporadic epidemics

 that killed thousands more in Europe over the next two hundred years.

 Sinister military minds later made use of the disease as a tool of

 battle, to intentionally infect opposing forces.Historical

 allegations claim the British provided smallpox-infected blankets to

 warring Native American tribes in the 1760s, and employed similar

 tactics against American troops during the battle for Quebec during the

 Revolutionary War.

 

 Primitive vaccinations were finally discovered in the early nineteenth

 century, using a related cowpox virus, which eventually provided some

 measure of control against the disease.Sporadic outbreaks and Cold

 War fears prompted routine smallpox vaccinations in the United States

 up until the nineteen seventies.In large part due to the World Health

 Organization's successful global battle against the disease, smallpox

 was declared completely eradicated in 1977.Save for a small research

 sample at the U.S. Centers for Disease Control, and an unknown quantity

 developed for military applications in the former Soviet Union,

 remaining worldwide stocks of the virus were completely destroyed.

 Smallpox was nearly a forgotten disease until the terrorist attacks in

 the early years of the new century raised the fear that a contagious

 virulent outbreak of any form was again a threat to be reckoned with.

 

 The historical ravages of smallpox were of little concern to Irv Fowler

 at the moment.After mustering the strength to drive himself to the

 Alaska Regional Hospital emergency room, his only hopes were for a

 quiet room and an attractive nurse to help him recuperate from whatever

 form of killer flu was knocking him out.Even when a parade of

 somber-looking medical professionals kept marching by to have a look at

 him and then insisted he be wheeled into quarantine, he was feeling too

 weak to be alarmed.Only when a pair of masked doctors finally

 informed him that he had tested positive for smallpox did his mind

 begin to whir.Two thoughts came to mind before delirium washed over

 his brain again: Could he defy the thirty percent mortality rate?And

 who else had he infected?

 

 Dirk, I have some terrifying news."The fear in Sarah's voice was

 palpable, even over the telephone.

 

 "What's wrong?"

 

 "It's Irv.He's sick in the hospital in Anchorage.The doctors say

 that he has contracted smallpox.I just can't believe it."

 

 "Smallpox?I thought that had all but been eliminated."

 

 "Practically speaking, it has.If the doctors are correct with the

 diagnosis, it will be the first documented case in the United States in

 thirty years.The medical authorities are keeping it quiet, though the

 CDC is rushing vaccination supplies to Alaska in case an outbreak

 develops."

 

 "How's he holding up?"

 

 "He's at a critical juncture," Sarah replied, nearly choking on the

 words."The next two or three days will be crucial to his outcome.

 He's in quarantine at Alaska Regional Hospital in Anchorage, along with

 three other people he has had close contact with."

 

 "I'm sorry to hear that," Dirk said with genuine concern in his voice.

 "Irv's a tough old bird, I'm sure he'll sail through without a hitch.

 Have you any idea how on earth he contracted smallpox?"

 

 "Well," Sarah replied, swallowing hard, "the incubation period is

 approximately fourteen days.That would mean he became infected about

 the time we were on Yunaska ... and aboard the Deep Endeavor!"

 

 "He may have contracted it on our ship?"Dirk asked incredulously.

 

 "I don't know.It was either on the ship or on the island, but it

 matters little now.The smallpox virus is remarkably contagious.We

 need to work fast to check everyone who was onboard the Deep Endeavor

 and isolate those infected.Time is critical."

 

 "What about you and Sandy?You were working and living together with

 Irv.Are you all right?"

 

 "As CDC employees, Sandy and I were both vaccinated two years ago after

 concerns were first raised about smallpox as a potential bioterrorist

 threat.Irv was on loan to us from the state of Alaska's Department of

 Epidemiology and had not yet received his vaccination."

 

 "Can the crew of the Deep Endeavor still be vaccinated?"

 

 "Unfortunately, it would do no good.The vaccine can be effective

 within a couple of days of exposure but becomes useless thereafter.

 It's a terrible disease, as once you've contracted it there is nothing

 that can be done to combat it until it has run its course."

 

 "I'll contact Captain Burch and we'll check on all the crew members as

 soon as possible."

 

 "I will be back from Spokane this evening.If you can assemble the

 crew, I can help the ship's doctor check each man for symptoms in the

 morning."

 

 "Consider it done.Sarah, I could use another favor from you as well.

 Okay if I pick you up in the morning?"

 

 "Sure, that would be fine.And, Dirk ... I pray that you are not

 infected."

 

 "Don't you worry," he replied confidently."There's way too much rum

 in my blood to keep any bugs alive."

 

 Dirk immediately called Captain Burch, and, with Leo Del-| gado's help,

 quickly contacted each crew member who had sailed on the Deep Endeavor.

 To their relief, none of the men reported signs of illness, and all

 appeared at the NUMA field office the next morning

 

 As promised, Dirk picked up Sarah at her apartment early in the:

 morning, electing to drive the big '58 Chrysler.

 

 "My word, this is an enormous car," Sarah declared as she climbed into

 the finned behemoth.

 

 "It's the original definition of heavy metal," Dirk grinned as he

 stoked the car out of the parking lot and drove toward the NUMA

 building.

 

 Many of the Deep Endeavor's crew greeted Sarah warmly when she arrived

 before the assembled group, and she noted to herself how the entire

 crew behaved more like close family members than coworkers.

 

 "It is great to see my NUMA friends again," she said, addressing the

 crew."As you may know, my associate Irv Fowler, who was on the ship

 with us, has been diagnosed with smallpox.The smallpox virus is

 highly contagious and it is critical that those infected be quickly

 isolated.I will need to know if any of you have suffered from the

 following symptoms since Irv, Sandy, and I left the Deep Endeavor,

 fever, headache, backache, severe abdominal pain, malaise, delirium, or

 rashes on the face, arms, or legs."

 

 One by one, she examined the apprehensive crew, taking temperatures and

 grilling each man or woman on signs of the deadly disease.Even Dirk

 and Captain Burch were subject to her checkup, after which Sarah gave a

 noticeable sigh of relief.

 

 "Captain, just three of your crewmen are showing minor flu like signs

 of illness, which may or may not be preliminary symptoms of the virus.

 I request that these men remain isolated until we can complete their

 blood tests.Your remaining crew should avoid large public venues for

 at least a few more days.I would like to do a follow-up check at the

 end of the week, but it appears promising there has been nO outbreak

 among the ship's crew."

 

 "That is good news," Burch replied with audible relief."Seems odd to

 me that the virus did not spread easily through a confined ship."

 

 "Patients are most infectious after the onset of rash, which typically

 occurs twelve to fourteen days after exposure.Irv was well off the

 boat and working in Anchorage when he reached that stage, so it's

 possible that the virus had not spread while we were aboard.Captain,

 I would ensure that his stateroom on the Deep Endeavor is thoroughly

 sanitized, along with all linen and dining ware aboard the ship, just

 to be safe."

 

 "I'll see that it's taken care of right away."

 

 "It would appear that the source of the smallpox outbreak was on

 Yunaska," Dirk speculated.

 

 "I think so," Sarah replied."It's a wonder that you and Jack were not

 exposed when you picked us up off the island."

 

 "Our protective gear may have saved us."

 

 "Thank God," she said gratefully.

 

 "It would seem that our mysterious friends on the fishing boat may have

 been dabbling with something even nastier than cyanide.Which reminds

 me ... the favor I asked?"

 

 Dirk led Sarah to the Chrysler, where he popped open the large trunk

 lid.Inside was the porcelain bomb canister from the I-403, carefully

 wrapped inside a milk crate.Sarah inspected the item with a quizzical

 look on her face.

 

 "Okay, I give up.What is it?"

 

 Dirk briefly explained his trip to Fort Stevens and the dive on the

 Japanese submarine.

 

 Can you have your lab identify any remaining residue?I have a hunch

 there may be something to it."

 

 Sarah stood silent a moment before speaking.

 

 "Yes, we can have it examined," she said in a serious tone."But it

 will cost you lunch," she said, finally breaking into a wry smile.

 

 Dirk drove Sarah to the state Public Health Lab on Fir-crest Campus,

 where they carefully transferred the fragmented bomb casing into a

 small working lab room.After some chiding for bringing an explosive

 into the building, a jovial, slightly balding research scientist named

 Hal agreed to examine the fragment after the conclusion of a staff

 meeting.

 

 "Looks like a long lunch is in order.Where shall we go?"Sarah

 asked.

 

 "I know a quiet spot with a nice water view," Dirk replied with a

 mischievous grin.

 

 "Then take me away in the green machine," she laughed, climbing into

 the turquoise Chrysler.

 

 Dirk drove the car out of the laboratory's narrow parking lot, easing

 past a familiar-looking black Cadillac CTS that sat with its engine

 running.Exiting the campus grounds, he drove south past Seattle's

 

 st ling downtown, then turned west, following a road sign to

 Fauntleroy.Reaching the water's edge of Puget Sound, Dirk turned to

 the Fauntleroy Ferry Terminal, then steered the Chrysler up a loading

 ramp and onto the car deck of a waiting automobile ferry.As he parked

 the Chrysler amid several rows of tightly packed commuter cars Sarah

 reached over and squeezed his hand tightly.

 

 "A ferryboat snack barDonuts and coffee?"she inquired.

 

 "I think we can do better than that.Let's go upstairs and look at the

 view."

 

 Sarah followed him up a stairwell that emptied onto the open upper

 deck, where they found a vacant bench facing the northern expanse of

 Puget Sound.A loud blast from the ferry's horn and a gentle nudge

 beneath their feet told them they were on their way, as two

 2,500-horsepower diesel engines gently pushed the 328-foot vessel away

 from the dock.

 

 It was a crystal clear day on the Sound, the kind that reminded local

 residents of why they endure the long, drizzly Pacific Northwest

 winters to call the area home.In the distance, the Cascade and

 Olympic mountain ranges sparkled along the horizon, almost shimmering

 against an azure blue sky so intense it felt close enough to touch. The

 Seattle downtown cut the skyline in a brilliant reflection of steel and

 glass, with the landmark Space Needle rising like a futuristic monolith

 from a George Jetson cartoon.Dirk pointed out a half-dozen other

 ferries plying their human cargoes about the harbor and watched as they

 dodged large freighters that cruised along the international shipping

 lanes.

 

 It was only a fifteen-minute ride to their destination of Vashon

 Island, and when the boat's captain began aligning the ferry to dock

 Dirk and Sarah made their way back down to the Chrysler.As he held

 the door open for Sarah to climb into the passenger seat, Dirk glanced

 down the row of cars parked behind him.Sitting four spaces behind

 them, a black Cadillac sedan caught his eye.The same black Cadillac

 

 that had been parked with the motor running at the Public Health Lab.

 And, he now recalled, the same Cadillac that he had seen during his |

 drive around Fort Stevens.

 

 "I think I see a friend parked behind us," Dirk said calmly to Sarah.

 "Think I'll go back and say hello.I'll be right back."

 

 Strolling casually down the row of cars, he observed two Asian men

 sitting in the Cadillac staring directly at him.As he approached the

 driver's-side door, he suddenly leaned down and stuck his face into the

 open window.

 

 "Excuse me, fellas, do you happen to know where the restroom is?"Dirk

 asked in a hick voice.

 

 The driver, a heavyset goon with a bad crew cut, looked straight ahead,

 refusing to make eye contact, and slowly shook his head.Dirk looked

 for, and found, a slight protrusion under the man's coat near his left

 armpit, the telltale sign of a holstered weapon.Across the car's

 interior, the accomplice in the passenger seat showed none of the

 shyness of the driver.A skinny man with long hair and a stringy

 goatee glared back at Dirk with a menacing grin, a half-smoked

 cigarette dangling from his lips.On the floorboard between his feet

 was a large leather case, which concealed something more than a

 calculator and cell phone, Dirk surmised.

 

 "Find your friend?"Sarah asked when he returned to the Chrysler.

 

 "No," Dirk replied, shaking his head."I was quite mistaken."

 

 A long blast from the ship's horn followed by two short blasts

 announced that the ferry was docking and moments later Dirk drove the

 Chrysler out of the covered car deck and into the bright sunshine.

 Crossing over the ferry ramp, he drove down a long pier, then turned

 out of the ferry complex and onto Vashon Island.

 

 Situated on the lower end of Puget Sound, Vashon Island is a

 thirty-seven-square-mile scenic haven located just minutes from the

 congested hubbub of Seattle and Tacoma.Reachable only by boat, the

 island has maintained a quiet, rural tranquility far removed from

 metropolitan neighbors.Strawberry and raspberry fields dot the lush

 wooded landscape, which is inhabited by a bohemian mix of writers and

 computer intellectuals seeking a slower pace than that of city life.

 

 Lowering the convertible top so that they could better enjoy the sights

 and smells of the landscape, Dirk drove south along the Vashon Highway,

 away from the ferry terminal at the northern tip of the island.

 Observing in his rearview mirror, he watched the black Cadillac exit

 the ferry terminal and fall in line behind him, maintaining a half-mile

 cushion behind the old car.They continued motoring south for several

 miles, past quaint cabins and farmhouses interspersed among thick

 groves of pine trees.

 

 "This feels marvelous," Sarah gushed, stretching her arms above her

 head and feeling the cool wind rush through her fingers.Dirk smiled

 to himself, having known too many women who despised riding in a

 convertible because it mussed up their hair.For him, driving fast in

 a convertible was like riding a storm out at sea or diving on an

 unexplored wreck.It was a little added serving of adventure that made

 life more fun.

 

 Spotting a road sign marked burton, Dirk slowed and turned east off the

 highway, backtracking a short distance on a small side road that led to

 the tiny hamlet.They meandered past a small group of houses until the

 road petered out at the drive of a quaint Victorian inn situated right

 on the water.Built as a summer estate for a Seattle newspaper tycoon

 at the turn of the century, the three-story structure was agleam in

 pastel shades of green and lavender.Bright flowers sprouted in large

 pots and flower boxes were wedged everywhere, throwing a vast array of

 colors to the eye.

 

 "Dirk, it's beautiful here," Sarah beamed as he parked the car next to

 an ornate gazebo."How did you discover this place?"

 

 "One of our scientists has a summer home on the island.Claims they

 have the best king salmon in the state here and I aim to find out."

 

 Dirk led Sarah to an intimate restaurant at one end of the lodge that

 continued the Victorian decor theme.Finding it nearly empty, they

 took a table next to a large picture window that faced east across the

 sound.After ordering a local Chardonnay, they admired the view across

 Quartermaster Harbor to a smaller island named Maury.To the

 southeast, they could see Mt.Rainier standing majestically in the

 distance.

 

 "Reminds me a little of the Grand Tetons," Sarah said, fondly recalling

 the craggy peaks of northwest Wyoming."I used to ride horses for

 miles around Lake Jackson at the base of the Tetons."

 

 "I bet you're a pretty fair downhill skier as well," Dirk ventured.

 

 "I banged up a few sets of skis growing up," she laughed."How'd you

 know?"

 

 "Jackson Hole is right around the corner.Skied it once a few years ago.Terrific snow."

 

 "I love it there," Sarah gushed, her hazel eyes glistening."But I am

 surprised to hear that you have been to Jackson.I didn't think that a

 NUMA special projects director was allowed to leave sight of the

 ocean."

 

 It was Dirk's turn to laugh."Only on my annual vacation.The Gobi

 Desert happened to be booked that year," he grinned."So tell me, how

 did a nice girl from Wyoming end up working at the Centers for Disease

 Control?"

 

 "It's because I am a nice girl from Wyoming," she cooed."Growing up

 on my parents' ranch, I was always nursing a sick calf or mending a

 lame horse.My dad always said I was a softie, but I just loved being

 around animals and trying to help them.So I studied veterinary

 medicine in school, and, after bouncing around a few jobs, was able to

 snag the field epidemiologist job with the CDC.Now I travel the world

 preventing disease outbreaks and helping sick animals, and I even get

 paid for it," she smiled.

 

 Dirk could tell her compassion was genuine.Sarah had a warm heart

 that seemed to resonate through her.If not employed by the rDC she

 would probably be off running a dog shelter or helping a wildlife

 rescue, with or without a paycheck.With her gazing at Dirk ith tender

 eyes, he was glad she was here with him now.

 

 A waiter appeared to spoil their intimacy, but brought a gourmet meal

 to the table.Dirk enjoyed a mesquite-grilled king salmon filet, while

 Sarah dined on Alaskan weathervane scallops she deemed so tender they

 melted in her mouth.After sharing a fresh raspberry cheesecake for

 dessert, they took a short stroll hand in hand along the water's edge.

 Dirk kept an eye out for the two men in the Cadillac, whom he finally

 observed parked a few blocks away in Burton.

 

 "It's gorgeous here, but I guess we should be getting back," Sarah said

 with disappointment."We should have the blood test results on your

 sick crewmen by now, and Hal probably has your bomb canister analysis

 completed."

 

 As they approached the car, she turned and hugged Dirk.

 

 "Thanks for a lovely lunch," she whispered.

 

 ""Kidnapping beautiful women in the afternoon is a specialty of mine,"

 he smiled, then took her in his arms and gave her a long passionate

 kiss.She responded by wrapping her arms around him, squeezing the

 back of his waist tightly.

 

 Easing the car out of the parking lot, Dirk meandered slowly down the

 one-lane thoroughfare of Burton.He glared as he drove by the Cadillac

 parked in a side alley, the two men waiting for them to pass.As he

 watched in the rearview mirror, he was somewhat surprised to see the

 black sedan turn and follow immediately behind him.There was no more

 pretense of an invisible tail, Dirk thought, which was not a good

 sign.

 

 The Cadillac followed behind until they reached the intersection of the

 Vashon Highway.As he stopped to turn, Dirk glanced again in his

 mirror.He could see the passenger with the goatee reaching down at

 "is feet and pulling something out of the leather case.

 

 A sick feeling hit him in his stomach and, without an instant's hesitation, he mashed down on the accelerator.With tires squealing, the

 Chrysler whipped onto the highway and sped north.

 

 "Dirk, what are you doing?"Sarah asked with a bewildered look as

 she was pushed back into the seat.

 

 In an instant, the Cadillac screeched onto the highway behind them,

 sending a spray of gravel flying through the air.This time, the

 Cadillac was not intent on following behind the old Chrysler but nosed

 into the vacant oncoming traffic lane in order to pull alongside.

 

 "Get down on the floor!"Dirk yelled at Sarah as he watched the':

 black car approach in his side mirror.Confused but comprehendin| the

 tone in his voice, Sarah slipped down into the cavernous footwej of the

 Chrysler and rolled into a ball.Dirk eased off the accelerater and

 looked to his left as the Cadillac pulled rapidly alongside.The

 passenger window was rolled down and the young tough grinned sardonically at Dirk.Then he raised an Ingram Mac-10 submachine gun from

 his lap and leveled it at Dirk's head.

 

 The gunman may have been younger but Dirk's reflexes were faster.By

 the time the killer's finger pulled the trigger, Dirk was already

 standing on the brakes.A short burst of fire ricocheted harmlessly

 across the hood of the Chrysler as it suddenly fell back of the

 speeding Cadillac in a cloud of burned rubber.The Chrysler's narrow

 tires screeched in protest as the wheels locked up for a moment before

 Dirk eased off the brakes.He paused a second, waiting for the

 Cadillac to react, then saw what he was waiting for.As the brake

 lights of the Cadillac lit up, he punched the push-button automatic

 transmission into second gear and stomped the accelerator to the

 floorboard.

 

 A flood of raw gas charged down the throats of the Chrysler's twin

 four-barrel carburetors, spraying a gush of combustible fuel to the

 hungry 392-cubic-inch hemi motor.Packing over 380 horsepower, the

 Chrysler 300-D was the fastest and most powerful production car in the

 country in 1958.Showing no signs of its age, the big Chrysler got up

 and roared off down the road like a charging rhinoceros.

 

 The would-be assassins were caught off guard by the suddenly accelerating Chrysler and swore at each other as the big green car shot by

 like an arrow.The gunman made an attempt to fire another burst but

 was too late with his aim, emptying the clip of the burp gun uselessly

 into the woods.With no oncoming traffic, Dirk cut to the left lane

 after passing the Cadillac, making it more difficult for the

 passenger-side gunman to aim his weapon.

 

 "What's happening?Why are they shooting at us?"Sarah cried from the

 floor.

 

 "Some relatives of our old pals in Alaska, I'm betting," Dirk yelled

 over the roar of the engine as he upshifted into third gear."Been

 following us for some time now."

 

 "Can we escape?"Sarah asked with fear in her voice.

 

 "We can hold our own on the straight aways but they'll gain on us in

 the curves.If we can get close to the ferry landing and more people,

 they should back off," he replied, hoping his words would hold true.

 

 The Chrysler had opened a wide gap between the two cars, but the

 Cadillac was inching closer.A narrow bend in the road forced Dirk to

 ease off the gas slightly in order to keep the 4,500-pound colossus on

 the road, allowing the lighter and more nimble Cadillac to gain

 precious feet.The gunman, angry and undisciplined, began emptying a

 second clip in a rage, shooting wildly at the car.Most of the bullets

 zinged harmlessly into the Chrysler's trunk, creating a sieve like

 montage of small round holes.Dirk hunched low in the driver's seat

 and weaved the car randomly back and forth across the road to avoid

 presenting a stable target.

 

 "How much farther?"Sarah asked, still hugging the carpeted floor.

 

 "Just a couple of more miles.We'll make it," Dirk replied, throwing a

 confident wink toward her.

 

 But internally, Dirk cursed himself.He cursed that he had placed her in

 such a position of danger and had not called for help earlier he knew

 he was being followed.And he cursed that he was unarmed, having no weapon at his disposal to fight back with other than a

 nearly fifty-year-old car.

 

 Like a vulture stalking its prey, the black Cadillac mimicked every

 move of the Chrysler, trying desperately to close the gap between the

 two speeding vehicles.As the cars entered a long straight stretch of

 the Vashon Highway, Dirk looked down and saw the speedometer needle

 tickling 125 miles per hour.A blue pickup truck approached from the

 opposite direction and Dirk eased into the right lane, holding the

 accelerator firmly to the floor.The Cadillac's driver, unduly intent

 on overtaking the Chrysler, didn't notice the rapidly approaching

 truck at first and swerved harshly to the right at the last second,

 braking reflexively in the slight panic.The move allowed the

 Chrysler to gain a few more precious feet of pavement and elicited a

 stream of profanities from the frustrated gunman.

 

 But Dirk's temporary dominance was about to expire.The Vashon Highway

 began a series of curves and bends at the northern end of the island

 before it dropped down to the ferry terminal and the racing advantage

 turned from speed to road handling.Coming hard off the long

 straightaway, Dirk braked hard into a sweeping left curve, fighting

 vigorously to keep the big convertible on the road.The more agile

 Cadillac easily made up lost ground and was soon within a few yards of

 Dirk's bumper.Once more, he heard the sputter of machine-gun fire and

 ducked his head down low.A burst of fire shattered into the

 windshield in front of him, turning the glass into a maze of pockmarked

 cracks and holes.One round came in low and Dirk could feel it nearly

 graze his cheek as it whizzed by before smashing into the dashboard.

 

 "I already shaved once today, you bastards," he grumbled, his anger

 overcoming any feelings of fear.As he flung the Chrysler into the

 next turn, the old-fashioned bias-ply tires screeched loudly, leaving a

 smoking black trail along the roadway.The gunman, having already

 exhausted two clips, began firing more cautiously to conserve his

 remaining ammunition.Waiting until the Chrysler entered a right

 turn, then peppered the car with quick, point-blank bursts.Foolishly

 electing not to shoot out the tires, he maintained his aim on the car's

 cockpit.

 

 Inside, Dirk and Sarah were showered with a continuous deluge of broken

 glass, plastic, and metal shards as streams of bullets ripped into the

 interior.Dirk did his best to guide the car down the center of the

 road, glancing repeatedly at his side mirrors to ensure the Cadillac

 didn't accelerate alongside for a better kill shot.Several times he

 veered the Chrysler sharply to one side, nearly smashing the front end

 of the Cadillac before its driver backed down and maintained a

 five-foot buffer off his tail.

 

 Dirk felt like a boxer in the ring, ducking and weaving his head and

 body up, down, and side to side in order to see the road while avoiding

 a rain of lead.He cringed while sliding the car through a right turn

 he watched a ribbon of holes appear in a neat line down the hood.

 The burst punctured the radiator, sending a white plume of steam

 hissing out the grille and hood.Time was short now, he realized.

 Without coolant, the engine would overheat and seize up.He and Sarah

 would then be easy pickings.

 

 As they approached the northern tip of the island, he tried a last

 gambit.Approaching a narrow left turn ahead, Dirk eased into the

 center of the road and slowed slightly to pull the Cadillac in close.

 Then, with both feet on the pedal, he stomped on the brakes as hard as

 he could.Through the screaming tires and cloud of burned rubber, the

 Cadillac kissed the back of the Chrysler hard before its driver slammed

 on the brakes.But his gamble to decimate the front end of the

 Cadillac failed.The Chrysler's ancient drum brakes were no match for

 the Cadillac's four-wheel disc, anti lock braking system, and the newer

 car nearly came to a stop while the big Chrysler was still skidding

 down the road.The Cadillac's driver realized the ploy and kept a

 healthy separation distance now.Dirk let off the brakes and jammed on

 the

 

 accelerator, hoping to keep making ground.There was little left he

 could do now.

 

 The two cars had reached the top of the last rise on the northern

 section of the island.From there, the road gradually snaked downhill

 toward the water's edge, passing a few lanes of shops and houses before

 terminating at the ferry landing.Dirk noticed a small stream of cars

 beginning to dot the highway from the opposite direction, recent

 emigrants from a ferry stop, he surmised.

 

 Despite the additional traffic on the road, the machine gun firing from

 behind continued.The assassins had crossed the line and were bent on

 killing Dirk and Sarah regardless of who got in their way.Dirk gave

 Sarah a quick glance and forced a grin.Her soft eyes showed a mixture

 of both fear and trust.Trust that he would somehow find a way to save

 them.He gripped the steering wheel tightly, more determined than ever

 to shield her from harm.

 

 But there were only seconds to act.The old Chrysler, which now

 resembled the remains of a B-2 bomber target, was clearly on its last

 legs.Smoke billowed from under the hood, accompanied by a throbbing

 melody of knocks and groans from the nearly spent motor.Sparks flew

 from beneath the frame, where a broken exhaust pipe scraped the

 pavement with a torturous grind.Even the tires had generated flat

 spots from the hard braking and thumped out of round.The temperature

 gauge, Dirk noted, had been firmly pegged in the red for several

 minutes now.

 

 Above the roar, he could hear the blast of a ferry horn just ahead as

 they wound closer to the water.From behind, the squeal of the

 Cadillac's tires and the peppering sound of machine-gun fire rattled in

 his ears.The big Chrysler suddenly lurched as the hemi engine began

 to mortally overheat.Dirk's eyes raced over the landscape, searching

 for a sheriff's car, a bank that might employ an armed guard, any sort

 of help he might solicit as a last means of defense.But all he saw

 were quaint little bayside homes with small flower gardens.

 

 Then, looking down the hill toward the approaching ferry terminal)

 

 he had a thought.Highly improbable, he figured, but at this point

 they had nothing to lose.

 

 Sarah looked up and noticed a look of confident resolve suddenly appear

 on his face.

 

 "What is it, Dirk?"she yelled above the din.

 

 "Sarah, my dear," he replied assuredly, "I think our ship has come

 in."

 

 Larry Hatala watched as the final car in line, a pea green 1968

 Volkswagen microbus, chugged up the ramp and onto the ferry.A

 thirty-year veteran of the Washington State Department of

 Transportation, the grizzled Vashon Island terminal attendant shook his

 head and smiled at the driver of the old hippie car, a bearded man in

 bandana and granny glasses.Once the VW was safely aboard the ferry,

 Hatala lowered a wooden orange-and-white signal arm that halted any

 pending traffic at the end of the pier.His work complete until the

 next boat arrived in thirty minutes, Hatala removed a weathered

 baseball cap and wiped his forehead with a sleeve, then threw a

 cheerful wave of the cap to a fellow employee on the departing ferry. A

 young man in a gray jumpsuit finished yanking a guardrail across the

 stern of the ferry, then returned Hatala's wave with a mock military

 salute.As the pilot let loose a deep blast from the air horn, Hatala

 untied a safety docking line and tossed the loose end across to the

 ferry, where his coworker neatly coiled it for the next stop.

 

 The blast from the ferry horn had barely ceased echoing across the peer

 when Hatala's ears detected an unusual sound.It was the wail of tires

 screeching violently on asphalt.Peering up the road, he could detect

 only a periodic flash through the trees of two cars roaring down The

 hill.The whine of revving engines and squealing tires grew closer,

 punctuated by a popping sound Hatala recognized from his Navy days as

 gunfire.Finally, the cars broke free of the trees as they neared the

 terminal, and Hatala stared in astonishment.

 

 The big green Chrysler looked like a galloping dragon, complete with

 fire-breathing smoke and steam belching out of its grille.A

 black-haired man, hunched low in the seat, deftly kept the smoking

 behemoth on the road at speeds clearly too high for its means.Thirty

 feet behind, a sleek black Cadillac sedan followed in hot pursuit, a

 young Asian man dangling out the passenger window wildly firing an

 automatic weapon that did more damage to the trees bordering the road

 than to his intended target.To Hatala's complete horror, the green

 convertible spun into the ferry landing entrance and headed onto the

 pier.

 

 By all rights, the old Chrysler should have up and died long before. A

 withering rain of fire had plastered the car in lead, cutting through

 wires, hoses, and belts, in addition to pasting the body and interior

 with myriad holes.Burning oil mixed with radiator fluid spewed from

 the red-hot motor that was nearly drained of fluids.But with an

 apparent heart of its own, the old Chrysler was not quite ready to give

 up, offering one last gasp of power.

 

 "Dirk, where are we now?"Sarah asked, unable to see from her spot on

 the floor.A rackety sound of tires on wood told her they were no

 longer traveling on the highway.

 

 "We have a boat to catch," Dirk grimaced."Hang on tight."

 

 He could see a man waving his arms wildly at the end of the pier, some

 fifty yards ahead.Beyond the pier's edge, he could detect a churning

 in the water from the ferry's propellers as the boat began to pull away

 from the dock.It was going to be close.

 

 Behind him, the Cadillac lost ground briefly, having nearly missed the turn when Dirk whipped onto the pier.The driver was doggedly"

 determined to stay on Dirk's tail and accelerated hard, oblivious to

 the shortening pier and departure of the ferry.The gunman, too, was

 engrossed with the chase, intent on putting a bullet into the obstinate

 driver who had somehow avoided his previous blasts.

 

 Dirk also kept his foot down hard on the accelerator, but for a

 different reason.He held his breath, hoping the Chrysler would hold

 together for just a few more seconds.Though the end of the pier was

 now just a few yards away, it seemed to take an eternity to reach it.

 Meanwhile, the ferry continued to inch farther into the sound.

 

 A pair of boys bound for a fishing excursion at the end of the pier ran

 scrambling behind a piling as the two cars tore by, their poles

 sacrificed to the speeding machines when they jumped for cover.To

 Dirk's surprise, the man at the end of the pier stopped waving and

 raised the orange-and-white traffic barrier, apparently realizing the

 futility of trying to stop the barreling mass of Detroit iron that was

 charging his way.As he roared by, Dirk nodded thanks at Hatala and

 threw him a jaunty wave.Hatala simply stared back, dumbfounded.

 

 The Chrysler's hefty V-8 engine was now knocking like a pounding

 sledgehammer, but the old beast hung on and gave Dirk every last ounce

 of energy it could muster.The big convertible stormed up the ramp at

 the end of the pier and burst into the air like a cannon shot.Dirk

 gripped the steering wheel hard and braced for the impact as he watched

 a forty-foot ribbon of blue water pass beneath the car.Screams filled

 the air as shocked passengers on the rear of the ferry scrambled to

 avoid the path of the green monstrosity hurtling through space toward

 them.The momentum of the car and the angle of the ramp sent the

 Chrysler sailing through the air in an almost picture-perfect arc

 before gravity took hold and pulled the nose of the car down fast.But

 they had cleared the open water and would plunge down onto the ferry.

 

 Just a few feet inboard on the open stern, the Chrysler's front wheels slammed down onto the deck, the tires immediately bursting from

 the force with a bang.A split second later, the rear wheels dropped

 down, smashing through a low railing just inches from the stern edge. A

 section of the handrail kicked up into a wheel well, where it became

 wedged as the full weight of the car crashed down.It proved to be a

 lifesaver.Rather than skidding wildly into the rows of cars parked on

 the auto deck, the wedged railing dug into the wooden deck like an

 anchor.The massive old car bounded twice, then skidded slowly to a

 stop just twenty feet from where it struck the deck, lightly smacking

 the pea green Volkswagen bus.

 

 The black Cadillac did not fare as well.Just a few seconds behind,

 its driver saw too late that the ferry had left the dock.Too panicked

 to try to stop, the driver kept his foot down on the accelerator and

 soared off the pier in tandem with the Chrysler.Only by now, the

 ferry had moved beyond its path.

 

 With the gunman screaming a bloodcurdling cry, the Cadillac soared

 gracefully into the sky before nosing hard into the stern of the

 ferryboat with a thunderous crash.The front bumper kissed the painted

 letters of the ferryboat's name, Issaquah, just above the waterline

 before the entire car crumpled like an accordion.A large spray of

 water flew up as the mangled wreckage of the car plopped into the water

 and sank to forty feet, carrying its crushed occupants to a watery

 grave.

 

 In the Chrysler, Dirk shook off the daze of the impact and assessed

 their injuries.He felt a sprained knee and sore hip on himself as he

 wiped away a flow of blood from his lower lip, gashed open on the

 steering wheel.But otherwise all parts seemed to be working.Sarah

 looked up from the floor in a twisted angle, where she forced a smile

 through a painful grimace.

 

 "I think my right leg is broken," she said calmly, " but otherwise I'm

 okay."

 

 Dirk lifted her out of the car and gently set her on the deck as a

 crowd of passengers crept in to offer assistance.In front of them,

 a

 

 door flung open on the VW bus and out popped its overage hippie driver,

 complete with ponytail and beer belly half-hidden under a tie-dyed

 Grateful Dead T-shirt.His eyes bulged as he surveyed the scene behind

 him.Smoke oozed from the smoldering wreckage of the Chrysler,

 tainting the air with the odor of burned oil and rubber.The car's

 metal skin was festooned with bullet holes from front to back, while

 broken glass and shreds of leather upholstery littered the interior.

 The front tires were splayed out from bursting on impact, while a metal

 guardrail poked out oddly from one of the rear wheel wells.A deep

 gash in the deck tailed back from the wreck like some sort of violent

 bread crumb trail.Dirk smiled weakly at the man as he wandered closer

 while surveying the scene.

 

 Shaking his head, the old hippie finally quipped, "Far out, man.I

 sure hope you have insurance."

 

 It took only a few hours for the authorities to commandeer a nearby

 work barge and position it off the ferry landing.Its twenty-ton crane

 easily hoisted the crushed Cadillac from the bottom and dumped it on

 the greasy deck of the old barge.A paramedic crew carefully

 extricated the mashed bodies from the vehicle and transferred them to

 the county morgue.Their cause of death was cited simply as blunt

 injury from motor vehicle accident.

 

 At NUMA's request, the FBI interceded and opened a federal

 investigation into the incident.Initial attempts to identify the

 gunmen came up empty when no forms of ID were found on the bodies, and

 the Cadillac was discovered to be a stolen rental car.Immigration

 finally ascertained that the men were Japanese nationals who had

 entered the country illegally through Canada.

 

 At the Seattle/ King County morgue, the chief coroner shook his head in

 irritation as yet another investigator arrived to examine the bodies.

 

 "Can't get any work done around here as long as we're holding these

 so-called Japanese gangsters," he grumbled to an underling, as yet

 another pair of Feds left the storage facility.

 

 The assistant medical examiner, an ex-Army doctor who had once been

 stationed in Seoul for a year, nodded in agreement.

 

 "We might as well install a revolving door on the ice room," he

 joked.

 

 "I'll just be happy when the paperwork arrives to release them for

 transport back to Japan."

 

 "I hope that's their right home," the assistant pathologist said,

 slowly sliding the bodies back into a refrigerated locker."If you ask

 me, I still say they look like a couple of Koreans."

 

 After twelve hours at Sarah's hospital bedside, Dirk finally convinced the doctors at Seattle's Swedish Providence Medical Center to

 release Sarah the following morning.Though a broken leg didn't

 normally warrant an overnight stay, the cautious medical staff was

 concerned about trauma from the accident and kept her there for

 observation.She was fortunate in that the break to her tibia, or

 shin-bone, did not require any rods or screws to align.The doctors

 wrapped her leg in a heavy plaster cast and pumped her full of

 painkillers, then signed her release.

 

 "Guess I can't take you dancing anytime soon," Dirk joked as he pushed

 her out the hospital exit in a wheelchair.

 

 "Not unless you want a black-and-blue foot," she replied, grimacing at

 the heavy cast around her lower leg.

 

 Despite insisting that she was well enough to work, Dirk took Sarah

 home to her stylish apartment in Seattle's Capitol Hill district.

 Gently assisting her to a leather couch, he propped her broken leg up on

 a large pillow.

 

 "Afraid I've been called back to Washington," he said, stroking her

 silky hair as she adjusted the pillows behind her back."Have to leave

 tonight.I'll make sure Sandy checks in on you."

 

 "I probably won't be able to keep her away," she grinned."But what

 about the sick crew members of the Deep Endeavor?We need to find out

 if they are all right," she said, struggling to rise from the couch.

 The drugs made her feel as if her mind and body were enshrouded in a

 coat of honey and she fought to remain lucid against the overwhelming

 desire to sleep.

 

 "Okay," he said, gently pushing her back down and bringing a portable

 phone to her."You get one phone call, then it's lights out for

 you."

 

 As she called the Public Health Lab, he checked to see that her kitchen

 was stocked with groceries.Peering into a scantly filled

 refrigerator, he idly wondered why unmarried women always seemed to

 have less food in the house than the single men he knew.

 

 "Great news," she called in a slurred voice after hanging up the phone.

 "The tests on the sick crewmen all came back negative.No sign of the

 smallpox virus."

 

 "That is great news," Dirk said, returning to her side."I'll let

 Captain Burch know before I leave for the airport."

 

 "When will I see you again?"she asked, squeezing his hand.

 

 "Just a quick trip to headquarters.I'll be back before you know

 it."

 

 "You better," she replied, her eyelids drooping low.Dirk leaned over

 and brushed her hair aside, then kissed her gently on the forehead.As

 he stood up, he could see that she had already fallen asleep.

 

 He slept soundly on his cross-country red-eye flight, popping awake well

 rested as the wheels of the NUMA jet touched down at Ronald Reagan Washington National Airport just after eight in the

 morning.An agency car was left waiting for him at the government

 terminal, and he drove himself out of the parking lot under a light

 drizzle.As he exited the airport, he cast a long glance toward a

 dilapidated-looking hangar situated off one of the runways.Though his

 father was out of the country, he still had the urge to visit the old

 man's hideout and tinker with one of his many antique autos stored

 there.Business before pleasure, he told himself, and wheeled the

 loaner car onto the highway.

 

 Following the George Washington Memorial Parkway out of the airport, he

 drove north, passing the Pentagon on his left as he followed the banks

 of the Potomac River.A short distance later, he turned off the

 highway and angled toward a towering green glass building that housed

 the NUMA headquarters.Passing through an employee security gate, he

 pulled into an underground garage and parked.Opening the car trunk,

 he hoisted a large duffel bag over his shoulder, then rode the

 employees' elevator to the tenth floor, where the doors opened onto an

 elaborate maze of quietly humming computer hardware.

 

 Established with a budget that would make a third world dictator

 whimper, the NUMA Ocean Data Center computer network was a marvel of

 state-of-the-art computer processing.Buried within its massive data

 storage banks was the finest collection of oceanographic resources in

 the world.Real-time inputs of weather, current, temperature, and bio

 diversity measurements were collected via satellite from hundreds of

 remote sea sites from around the world, giving a global snapshot of

 ocean conditions and trends at any given moment.Links to the leading

 research universities provided data on current investigations in

 geology, marine biology, and undersea flora and fauna research, as well

 as engineering and technology.NUMA's own historical reference library

 contained literally millions of data sources and was a constant

 reservoir of information for research institutes the world over.

 

 Dirk found the maestro behind the vast computer network, sitting behind

 a horseshoe console munching a bear claw with one hand while tapping a

 keyboard with the other.To a stranger, Hiram Yaeger resembled a

 groupie from a Bob Dylan concert.His lean body was clad in faded

 Levi's and matching jeans jacket over a white T-shirt, complemented by

 a pair of scuffed cowboy boots on his feet.With his long gray hair

 tied in a ponytail, his appearance belied the fact that he lived in a

 high-end Maryland suburb with an ex-model wife and drove a BMW 7

 Series.He caught sight of Dirk over a pair of granny glasses and

 smiled in greeting.

 

 "Well, the young Mr.Pitt," he grinned warmly.

 

 "Hiram, how are you?"

 

 "Not having smashed my car, nor destroyed an agency helicopter, I'd

 have to say I'm doing quite well," he joked."By the way, has our

 esteemed director been advised of the loss of one of NUMA's flying

 assets?"

 

 "Yes.Fortunately, with Dad and Al still over in the Philippines the

 bite was tempered somewhat."

 

 "They've had their hands full with a toxic spill they ran across near

 Mindanao, so your timing was good," Yaeger said."So tell-me, to what

 do I owe the pleasure of your visit?"

 

 "Well," Dirk hesitated, "it's your daughters.I would like to go out

 with them."

 

 The color drained from Yaeger's thin boyish face for a moment as he

 took Dirk's proposal seriously.Yaeger's twin daughters, finishing

 their last year of private high school, were his pride and joy.For

 seventeen years, he had successfully scared away any male suitors who

 had the remotest inkling of touching his girls.God forbid the

 giddiness they'd show over the rugged and charismatic Dirk.

 

 "You so much as mention their names around me and I'll have you off the

 payroll with a ruined credit rating that will take five lifetimes to

 fix' Yaeger threatened.

 

 It was Dirk's turn to laugh, chuckling loudly at Yaeger's vulnerable

 soft spot.The computer genius softened and grinned as well at Dirk's

 idle ploy.

 

 "Okay, the girls are off-limits.But what I really want is a little

 time with you and Max before my meeting with Rudi later this

 morning."

 

 "Now, that I can approve," Yaeger replied with a firm nod of the head.

 The bear claw now demolished, he applied both hands in a finger dance

 over the keyboard to conjure up his bionic confidante, Max.

 

 No fellow computer programmer, Max was an artificial intelligence

 system with a virtual interface in the form of a holographic image. The

 brainchild of Yaeger to aid in researching voluminous databases, he had

 cleverly modeled the visual interface after his wife, Elsie, adding a

 sensual voice and saucy personality.On a platform opposite the

 horseshoe console, an attractive woman with auburn hair and topaz eyes

 suddenly appeared.She was dressed in a skimpy halter top that

 revealed her navel and a very short leather skirt.

 

 "Good morning, gentlemen," the three-dimensional image murmured.

 

 "Hi, Max.You remember the younger Dirk Pitt?"

 

 "Of course.Nice to see you again, Dirk."

 

 "You're looking good, Max."

 

 "I'd look better if Hiram would stop dressing me in Britney Spears

 outfits," she replied with disdain, rolling her hands down her body.

 

 "All right.Tomorrow it will be Prada," Yaeger promised.

 

 "Thank you."

 

 "Dirk, what is it that you'd like to ask Max?"Yaeger prompted.

 

 "Max, what can you tell me about the Japanese efforts at chemical and

 biological warfare during World War Two?"Dirk asked, turning

 serious.

 

 Max hesitated for a moment as the question generated a massive search

 through thousands of databases.Not just limiting it to oceanographic

 resources, Yaeger had wired the NUMA network into a diverse multitude

 of government and public information resources, ranging from the

 Library of Congress to the Securities and Exchange Commission.Sifting

 through the mass of information, Max consolidated the data points into

 a concisely summarized reply.

 

 "The Japanese military conducted extensive research and experimentation

 into chemical and biological weaponry both during and preceding World

 War Two.Primary research and deployment occurred in Manchuria, under

 the direction of the occupying Japanese Imperial Army after they had

 seized control of northeast China in 1931.Numerous facilities were

 constructed throughout the region as test centers, under the guise of

 lumber mills or other false fronts.Inside the facilities, Chinese

 captives were subject to a wide variety of human experiments with germ

 and chemical compounds.The Qiqihar facility, under the command of

 Army Unit 516, was the largest Japanese chemical weapons research and

 test site, although chemical weapons manufacture actually took place on

 the Japanese mainland.Changchun, under Army Unit 100, and the

 sprawling Ping Fan facility, under \my Unit 731, were the major

 biological warfare research and test centers.The facilities were in

 fact large prisons, where local criminals and derelicts were sent and

 used as test subjects, though few of the captives would survive their

 incarceration."

 

 "I've read about Unit 731," Dirk commented."Some of their experiments

 made the Nazis look like Boy Scouts."

 

 "Allegations of inhuman experiments performed by the Japanese,

 particularly in Unit 731, are nearly endless.Chinese prisoners, and

 even some Allied prisoners of war, were routinely injected with an

 assortment of deadly pathogens, as their captors sought to determine

 the appropriate lethal dosage.Biological bombs were dropped on

 prisoners staked to the ground in order to test delivery systems.Many

 experiments took place outside the walls of the facilities.Typhoid

 bacilli germs were intentionally released into local village wells,

 resulting in widespread outbreaks of fever and death.Rats carrying

 plague-infected fleas were released in congested urban areas as a test

 of the speed and ferocity of infection.Children were even considered

 an acceptable target.In one experiment, local village children were

 given

 

 chocolates filled with anthrax, which they gratefully devoured, with

 horrifying side effects."

 

 "That's revolting," Yaeger said, shaking his head."I hope the

 perpetrators paid for their crimes."

 

 "For the most part, they did not," Max continued."Nearly to a man,

 those in charge of the chemical and biological army units avoided

 prosecution as war criminals.The Japanese destroyed much of the

 documentation, and the camps themselves, before their surrender.

 American intelligence forces, unaware of the extent of horrors, or, in

 some cases, seeking to obtain the results of the ghastly experiments,

 looked the other way at the atrocities.Many of the Imperial Army

 medical professionals who worked in the death camps went on to become

 respected business leaders in Japan's postwar pharmaceutical

 industry."

 

 "With blood on their hands," Dirk muttered.

 

 "No one knows for sure, but experts estimate that at least two hundred

 thousand Chinese died as a result of Japanese chemical and biological

 warfare activity during the thirties and forties.A large percentage

 of the casualties were innocent civilians.It was a wartime tragedy

 that has only recently received much attention from historians and

 scholars."

 

 "Man's inhumanity to man never ceases to amaze," Yaeger said

 solemnly.

 

 "Max, exactly what pathogens and chemicals did the Japanese work with?"

 Dirk asked.

 

 "It might be easier to ask which agents they didn't experiment with.

 Their known research in bacteria and viruses ranged from anthrax,

 cholera, and bubonic plague to glanders, smallpox, and typhus, with

 experiments conducted in pretty much everything else in between.Among

 the chemical agents employed in weaponry were phosgene, hydrogen

 cyanide, sulfur mustard, and lewisite.It is unknown how much was

 actually deployed in the field, again due to the fact that the Japanese

 destroyed most of their records as they retreated from China at the end

 of the war."

 

 "How would these agents have been used on the battlefield?"

 

 "Chemical agents, possessing a long shelf life, are perfectly suitable

 for munitions.The Japanese manufactured a large quantity of chemical

 munitions, mostly in the form of grenades, mortars, and a wide range of

 artillery shells.Thousands of these weapons were even left behind in

 Manchuria at the war's end.The Japanese biological delivery systems

 were less successful due to the sensitive nature of the arming agents.

 Development of a practical biological artillery shell proved difficult,

 so much of the Japanese effort at fabricating the release of biological

 agents was focused on aerial bombs.Known records seem to indicate

 that the Japanese scientists were never completely satisfied with the

 effectiveness of the bio bombs they developed."

 

 "Max, are you aware of the use of porcelain as a bomb-casing material

 for these chemical or biological agents?"

 

 "Why, yes, as a matter of fact.Steel bombs generated excessive heat

 upon explosion that would destroy the biological pathogens, so the

 Japanese turned to ceramics.It is known that a variety of porcelain

 bomb canisters were tested in China as aerial delivery systems for the

 biological agents."

 

 Dirk felt a lump in his stomach.The I-403 had indeed been on a

 mission of death with its biological bombs back in 1945.Fortuitously,

 the submarine had been sunk, but was that, in fact, the last of its

 failed mission?

 

 Yaeger broke his concentration."Max, this is all new history to me. I

 had no idea the Japanese actually used chemical and biological weapons

 in battle.Were they ever employed outside of China, against American

 forces?"

 

 "The Japanese deployment of chemical and biological weapons was

 primarily restricted to the Chinese theater of war.Limited instances

 of their usage were also reported in Burma, Thailand, and Malaysia.My

 data sources show no recorded use of biochemical agents in battle with

 Western Allied forces, perhaps due to Japanese

 

 fear of reprisal.It is suspected that chemical weapons would have

 been employed in defense of the homeland, had an invasion of Japan been

 necessary.Of course, your father's discovery proves that chemical

 munitions were to be stockpiled in the Philippines for possible

 deployment in defense of the islands."

 

 "My father's discovery?"Dirk asked."I don't understand."

 

 "I'm sorry, Dirk, let me explain.I received a toxin assessment from

 the Mariana Explorer taken from an ordnance sample recovered by | your

 father and Al Giordino."

 

 "You've completed your database search on the arsenic sample already? I

 thought you said you wouldn't have that completed until after lunch,"

 Yaeger asked the hologram.

 

 "Sometimes, I can just be brutally efficient," she replied, throwing

 her nose in the air.

 

 "What's the connection?"Dirk asked, still confused."Your father and

 Al traced a toxic arsenic leak to an old cargo ship that apparently

 sank on a coral reef near Mindanao during World War Two.The arsenic

 was leaking from a shipment of artillery shells carried in the ship's

 hold," Yaeger explained.

 

 "One-hundred-five-millimeter shells, to be precise," Max added.

 "Ammunition for a common artillery gun used by the Japanese Imperial

 Army.Only the contents weren't arsenic, per se.""What did you

 find?"Yaeger asked.

 

 "The actual contents were a mixture of sulfur mustard and lewisite.A

 popular chemical munitions concentrate from the thirties, it acts as a

 fatal blistering agent when released as a gas.Lewisite is an arsenic

 derivative, which accounts for the toxic readings found in the

 Philippines.The Japanese produced thousands of mustard lewisite

 shells in Manchuria, some of which were deployed against the Chinese.

 Some of these old buried chemical munitions are still being dug up

 today.

 

 "Was the Japanese Navy connected with the deployment of these weapons?"

 Dirk asked.

 

 "The Japanese Imperial Navy was actively involved with chemical weapons

 production at its Sagami Naval Yard, and was believed to have had four

 additional storage arsenals at Kure, Yokosuka, Hiroshima, and Sasebo.

 But the Navy possessed only a fraction of the estimated 1.7 million

 chemical bombs and shells produced during the war, and no records

 indicate they were ever used in any naval engagements.The biological

 weapons research was funded through the Imperial Army and, as I

 mentioned, centered in occupied China.A primary conduit for the

 research activity was the Army Medical School in Tokyo.It is unknown

 whether the Navy had any involvement through the medical school, as the

 college was destroyed by wartime bombing in 1945."

 

 "So no wartime records exist that show chemical or biological weapons

 were ever assigned onboard Navy vessels?"

 

 "None that were publicly released," Max said, shaking her holographic

 head."The bulk of the captured Japanese wartime records, including

 those of the Navy Ministry, were consigned to the National Archives. As

 a gesture of goodwill, most of the documents were later returned to the

 Japanese government.Only a fraction of the records were copied,

 however, and even a smaller portion have ever been translated."

 

 "Max, I'd like to explore the Naval Ministry records for information on

 the mission of a particular Japanese submarine, the I-403.Can you

 determine whether these records might still exist?"

 

 "I'm sorry, Dirk, but I don't have access to that portion of the

 National Archives' data records."

 

 Dirk turned to Yaeger with an arched brow and gave him a long, knowing

 look.

 

 "The National Archives, eh?Well, that should be a lot less dangerous

 than tapping into Langley," Yaeger acceded with a shrug.

 

 "That's the old Silicon Valley hacker I know and love," Dirk replied

 with a laugh.

 

 "Give me a couple of hours and I'll see what I can do."

 

 "Max," Dirk said, looking at the transparent woman in the eye, thank

 you for the information."

 

 "My pleasure, Dirk," she replied seductively."I'm happy to be at your

 service any time."

 

 Then, in an instant, she vanished.Yaeger already had his nose against

 a computer monitor, fingers flying over a keyboard, completely

 engrossed in his subversive mission at hand.

 

 At promptly ten o'clock, Dirk entered a plush executive conference

 room, still carrying the large duffel bag over his shoulder.Thick

 azure carpet under his feet complemented the dark cherrywood conference

 table and matching wood paneling on the walls, which were dotted with

 ancient oil paintings of American Revolutionary warships.A thick pane

 of glass stretched the length of one wall, offering a bird's-eye view

 of the Potomac River and the Washington Mall across the water.Seated

 at the table, two stone-faced men in dark suits listened attentively as

 a diminutive man in horn-rimmed glasses discussed the Deep Endeavor's

 recent events in the Aleutian Islands.Rudi Gunn stopped in

 mid-sentence and popped to his feet as Dirk entered the room.

 

 "Dirk, good of you to return to Washington so quickly," he greeted

 warmly, his bright blue eyes beaming through the thick pair of

 eyeglasses."Glad to see your ferry landing injuries were minor," he

 added, eyeing Dirk's swollen lip and bandaged cheek.

 

 "My companion broke her leg, but I managed to escape with just a fat

 lip.We fared a little better than the other guys," he said with a

 smirk, "whoever they were.It's good to see you again, Rudi," he

 added, shaking the hand of NUMA's longtime assistant director.

 

 Gunn escorted him over and introduced him to the other two men.

 

 "Dirk, this is Jim Webster, Department of Homeland Security special

 assistant, Information Analysis and Infrastructure Protection," he

 said, waving a hand toward a pale-skinned man with cropped blond hair,

 "and Rob Jost, assistant director of Maritime and Land Security)

 

 Transportation Security Administration, under DHS."A rotund,

 bearish-looking man with a flush red nose nodded at Dirk without

 smiling "We were discussing Captain Burch's report of your rescue of

 the

 

 CDC team on Yunaska Island," Gunn continued.

 

 "A fortunate thing we happened to be in the area.I'm just sorry we

 weren't able to reach the two Coast Guardsmen in time."

 

 "Given the apparently high levels of toxins that were released near the

 station, they really didn't have much of a chance from the beginning,"

 Webster said.

 

 "You confirmed that they died from cyanide poisoning?"Dirk asked.

 

 "Yes.How did you know?That information hasn't been made public."

 

 "We recovered a dead sea lion from the island, which a CDC team in

 Seattle examined after we returned.They found that it had been killed

 by cyanide inhalation."

 

 "That is consistent with the autopsy reports for the two Coast

 Guardsmen."

 

 "Have you uncovered any information on the boat that fired at us, and

 presumably released the cyanide?"

 

 After an uncomfortable pause, Webster replied, "No additional

 information has been obtained.Unfortunately, the description provided

 matches a thousand other fishing boats of its kind.It is not believed

 to have been a local vessel, and we are now working with the Japanese

 authorities to investigate leads in their country."

 

 "So you believe there is a Japanese connection.Any ideas on why

 someone would launch a chemical attack on a remote weather station in

 the Aleutians?"

 

 "Mr.Pitt," Jost interrupted, "did you know the men who tried to kill

 you in Seattle?"

 

 "Never saw them before.They appeared to be semiprofessionals, more

 than just a pair of hired street hoods."

 

 Webster opened a file on the table before him and slid over a crinkled

 photograph in the form of a small postcard.Dirk silently looked at

 the black-and-white image of a hardened Japanese woman of fifty glaring

 violently into the camera lens.

 

 "An homage card of Fusako Shigenobu, former revolutionary leader of the

 JRA," Webster continued."Found it in the wallet of one of your

 would-be assassins after we fished them out of the sound."

 

 "What's the JRA?"Dirk asked.

 

 "The Japanese Red Army.An international terrorist cell that dates to

 the seventies.Believed to have been broken up with the arrest of

 Shigenobu in 2000, they appear to have staged a deadly resurgence in

 activity."

 

 "I've read that the prolonged weakness in Japan's economy has spawned

 renewed interest in fringe cults by the Japanese youth," Gunn added.

 

 "The JRA has attracted more than a few bored youths.They have claimed

 responsibility for the assassinations of our ambassador to Japan and

 deputy chief of mission, as well as the explosion at the SemCon plant

 in Chiba.These were all very professional hits.The public outrage,

 as you are no doubt aware, is straining our relations with Tokyo."

 

 "We suspect the JRA may have been behind the cyanide attack on Yunaska,

 as a prelude to a more deadly strike in a major urban area," Jost

 added.

 

 "And also behind the smallpox infection of the Yunaska scientist Irv

 Fowler," Dirk stated.

 

 "We have not established that link," Webster countered."Our analysts

 suspect that the scientist may have contracted the disease in

 Un-alaska, from a local Aleut.Japanese authorities do not believe the

 JRA is sophisticated enough to obtain and disperse the smallpox

 virus."

 

 "I might think otherwise," Dirk cautioned.

 

 "Mr.Pitt, we are not here to gather your conspiracy theories," Jost

 remarked in a belittling tone."We are just interested in learning

 what

 

 ^ JRA agents were doing in the country and why they tried to kill a

 Iv[UMA diver."

 

 "That's special projects director," Dirk replied as he hoisted the

 duffel bag up onto the conference table.Then, giving it a strong

 shove, he pushed the bag across the table in the direction of Jost. The

 arrogant transportation security director scrambled to hoist a cup of

 coffee out of the way before the bag slid up against his chest.

 

 "Your answer is in there," Dirk stated brusquely.

 

 Webster stood and unzipped the bag as Jost and Gunn looked on intently.

 Carefully wrapped in foam padding was a large section of the bomb

 canister that Dirk had recovered from the I-403.The silver-porcelain

 casing was split open, revealing a segmented interior, with several

 empty compartments positioned beneath a small nose tip component.

 

 "What is it?"Gunn asked.

 

 "A sixty-year-old dirty bomb," Dirk replied.He then retold the story

 of the World War II attack on Fort Stevens, his discovery of the

 submarine, and the retrieval of the bomb canister.

 

 "An ingenious weapon," Dirk continued."I had the epidemiology lab in

 Washington test for trace elements, to see what was armed in the

 payload section."

 

 "It's made of porcelain," Webster noted.

 

 "Used to protect biological agents.The nose cone had a simple timed

 explosive, designed to detonate at a pre specified altitude to disperse

 the main payload armament.As you can see, it would have been a pretty

 small charge.Enough to shatter the porcelain casing but not damage

 the payload with undue heat or pressure."

 

 Dirk pointed to the interior payload compartments, which were

 cigar-shaped and stretched nearly to the tail fins.

 

 "It's not clear whether the payload agents were mixed together during

 flight or upon detonation.But the bomb could obviously carry multiple

 compounds.The contents might be one or more biological agents with a

 booster, or a combination of biological or chemical

 

 agents.The CDC lab was only able to find a trace chemical agent in

 one of the compartments on this particular bomb."'

 

 "Cyanide?"Gunn asked."None other," Dirk replied.

 

 "But why utilize more than one payload?"Webster queried."To ensure

 a specific kill zone, and perhaps divert attention.Let's say cyanide

 was combined with a biological agent.The cyanide gas would have a

 high lethality in a concentrated area only, whereas the biological

 agent would create gradual problems over a larger region.Cyanide gas

 also dissipates quickly, so attack survivors would reenter the drop

 zone unaware of a secondary danger.But that's just speculation.It's

 possible the canister design was for a different intent, to strike with

 a mixture of several chemical agents or biological agents that would

 produce a higher lethality in combination."

 

 "So what additional agents were on this bomb?"Gunn asked.Dirk shook

 his head slowly."That, we don't know.The lab technicians were

 unable to detect any remaining trace elements from the other

 compartments.We know that the reason for using porcelain was to house

 biological agents, but the Japanese experimented with all kinds of

 organisms, so it could be anything from bubonic plague to yellow

 fever."

 

 "Or smallpox?"Gunn asked."Or smallpox," Dirk confirmed.

 

 Jost's face glowed beet red."This is a preposterous fantasy," he

 grumbled."The history lesson is interesting but irrelevant.A modern

 terrorist group salvaging weapons off a World War Two submarine?A

 nice story, but how are your biological viruses going to survive under

 the sea for sixty years, Mr.Pitt?We know the Japanese Red Army.

 It's a small, tight-knit organization with limited sophistication.

 Political assassination and planted explosives are within their means.

 Deep-sea salvage and microbiology are not."

 

 "I have to agree with Rob," Webster added in a muted tone."Although

 the cyanide canister is an interesting coincidence with the Yunaska attack, the fact is that cyanide is a compound readily obtainable

 from many sources.You've admitted that there is no traceable evidence

 supporting the smallpox source.And we don't know for sure if the

 missing bomb canister on the sub was lost somewhere else on the vessel

 or was even loaded on board in the first place."

 

 Dirk reached over to the duffel bag and unzipped a side pocket, pulling

 out the still-blinking digital timer he'd found in the torpedo room.

 "Maybe you can at least find out where this came from," he said,

 handing it to Webster.

 

 "Could have been left behind by a sport diver," Jost noted.

 

 "A sport diver with a possessive disposition, apparently," Dirk

 remarked drily."I've been shot at twice now.I don't know who these

 characters are, but they take their game seriously."

 

 "I assure you, we have a full investigation under way," Webster stated.

 "I'll have our lab in Quantico reanalyze the bomb casing and take a

 look at the timer.We will find the perpetrators who caused the death

 of the two Coast Guardsmen."The words were firm, but the hollow tone

 in his voice revealed his lack of confidence in the outcome.

 

 "We can offer a safe house for you, Mr.Pitt, until we have made an

 apprehension," he added.

 

 "No, thanks.If these people are who you say they are, then I should

 have nothing more to fear.After all, how many JRA operatives can they

 have in the country?"Dirk asked with a penetrating glare.

 

 Webster and Jost looked at each other in unknowing silence.Gunn

 jumped in diplomatically.

 

 "We appreciate your investigation into the loss of our helicopter," he

 said, gently ushering the men to the door."Please keep us advised as

 to any new developments, and, of course, NUMA will be happy to assist

 in any way we can."

 

 After they left the room, Dirk sat silently shaking his head.

 

 "They've hushed up the Yunaska incident because they are getting so

 much flak for the unsolved assassinations in Japan," Gunn said.

 

 Homeland Security and the FBI are stymied and are relying on the

 

 Japanese authorities to make a break in the case.The last thing they

 want to admit, on top of that, is that the smallpox case was part of

 the attack, with just one victim and no terrorists."

 

 "The evidence may be weak, but there is no reason to foolishly ignore

 an attack on our own soil," Dirk stated.

 

 "I'll speak to the admiral about it.The director of the FBI is an old

 tennis partner of his.He'll make sure it doesn't get brushed under

 the carpet."

 

 They were interrupted by a knock on the door, followed by the lean face

 of Yaeger poking in.

 

 "Sorry to intrude.Dirk, I have something for you."

 

 "Come in, Hiram.Rudi and I were just plotting the overthrow of the

 government.Was Max able to access the National Archives' secure

 records?"

 

 "Does McDonald's have golden arches?"Yaeger replied, feigning

 insult.

 

 Gunn gave Dirk a sideways glance, then shook his head in amusement. "If

 you guys get caught on a security breach, do me a favor and blame it on

 your father, will you?"

 

 Dirk laughed."Sure, Rudi.What did you find, Hiram?"

 

 "The Naval Ministry records were somewhat limited. It's a shame that

 most all of the original documents were returned to the Japanese

 government in the fifties.The available records in the archives are,

 of course, written in Japanese, using a variety of dialects, so I had

 to set up several translation programs before I could initiate a

 scan."

 

 Yaeger paused and poured himself a cup of coffee from a large silver

 urn before continuing.

 

 "As it is, you are in luck.I found a log of operations orders from

 the Japanese Sixth Fleet covering the last six months of 1944."

 

 "Including the I-403?"Dirk asked.

 

 "Yep.Its mission of December 1944 evidently had high importance.It

 was approved by the fleet admiral himself.The actual sailing order

 was short and sweet."

 

 Yaeger pulled a sheet of paper from a thin folder and read aloud.

 ""Proceed northerly route to Pacific West Coast, refueling Amchitka

 (Moriokd).Initiate aerial strike with Maka^e ordnance earliest practicable.Primary Target: Tacoma, Seattle, Vancouver, Victoria.

 Alternate Target: Alameda, Oakland, San Francisco.With the emperor's

 blessing.""

 

 "That's a pretty ambitious target list for just two planes," Gunn

 remarked.

 

 "Think about it, though," Dirk said."The cities are concentrated

 enough all to be reached on a single flyover.Two or three biological

 bombs per city would wreak deadly havoc, if that's in fact what they

 were.Hiram, you said the ordnance was referred to as Maka^e.St.

 Julien Perlmutter found mention of the same term.Any information on

 what they were?"

 

 "I was curious about that myself," Yaeger replied."I found that the

 'iferal translation was 'evil wind' or 'black wind."But there was no

 additional information in the official naval records."

 

 Yaeger paused and sat back in his chair with a knowing, look.

 

 "Well, did you find anything else?"Gunn finally goaded.

 

 "It was Max, actually," Yaeger replied proudly."After exhausting the

 National Archives data, I had her search the public databases in the

 U.S. and Japan.In a Japanese genealogy database, she hit pay dirt,

 locating an obscure diary from a sailor who served aboard the I-403

 during the war."Holding a printout up to his face, he continued.

 "Mechanic First Class Hiroshi Sakora, Imperial Navy Air Corps, was a

 lucky devil.He came down with appendicitis while the sub was crossing

 the Pacific on its fateful voyage in December of 1944 and was

 transferred off the boat and onto the refueling ship in the Aleutian

 Islands.All his shipmates, of course, went on to perish when the sub

 was sunk off Washington State."

 

 "And he made mention of the I-403's mission?"Dirk asked.

 

 "In vivid detail.It turns out that the young Mr.Sakora, in addition

 to his aircraft mechanic duties, was also in charge of aerial

 ordnance

 

 for the submarine's airplanes.He wrote that before they left port on

 their final voyage, an Army officer named Tanaka brought aboard an

 unusual type of aerial bomb that was to be used on the mission.The

 shipboard morale became very high, he added, when the crew learned they

 were to make an attack on the United States.But there was much

 mystery and speculation about the unknown weapon."

 

 "Did he identify what it was?"Gunn pressed.

 

 "He tried to, but working with the fellow Tanaka was difficult."A

 

 gloomy, overbearing, obstinate taskmaster," he wrote about the

 officer.

 

 Typical Army-Navy rivalry, I suppose, plus the submariners didn't like

 his being a last-minute addition to the sailing crew.At any rate, he

 pressed Tanaka for information, but to no avail.Finally, just before

 he fell ill and was transferred off the sub in the Aleutians, he

 wriggled the information out of one of the pilots.The pilot, so the

 story goes,

 

 shared some sake with Tanaka and was able to pry the secret payload out

 of him.It was smallpox."

 

 "Good God, so it's true!"Gunn exclaimed.

 

 "Apparently so.He wrote that the payload was a freeze-dried virus,

 which was to be detonated and dispersed at altitude above the most

 concentrated population points of each city.Within two weeks, an

 outbreak of smallpox was expected all along the West Coast.With a

 thirty percent mortality rate, the deaths would have been staggering.

 The Japanese figured the resulting panic would allow them to negotiate

 a peace settlement on their terms."

 

 "The threat of more smallpox bombs on our home soil might very well

 have changed the resolve of many people to finish the war, Gunn

 speculated.

 

 An uneasiness crept over the room as the three considered how history

 may have played out differently had the I-403 successfully completed

 its mission.Their thoughts then turned to the possibility of a more

 current threat.

 

 "You mentioned that the virus was freeze-dried.So they must have had the ability to store the virus for long periods and then rejuvenate it," Dirk commented.

 

 "Necessary for a long sea voyage," Yaeger added."According to Max

 the Japanese had difficulty in keeping the viruses alive in their munitions for any length of time.They ultimately perfected a way of

 freeze-drying the virus, for easier handling and longer storage, until

 the need for activation when deployed.Insert a little H2O and you're

 in business."

 

 "So the virus could still be a viable danger, even after sixty years at

 the bottom of the sea," Gunn remarked."I guess that answers Jost's

 question."

 

 "There's no reason the smallpox wouldn't survive in freeze-dried form

 if the canisters hadn't cracked during sinking.Since they're made of

 porcelain, the canisters could survive intact for centuries

 underwater," Dirk said."Might also explain the various interior

 segments to the bomb.A compartment with water was needed to

 rejuvenate the virus."

 

 "Perhaps it was more fortunate than we know that all but one of the

 canisters were demolished on the I-403," Gunn remarked.

 

 "That still leaves one canister unaccounted for," Dirk replied.

 

 "Yes, as well as the other mission ordnance," Yaeger added.

 

 Dirk and Gunn looked at each other."What other mission?"Gunn asked

 incredulously.

 

 "The I-411."

 

 Yaeger felt their eyes boring right through him.

 

 "Didn't you know?"he asked."There was a second submarine, the

 I-411.It, too, was armed with the Maka^e ordnance and was sent to

 attack the eastern seaboard of the United States," Yaeger said quietly,

 realizing he had just dropped a bomb of his own.

 

 It had been a long day for Takeo Yoshida.A crane operator for the

 Yokohama Port Development Corporation, Yoshida had toiled since six in

 the morning loading an aged Iberian freighter with container after

 container of Japanese consumer electronics bound for export.He had

 just secured the last of the metal containers onto the ship's deck when

 a radio crackled in the crane's control cabin.

 

 "Yoshida, this is Takagi," the deep voice of his foreman grumbled.

 "Report to Dock D-5 upon completion with San Sebastian.A single

 loading for the vessel Baekje.Takagi, out."

 

 "Affirmed, Takagi-san," Yoshida answered, holding his disdain under his

 breath.Just twenty minutes to go on his shift and Takagi gives him a

 last-minute assignment across the shipyard.Securing the crane,

 Yoshida walked eight hundred yards across the Honmoku Port Terminal

 toward Dock D-5, cursing Takagi's name with each step he took.As he

 approached the end of the pier, he glanced beyond at the waters of the

 bustling port of Yokohama, where a constant stream of commercial ships

 jockeyed into position for loading and unloading.

 

 With three hundred meters of waterfront, container terminal D-5 was big enough to handle the largest cargo ships afloat.Yoshida was

 surprised to find the vessel tied to the dock was not the typical jumbo

 containership awaiting a load of industrial cargo but a special-purpose

 cable ship.Yoshida even recognized the Baekje as having been built in

 the nearby Mitsubishi Heavy Industries shipyard.At 436 feet long and

 with a beam of 133 feet, the stout vessel was designed to lay

 fiber-optic cable on the seafloor while withstanding the turbulent seas

 of the North Pacific.With a modern-appearing superstructure and white

 paint that still glistened, Yoshida could tell that it had not been

 many years since the high-tech ship slid into Yokohama Bay for the

 first time.She sported a Korean flag above the bridge mast and a blue

 lightning bolt across the funnel, which Yoshida recalled was the

 signature of a Kang Enterprises vessel.Short on Korean history, the

 crane operator did not know that her name, Baekje, represented one or

 the early Korean tribal kingdoms that dominated the peninsula in the

 third century a.d.

 

 A pair of dockworkers was securing cables beneath an oblong object on

 the bed of a large flatbed truck when one of the men turned and greeted

 Yoshida as he approached.

 

 "Hey, Takeo, ever fly a submarine before?"the man yelled.

 

 Yoshida returned a confused look before realizing that the object on

 the back of the truck was a small white submersible.

 

 "Takagi says our shift is over once we get it aboard," the man

 continued, displaying a missing front tooth as he spoke."Lay it

 aboard and let's go get some Sapporo's."

 

 "Is she secure?"Yoshida asked, waving a hand at the submersible.

 

 "All ready," the second man replied eagerly, a young kid of nineteen

 ^ho Yoshida knew had just started work on the docks a few weeks

 before.

 

 A few yards away, Yoshida noticed a stocky bald man with dark eyes

 surveying the scene near the ship's gangway.A menacing quality

 lingered over the man, Yoshida thought.He'd been in enough scrapes in

 the nearby shipyard bars to recognize which men were legitimate tough

 guys and which were pretenders.This man was no pretender, he

 judged.

 

 Shifting thoughts to the taste of a cold Sapporo beer, Yoshida climbed

 up a high ladder into the cab of the adjacent container crane and fired

 up its diesel motor.Adeptly working the levers like a concert pianist

 tickling the ivories, he expertly adjusted the movable boom and sliding

 block until satisfied, then dropped the hook and block quickly toward

 the ground, halting it dead center a few inches above the submersible.

 The two dockworkers quickly slipped a pair of cables over the hoist

 hook and gave Yoshida the thumbs-up sign.Ever so gently, the crane

 operator pulled up on the hoist line, the thick cable drawing tight as

 it wrapped around a drum behind the cab.Slowly, Yoshida raised the

 twenty-four-ton submersible to a height of fifty feet, hesitating as he

 waited for its twisting motion to halt before swinging it over to a

 waiting pad on the Baekje's rear deck.But he never got the chance.

 

 Before it could be seen, and almost before it physically started,

 Yoshida's experienced hands could feel something wrong through the

 controls.One of the cables had not been properly secured to the

 submersible and the tail suddenly slipped down and through a loop in

 the cable.In an instant, the rear of the sub lunged down and the

 white metal capsule hung vertically at a grotesque angle, clinging

 precariously to the single cable wrapped around its nose.Yoshida didn't breathe, and, for a moment, it looked like the dangling submersible

 would stabilize.But before he could move it an inch, a loud twang

 burst through the air as the lone securing cable snapped.Like a toon

 of bricks, the submersible dropped straight to the dock below, landing

 on its tail with an accordion like smash before plopping over on its

 side in distress.

 

 Yoshida grimaced, already thinking of the grief he would suffer at the

 hands of Takagai, as well as the reams of insurance paperwork he would

 be forced to fill out.Thankfully, no one was hurt on the dock.As he

 climbed down from the crane's cab to inspect the damage, Yoshida

 glanced at the bald man on the gangway, expecting to see a seething

 fury.Instead, the mysterious man looked back at him with a cold face

 of stone.The dark eyes, however, seemed to pierce right through

 him.

 

 The Shinkai three-man submersible was heavily mashed on one end and

 clearly inoperable.It would be shipped back to its home at the

 Japanese Marine Science and Technology Center for three months' worth

 of repairs before it would be seaworthy again.The two dock-workers

 did not fare as well.Though not fired, Yoshida noticed that the two

 men did not show up for work the next day, and, in fact, were never

 seen or heard from again.

 

 Twenty hours later and 250 miles farther to the southwest, an American

 commercial jetliner touched down at Osaka's modern Kan-sai

 International Airport and taxied to the international gate.Dirk

 stretched his six-foot-four frame as he exited the plane, relieved to

 be free from the cramped airline seating that only a jockey would find

 comfortable.Passing quickly through the customs checkpoint, he

 entered the busy main terminal crowded with businessmen hustling to

 catch their flights.Stopping briefly, it took just a momentary scan

 of the terminal before he picked out the woman he was looking for from

 the mass of humanity.

 

 Standing nearly six feet tall with shoulder-length flaming red hair, his

 fraternal twin sister Summer towered like a beacon in a sea of

 black-haired Japanese.Her pearl gray eyes glistened and her soft

 mouth broke into a grin as she spotted her brother and waved him over to

 her.

 

 "Welcome to Japan," she gushed, giving him a hug."How was your

 flight?"

 

 "Like riding in a sardine can with wings."

 

 "Good, then you'll feel right at home in the cabin berth I scraped up

 for you on the Sea Rover" she laughed.

 

 "I was afraid you wouldn't be here yet," Dirk remarked as he collected

 his luggage and they made their way to the parking lot.

 

 "When Captain Morgan received word from Rudi that we were to terminate

 our study of pollutants along the eastern coast of Japan to assist in

 an emergency search-and-recovery mission, he wasted no time in

 responding.Fortunately, we were working not far off Shikoku when we

 got the call so were able to reach Osaka this morning."

 

 Like her brother, Summer had possessed a deep love of the sea since

 childhood.After obtaining a master's degree in oceanography from the

 Scripps Institute, she'd joined her brother at NUMA following a uniting

 with their father, who now headed up the undersea organization.As

 headstrong and resourceful as her sibling, she'd gained respect in the

 field with her knowledge and hands-on abilities, while her attractive

 looks never failed to turn heads.

 

 Leading Dirk past a row of parked cars, Summer suddenly stopped in

 front of a tiny orange Suzuki subcompact parked by itself.

 

 "Oh, no, not another knee-crusher," Dirk laughed as he surveyed the

 tiny vehicle.

 

 "A loaner from the Port Authority.You'll be surprised."

 

 After carefully wedging his gear into the minuscule hatchback, Dirk

 opened the left-side door and prepared to pretzel himself into the

 passenger seat.To his amazement, the interior of the right-hand-drive

 car proved roomy, with a low sitting position creating ample headroom

 for the two six-footers.Summer jumped into the driver's seat and

 threaded their way out of the parking lot and onto the Hanshin

 Expressway-Heading north toward downtown Osaka, she accelerated the

 little Suzuki hard, zipping in and out of traffic, for the

 twelve-kilometer drive to the city's port terminal.Exiting the

 expressway, she turned the car into the Osaka South Port Intermodal

 Terminal and down a side dock before pulling up in front of the Sea

 Rover.

 

 The NUMA research vessel was a slightly newer and larger version of the

 Deep Endeavor, complete with matching turquoise paint scheme.Dirk's

 eyes were drawn to the stern deck, where a bright orange submersible

 called the Starfish sat glistening like a setting sun.

 

 "Welcome aboard, Dirk," boomed the deep voice of Robert Morgan, the

 master of the Sea Rover.A bearded bear of a man, Morgan resembled a

 muscular version of Burl Ives.The jovial captain held an amazing

 array of seagoing experience, having commanded everything from a

 Mississippi River tugboat to a Saudi Arabian oil tanker.Having salted

 away a healthy retirement sum from his commercial captain days, Morgan

 joined NUMA for the pure adventure of sailing to unique corners of the

 globe.Deeply admired by his crew, the skipper of the Sea Roverwas a

 highly organized leader who possessed an acute attention to detail.

 

 After storing Dirk's bags, the threesome adjourned to a starboard-side

 conference room whose porthole windows offered a serene view of Osaka

 Harbor.They were joined by First Officer Tim Ryan, a lanky man with

 ice blue eyes.Dirk grabbed a cup of coffee to regain alertness after

 his long flight while Morgan got down to business.

 

 "Tell us about this urgent search-and-recovery mission.Gunn was

 rather vague with the details over the satellite phone."

 

 Dirk recapped the Yunaska incident and the recovery of the I-403's bomb

 canister and what had been learned of the sub's failed mission.

 

 "When HiramYaeger reviewed the Japanese naval records in the National

 Archives, he discovered a near-duplicate operations order that was

 issued to a second submarine, the I-411.It had the same mission, only

 to cross the Atlantic and strike New York and Philadelphia instead of

 the West Coast."

 

 "What became of the I-411?"Summer asked.

 

 "That's what we're here to find out.Yaeger was unable to uncover any

 definitive information on the I-411's final whereabouts, other than that she failed to appear for a refueling rendezvous near Singapore and

 was presumed lost in the South China Sea.I contacted St.Julien

 Perlmutter, who took it a step further and found an official Japanese

 naval inquiry which placed the loss in the middle of the East China Sea

 sometime during the first few weeks of 1945.Perlmutter noted that

 those facts matched up to a report from the American submarine

 Swordfish that she had engaged and sunk a large enemy submarine in that

 region during the same time frame.Unfortunately, the Swordfish was

 later destroyed on the same mission so the full accounting was never

 documented.Their radio report did provide an approximate coordinate

 of the sinking, however."

 

 "So it's up to us to find the I-411" Morgan said matter-of-factly.

 

 Dirk nodded."We need to ensure that the biological bombs were

 destroyed when the submarine went down, or recover them if they are

 still intact."

 

 Summer stared out one of the porthole windows at a skyscraper in

 distant downtown Osaka."Dirk, Rudi Gunn briefed us about the Japanese

 Red Army.Could they have already recovered the biological weapons

 from the I-411?"

 

 "Yes, that's a possibility.Homeland Security and the FBI don't seem

 to think the JRA has the resources to conduct a deep-water salvage

 operation and they're probably right.But, then, all it would take is

 money, and who's to say how well funded they, or an associate terrorist

 group, may be.Rudi agrees that we better make sure one way or the

 other."

 

 The room fell silent as all minds visualized a cache of deadly

 biological bombs sitting deep below the ocean's surface and the

 consequence if they fell into the wrong hands.

 

 "You've got the best ship and crew in NUMA at your disposal," Morgan

 finally said."We'll get her done."

 

 "Captain, we've got a pretty large search area on our hands.How soon

 can we be under way?"Dirk asked.

 

 "We'll need to top off our fuel supplies, plus two or three of the

 crew

 

 still ashore obtaining additional provisions.I expect we can be under way in six hours," Morgan said, glancing at a wall chronometer.

 

 "Fine.I'll retrieve the search coordinates and provide them to the

 ship's navigator right away."

 

 As they exited the conference room, Summer tugged at Dirk's elbow.

 

 "So what did the data from Perlmutter cost you?"she chided, knowing

 the gourmet historian's penchant for culinary blackmail.

 

 "Nothing much.Just a jar of pickled sea urchins and an

 eighty-year-old bottle of sake."

 

 "You found those in Washington, D.C.?"

 

 Dirk gave his sister a pleading look of helplessness.

 

 "Well," she laughed, "we do have six more hours in port."

 

 But, Dae-jong, opening the gates to the North is not going to provide

 me a usable, skilled labor pool," the CEO of South Korea's largest auto

 manufacturer asserted before taking a puff on a large Cuban cigar.

 

 Sitting across a mahogany cocktail table, Dae-jong Kang shook his head

 politely as a long-legged waitress brought a second round of drinks to

 the table.Their conversation halted while the young Chaebel Club

 waitress placed their drinks in front of them.The club was a private

 enclave for Korea's super rich and powerful, a secure and neutral

 meeting place where huge deals were hammered out over kimchi and

 martinis.The aristocratic club was appropriately housed on the

 hundredth floor of the world's tallest building, the recently completed

 International Business Center Tower located in western Seoul.

 

 "You must consider the lower labor wages.Retraining costs would be

 minor and recouped in no time.My staff has analyzed the prospects and

 told me I could save twenty million dollars a year in labor costs

 

 if we could draw on manpower from North Korea at their current

 equivalent wage rate.I can only imagine what your potential auto

 anufacturing savings would be.Suppose instead of expanding your

 

 Tllsan manufacturing facility, you built an entirely new plant in the

 orthern province of Yanggang.How would that improve your

 competitiveness on the world markets, not to mention open access to the

 northern consumers?"

 

 "Yes, but it is not so easy for me.I have unions to contend with, as

 well as capital budget constraints.I certainly can't throw people out

 on the street at Ulsan and rehire workers from the North at half the

 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 images 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

 adjusted the color images in a golden hue so that the occasional rock

 or mound on the bottom cast a brown-tinted shadow.She studied the

 monitor closely, watching the same monotonous sea bottom glide by.

 Suddenly, a dark smudge appeared on the top right side of the screen

 and grew larger as the readings rolled down.The smudge was a shadow,

 she quickly realized, created by a long tubular shape that was crisply

 defined in a dark shade of russet.

 

 "My word, there it is!"she squealed, surprised at her own voice.

 

 A small crowd gathered around Summer as she replayed the image at a

 slow speed several times.The distinct outline of a submarine was

 clearly evident, complete with an upright conning tower that cast a

 long shadow to one side.The image roughened near one end of the

 vessel, but Summer measured the object at well over three hundred

 feet.

 

 "Sure looks like a submarine, and a big one," she said, not sure

 whether to trust her eyes.

 

 "That's our baby," Dirk said confidently."Looks just like the image

 we scanned of the I-403."

 

 "Nice work, Summer," Morgan offered as he approached the commotion.

 

 "Thanks, Captain, but Audry did all the work.We better pull her

 aboard before she makes her way to China."

 

 Summer typed in a new handful of commands and a signal was relayed from

 the transducers to the underwater vehicle.In a matter or seconds,

 Audry terminated the search pattern and propelled herself upward, where

 she broke the water's surface a quarter mile away from

 

 the Sea Rover.Summer, Dirk, and Morgan watched as a retrieval team in

 a rubber Zodiac scooted over to the idling yellow sensor and clamped it

 to the gunwale.The team slowly made their way back alongside the

 research ship, where Audry was hoisted out of the water and replaced in

 her cradle on the stern deck.

 

 As the second of the two transducers was hoisted back aboard, Dirk

 admired a large exploration vessel that was inching past them a mile

 away, a Japanese flag wafting off its high bow platform.

 

 "Cable-laying ship," Morgan said, catching Dirk's gaze."She followed

 us out of the Inland Sea."

 

 "She's a beauty.Doesn't appear to be in any hurry," Dirk said, noting

 the vessel's slow speed.

 

 "Must be operating under a daily billing rate contract," Morgan

 laughed, then turned his attention to ensuring the transducers were

 securely aboard.

 

 "Maybe," Dirk replied, smiling, but a vague caution tugged at the

 recesses of his mind.He shook off the feeling and refocused his

 thoughts on the task at hand.It was time to take a look. at the

 I-411 up close and personal.

 

 The crew of the Sea Rover wasted no time in making preparations to

 investigate the submerged target.Captain Morgan brought the ship

 around and positioned it directly above the target, using the GPS

 coordinates identified by Audry.Computerized side thrusters on the

 research vessel were activated and the Sea Rover was parked in place,

 constantly self-adjusting its position against the wind and current

 with the thrusters to remain fixed within a few inches of the

 designated mark.

 

 On the aft deck, Dirk, Summer, and First Officer Ryan carefully walked

 through a pre dive checklist for the Starfish.Specifically designed

 for deep-water scientific exploration, the Starfish was a high-tech

 submersible capable of operating in depths up to two thousand meters.

 Resembling a giant translucent ball on a forklift, the Starfish

 cat-tied two operators in a six-inch-thick reinforced acrylic bubble

 that offered a panoramic view of the sea.Wedged into a bright orange

 supporting buttress, the see-through sphere was filled with a myriad

 of

 

 sensors, still and video cameras, and coring devices.Four sets of

 adjustable thrusters were mounted behind and beneath the bubble, which

 provided the sub with a high degree of maneuverability.Adding to the

 functionality were a pair of steel articulating arms mounted on either

 side of the bubble, which could be used for collecting samples and

 manipulating the multiple data analysis devices.Since the right

 mechanical arm was larger in size than the left, the whole submersible

 took on a crablike appearance when operating on the seafloor.

 

 "I think we're set," Summer said, eyeing the last item on her

 clipboard."You ready to get wet?"

 

 "Only if I get to drive," Dirk grinned back.

 

 Clad in aqua-colored NUMA jumpsuits, the two siblings threaded their

 way into the tiny chamber through a hatch in the rear.Though cramped

 inside, Dirk and Summer sat comfortably in a pair of padded captain's

 chairs, which faced out the front of the acrylic bubble.Dirk slipped

 on a communications headset and spoke to First Officer Ryan.

 

 "This is Starfish," he said, checking the system."Ready when you are,

 Tim."

 

 "Prepare for deployment," Ryan's voice rang back.

 

 An overhead boom reeled up a thick cable attached to the submersible by

 a pair of eyelets, raising the underwater vessel straight into the air

 and suspending her three feet above the deck.As the Starfish hung

 floating in the air, Ryan pushed a button on a side console and the

 deck suddenly split open beneath the submersible, sliding on rollers to

 either side of the deck.Exposed beneath the dangling submersible was

 the pale green water of the East China Sea.Ryan hit another switch

 and a circular band of underwater floodlights burst on, outlining the

 perimeter of the large moon pool cut into the Sea Rover's rear hull

 section.A large meandering grouper was caught illuminated Dy the

 sudden flash of light and quickly bolted from beneath the odd hole in

 the ship's hull.The orange submersible was slowly dropped through the

 hole and into the water, the lifting cable released after Dirk

 confirmed that all systems were operational aboard the Starfish.

 

 "Cable is released," Ryan's voice announced over Dirk's headset."You

 are free to swim.Happy hunting, guys."

 

 "Thanks for the drop," Dirk answered."I'll honk the horn when we get

 back from the store."

 

 Dirk tested the thrusters one last time as Summer opened a ballast

 tank, allowing a flood of salt water to fill the chamber.Negative

 buoyancy was quickly achieved and the submersible began slowly dropping

 into the depths.

 

 The pale green water gradually dissolved to brown, then faded to an

 inky black as the Starfish sank deeper.Summer flicked on a switch and

 a powerful bank of xenon arc lights illuminated their path, though

 there was little to see in the murky water.Dependent on gravity to

 reach the bottom, it took about fifteen minutes to make the nearly

 thousand-foot descent to the seafloor.Despite the frigid water

 temperatures outside, the occupants soon became warm from the

 electronic equipment churning about them in the insulated acrylic and

 Summer finally turned on an air-conditioning unit to keep themselves

 cool.Attempting to make the time go faster, Dirk rehashed a few of

 Jack Dahlgren's stale jokes while Summer brought her brother up to date

 on the sea pollutant survey taken off Japan's eastern coast.

 

 At nine hundred feet, Summer began tweaking the buoyancy level to slow

 their descent and avoid smacking hard on the bottom.Dirk noticed the

 water visibility had cleared, though the seas were devoid of much life

 at that depth.Gradually, through the murk, he eyed a familiar dark

 shape looming up beneath them."There she is.We're right on her."

 

 The shadowy black superstructure of the I-411's conning tower reached

 out to them like a tiny skyscraper as the Starfish descended amidships

 of the giant submarine.Much like he had found with the I-403, Dirk

 observed that the I-411 was sitting upright on the bottom, tilted at

 just a fifteen-degree angle.Surface encrustation was much less severe

 than on the I-403 and the big sub looked as if she had been

 

 underwater only a few months, not years.Dirk activated the Starfish's

 thrusters and backed away slightly from the approaching vessel while

 Summer adjusted their buoyancy to remain neutral at 960 feet, just even

 with the submarine's deck.

 

 "She's enormous!"Summer exclaimed as her eyes took in the sub's huge

 girth.Even with Starfish's bright lights, she could see only a

 portion of the entire vessel.

 

 "Definitely not your run-of-the-mill World War Two U-boat," he replied.

 "Let's see where she got hit."

 

 Maneuvering the thrusters, Dirk propelled the submersible along a path

 down the starboard flank of the submarine, gliding just a few feet

 above its rounded topsides.Circling around the stern, Summer pointed

 out the tips of the I-411's two giant bronze propellers poking out of

 the muddy bottom.Moving forward along the port side, they traveled

 about fifty feet before a huge gash appeared at the waterline.

 

 "Torpedo hit number one," Dirk called out, eyeing the fatal impact from

 one of the Swordfish's torpedoes.He positioned the Starfish so that

 its lights shined into the irregular opening.Inside, a circular mass

 of twisted and jagged metal shined back at them, like the open jaws of

 an iron-toothed shark.Turning and moving forward again, the

 submersible crept along the silent wreck another thirty feet before a

 second opening appeared.

 

 "Torpedo hit number two," Dirk said.

 

 Unlike the first gash on the port flank, the second hole was oddly

 centered higher up, along the edge of the topside deck, almost as if

 the explosive force had been delivered from above.

 

 "You're right, this must have been the second torpedo impact," Summer

 speculated."The stern must have already dropped under from the first

 hit, and the sub rolled back from the initial recoil when the second

 torpedo hit her here."

 

 "Pretty good firing from the Swordfrish.They must have caught her at

 night, while she was running on the surface."

 

 "Is that the aircraft hangar?"Summer asked, pointing to a large

 tubular appendage that ran lengthwise along the rear deck to the

 conning tower.

 

 "Yes.Looks like it was blasted open in the explosion," he said as

 they glided over toward the opening.A twenty-foot section of the )

 hangar adjacent to the deck had simply disappeared in the carnage.

 Under the beam of the floodlights, they could see a three-bladed air|

 craft propeller mounted on the backside of the hangar wall as they

 floated outside peering in.Applying power to the thrusters, Dirk

 turned the vehicle and zoomed forward, gliding past the I-411's

 conning tower with its multiple gun platforms still in place.The

 Starfish proceeded down the forward deck before turning and hovering

 off the bow near one of the large diving planes, which sprouted off the

 submarine like a giant wing.

 

 "That concludes the scenic portion of the tour," Dirk said."Let's see

 if we can find out what she carried."

 

 "We better check in with the gang upstairs first," Summer said,

 slipping on her communications headset and pushing the transmit

 button.

 

 "Sea Rover, this is Starfish.We've found the Easter Bunny and are

 proceeding to hunt for the eggs."

 

 "Roger," Ryan's voice crackled back."Be careful with the basket."

 

 "I think he's more concerned about his submersible than he is about

 us," Dirk deadpanned.

 

 "A typical man," Summer mused, shaking her head."Places emotional

 feelings on inanimate mechanical objects."

 

 "I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about," Dirk replied

 facetiously.

 

 As he spoke, he gently guided the Starfish above the submarine's bow

 section, studying the forward deck.After several minutes, he spotted

 what he was looking for.

 

 "There's the forward hatch to the upper torpedo room.If they follow

 suit with the I-403, that's where the biological ordnance would have

 been loaded and stored."

 

 Dirk maneuvered the Starfish in front of the hatch before setting the

 submersible down onto the deck of the I-411 and killing the

 thrusters.

 

 "How's your breaking and entering skills?"he asked of Summer.

 

 Unlike on the I-403, the forward hatch was closed and battened tight by

 a flush-mounted wheel.Summer activated a joystick control hidden in

 the armrest of her chair and powered the hydraulics to the

 submersible's right retractable arm.As she manipulated the controls,

 the metal appendage sprang from the side of Starfish and extended

 forward in a clumsy stretch.Slowly she dropped the arm down toward

 the hatch, adjusting the toggle control with short flips to maneuver

 the device.With the precision of a surgeon, she opened the clawlike

 hand and dropped it down to the hatch, wedging the fingers into the

 open slots of the hatch wheel on the first attempt.

 

 "Nicely done," Dirk admired.

 

 "Now, if she'll just open," Summer replied.With the flick of a second

 toggle control, the articulated grip of the mechanical claw began to

 twist.Dirk and Summer both pressed their faces to the bubble window,

 intent on seeing the wheel turn.But the seal that had been locked for

 sixty years didn't budge.Summer tried toggling the grip back and

 forth a half-dozen more times but to no avail.

 

 "So much for my hydraulic grip," she finally muttered.

 

 "Keep a hold on the wheel," Dirk instructed."We'll try a little

 leverage."

 

 In an instant, he powered up the thrusters and lifted the Starfish a

 few inches off the deck.With Summer gripping the hatch wheel with the

 claw, Dirk applied full reverse thrust and tried to break the seal with

 the momentum of the entire submersible.The wheel held tight, so he

 began rocking the Starfish forward and backward, trying to get a quick

 burst of leverage against the hatch.

 

 "I think you're going to rip the arm off," Summer cautioned.

 

 With silent determination, he kept trying.On the next tug, he

 observed a barely perceptible movement in the wheel.Another blast and

 the seal broke at last, the wheel jerking a quarter spin."That's

 showing it who's boss," Summer said."Just don't tell Ryan that his

 baby's right arm is now a few inches longer than it used to be," Dirk

 smiled.

 

 Hovering over the hatch, Summer was quickly able to spin the locking

 wheel to its stops with the articulated claw.Dirk then backed the

 Starfish away, and, with Summer holding on, the hatch finally swung up

 and open.Repositioning the submersible in front of the opening, they

 peered into the hole but could see nothing but a black void.

 

 "I guess this is a job for Snoopy.You have the controls," Summer

 said.

 

 Dirk pulled out a laptop control module and pressed the power on

 button.A row of lights lit up green as the unit was activated.

 "Ready, go fetch," he murmured while pressing a toggle switch that

 engaged a tiny thruster.

 

 From an external cradle tucked beneath the acrylic bubble popped out a

 small tethered Remote Operated Vehicle.No larger than an attache

 case, the tiny ROV was little more than a self-illuminated video camera

 wedged against a small set of electronic thrusters.Able to probe and

 prod into tight spaces, Snoopy was an ideal tool for exploring the deep

 and dangerous niches of a submerged wreck.

 

 Summer watched as Snoopy sprang into view and quickly ducked into the

 open hatch amid a spray of small bubbles.Dirk punched another console

 button and a live video feed from the ROV appeared on a color monitor.

 Watching the monitor to steer, he guided the vehicle around the

 now-familiar torpedo room.Snoopy skirted down one row of torpedoes,

 where the camera showed all five of the huge steel fish still resting

 in their racks.Circling to the other side of the bay, a duplicate

 scene was replayed on the opposite side of the torpedo room-The I-411

 was clearly not anticipating battle when the Swordfish surprised and

 sank her.

 

 But Dirk wasn't interested in torpedoes.Methodically, he drove

 Snoopyto the Prow f ^e torpedo room, then systematically swept the ROV

 back and forth across the bay, slipping a few feet toward the stern

 with each pass until he was satisfied that every square foot had been

 viewed.

 

 "No sign of the canisters or their crates.But there is a second

 torpedo room below where they could have been stored."

 

 "Can you get Snoopy down there?"Summer asked.

 

 "There's a floor hatch for loading the torpedoes, but I don't think

 Snoopy is going to lift that open.I may know of another route."

 

 Scanning the room with Snoopy\ camera lens eye, he spotted the rear

 hatch door that led to the chief's quarters.The hatch door was still

 open and Dirk maneuvered the ROV through it a few seconds later.

 

 "Over there," Summer said, motioning to a corner of the monitor.

 "There's a ladder that looks like it leads to the deck below."

 

 Dirk danced the ROV around a mass of debris and down an open hatchway

 in the floor.Dropping down to the deck below, Snoopy sniffed out the

 doorway to the lower torpedo room and- entered the second bay of

 warheads.Though slightly smaller due to the more tapered sides of the

 submarine's hull, the bay was an exact duplicate of the torpedo room

 above it.And just as they had seen once before, the camera showed all

 ten of the deadly Type 95 torpedoes resting peacefully in their racks.

 Though near the limit of the self-coiling tether that provided Snoopy

 its power, Dirk carefully maneuvered the ROV around the full confines

 of the room.The camera showed a full complement of torpedoes in the

 bay but nothing else.The empty room glared back at them vacantly.

 

 "It would appear," Summer said, shaking her head with disappointment,

 "that there are no eggs to be had."

 

 As Dirk carefully guided the small ROV back to the Starfish, he began

 whistling the old Stephen Foster standard "Swanee River."Summer

 looked at her brother with abashed curiosity.

 

 "You seem awfully happy, given that the biological bombs are missing in

 action," she said.

 

 "Sister, we may not know where they are, but we sure know where they

 ain't.Now, if it was me, I'd want to keep those eggs close to the

 hen."

 

 Summer took a second to digest the comments, then her face brightened

 slightly.

 

 "The deck hangar?Where the aircraft are stored?"

 

 "The deck hangar," Dirk replied."And the Swordfish was even kind

 enough to leave the door open for us."

 

 Once Snoopy was secure in its cradle, Dirk activated the main thrusters

 and the Starfish shot off down the deck of the submarine to the second

 torpedo blast.The detonation hole was easily large no ugh to allow

 the Starfish to drop into the interior, but the 11.5-foot ijarneter of

 the hangar was just fractionally too tight to allow any room for the

 submersible to maneuver any farther.Dirk studied the gash in the

 aircraft hangar before inching the Starfish into the opening.The deck

 had been blasted away in pockmarked sections, leaving step-through

 holes that led into the dank bowels of the submarine.Dirk slowly

 guided the Starfish lower until he spied firm decking near the forward

 edge of the gap that was large enough to support the submersible.Out

 of the corner of his eye, he noticed that the airplane propeller they

 detected earlier was hanging just to his right. He gently eased lower

 until the Starfish's supporting skids tapped onto solid decking.

 

 As he powered off the Starfish's thrusters, a momentary silence

 filled The submersible.Together, they peered down the enclosed hangar

 that stretched in front of them like an endless tunnel.Then the quiet

 was broken by a muffled metallic clunk than rang through the water.

 

 "Dirk, the propeller!"Summer shouted, pointing out the bubble window

 toward the right.

 

 The mounting bracket that held the spare three-bladed Seiran bomber

 propeller had long ago corroded in the salt water yet against all

 reason had somehow maintained sufficient integrity to hold the heavy

 blade onto the wall for sixty years.Not until the stirred waters from

 the Starfish's thrusters blasted against it did it decide to give up

 its mission and crumble from the wall in a rusty glob of dust.As the

 bracket fell away, the heavy propeller dropped straight to the deck,

 landing on the tips of its lower two blades with a clang.

 

 But the show wasn't over.They watched in helpless fascination as the

 propeller fell forward, its upper blade skimming just in front of the

 Starfish's bubble window, inches from Summer's face.It appeared to

 move in slow motion as the force of the water suspended the movement of

 the steel blades.A secondary clang echoed through the water as the

 blade and nosepiece hit home, the entire assembly dragging across the submersible's right robotic arm and falling onto the front

 skid plates.A cloud of brown sediment rose and obscured their vision

 for a moment, then, as the water cleared, Summer noticed a small trail

 of dark fluid rising up in front of them, as if the Starfish were

 bleeding."We're pinned," Summer gasped, eyeing the heavy propeller

 lying across the front skids.

 

 "Try the right arm.See if you can lift the blade up and I'll try and

 back us out," Dirk directed as he powered up the thrusters.

 

 Summer grasped the joystick and toggled it back to raise the arm.The

 metallic appendage began to rise briefly, then fell away limp.She

 repeatedly toggled the joystick control back and forth but there was no

 response.

 

 "No good," she said calmly."The blade must have cut the hydraulics.

 The right arm is as good as amputated."

 

 "That must have been the fluid we saw.Try the left arm," Dirk

 replied.

 

 Summer configured a second joystick and applied power to the

 submersible's left mechanical arm.Working the controls, she tried

 stretching the arm across the viewing window and down to the fallen

 propeller.Since the left arm was both smaller and shorter than the

 right arm, it allowed for less maneuverability.After several minutes

 of bending and twisting the arm in various configurations, she finally

 worked the claw to a position where she could grab the edge of the

 propeller blade.

 

 "I've got a grip, but it's at an awkward angle.I don't think I'll be

 able to exert enough pressure," she said.

 

 Pushing at the controls, her words fell true.The arm attempted to

 pull the propeller up but nothing budged.Several further attempts met

 with the same result.

 

 "Guess we'll have to barge our way out," Dirk replied, gritting his

 teeth.

 

 Applying full-throttle power to the thrusters, he tried to elevate

 the

 

 Starfish and slip back and away from the fallen propeller.The

 electronic thrusters hummed and vibrated violently as they clawed at

 the water with all their might, but the weight of the propeller was

 just too great.The submersible sat still as a rock while its

 thrusters beat the water madly, kicking up a dirty cloud of silt around

 them.He adjusted the thrusters forward and backward, trying to rock

 their way out, but it was no use.After several fruitless attempts,

 Dirk shut off the thrusters and waited for the brown cloud to settle.

 

 "We'll just needlessly burn up our batteries if we continue to try and

 slide out," he said dejectedly."We just don't have enough thrust to

 pull ourselves away from the prop."

 

 Summer could see the wheels churning in her brother's head.It wasn't

 the first time she had been trapped underwater with Dirk and she felt

 reassurance knowing that he was with her.Just months before, they had

 nearly died together off Navidad Bank when their undersea research

 habitat had rolled into a crevasse from the force of a killer

 hurricane.Only the last-second arrival by her father and Al Giordino

 had saved them from a slow death by asphyxiation.But this time, her

 father and Giordino were a thousand miles away.

 

 Out of the murky darkness, voices of the past began to whisper.The

 long-dead crew of the I-411 seemed to call out to Dirk and Summer to

 join them in a cold, watery grave a thousand feet under the sea.The

 silent black sub exuded a morbid sense that sent a shiver up Summer's

 spine.The stirred waters around them calmed and they could peer again

 into the depths of the hangar.She could not help but dwell on the

 fact that they were lodged in an iron tomb for dozens of brave Imperial

 Navy sailors.Forcing the macabre image from her mind, she tried to

 refocus her attention on the logical demands of their situation.

 

 "How much time do we have left?"Summer asked, the desperation of their

 situation beginning to sink in.

 

 Dirk glanced at a row of gauges to his side."We're fine until the scrubbers give way to the loss of battery power.It'll be lights out

 in about three hours, then another hour or so for the air to go.We

 better contact the Sea Rover."His voice was muted but

 matter-of-fact.

 

 Summer activated the communication system and called Ryan on the Sea

 Rover but was met with silence in return.After several additional

 attempts, the receiver crackled in her earpiece.

 

 "Starfish, this is Sea Rover.We do not copy, please repeat, over,"

 came a faint and fuzzy call from Ryan.

 

 "Our com signal must be blocked by the submarine's bulkheads," Dirk

 said."We can hear them, but they can't hear us."

 

 "I'll keep trying in case they can pick up sporadic signals."

 

 Summer continued calling for another ten minutes, speaking in a loud,

 clear voice, but received only the same frustrating reply from

 

 Ryan.

 

 "It's no use.They can't hear us.We're on our own," Summer finally

 conceded.

 

 Dirk began flipping switches on the console, shutting down all

 nonessential electronics in order to conserve battery power.His hand

 came to the controls that powered Snoopy and he hesitated.

 

 "Any objection to taking Snoopy for a walk?"

 

 "We came here to explore the hangar, so we might as well finish the

 job.We still need to determine if the biological weapons are aboard

 or if there's any evidence they've been removed."

 

 "My thoughts exactly," Dirk said as he powered up the tiny ROV.

 Grasping the controls, he worked the vehicle out of its cradle and over

 the fallen propeller, then elevated it to eye level in front of the

 Starfish.Ahead lay the long dark shaft of the hangar stretching into

 the gloom toward the conning tower.He quickly toggled the ROVs

 thrusters forward and Snoopy sailed into the darkened hangar.

 

 Both their eyes shifted from observing the illuminated ROV out the

 viewing bubble to watching Snoopy's field of vision on the color

 monitor as it moved away from the submersible.The hangar appeared

 empty at first, but, as Snoopy moved forward, silt-covered objects

 began

 

 materialize.The camera lens glided up to a large encrusted mound

 ositioned on a platform to one side, beyond which several large

 cab-nets protruded from the hangar walls.

 

 "A spare aircraft engine," Dirk remarked as he aimed Snoopy's eyes at

 the long metal block.

 

 "I'll bet those are storage bins for other spare parts and mechanic's

 tools," Summer added, pointing at the image of the cabinets.

 

 "No doubt there's a floor jack in there somewhere," Dirk lamented,

 knowing there was no way of retrieving any tools that might aid their

 escape.

 

 Slowly he led Snoopy down the cavernous hangar before nearly driving

 the ROV into a grouping of thin metal sheets hanging vertically.

 Backing up the camera, Dirk identified the structure as the tail

 assembly of an airplane, with the tip of the vertical stabilizer folded

 down, as well as both horizontal stabilizers.Swinging Snoopy ahead

 and to the side, they could clearly see it was part of the fuselage of

 an Aichi M6A1 Seiran float plane

 

 "Wow," Summer murmured, impressed by both the size and condition of the

 twin-seat bomber."Hard to believe they could fold up a plane and

 slide it in here."

 

 Dirk led Snoopy alongside the fuselage for a side view of the craft.

 The camera showed that the wings were still attached to the fuselage

 but folded back toward the tail like the wings on a duck.Faintly

 visible beneath the silt, they could still make out the familiar red

 Japanese meatball" insignia painted on the wingtips.

 

 "It's still amazing to me that they could store, launch, and retrieve

 aircraft from a submarine," Summer pondered.

 

 "Just roll the fuselage out onto the forward deck, raise the tail

 stabilizers, bolt on the wings and floats, and launch it off the

 catapult.A trained crew of four men were capable of assembling and

 launching a plane in under thirty minutes."

 

 "I guess it's a good thing these big Sen Toku boats weren't around

 earlier in the war," Summer replied.

 

 Dirk kept Snoopy nosing forward through the hangar.Gliding past the

 fuselage, the cameras revealed a pair of the plane's giant pontoons

 strapped to a wooden pallet on the deck.A blast from the ROV's

 thrusters dusted a layer of silt and mud off one of the pontoons,

 exposing a forest green paint scheme on the topsides and a shark gray

 tone on the pontoon's belly.A similar camouflage paint pattern would

 be found on the wings and fuselage.

 

 Once past the pontoons, the hangar grew empty for several feet as the

 ROV passed through a separate open compartment.Like its beagle

 namesake, Snoopy sniffed along, gingerly examining each silt-covered

 object or debris item carefully via the touch of Dirk's fingers.A set

 of low-slung racks gradually grew out of the darkness on either side of

 the hangar holding what Dirk immediately recognized as torpedoes.Four

 of the metallic fish rested in each rack, aerial torpedoes that at

 thirteen hundred pounds each were much smaller than the massive

 submarine-launched torpedoes found belowdecks.

 

 Dirk and Summer stared at the monitor, straining to see evidence of

 additional armament.But no other weaponry was visible.Dirk turned

 and noticed Summer peering at her watch, grimly cognizant of each

 minute that passed.

 

 "Let's keep going.There should be at least one more plane in here,"

 Dirk said, trying to keep her mind off the inevitable.The ROV again

 moved through a vacant compartment before emerging into the next hangar

 section.Seconds later, the tail and fuselage of a second Seiran

 bomber emerged into view, complete with folded wings.Just beyond was

 its matching pair of floats, strapped to the deck by cables.An

 assortment of wall-mounted tool bins followed and then twenty feet of

 empty space.Snoopy finally bumped up against the giant round hatch

 door that led to the submarine's forward deck.

 

 "Well, that's it," Dirk said solemnly."We've covered the length of

 the hangar and no sign of any aerial bombs other than the torpedoes.

 Summer said nothing for a moment, subconsciously biting her lower lip

 in dejection."Well ... there was no indication of a forced entry

 anywhere, nor did the silt appear to have been disturbed anytime

 recently.Perhaps they were destroyed in the torpedo blast?"

 

 "Could be.There's still a small section of hangar behind us we could

 take a look at."

 

 Dirk quietly steered Snoopy back toward the submersible, reeling in its

 dangling electronic power cable while it progressed.The cockpit fell

 silent as brother and sister contemplated their predicament.Dirk

 silently cursed their bad luck and failure to locate the aerial bombs.

 As the ROV passed the second plane's fuselage and approached the first

 plane's set of pontoons, a quizzical look fell over Summer's face.

 

 "Dirk, hold it there for a second," she said quietly, focusing on the

 monitor.

 

 "What is it?"he asked while neutralizing the position of the ROV.

 

 "Look at the pontoons.Do you notice anything different?"

 

 Dirk studied the monitor for a moment, then shook his head.

 

 "The pair at the end of the hangar were cabled directly to the deck,"

 Summer said."But these two have a platform under each of them."

 

 He looked at the images and his brow furrowed.Each of the pontoons

 sat balanced on a square-shaped platform roughly two feet high.

 

 Dirk eased the ROV around and alongside the base of one of the

 pontoons, then positioned it next to the platform.Spinning the ROV

 around, he applied the thrusters hard for a few seconds to try and blow

 away the encrusted sediment.He repositioned the ROV, then waited for

 the resulting cloud of sediment to subside.Peering through the murk,

 they could clearly see an exposed section of the platform.It was a

 hardwood crate built from what appeared to be mahogany.Dirk carefully

 studied the entire platform.

 

 "By God, that's got to be it."

 

 "Are you sure?"Summer questioned.

 

 "Well, I can't say what's inside, but the exterior is the same

 construction and dimension as the bomb canister crates that I found

 smashed open on the I-403."

 

 Dirk surveyed the crate from all angles, then confirmed that a

 

 matching crate was wedged beneath the second pontoon.Summer made a

 notation on the video files, documenting the exact location in the

 hangar where the crates were found.Pitt observed that each crate

 appeared to be held in place by the force of the pontoon, which was

 securely tied to the hangar deck by a half-dozen thick steel cables

 that crisscrossed the top of each float.

 

 "Nice eye, Summer.You get a beer for that catch."

 

 "Make mine a bottle of Martin Ray Chardonnay," she replied with a half

 smile."I'm just glad we know where they are now."

 

 "It's going to take someone a little more doing to get these out of

 here."

 

 "Us too, for that matter," Summer replied glumly.

 

 The wheels in Dirk's mind were still churning to compute an escape plan

 as he guided the ROV back toward the submersible.He lost

 concentration when Snoopy's bright underwater lights approached and

 shined brilliantly into the submersible's cockpit.Blinded in the

 glare, he instinctively steered the ROV down toward the hangar deck as

 he brought it closer to the Starfish.But as it approached, the ROV

 suddenly hung suspended, failing to move the last few feet to its

 cradle.

 

 "Dirk, Snoopy's umbilical is caught on something," Summer noticed,

 pointing out the bubble window.

 

 Dirk followed her guide and could see in the murkiness that the ROV's

 cable had snagged on some sort of debris lying on the hangar deck,

 about twenty feet in front of them.

 

 "I'm surprised we even made it so far through this obstacle course," he

 replied.

 

 Reversing direction, he backed up the ROV until the cable straightened

 from its grasp around what looked to be a small engine sitting in a

 tubular frame three feet off the ground.

 

 "A gas-powered compressor, I bet," he said, noticing a pair of decayed

 hoses connected to one end of the motor.

 

 "What's with the big handle?"Summer asked, eyeing a large metal tod

 protruding from one side of the block.A round, shovel-type grip was

 attached to the end.

 

 "It has an old mechanical starter.Kind of like pulling the rope on a

 lawn mower, only pumping the handle cranks the motor over.I saw a

 Swiss-made compressor on a dive boat once that had the same setup-"

 Dirk stared at the handle for a moment, not moving the ROV.

 

 "You're going to bring Snoopy home?"Summer finally asked.

 

 "Yes," he replied with a sudden gleam in his eye."But first he's

 going to help get us out of here."

 

 On board the Sea Rover, nervous apprehension was creeping over the

 captain and crew.It had been nearly ninety minutes since they last

 communicated with the Starfish and Morgan was anxiously preparing to

 call in an emergency rescue.The Sea Rover was not carrying a backup

 submersible, and the nearest NUMA submersible was at least twelve Hours

 away.

 

 "Ryan, let's contact the Navy's Deep Submergence Unit.Notify them of

 our situation and request the ETA on a deep-water rescue vehicle,"

 Morgan barked, silently dreading the thought.

 

 If Dirk and Summer were in real trouble, he knew they had only a matter

 of minutes, not hours.Their chances of rescue would be as slim as a

 dime.

 

 "Okay, Summer, hold the take-up reel."Dirk had positioned Snoopy near

 the top of the hangar ceiling a few feet past the compressor when he

 gave the command to Summer.She pressed a button on the console that

 stopped an automatic spool from reeling in the ROV's power cable. Dirk

 gently moved the ROV back toward the compressor, watching the cable

 slacken beneath it.Like an anaconda coiling about its prey, he

 carefully manipulated the ROV in a circular motion above the

 compressor, letting the slack cable wrap loosely around the protruding

 handle.After dancing the ROV around and around several times, he

 successfully engineered five loops about the handle, which he tightened

 by drawing the ROV up and away.

 

 "Okay, activate the take-up spool and I'll pull with Snoopy!""That

 compressor must weigh three hundred pounds.Even underwater, you'll

 never budge it," Summer replied, wondering if her brother had lost his

 mind.

 

 "It's not the compressor I'm after, it's the handle."

 

 Toggling the ROV's controls, he increased the power to Snoopy, now

 pointed in the direction of the submersible.The ROV surged forward

 until its power cord tightened around the metal handle.Its small

 thrusters churning the water, the little ROV fought to move forward but

 could not muster enough force to budge the handle.Then Summer joined

 in, reeling in the other end of the cable with the automatic take-up

 spool until the cord went taut around the base of the handle.Though

 both ends of the handle were now being yanked at, it was the lower end

 snagged by Summer that did the trick.The boxed end of the metal bar

 slid off the sprocketed knuckle that turned the flywheel and the whole

 handle slipped free of the compressor, gliding through the water toward

 the Starfish.Dirk carefully dragged it in a horizontal position, so

 as not to lose his coiled grip, and gently tugged it to the front of

 the submersible.

 

 "I don't think Ryan is going to appreciate how you're treating his

 ROV," Summer said with feigned concern.

 

 "I'll buy him a new one if this works."

 

 "And what exactly is it that you have in mind?"Summer asked, still

 not sure of his intent.

 

 "Why, just a little bit of leverage, my dear sister.If you'd be so

 kind as to grab my newfound crowbar with the left mechanical arm,

 you'll see what I mean."

 

 Dirk guided the ROV close to the left side of the Starfish, towing the

 handle with it.Summer then activated the controls of the left

 mechanical arm and opened its clawlike hand.Working in unison, they

 brought the two devices together until Summer could securely snatch one

 end of the handle with the vise-strong claw.Dirk then slackened the

 ROV cable and slowly backed Snoopy away, unraveling the cable off the

 free end of the bar.Once clear, he activated the cable spool up and

 returned Snoopy to the Starfish, securing the ROV in its cradle.

 

 "For a beagle, Snoopy makes for a pretty good retriever," Summer

 remarked.

 

 "Let's see now if our mechanical arm can make for a good floor jack,"

 Dirk replied.

 

 His eyes studied a row of battery ampere gauges on the submarine's

 control panel.They had spent more than an hour operating the ROV and

 their power level had been drained to barely thirty percent.Time was

 running short if they were to have any hope of making it back to the

 surface on their own.

 

 "Let's do this on one try.Purging tanks," he said, pushing a pair of

 buttons that pumped water out of the ballast tank in order to increase

 buoyancy.He then powered up the main thrusters to the submersible.

 Summer had meanwhile brought the mechanical arm around the front of the

 Starfish to its full dexterity and studied the position of the wedged

 propeller.It would have to be lifted and pushed forward slightly for

 them to pry themselves away, but there was little space to work the

 handle in.After leaning the handle against one of the skids and

 shortening her grip, she was able to work eight inches of the metal bar

 under the tip of the fallen propeller.

 

 "Ready," she said tentatively, wiping a sweaty palm on her pant leg.

 Dirk was also sweating profusely, as the cramped cockpit had grown hot

 once the air-conditioning was shut down to conserve power.

 

 "Pry us out of here," Dirk said, his hand at the ready on the thruster

 controls.With tense anticipation, Summer gently shifted the controls

 that raised the mechanical arm.Where the hydraulic power of the arm

 was insufficient to lift the arm on its own, the added leverage of the

 metal handle prying against the deck was just enough to budge it.

 Creeping ever so slowly, the propeller blade rose an inch, then two,

 then a few more.Dirk could feel the rear of the submersible tilt off

 the deck slightly from the added buoyancy.When Summer had safely

 jimmied the blade above the height of the front skids, he slammed the

 power controls to maximum reverse thrust.

 

 There was no immediate blast of power or skyrocketing acceleration by

 the Starfish but rather just a slight jerk as it backed tail first on

 

 the deck.The submersible slid up and away from the grasp of the

 propeller as the blade slipped down the compressor handle and clanged

 back to the hangar deck just inches in front of the Starfish's

 skids.

 

 "Nicely done, sis.What do you say we go get some fresh air?"Dirk

 said, adjusting the thrusters to raise the Starfish up and out of I-411's hangar.

 

 "I'm with you," Summer replied with obvious relief.

 

 Almost the second they cleared the walls of the hangar deck, the deep

 voice of Ryan blew loudly through communication earphones.

 

 "Starfish, this is Sea Rover.Do you read, over," came a monotonous

 tone that had obviously been repeating the phrase a thousand times over

 in the last few hours.

 

 "This is Starfish" Summer responded."We read you loud and clear. Have

 initiated ascent, please stand by for recovery."

 

 "Roger, Starfish" Ryan replied in a suddenly excited pitch."You have

 some folks worried up here.Do you need assistance?"

 

 "Negative.We just stubbed our toe down here.All is well; we'll be

 topside shortly."

 

 "Copy that.Standing by for recovery."

 

 Their ascent time, aided by controlled positive buoyancy, was slightly

 quicker than their descent, and in ten minutes they could make out the

 glowing bright lights of the Sea Rover's moon pool.The faint

 outline of the ship appeared as the submersible drew closer and Dirk

 tweaked the Starfish's thrusters with what little remaining power he

 had to guide them to the center of the glowing ring of beacons.Dirk

 and Summer both let out a silent sigh of relief as they popped through

 the hole in the ship's bottom and bobbed to the surface of the pool.

 Morgan, Ryan, and a half-dozen crew members ringed the moon pool and

 watched intently as the Starfish was plucked from the water by a hoist

 and lowered gently to the deck.Dirk powered down the submersible as

 Summer opened the rear hatch and the two climbed out for a grateful

 breath of fresh air.

 

 "We were afraid you got lost down there," Morgan smiled, then looked

 quizzically at the compressor handle that was still lodged in the grip

 of the left mechanical arm.

 

 "That's our walking stick," Summer explained."We took a walk where we

 ought not to have gone and had a little trouble getting back out."

 

 "Well," Morgan asked, unable to refrain from the other concern on his

 mind, "what did you find?"

 

 "Two cartons of eggs waiting to be delivered," Dirk said with a grin.

 

 The Sea Rover's crew worked feverishly to repair the Starfish's

 mechanical arm and replenish the submersible's drained batteries while

 Dirk, Summer, and Morgan formulated a salvage strategy.Reviewing the

 video footage recorded by Snoopy, they calculated the exact position in

 the sub's hangar where the bomb crates were situated.Studying the

 video closely, they determined that the hangar's bulkhead walls were

 constructed in ten-foot sections.

 

 "We should be able to cut through the original seams and lift out a

 ten-foot piece of bulkhead alongside the pontoons," Dirk said, tapping

 a frozen video image with a pencil."The Starfish is eight feet wide,

 so that should give us enough room to maneuver close and remove the

 bombs with the mechanical arms."

 

 "We're fortunate in that the currents around the wreck are only about 1

 to 2 knots, so we'll be able to work unimpeded by the seas.It will

 still take us a couple of dives, though," Summer added.

 

 "Ryan can alternate dives with you two," Morgan said."Why don't you

 grab a few hours' rest while we turn the submersible around and prepare

 for some cutting?"

 

 "You don't have to ask me twice," Summer yawned in reply.Her sleep

 was short-lived, however, when Dirk woke her three hours later and they

 prepared for another dive.With a fresh set of batteries the Starfish was released again and they made their slow descent to the submarine.The submersible hovered off the side of the hangar facing the blast hole, then slowly moved sideways toward the conning

 tower.At six-foot intervals, measured by the width between the two

 semi-extended mechanical arms, Dirk would push the submersible forward

 and scratch a measuring mark on the encrusted surface with the left

 claw.At the tenth interval, or sixty feet from the torpedo gash, he

 scratched a rough A on the side of the hangar.

 

 "This is where we cut," he said to Summer."Let's see if we can find

 the seams."

 

 Dragging one of the claws along the surface of the hangar, Dirk thrust

 the submersible sideways, leaving a long scratch along the wall. Moving

 back and closely examining the scarred section, which bled a dirty rust

 and gold, they quickly found an exposed vertical crease, representing

 the seam where two plates of the watertight hangar were welded

 together.As expected, another vertical seam was found ten feet away.

 While the Starfish hovered, Summer scraped away at the seams, using the

 claw like a knife, exposing the weld lines.When she was finished, a

 square outline in the shape of a garage door had been etched on the

 hangar.

 

 "So much for the easy part," Dirk said."You ready to cut?""Pop

 these on and let's get started," Summer replied, handing him a pair of

 welder's protective glasses while donning a pair herself.Taking

 control of both mechanical arms, she reached into a basket mounted on

 the front skid pad and with the right claw retrieved an electrode

 holder, connected via a reinforced line to a 230-amp DC power source

 inside the submersible.With the left claw, she attached an iron oxide

 non exothermic cutting rod into the electrode holder and flicked on the

 power.Unlike a typical underwater cutting rod, which required a

 supply of oxygen to fuel the burn, the iron oxide rods simply required

 a power source to generate a superheated cutting arc.The less

 complicated design was more practical for welding at remote underwater

 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 midnight, 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 sliding 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

 burst in on them.Ryan could only mutter a "What the hell?"over the

 underwater communications system before he was yanked away from the

 control station at gunpoint with Farley in tow.

 

 Like sheep led to the slaughterhouse, the shipboard crew was herded in

 groups of three and four to the rear deck of the Sea Rover.Astern of

 the moon pool was a recessed cargo hold where the submersible and other

 equipment was stored when not in use.Under Kim's direction, the

 hold's heavy steel hatch cover was winched off with one of the Sea

 Rover's cranes.The frightened captives were then forced down a

 steel ladder into the dark, cavernous bay.

 

 Tongju approached Kim on the rear deck with a bound and limping Morgan

 in tow, another commando prodding the captain forward with the barrel

 of his assault rifle.

 

 "Report?"Tongju asked bluntly.

 

 "All objectives achieved," Kim reported proudly."One casualty in the

 engine room, Ta-kong, but all ship's compartments are now secure. We've

 transferred all the captives to the stern hold.Jin-chul reports that

 eight units of ordnance have been located intact in the ship's

 auxiliary laboratory," he added, nodding toward a wiry commando

 standing next to a prefabricated structure across the deck."The

 submersible is currently deployed in recovery of additional

 ordnance."

 

 "Very well," Tongju replied with a rare smile that revealed a set of

 heavily yellowed teeth."Contact the Baekje.Tell her to tie up

 alongside and prepare for transfer of the ordnance."

 

 "You won't get far," Morgan growled, spitting out a mouthful of blood

 as he spoke.

 

 "But, Captain," Tongju replied with an evil smirk, "we already have."

 

 A thousand feet beneath the Sea Rover, Summer was carefully placing the

 tenth aerial bomb into the makeshift holding tray alongside the ninth

 canister she had plucked from the bottom just moments before.She

 again secured both bombs with the mechanical arms, then turned to Dirk

 when she was finished.

 

 "Ten down, two to go.You may take us home now, Jeeves."

 

 "Yes, m'lady," he replied in a Cockney accent, then he actuated the

 submersible's thrusters and backed out of the tight confines of the

 hangar.As they cleared the deck of the I-411, Summer radioed up to

 the Sea Rover's control room.

 

 "Sea Rover, this is Starfish.Have secured the next batch and are

 preparing to ascend with the goods, over."

 

 The call was returned with silence.She tried calling several more

 times as they started their ascent but again received no response from

 the surface.

 

 "Ryan must be asleep at the wheel," Dirk said.

 

 "Can't blame him," Summer replied while suppressing a yawn."It is

 two-thirty in the morning."

 

 "I just hope the guy on the crane is awake," he smirked.

 

 As they neared the surface, they spotted the familiar glow of the moon

 pool lights and maneuvered the Starfish into the center of the ring,

 where they bobbed gently to the surface.Dirk and Summer paid scant

 attention to the shadowy figures on the deck as the clank of the main

 hoist was dropped and attached to the submersible and they began to

 power down its electronic equipment.It was only when they were jerked

 roughly out of the water and swung wildly to the stern deck, nearly

 colliding with the port bulkhead, that they realized something was

 amiss.

 

 "Who the hell's working the crane?"Summer cursed as they were set

 down harshly on the deck."Don't they know we've got two bombs

 aboard?"

 

 "It sure ain't the Welcome Wagon," Dirk said drily as he stared out of

 the bubble window.

 

 Directly in front of them, an Asian man in a black paramilitary outfit

 stood holding an automatic pistol to the stomach of Captain Morgan.

 Dirk looked beyond the man's long Fu Manchu mustache and crooked yellow

 teeth splayed in an evil grin and focused on the eyes.They were cold,

 black eyes that portrayed a menacing air of utter indifference.They

 were, Dirk knew, the eyes of an experienced killer.

 

 Summer gasped at the sight of Morgan.A makeshift bandage was wrapped

 about his left thigh but failed to cover the rivulets of dried blood

 that was splattered down his leg.His cheekbone was bruised and

 swollen to the size of a grapefruit, and his eye had already begun to

 blacken.More dried blood ran from his mouth and onto his shirt.Yet

 the crusty captain stood unflinching, his lack of fear so prominent

 that Summer failed to notice he was still wearing a pair of boxer

 shorts.

 

 A pair of commandos suddenly jumped in front of the Starfish's acrylic

 bubble, waving their AK-74s about wildly in a show for Dirk and Summer

 to exit the submersible.The gun muzzles were quickly poked in their

 faces as they climbed out of the submersible and were marched over to

 Morgan and Tongju.

 

 "Mr. Pitt," Tongju said in a low voice."Good of you to join us.

 

 "I don't believe I've had the pleasure of your acquaintance," Dirk

 replied sarcastically.

 

 "A humble servant of the Japanese Red Army whose name is unimportant,"

 Tongju replied with feigned graciousness, bowing his head slightly.

 

 "I didn't realize there were still any of you fruitcakes left outside

 of jail."

 

 Tongju just held his grin, not moving a facial muscle."You and your

 sister have fifteen minutes to replenish the submersible's batteries

 and prepare to retrieve the final two ordnance," he said calmly.

 

 "They are both damaged and in pieces," Dirk lied, his mind racing to

 compute a plan of action.

 

 Tongju calmly raised the Glock pistol aimed at Morgan's side and held

 the muzzle to the captain's right temple."You have fourteen minutes,

 at which time I shall kill your captain.Then I will kill your sister.

 And then I will kill you," he said coldly, his lips parting in a

 self-satisfying grin.

 

 Dirk could feel the blood racing through his veins as he glared at the

 madman in anger.Then the delicate touch of Summer's hand on his

 shoulder dispelled any thoughts of rash action.

 

 "Come on, Dirk, we haven't much time," she said, guiding him to a

 wheeled cart that had been rolled out with replacement batteries for

 the submersible.Morgan looked at Dirk and nodded in concurrence.

 Fighting the feeling of total helplessness, he reluctantly began

 transferring the batteries to the Starfish, all the while keeping one

 eye glued to the commando leader.

 

 As they prepped the submersible for a last dive, the final remnants of

 the ship's crew were marched by and forced into the rear hold at

 gunpoint.Summer grimly noted the frightened look on two lab analysts

 as they were prodded roughly down the hatchway.

 

 Working quickly, Dirk and Summer replaced the submersible's power

 supply in just over twelve minutes.There would be no time for the

 standard post operation and pre dive system checks normally per

 

 formed before the submersible was returned to the water.They would

 have to hope the Starfish was operational for one more dive.

 

 Tongju walked over in a measured clip and glared up at the two

 Americans, who both towered over him.

 

 "You will promptly retrieve the remaining ordnance and return to the

 vessel without any nonsense.You have ninety minutes to complete your

 dive successfully or there will be severe consequences."

 

 "If I were you, I think I'd be worrying about the consequences from our

 military forces for pirating a government ship," Summer spat angrily.

 

 "There will be no consequences," Tongju replied, smiling thinly, "for a

 ship that no longer exists."

 

 Before Summer could respond, Tongju spun on his heels and walked away,

 replaced by two commandos who stepped forward with their assault rifles

 drawn and aimed.

 

 "Come on, sister," Dirk muttered."There's no use arguing with a

 psychopath."

 

 Dirk and Summer threaded themselves back into the Starfish, then were

 roughly jostled into the air by the crane operator.As they were

 prepared to be let go, Dirk watched through the acrylic bubble as

 Morgan was roughly manhandled to the stern hold and forcefully pitched

 down into the container.A commando on a stern deck crane hoisted up

 the massive steel hatch and positioned it over the rear hold before

 lowering it in place.Secured over the hold, the hatch imprisoned the

 entire ship's crew in darkness below.

 

 With a violent splash, the Starfish was crudely dropped into the moon

 pool a second later and released from the ship's cable.

 

 "He means to sink the Sea Rover" Dirk said to Summer as they began

 their slow descent to the bottom.

 

 "With the entire crew locked in the hold?"she asked, shaking her head

 in disbelief.

 

 "I think so," he said somberly."Unfortunately, there's not much we

 can do in the way of calling for help."

 

 "Our underwater communication system won't do any good, and any surface

 calls we might try wouldn't have the range to reach anybody in this

 region except a few Chinese fishermen."

 

 "Or the cable ship that is evidently supporting these characters," he

 added, shaking his head.

 

 "Our intelligence heads apparently underestimated this Japanese Red

 Army," Summer said."Those guys didn't look like a rogue band of

 ideological extremists with dynamite strapped to their backs."

 

 "No, it's apparent they are well-trained military professionals.

 Who-ever's running their operation is obviously skilled and well

 funded.""I wonder what they intend to do with the bombs?""An attack

 in Japan would figure.But there's obviously more to this Japanese Red

 Army than meets the eye, so I wouldn't want to wager on what their

 intent is."

 

 ""I guess we can't worry about that for now.We've got to figure out a

 way to save the crew."

 

 "I counted eight commandos, and there was no doubt a few more on the

 bridge and elsewhere on the ship.Too many to overpower with a couple

 of screwdrivers," Dirk said, examining the contents of a small toolbox

 mounted behind his seat.

 

 "We'll need to quietly get some of the crewmen out of the hold to help

 us.If we had enough people, maybe we could overpower them.""I don't

 relish the thought of going unarmed against an AK-74, but there might

 be a chance in numbers.Getting the lid off that storage hold is the

 problem.I'd need a couple of uninterrupted minutes on the stern

 crane, but I don't think our friends in black would be too obliging."

 

 "There must be another way out of that hold," Summer wondered.

 

 "No, unfortunately, there isn't.I'm sure it matches the Deep

 Endeavor, where it was designed strictly as a storage hold and is

 blocked off from any entry amidships by the moon pool."

 

 "I thought Ryan had run a power cable down there once from someplace

 other than the open hatch cover."

 

 Dirk thought hard for a moment, trying to jog his memory.After a long

 minute, a light finally clicked on.

 

 "You're right.There's a small venting hatch that opens on the

 bulkhead just aft of the moon pool.It's really more of an air vent,

 designed to release the buildup of noxious gases if chemicals are

 stored in the hold.I'm pretty sure a man could squeeze through it.

 The problem for Morgan and the crew is that it's sealed and locked from

 the outside."

 

 "We've got to figure out a way to unlock it," Summer willed.

 

 Together, they worked through several contingency plans, finally

 settling on an order of attack based on their opportunities once aboard

 the Sea Rover.It would take timing, skill, and a dose of daring to

 pull off.But mostly it would take luck.

 

 Dirk and Summer fell silent as their minds conjured up gruesome images

 of the Sea Rover sinking with all hands, their friends, and coworkers

 trapped in the airtight hold.Then the specter of the I-411 suddenly

 rose up in the blackness before them and they washed the images from

 their minds.With the clock ticking, they went about their business of

 retrieving the final two canisters of death.Dirk maneuvered the

 submersible into the hangar as before, setting the Starfish down within

 easy reach of the remaining ordnance.As Summer began manipulating the

 mechanical arms by sight through the acrylic bubble, Dirk observed the

 video camera feed on the monitor, which recorded every moment of the

 recovery.He watched while Summer gently lifted the first canister and

 was placing it in the recovery basket when he suddenly powered up

 Snoopy and grabbed the remote vehicle's controls.In an instant, he

 nudged the ROV out of its cradle just a few inches, then spun the tiny

 machine around until its nose was pressed against the submersible's

 skid plates and applied full

 

 thrusting power.The tiny ROV went nowhere, but its water jets stirred

 up a thick cloud of muck and sediment in front of the Starfish.In a

 flash, the water visibility went to zero amid a cloud of brown.

 

 "What are you doing?"Summer demanded, freezing the mechanical arm

 controls.

 

 "You'll see," he said, although there was nothing to see at all.After

 reaching over and fidgeting with Summer's controls for a moment, he

 then powered down the ROV's thruster.It took two minutes for the

 seawater to clear enough that Summer could proceed with seizing the

 final canister.

 

 "You want to try that trick again?"she asked after depositing the

 bomb into the basket.

 

 "Why not?"he replied, hitting the ROV thruster again and stirring up

 another muddy cloud for the camera.

 

 Once the water cleared and both canisters were pinned into the basket,

 Dirk edged the submersible away from the submarine and they began their

 slow ascent.Halfway to the surface, they traded positions, squirming

 over one another so that Summer controlled the submersible movements

 while Dirk manned the controls of both mechanical arms.

 

 "Okay, take us on up," Dirk instructed."As soon as they drop us onto

 the deck, I'll need you to create a diversion."While he spoke, he

 worked the left mechanical arm away from its locked position on the

 weapons basket and flexed it straight out to its full extension so that

 it poked out from the Starfish like a lance.

 

 Summer trusted her brother's instincts implicitly, and had little time

 to argue anyway.The ringed lights of the moon pool soon came into

 view.Summer steered the Starfish to the center of the opening, then

 they broke surface with a rush of bubbles and foaming seawater.A

 metallic clank was heard as the lifting hook was attached to the

 submersible and the diminutive vessel was yanked from the water. Summer

 peered out at Tongju and a half-dozen other commandos as the

 submersible swung through the air.Her brother, she noted, was intently watching their forward progress while gently adjusting the

 mechanical arm's position.When they were crudely dropped to the deck

 by the inexperienced crane operator, she saw Dirk jam the arm controls

 all the way forward.The metal claw bounced forward along the deck as

 they stopped, coming to a halt near the rear bulkhead.Four feet off

 to the side was the small, sealed venting hatch that led to the storage

 hold.

 

 "Our boy on the crane came through," Dirk muttered."We're in the

 ballpark."

 

 "I guess it's showtime," Summer replied with a nervous look.

 

 Moving quickly, she stripped out of her NUMA jumpsuit, revealing a lean

 body that was clad in a skimpy two-piece bathing suit covered by a

 large T-shirt.Reaching under the shirt, she unhooked her bathing top

 and let it fall to the floor, then grabbed the loose base of her

 T-shirt and tied a knot with the material just above her navel.The

 ightened shirt clearly revealed the shapely contour of her full breasts

 and midriff.Dirk helped open the escape hatch, then quickly returned

 lo the manipulator arm controls as Summer burst out of the

 submersible.

 

 Tongju was busy talking to the crane operator with his back toward the

 submersible when Summer crawled out.Seeing him turned away, she

 hurriedly approached the nearest commando, who stood glaring at her

 exposed features with a leer.His leer turned to shock as Summer

 shouted at the top of her lungs, "Get your hands off me, creep!"

 

 Her words were followed by an open-hand slap to the man's face that

 nearly sent him sprawling.If her bikini and tight shirt hadn't

 already attracted everyone's attention, then her decking one of their

 fellow commandos suddenly brought every eye on the ship upon her.

 

 Every eye except Dirk's.Capitalizing on the commotion, he powered the

 mechanical arm to its full lateral reach, just barely stretching its

 extended claw to the bulkhead vent hatch.Grabbing the lockdown handle

 with the claw, he nudged it to the unlocked position and pulled n it

 just a hair, to ensure the hatch would open.Quickly letting go,

 

 he eased the arm back alongside the Starfish, then powered it down.

 Scampering out the submersible's entry hatch, he stood casually in^

 back of the submersible as if he'd been there all along.

 

 "What is this all about?"Tongju hissed as he approached Summer, \ his

 Glock pistol drawn and aimed at her midsection.

 

 "This pervert tried to assault me," Summer screeched, jerking a thumb

 toward the slack-jawed commando.Tongju let fly a stream of

 obscenities until the confounded gunman shrank like a wilting violet.

 The commando leader then turned back to Summer and Dirk, who now stood

 behind his sister.

 

 "You two, back in the submersible," he commanded in English, the muzzle

 of his Glock pointing the way.

 

 "Jeez, a guy can't even stretch his legs around here," Dirk complained

 as if it were his biggest concern at the moment.As they made their

 way back into the submersible, they noticed for the first time that the

 Japanese cable-laying ship was heaving to alongside the Sea Rover.

 Though little longer than the NUMA vessel, the Japanese ship had a much

 higher superstructure and seemed to tower over the Sea Rover.The

 Baekje was hardly alongside a minute before a huge crane on her stern

 deck swung over the Sea Rover's side rail trailing a cable with an

 empty pallet that spun lazily in the breeze.From inside the

 submersible, they watched as the pallet was dropped to the deck beside

 them.A trio of black-clad commandos then rolled several storage

 containers out of the Sea Rover's auxiliary laboratory and secured

 them to the pallet.Each container, they knew, held one of the

 biological bombs encased in a cushioned sheath.

 

 The Baekje's crane operator quickly transferred the pallet back and

 forth several times in the predawn darkness until all of the bomb

 containers were aboard the Japanese ship.The empty pallet then became

 a bus, ferrying the commandos to the ship a handful at a time.From

 belowdecks, a black-clad gunman appeared and conversed briefly with

 Tongju.Dirk noticed Tongju break into a thin smile, then pointed to

 the submersible and barked out an order.The cable hook was released from the pallet and attached to the Starfish.

 

 "Guess we're changing rides," Dirk commented when the cable was pulled

 taut.

 

 This time the submersible was hoisted smoothly into the air.Dirk

 rapidly jabbed the mechanical arm out and rapped three times on the

 rear bulkhead with the claw before being pulled up and off the deck. He

 and Summer watched the Sea Rover fall away beneath them as they were

 carried over the water and deposited on a high stern deck of the

 Baekje.Climbing out of the submersible, they were welcomed by a pair

 of armed thugs, who prodded them toward the ship's railing with their

 guns.

 

 "I've had about enough of the assault rifle hospitality," Dirk

 muttered.

 

 "I bet they feel naked when they don't have a gun in their hands,"

 Summer replied.

 

 From their vantage point, they watched as the remaining commandos were

 ferried over on the pallet, Tongju riding with the last batch.

 

 "Dirk, is it my eyes or is the Sea Rover sitting lower in the water?"

 Summer asked with alarm in her voice.

 

 "You're right," he agreed, studying the ship."They must have opened

 the sea cocks.She's listing a little to starboard as well."

 

 The pallet carrying Tongju swung to the deck and the commando leader

 jumped off, landing lightly on his feet.He immediately approached the

 two captives.

 

 "I suggest you say good-bye to your ship," he said without feeling.

 

 "The crew is trapped in the hold, you murderous swine!"Summer cried

 out.

 

 Charged by emotion, she took a lunging step toward Tongju in anger. The

 trained killer reacted instinctively, launching a vicious right kick to

 Summer's midsection, sending her sprawling backward.But his trained reflexes were not swift enough to ward off the unexpected

 quickness of Dirk, who sprang forward and threw a solid left hook just

 as Tongju regained his footing.The crushing blow landed on Tongju's

 right temple, sending him dropping to one knee, where he teetered on

 the verge of blacking out.The nearby gunmen immediately jumped on

 Dirk, one of them ramming an assault rifle into his stomach as two

 others held back his arms.

 

 Tongju gradually regained his senses and rose to his feet, then stepped

 purposely over to Dirk.Thrusting his face close to Dirk's chin, he

 spoke in a calm voice dripping with menace.

 

 "I shall enjoy watching you die in the manner of your shipmates," he

 said, then brusquely turned and walked away.

 

 The remaining commandos roughly herded Dirk and Summer down a side

 stairwell and along a narrow corridor before shoving them into a small

 cabin berth.The cabin door was slammed shut behind them and locked

 from the outside, where two men remained on guard.

 

 Dirk and Summer quickly shook off the pain from their blows. Staggering

 past two twin beds wedged into the tiny cabin, they pressed their faces

 against a small porthole on the outside bulkhead.

 

 "She's lower in the water," Summer observed with dread in her voice.

 

 Through the porthole, they could see the Sea Rover still floating

 alongside the Baekje, the seawater creeping inexorably closer to the

 tops of her gunwales.No sign of life appeared on the decks, and the

 big research vessel had all the appearance of a listing ghost ship.

 Dirk and Summer searched for signs of movement aft of the moon pool but

 saw nothing.

 

 "They've either relocked the vent hatch or Morgan can't get to it, Dirk

 cursed.

 

 "Or he doesn't know it exists," Summer whispered.

 

 Beneath their feet, they heard then felt an increased rumbling as the

 Baekje's engines were engaged and the big cable ship slowly pulled

 

 away from the sinking NUMA vessel.The predawn light had yet to edge

 over the black night sky and it took just a few minutes before the

 sight of the Sea Rover fell away into a fuzzy grouping of twinkling

 lights.

 

 Dirk and Summer strained to watch the NUMA ship as the Baekje increased

 speed and distance.The twinkling lights eventually dissolved beneath

 the horizon until they could see nothing more of their ship and

 comrades.

 

 SIR, we seem to have lost all contact with the Sea Rover?"Rudi Gunn

 looked up slowly from his desk.His bespectacled blue eyes bore into

 the NUMA field support analyst standing nervously before him.

 

 "How long ago?"Gunn probed.

 

 "Our communications link fell nonresponsive a little over three hours

 ago.We continued to receive a digital GPS position update, which

 showed they were still fixed on site in the East China Sea.That

 signal was lost approximately twenty minutes ago."

 

 "Did they issue a distress call?"

 

 "No, sir, none that we received."Despite ten years of service with

 the agency, the analyst displayed obvious discomfort at being the

 bearer of bad news to senior management.

 

 "What about the Navy vessel?They were assigned an escort."

 

 "Sir, the Navy rescinded their frigate escort before Sea Rover left port

 in Osaka due to an exercise commitment with the Taiwanese Navy.

 

 "That's just great," Gunn exclaimed in frustration.

 

 "Sir, we've requested satellite imagery from the National

 Reconnaissance Office.We should have something within the hour."

 

 "I want search and rescue craft in the air now," Gunn barked."Contact

 the Air Force and Navy.See who's got the closest resources and get

 them moving.Quick!"

 

 "Yes, sir," the young man replied, nearly jumping out of Gunn's

 office.

 

 Gunn mulled over the situation.NUMA research ships had the latest in

 satellite communications equipment.They wouldn't just disappear

 without warning.And the Sea Rover had one of the most experienced and

 competent crews in the NUMA fleet.Dirk must be right, he feared.

 There must be a powerful operation that was pursuing the biological

 bombs on board the I-411.

 

 With a foreboding sense of dread, Gunn picked up his telephone and

 buzzed his secretary.

 

 "Dark, get me the vice president."

 

 Captain Robert Morgan was not a man to go down easy.Shaking off his

 shattered femur and broken cheekbone as if they were a sprain and a

 scratch, he quickly took order of his shaken crew after being

 unceremoniously tossed into the confined storage hold.Seconds after

 his arrival, the heavy steel hatch cover was slammed down above them,

 the crash of the massive lid thrusting the compartment into complete

 darkness.Frightened whispers echoed off the steel walls while the

 dank air hung thick with the odor of diesel fuel.

 

 "Don't panic," Morgan bellowed in response to the murmurs."Ryan, are

 you in here?"

 

 "Over here," Ryan's voice rang back from a corner.

 

 "There should be a spare lightweight ROV secured in the rear.Find

 some batteries and see if you can't get the lights rigged," he

 ordered.

 

 A dim light suddenly glowed in the back of the hold, the narrow beam of

 a portable flashlight clasped in the paw of the Sea Rover\ chief

 engineer.

 

 "We'll get it done, Cap'n," growled the Irish-tinged voice of the

 engineer, a red-haired salt named Mcintosh.

 

 Ryan and Mcintosh located the spare ROV in a storage cradle, and

 further rummaging under the faint light produced a stockpile of battery

 packs.Ryan proceeded to cut one end of the ROV's power cable and

 spliced several internal lines to the battery pack terminals.Once he

 configured a complete circuit, the ROV's bright xenon lights burst on

 in a blinding shower of blue-white luminescence.Several crew members

 standing near the ROV's lights squinted their eyes shut tight at the

 sudden surge of light in the blackened hold.Under the bath of light,

 Morgan was able to examine his shipboard crew and the onboard team of

 scientists, which he noted were huddled in small groups throughout the

 hold.A mix of confusion and fear was reflected in the faces of most

 of the men and women.

 

 "Nice work, Ryan.Mcintosh, move those lights across the hold, please.

 Now, then, is anybody hurt?"the captain said, ignoring his own severe

 injuries.

 

 A quick tally revealed a score of cuts, bumps, and bruises.But aside

 from the wounded machinist and a broken leg suffered by a geologist

 when he fell into the hold, there were no other serious injuries.

 

 "We're going to get out of this," Morgan lectured confidently."These

 goons just want the items we've been salvaging off the Japanese

 submarine.Chances are, they'll let us out of here just as soon as

 they've smuggled the materials off to their ship," he said, internally

 doubting his own words."But, just in case, we'll figure out a way to

 pop the lid on our own.We've certainly got plenty of manpower to do

 it with.Mcintosh, swing that light around again, let's see what we've

 got to work with around here."

 

 Mcintosh and Ryan picked up the portable ROV and walked it toward the

 center of the hold, then slowly turned it in a 360-degree circle the

 bright beams spraying an arc of light over the people and objects in

 its path.As a storeroom for the Starfish, the hold resembled a large

 electronic parts bin.Coils of cabling hung from the bulkheads, while

 spare electronic components were stored in multiple cabinets mounted on

 the aft wall.Racks of test equipment lined one side of the hold,

 while at the forward end of the bay a sixteen-foot Zodiac inflatable

 boat sat on a wooden cradle.Off to one corner, a half-dozen

 fifty-five-gallon drums of gasoline were wedged alongside two spare

 outboard motors.Ryan held the light shining on the drums for several

 minutes, illuminating a series of iron rungs that ran up the bulkhead

 and under an overhang in back of the drums.

 

 "Captain, there's a venting hatch located up those rungs that opens up

 onto the aft moon pool deck," Ryan said."It locks from the deck side,

 but there's a chance it may have been left open."

 

 "One of you men there," Morgan barked at a trio of scientists huddled

 near the drums."Climb up that ladder and see if the hatch is

 unlocked."

 

 A barefoot oceanographer clad in blue pajamas jumped at the captain's

 request and scampered up the metal rungs, disappearing into a narrow

 vent shaft that was carved through the overhang.A few moments later,

 he climbed back into view, his feet now sensitive to the crude ladder

 steps.

 

 "It's locked solid, Captain," he said with disappointment.

 

 Mcintosh suddenly piped up from the center of the hold.

 

 "Cap'n, I think we can construct a couple of spars from the wooden

 supports underneath that Zodiac," he said, pointing an arm toward the

 rubber boat."With six or eight men on each, we ought to be able to

 prod up a corner of the main hatch."

 

 "Poke it off with a couple of big chopsticks, eh?That, indeed, might

 work.Go to it, Mcintosh.You men over there, help get that Zodiac

 off its stand," he growled at a party assembled near the boat.

 

 Limping over, he grabbed hold of the boat's bow and helped muscle it

 off the wooden stands and onto the deck.Several men assisted

 

 Mcintosh in dissecting the support cradle and laying out its separate

 pieces while the ship's carpenter assessed how to reassemble the material into several spars.

 

 While they worked, they could hear the muffled voices of the commandos

 on deck and the whirring and clanking of the Baekje's crane as it

 loaded and hoisted away the I-411's ordnance.At one point, the faint

 echo of machine-gun fire was heard emanating from a distant part of the

 ship.A short time later, Morgan detected the sound of the Starfish

 being hoisted out of the moon pool and dropped to the deck, followed by

 the shrieking cry of a woman's voice he knew to be Summer's.The

 activity above them grew quieter after some banging on the bulkhead

 above their heads.Eventually, the humming of the cranes and the

 sporadic voices fell silent.As it became evident that the commandos

 had left the ship, Morgan quietly wondered about the fate of Dirk and

 Summer.His thoughts were suddenly jarred by the rumble of the

 Baekje's engines vibrating through the hold as the cable ship pulled

 away from Sea Rover.

 

 "How are we coming along, Mcintosh?"he asked loudly to mask the sound

 of abandonment, although he could clearly see the progress in front of

 him.

 

 "We've two spars together and are close to completing a third," the

 chief engineer grunted.At his feet were three uneven-looking wooden

 poles, roughly ten feet in length.Each was constructed of three

 separate pieces of timber, crudely indented at either end with a hammer

 and screwdriver and fitted together in a notched tongue-and-groove

 fashion.Metal sheeting cannibalized from a test rack was hammered

 around the joints for stability and finished off in a wrapped layer of

 the handyman's favored duct tape.

 

 As Mcintosh sifted through the remaining pieces of scrap wood, a sudden

 rushing noise drifted up from the bowels of the ship.In a few

 minutes, the sound doubled in intensity, resembling the rumbling waters

 of a turbulent stream.Mcintosh stood slowly and addressed the captain

 in a somber, matter-of-fact voice.

 

 "Sir, they've opened the sea cocks.They mean to sink her."

 

 Several unseen voices gasped in horror at Mcintosh's words and numerous

 cries of "No!"echoed through the hold.Morgan ignored them all.

 

 "Looks like we'll have to make do with three spars," the captain

 replied calmly."I need seven men on each pole.Let's get them up

 now."

 

 A rush of men moved forward and grabbed the spars as the first drops of

 seawater began trickling into the hold through a half-dozen small bilge

 drains mounted flush on the hold's deck.Within minutes, they were

 sloshing around in ankle-deep water as the men positioned the ends of

 the spars against the forward corner of the hatch, next to the entry

 ladder.On the top step, a man stood with a two-foot-high triangular

 block of timber, his job to insert it under the open hatch lid and keep

 it wedged open.

 

 "Ready ... lift!"Morgan shouted.

 

 In unison, the three teams of men pressed the tips of their spars

 against the hatch cover eight feet over their heads and pushed up with

 all their might.To everyone's surprise, the hatch cover burst open

 several feet, letting in a spray of muted light from the deck lights,

 before its weight shifted and the heavy cover slammed back down.

 

 The forlorn man at the top of the ladder froze an instant before trying

 to insert the block wedge and was too late.The hatch crashed down

 about his head as he tried to shove the wedge into the open gap, the

 lip nearly taking off the fingers of his right hand.The shaken man

 took a deep breath, then nodded at Morgan that he was okay to try

 again.

 

 "All right, let's give it another try," Morgan commanded as water now

 swirled about his knees, the salt water stinging his open leg wound.

 "One ... two ... three!"

 

 A loud crack ripped through the hold as the top joint on one of the

 spars broke clean in two, the loose section falling into the water with

 a splash.Mcintosh waded over and examined the damaged end piece,

 finding the grooved joint had broken completely off.

 

 "Not good, sir," he reported."Will take some time to repair.""Do

 what you can," Morgan barked."Let's continue with two spars ...

 Heave!"

 

 The remaining men shoved at their spars but it was a lost cause.There

 was no way of getting enough manpower behind the two spars to apply

 enough leverage.Additional men crowded in to try and help, but

 there was simply not enough room to put more hands on the timbers and

 push.Twice the men strained with the additional force and were able

 to pry the hatch open a few inches, but it was not nearly enough to

 block it so that a man could escape.The surging seawater was now up

 to Morgan's waist and he could see in the faces of the crew that the

 terror of drowning was about to incite panic in the hold.

 

 "One more try, men," he urged on while somewhere in the back of his own

 mind he morbidly calculated the estimated duration it took for a man to

 drown.

 

 With adrenaline pumping, the men jammed the two spars against the hatch

 cover one last time with all their might.This time, they seemed to

 find their strength and the lid began to creak up.But just as they

 pressed their leverage, another crack echoed through the hold.A

 second spar splintered at the joint and the hatch cover clanged back

 shut.Somewhere in a darkened corner a voice blurted out, "That's it,

 we're finished."

 

 It was enough for a trembling cook standing near the gasoline drums to

 lose his nerve.

 

 "I can't swim, I can't swim!"he cried out as the water level inched

 up his chest.

 

 In a frightened panic, he grabbed onto the iron rungs that ran to the

 vent hatch and scurried up into the shaft.Reaching the top rung in

 darkness, his frenzied terror continued and he began pounding on the

 small round hatch cover with his fists, crying to be let out.In a

 state of complete shock, he suddenly felt the hatch give way under his

 hands and drift open.With his heart pounding in disbelief, he

 squirmed through the hatch and stood on the deck beside the moon pool

 dumbfounded.It took nearly a full minute before his racing pulse

 began to slow and he regained composure over his senses.Realizing

 that he wasn't going to die just yet, he scrambled back into the hatch

 and down the ladder a few steps, then shouted into the hold at the top

 of his lungs.

 

 "The hatch is open!The hatch is open!This way, everybody!"

 

 Like an army of angry fire ants, the panicked crew swarmed to the

 ladder, crushing one another to escape.By now, most of the crew were

 treading water or clinging to the bulkheads, while a few drifted about

 the hold clinging to the now-floating rubber Zodiac.The small ROV

 also drifted freely, casting its bright lights in a surreal glow about

 the hold.

 

 "Ladies first," Morgan shouted, deferring to the traditional rule of

 the sea.

 

 Ryan, who stood near the ladder on his toes chin high to the water,

 tried to restore order amid the chaos.

 

 "You heard the captain.Ladies only.Back off, you," he growled at a

 pair of male biologists clamoring to get up the ladder.As the female

 crew members rapidly scurried up the vent and out the hatch, Ryan

 succeeded in maintaining some semblance of order with the dozens

 waiting their turn.Across the hold, Morgan could see that the water

 level was rising too fast.There was no way everyone was going to get

 out in time, assuming the ship didn't suddenly sink from under their

 feet to begin with.

 

 "Ryan, get up that ladder.See if you can get the main hatch off,"

 Morgan ordered.

 

 Ryan didn't take time to answer, following a ship's nurse up the ladder

 as fast as his legs would carry him.Squirming through the hatch and

 falling to the deck, he was shocked at what his eyes beheld.In the

 early dawn light, he could see that the Sea Rover was sinking fast by the

 stern.Seawater was already washing over the sternpost, while the

 bow poked up toward the sky at better than a twenty-degree angle.

 Scrambling to his feet, he saw a young assistant communications officer

 helping others move to a higher level on the ship.

 

 "Melissa, get to the radio room and issue a Mayday," he shouted,

 running past her.

 

 He climbed a short stairwell to the rear hatch, his eye catching the

 sparkle of a light in the far distance to the north, the cable ship

 heading off over the horizon.Jumping up onto the hatch, he allowed

 himself a second to let out a brief sigh of relief.The rising waters

 off the stern had not yet lapped over the edge of the hatch nor had

 inundated the aft crane.In their haste, the commandos had even left

 the crane's hook-and-boom assembly attached to the hatch.

 

 Sprinting to the crane, he hopped into the cab and fired up its diesel

 engines, immediately shoving the hand controls to raise the boom.With

 unbearable slowness, the boom gradually rose into the air, lifting the

 massive hatch cover up with it.Ryan wasted no time rotating the boom

 a few feet to starboard before jumping out of the cab, leaving the

 hatch cover dangling in the air.

 

 Rushing to the edge of the hold, he found more than thirty men bobbing

 in the water fighting for their lives.The water level had already

 risen to within a foot of the hatch.Another two minutes, he figured,

 and the men would have all drowned.Reaching his arms in, he began

 tugging and grabbing at the men one by one, yanking them up and out of

 the hold.With those on deck helping, Ryan had every man out within a

 matter of seconds.He ensured that he personally eased the final man

 out of the water, Captain Morgan.

 

 "Nice work, Tim," the captain winced as he wobbled to his feet.

 

 "Sorry that I didn't personally check the vent hatch in the first

 place, sir.We could have gotten everyone out sooner had we known it

 was actually unlocked."

 

 "But it wasn't.Don't you get it?It was Dirk who unlocked it.He

 knocked on the door for us but we forgot to answer."

 

 A look of enlightenment crossed Ryan's face."Thank God for him

 

 and Summer, the poor devils.But I'm afraid we're not out of the woods

 yet, sir.She's going down fast."

 

 "Spread the word to abandon ship.Let's get some lifeboats in the

 water, pronto," Morgan replied, stumbling up the inclining deck toward

 the bow."I'll see about sending a distress."

 

 As if on cue, Melissa the communications officer came scrambling across

 the deck half out of breath.

 

 "Sir," she gasped, "they've shot up the communications system ... and

 satellite equipment.There's no way to send a Mayday."

 

 "All right," Morgan replied without surprise."We'll deploy our

 emergency beacons and wait for someone to come looking for us.Report

 to your lifeboat.Let's get everybody off this ship now."

 

 While heading to assist with the lifeboats, Ryan now noticed that the

 Starfish was missing.Slipping into the auxiliary lab, he found that

 the recovered bomb canisters had been neatly removed, dissolving any

 doubts about the reason for the assault.

 

 After their ordeal in the storage hold, an unusual calmness fell over

 the crew as they abandoned ship.Quietly and in composed order, the

 men and women quickly made their way to their respective lifeboat

 stations, glad to have a second chance at life despite the fact their

 ship was sinking beneath their feet.The advancing water was

 proceeding rapidly up the deck and two lifeboats closest to the stern

 were already flooded before they could be released from their davits.

 The assigned crew was quickly dispersed to other boats, which were

 being launched to the water in a torrid frenzy.

 

 Morgan hobbled up the sloping deck, which was now inclined at a

 thirty-degree angle, till reaching the captain's boat, which sat loaded

 and waiting.Morgan stopped and surveyed the ship's decks a last time,

 like a gambler who had bet, and lost, the farm.The ship was creaking

 and groaning as the weight of the salt water filling its lower

 compartments tugged at the vessel's structural integrity.An aura of

 sadness enveloped the research ship, as if it knew that it was too soon

 for it to be cast to the waves.

 

 At last confident that all the crew were safely away, Morgan threw a

 sharp salute to his vessel, then stepped into the lifeboat, the last

 man off.The boat was quickly winched down to the rolling sea and

 motored away from the stricken ship.The sun had just crept over the

 horizon and cast a golden beam on the research ship as it struggled for

 its last moments.Morgan's lifeboat was just a few yards away from the

 Sea Rover when her bow suddenly rose sharply toward the sky, then the

 turquoise ship slipped gracefully into the sea stern first amid a

 boiling hiss of bubbles.

 

 As the ship slipped from view, its traumatized crew was overcome by a

 solitary sensation: silence.

 

 Something's rotten in Denmark."Summer ignored her brother's words and

 held a small bowl of fish stew up to her nose.After uninterrupted

 confinement for most of the day, the heavy door of their cabin had

 burst open and a galley cook wearing a white apron entered with a tray

 containing the stew, some rice, and a pot of tea.An armed guard

 watched menacingly from the hallway as the food was set down and the

 nervous cook quickly left without saying a word.Summer was famished

 and eagerly surveyed the food as the door was bolted back shut from the

 outside.

 

 Taking a deep whiff of the fish stew, she wrinkled her nose.

 

 "I think there's a few things rotten around here as well," she said.

 

 Moving on to the rice, she drove a pair of chopsticks into the bowl and

 began munching on the steamed grains.At last bringing relief to her

 hunger pangs, she turned her attention back to Dirk, who sat gazing out

 the porthole window.

 

 "Aside from our crummy lower-berth cabin, what's bugging you now?"she

 asked.

 

 "Don't quote me on this, but I don't think we're headed to Japan."

 

 "How can you tell?"Summer asked, scooping a mound of rice into ] her

 mouth.

 

 "I've been observing the sun and the shadows cast off the ship.We

 should be heading north-northeast if we were traveling to Japan, but

 it appears to me that our course heading is more to the northwest."

 

 "That's a fine line to distinguish with the naked eye."

 

 "Agreed.But I just call 'em as I see 'em.If we pull into Nagasaki,!

 then just send me back to celestial navigation school."

 

 "That would mean we're heading toward the Yellow Sea," she replied,

 picturing an imaginary map of the region in her head."Do you think

 we're sailing to China?"

 

 "Could be.There's certainly no love lost between China and Japan.

 Perhaps the Japanese Red Army has a base of operations in China.That

 might explain the lack of success the authorities have had in tracking

 down any suspects in Japan."

 

 "Possibly.But they'd have to be operating with state knowledge or

 sponsorship, and I would hope they'd think twice before sinking an

 American research vessel."

 

 "True.Then again, there is another possibility."

 

 Summer nodded, waiting for Dirk to continue.

 

 "The two Japanese hoods who shot up my Chrysler.A forensics doctor at

 the county morgue thought that the men looked Korean."

 

 Summer finished eating the rice and set down the bowl and chopsticks.

 

 "Korea?"she asked, her brow furrowing.

 

 "Korea."

 

 Ed Coyle's eyes had long since grown weary of scanning the flat gray

 sea for something out of the ordinary.He nearly didn't trust his eyes

 when something finally tugged at the corner of his vision.Focusing

 toward the horizon, he just barely made out a small light in the sky

 dragging a wispy white tail.It was exactly what the copilot of the

 Lockheed HC-130 Hercules search-and-rescue plane had been hoping to

 see.

 

 "Charlie, I've got a flare at two o'clock," Coyle said into his

 micro-phoned headset with the smooth voice of an ESPN sportscaster.

 Instinctively, he pointed a gloved hand at a spot on the windshield

 where he'd seen the white burst.

 

 "I got her," Major Charles Wight replied with a slight drawl while

 peering out the cockpit.A lanky Texan with a cucumber-cool demeanor,

 the HC-130's pilot gently banked the aircraft toward the fading smoke

 stream and slightiy reduced airspeed.

 

 Six hours after departing Kadena Air Base in Okinawa, the

 search-and-rescue pilots had started wondering whether their mission

 was a wild-goose chase.Now they crept to the edge of their seats,

 wondering what they would find in the waters beneath them.A grouping

 of white dots slowly appeared on the distant horizon, gradually growing

 larger as the aircraft approached.

 

 "Looks like we've got us some lifeboats," Wight stated as the specks

 grew into distinguishable shapes.

 

 "Seven of them," Coyle confirmed, counting the small boats stretched in

 a line.Morgan had rounded up all the lifeboats and lashed them

 together, bow to stern, in order to keep the survivors together.As

 the Hercules flew in low over them, the crew of the Sea Rover waved

 wildly in response and let out a collective cheer.

 

 "Roughly sixty heads," Coyle estimated as Wight brought the plane

 around in a slow circle."They look to be in pretty good shape."

 

 "Let's hold the PJs, drop an emergency medical pack, and see if we can

 initiate a sea pickup."

 

 The PJs were three medically trained para rescue jumpers in the back of

 the plane ready to parachute out of the HC-130 at a moment's notice.

 Since the crew of the Sea Rover appeared in no imminent danger, Wight

 opted to withhold their deployment for the time

 

 being.A lo adman at the back of the Hercules instead lowered a big

 hydraulic door beneath the tail and, at Coyle's command, shoved out

 several emergency medical and ration packs, which drifted down to the

 sea suspended from small parachutes.

 

 An airborne communications specialist had meanwhile issued a distress

 call over the marine frequency.Within seconds, several nearby ships

 answered the call, the closest being a containership bound for Hong

 Kong from Osaka.Wight and Coyle continued to circle the lifeboats for

 another two hours until the containership arrived on the scene and

 began taking aboard survivors off the first lifeboat.Satisfied they

 were now safe, the rescue plane took a final low pass over the

 castaways, Wight waggling the wingtips as he passed.Though the pilots

 could not hear it, the tired and haggard survivors let out a robust

 cheer of thanks that echoed across the water.

 

 "Lucky devils," Coyle commented with satisfaction.

 

 Wight nodded in silent agreement, then banked the Hercules southeast

 toward its home base on Okinawa.

 

 The large freighter had let go a welcoming blast of its Kahlenberg air

 horn as it glided toward the lifeboats.A whaleboat was lowered to

 guide the shipwreck victims around to a lowered stairwell near the

 stern, where most of the Sea Rover's crew climbed up to the high deck.

 Morgan and a few other injured crewmen were transferred to the

 whaleboat and hoisted up to the containership's main deck.After a

 brief welcome and inquiry by the ship's Malaysian captain, Morgan was

 rushed down to the medical bay for treatment of his wounds.

 

 Ryan caught up with him after the ship's doctor had tended to the NUMA

 captain's leg and confined him to a bunk next to the crewman with the

 broken leg.

 

 "How's the prognosis, sir?"

 

 "The knee's a mess but I'll live."

 

 "They do amazing things with artificial joints these days," Ryan

 encouraged.

 

 "Apparently, I'll be finding that out in an intimate way.Beats a peg

 leg, I guess.What's the state of the crew?"

 

 "In good spirits now.With the exception of Dirk and Summer, the Sea

 Rover's crew is all aboard and accounted for.I borrowed Captain

 Malaka's satellite phone and called Washington.I was able to speak

 directly with Rudi Gunn and informed him of our situation after

 briefing him on the loss of the ship.I let him know that our

 recovered cargo, along with Dirk, Summer, and the submersible, is

 believed aboard the Japanese cable ship.He asked me to express his

 thanks to you for saving the crew and promised that the highest levels

 of the government will be activated to apprehend those responsible."

 

 Morgan stared blankly at a white wall, his mind tumbling over the

 events of the past few hours.Who were these pirates that had attacked

 and sunk his ship?What was their intent with the biological weapons?

 And what had become of Dirk and Summer?.Not generating any answers,

 he simply shook his head slowly.

 

 "I just hope it won't be too late."

 

 After sailing north for a day and a half, the Baekjegradually arched

 its bow around toward an easterly heading.Landfall was spotted at

 dusk, and the ship waited until dark before creeping into a large

 harbor amid a hazy fog.Dirk and Summer surmised that they had, in

 fact, sailed to Korea and correctly guessed that they were in the

 South's large port city of Inchon, based on the number of

 internationally flagged freighters and containerships they passed

 entering the port.

 

 The cable-laying ship moved slowly past the wide-spaced commercial

 docks that busily loaded and unloaded huge containerships around the

 clock.Turning north, the Baekje crept past an oil refinery terminal,

 snaking around a rusty tanker ship before entering a dark and less

 developed corner of the harbor.Drifting past a decrepit-looking

 shipyard housing scores of decomposing hulks, the ship slowed as it

 approached a small side channel that ran to the northwest.A guard hut

 with a small speedboat alongside stood at the entrance to the

 

 channel, beneath a rusting sign that proclaimed, in Korean: kang

 

 MARINE SERVICES----PRIVATE.

 

 The Baekje^ captain maneuvered the ship gently into the channel and

 proceeded several hundred yards at a slow creep before rounding a sharp

 bend.The channel fed into a small lagoon, which was dwarfed by a

 massive pair of covered docks that sat at the opposite end.As if

 pulling a car into the garage, the Baekjeh captain inched the ship into

 one of the cavernous hangars that towered a solid fifty feet above the

 ship's forecastle.The ship was tied off under a field of bright

 halogen lamps that hung from the ceiling, while a large hydraulic door

 quietly slid shut behind them, completely concealing the vessel from

 outside eyes.

 

 A crane immediately swung over and a half-dozen crewmen began unloading

 the ordnance containers, which were lowered to the dock under Tongju's

 supervision.Once the bomb canisters were stacked on the deck in an

 orderly pyramid, a large white panel truck backed down the dock to the

 cargo.Another group of men, wearing powder blue lab coats, carefully

 loaded the weapons into the back of the truck, then drove away from the

 ship.As it turned a corner at the end of the dock, Tongju could see

 the familiar blue lightning bolt emblazoned on the side of the truck,

 beneath the words kang satellite telecommunications CORP.

 

 Kim approached as Tongju watched the truck exit the hangar through a

 guarded doorway.

 

 "Mr.Kang will be quite pleased when he learns that we have recovered

 all of the ordnance," Kim stated.

 

 "Yes, though two of the twelve are worthless.The submersible pilots

 cracked open the last two shells and released the armament into the

 water.An accident, they claim, due to a loss of visibility in the

 water."

 

 "An inconsequential loss.The overall mission was quite successful."

 

 "True, but there is still a difficult operation ahead of us.I am tak

 tag the prisoners to Kang in order for him to interrogate them.I

 trust

 

 that you will administer to the ship preparations satisfactorily," he

 stated rather than asked.

 

 "The reconfiguration of the vessel, as well as the replenishment of

 fuel and provisions, will begin immediately.I will ensure that the

 ship is ready to depart the minute our cargo is reloaded."

 

 "Very well.The sooner we get to sea, the better our chances of

 success."

 

 "We have surprise on our side.There is no way we can fail," Kim said

 confidently.

 

 But Tongju knew otherwise.Taking a long puff on a lit cigarette, he

 considered the element of surprise.It could indeed mean the

 difference between life and death.

 

 "Let us just hope that our deception endures," he finally replied

 thoughtfully.

 

 Belowdecks, Dirk and Summer were roughly roused from their cabin cell,

 a thick-necked guard first handcuffing their wrists behind their backs

 before shoving them out of the room.They were marched at gunpoint to

 a gangway leading off the ship, where Tongju stood watching with a

 sneer on his face.

 

 "It was a lovely cruise.You never did show us where the shuffle-board

 court was located, however," Dirk said to the assassin.

 

 "Now, be honest," Summer piped in."The food didn't exactly warrant a

 five-star rating."

 

 "The American sense of humor is hardly amusing," Tongju grunted, his

 cold eyes showing that he was not the least bit entertained.

 

 "By the way, what exactly is the Japanese Red Army doing in Inchon,

 Korea?"Dirk asked bluntly.

 

 A barely perceptible arch crossed Tongju's brow.

 

 "Most observant, Mr.Pitt."Then, ignoring his captives further, he

 turned to Thick Neck, who cradled an AK-74 leveled at the pair.

 

 "Take them to the high-speed launch and lock them in the forward berth

 under guard," he barked, then turned on his heels and marched to the

 bridge.

 

 Dirk and Summer were marshaled down the gangplank and across the dock

 to a smaller side slip, where a sleek-looking motor yacht was tied up.

 It was a thirty-one-meter South Pacific marine high-speed catamaran,

 painted a teal blue.Designed and built for passenger ferry service,

 it had been refitted as a fast oceangoing personal luxury yacht.

 Equipped with four-thousand-horsepower diesel engines, the luxury cat

 could cruise along at speeds over 35 knots.

 

 "Now, this is more my style," Summer commented as they were prodded

 aboard and locked in a small but plushly appointed center berth.

 

 "No windows this time.Guess Mr.Hospitality didn't like your Inchon

 crack," Summer added as she curled her way into a small salon chair,

 her hands still cuffed behind her back.

 

 "Me and my big mouth," Dirk replied."At least we now have a rough

 idea of where we are."

 

 "Yes ... right in the middle of deep kimchi.Well, if we got to go, at

 least we get to go first class," she said, admiring the walnut paneling

 and expensive artwork adorning the walls."These guys certainly have

 some deep pockets for a second-rate terrorist organization."

 

 "Apparently, they have some friends at Kang Enterprises."

 

 "The shipping company?"

 

 "A large conglomerate.We've seen their commercial freighters around

 for years.They're also involved in some other high-tech businesses as

 well, though I'm only familiar with their shipping division.I met a

 guy in a bar once who worked as an oiler on one of their ships.He

 told me about their enclosed repair and storage facility in Inchon.

 Never seen anything like it.There's supposedly a dry dock at one

 end,

 

 and the place is chock-full of state-of-the-art equipment.The cable

 ship had the Kang trademark blue lightning bolt on the funnel.This

 has to be the place."

 

 "Glad to see all that time you spent as a barfly is finally paying

 off," Summer quipped.

 

 "Research.Strictly research," he smiled.

 

 Summer suddenly turned serious."Why would a South Korean business be

 mixed up with the JRA?And what do they want with us?"

 

 Her words were interrupted by the throaty roar of the catamaran's

 diesel engines as they were fired up astern of their cabin.

 

 "I guess we'll soon find out."

 

 Tongju crossed over and boarded the catamaran as the ropes were cast

 off, the fast boat burbling along the dockage at a crawl.The huge

 hangar door slid to the side again, allowing the catamaran to exit the

 enclosed building.As they slipped through the doorway, Tongju glanced

 back at the big cable ship towering over them.

 

 An army of workmen was already crawling about the Baekje like a swarm

 of bees.A heavy-duty crane was removing the giant cable-laying wheel

 from the stern deck, while teams of painters re sprayed the topside

 decks.Elsewhere, construction crews were cutting the superstructure

 in some areas while adding compartments and bulkheads in other places.

 A work detail hung over the fantail, re beading and painting the ship's

 name, while another team painted the funnel a golden yellow.In just a

 matter of hours, the entire ship would be transformed to another vessel

 that even the trained eye would have trouble detecting.It would be as

 if the cable ship Baekje never existed.

 

 The fiery bantam marched through the executive corridors of NUMA's

 headquarters as if he owned the building, which, in fact, he

 essentially did.Admiral James Sandecker was a revered figure

 throughout the halls, offices, and laboratories of NUMA, the legacy of

 his founding the agency with a handful of scientists and engineers

 several decades before.Though diminutive in size, his blazing blue

 eyes and bright red hair with matching goatee simply advertised the

 burning intensity with which he operated twenty-four hours a day.

 

 "Hello, Darla, you're looking stunning today," he said graciously to

 the forty-something secretary typing on a computer."Is Rudi in the

 executive conference room?"

 

 "Good to see you again, Admiral," the woman beamed as her eyes roved to

 a pair of Secret Service agents struggling to keep up with the

 fast-moving chief."Yes, Mr.Gunn is waiting for you inside.Please

 go right in."

 

 Though still regarded as the Admiral by his NUMA comrades, the rest of

 the world knew him as Vice President Sandecker.Despite a lifelong

 aversion to the subversive world of Washington politics, Sandecker was

 persuaded by President Ward to fill the shoes of the vice presidency

 when the elected veep unexpectedly died in office.Sandecker knew the

 president to be a man of honor and integrity who would not force his

 second-in-command to remain a wallflower.The fiery admiral

 immediately broke the mold of past vice presidents.Far from being a

 figurehead and emissary for state funerals, Sandecker held a strong

 position in the administration.He vigorously spearheaded defense and

 security reforms, increased the funding and focus of

 government-sponsored scientific research, and led the point for

 environmental conservancy initiatives and all matters relating to the

 seas.At his bullying, the administration successfully strong-armed a

 worldwide ban on whaling by all industrialized nations, as well as

 implementing a host of tough penalties and sanctions on ocean

 polluters.

 

 Sandecker burst through the door to the conference room, immediately

 hushing the group of NUMA officials deliberating the loss of the Sea

 Rover.

 

 "Thanks for coming over, Admiral," Gunn said, jumping up and showing

 his boss to the head of the table.

 

 "What's the latest information?"Sandecker asked, dispensing with the

 usual around-the-table pleasantries.

 

 "We've confirmed that the Sea Rover has, in fact, been sunk after being

 attacked in the East China Sea by a small armed force that infiltrated

 the vessel.Miraculously, the crew escaped from a locked storage hold

 minutes before the ship went under.They were able to make it into the

 lifeboats, where they were later spotted by an Air Force

 search-and-rescue plane.A nearby freighter was alerted, and they have

 since been picked up.The freighter and crew are en route to Nagasaki

 as we speak.All but two of the crew have been accounted for.""She

 was boarded by force?"

 

 "A stealth commando team of unidentified nationality got aboard her at

 night and took over the ship without a struggle."

 

 "That's Bob Morgan's ship, isn't it?"

 

 "Yes.The old goat apparently put up a fight and took a gunshot wound

 to the leg during the struggle.I spoke with Ryan, his exec, who told

 me that he's expected to pull through in good shape.According to

 Ryan, the boarders claimed to be with the Japanese Red Army.They made

 their escape in a cable-laying ship bearing the Japanese flag."

 

 "Odd choice of attack ship," Sandecker mused."I take it they

 absconded with the biological bombs that had been recovered from the

 I-411?"

 

 "Ryan confirmed as much.They had nearly completed the recovery

 operation at the time of the attack.The Starfish was missing when the

 crew escaped from the hold, and Ryan believes it was hoisted onto the

 attack ship, perhaps with the submersible's missing pilots."

 

 "I'll call the State Department and request an immediate dragnet from

 the Japanese naval resources."Sandecker pulled an enormous Dominican

 Republic cigar out of his breast pocket and.lit the green stogie,

 sending a thick plume of smoke toward the ceiling."Shouldn't be too

 difficult to peg a cable ship when she slips into port."

 

 "I've alerted Homeland Security, who is working along those same lines.

 They don't seem to believe the Japanese Red Army has the skill or

 technology to create a domestic threat with the weapons but are now

 looking at possible ties to Al Qaeda and a few other terrorist

 organizations."

 

 "I wouldn't bet against it," Sandecker replied drily as he rolled the

 cigar between his thumb and forefinger."I'll brief the president this

 afternoon.Someone is going to damn well pay for destroying an

 American government vessel," he snarled, his eyes ablaze.

 

 The inhabitants of the conference room nodded in collective agreement.

 Though a large organization, there was a close-knit sense of family

 within the agency and an act of terror against fellow colleagues

 halfway around the world was still felt strongly by those at home.

 

 "We share your sentiments, Admiral," Gunn replied quietly.

 

 "By the way, the two crewmen that are missing?"Sandecker asked.

 

 Gunn swallowed hard."Summer and Dirk Pitt.Presumed abducted with

 the Starfish"

 

 Sandecker stiffened in shock."Good Lord, not them.Does their father

 know?"

 

 "Yes.He's in the Philippines with Al Giordino trying to contain an

 underwater environmental hazard.I spoke with him by satellite phone

 and he understands that we are doing everything we can right now."

 

 Sandecker leaned back in his leather chair and gazed at the cloud of

 blue cigar smoke drifting above his head.God have mercy on the fool

 that would harm that man's offspring, he thought.

 

 Seven thousand miles away, the blue catamaran ripped across the west

 coastal waters of Korea like a top fuel dragster running the traps.

 Summer and Dirk were nudged and rocked in their luxury confinement as

 the speedy yacht tore through the swells at almost 40 knots.A pair of

 Korean fishermen in a rickety sampan cursed vehemently as the cat

 stormed perilously close by, the powerful boat's wake washing waves

 over the sides of the tiny fishing boat.

 

 After two hours of hard running, the catamaran turned inland and slowed

 its speed as it threaded its way through the sprinkling of small

 islands that dotted the mouth of the Han River.The pilot maneuvered

 the boat upriver another hour until spotting the semi hidden channel

 that curled into Kang's Kyodongdo Island lair.Passing through the

 inlet that he knew was monitored by hidden video cameras, the pilot

 guided the catamaran across the cove to the floating dock at the base

 of the sheer-walled compound.Inching to a stop, the blue catamaran

 was tied up astern of Kang's gleaming white Benetti yacht.

 

 Dirk and Summer remained locked in their cabin as Tongju strode

 

 off the craft and rode the elevator up the cliff to Kang's private

 enclave.Kang sat in his cherrywood-paneled executive office with

 Kwan, studying the financial statements of a radio component

 manufacturer that he intended to acquire via hostile takeover.He

 looked up slowly when Tongju entered and bowed.

 

 "Captain Lee of the Baekje has sent word that your mission was a

 success," Kang stated through tight lips, offering no hint of

 satisfaction.

 

 Tongju nodded slightly."We acquired the ordnance after it was

 salvaged by the American vessel.Ten of the devices were still intact

 and have been determined to be usable," he continued, neglecting to

 mention that Dirk had sabotaged the other two canisters.

 

 "More than a sufficient quantity to proceed with the operation," Kang

 replied.

 

 "The weapon scientists aboard the Baekje were most pleased. The

 devices were immediately transferred to the biological research

 laboratory upon our arrival at Inchon.The lab chief assured me that

 the necessary refinement and containment will be complete within

 forty-eight hours."

 

 "At which time I trust the Baekje's reconfiguration will be

 complete?"

 

 Tongju nodded in reply."She will be ready to set sail on time."

 

 "Schedule is critical," Kang continued."The mission must be achieved

 ahead of the National Assembly referendum vote."

 

 "As long as there is no delay with the ordnance, we will be ready,"

 Tongju assured him."The shipyard workers had already made impressive

 progress by the time we departed the dock facility."

 

 "We cannot tolerate another miscalculation," Kang said coldly.

 

 Tongju squinted slightly, unsure of his boss's meaning.Ignoring the

 comment, he continued speaking.

 

 "I have brought two of the captives from the American vessel with me.

 The pilots who operated their submersible.One of them is the

 

 man responsible for the death of our two agents in America.I thought

 perhaps you might wish to entertain him personally," he said, placing a

 sinister emphasis on the word entertain.

 

 "Ah, yes, the two missing crew members from the NUMA ship."

 

 "Missing crew members?"

 

 Kwan stepped forward and thrust a news story gleaned from the Internet

 into Tongju's hands.

 

 "It is all over the news," Kwan said."Research vessel sunk in East

 China Sea; all but two saved," he quoted from a headline in Chosun

 I/bo, Korea's largest newspaper.

 

 Tongju's face went pale but he didn't move a muscle."That is

 impossible.We sank the vessel with the crew sealed in a storage hold.

 They could not have all escaped."

 

 "Escape they did," Kang said."A passing freighter picked up the crew

 and took them to Japan.Did you not watch the ship go under?"

 

 Tongju shook his head."We were anxious to return with the salvaged

 material at the earliest possible moment," he said quietly.

 

 "It is being reported that the ship suffered an accidental fire on

 board.Apparently, the Americans are afraid of publicizing yet another

 terrorist incident," Kwan said.

 

 "As well as revealing the true nature of their presence in the East

 China Sea," Kang added."Perhaps the lack of media reporting will

 temper their investigation into the incident."

 

 "I am confident that we maintained our false identity.My assault team

 was of mixed ethnicity and only English or Japanese was spoken while on

 the American ship," Tongju replied.

 

 "Perhaps your failure to dispose of the crew was not a bad thing," Kang

 stated with a slight glare."It will further embarrass the Japanese

 and keep the American intelligence effort focused on Japan.They will,

 of course, be searching for the Baekje.The sooner she can be put back

 to sea, the better."

 

 "I will provide a continuous update from the shipyard," Tongju replied.

 "And the two Americans?"

 

 Kang perused a leather-bound schedule book."I am traveling to Seoul

 for an engagement with the minister of unification this evening and

 shall return tomorrow.Keep them alive until then."

 

 "I shall give them a last supper," Tongju replied without humor.

 

 Kang ignored the comment and stuck his nose back into a stack of

 financial documents.Taking the clue, the assassin turned and departed

 Kang's office without making a sound.

 

 A half mile from the Inchon enclosed dock where Baekje was undergoing

 its cosmetic refit, two men in a dingy pickup truck slowly circled a

 nondescript shipyard building.Empty pallets and rusting flatbed

 carriers littered the grounds around the windowless structure, which

 was marked by a faded kang shipping company sign perched over the main

 entrance.Dressed in worn coveralls and grease-stained baseball caps,

 the two men were part of a heavily armed undercover security team

 numbering two dozen strong who patrolled the supersecret facility

 around the clock.The dilapidated exterior of the building hid a

 high-tech engineering development center filled with the latest super

 computing technology.The main and upper floors were dedicated to

 developing satellite payloads for Kang's satellite communications

 business.A small team of crack engineers worked to incorporate

 concealed eavesdropping and reconnaissance capabilities into

 conventional telecommunication satellites that were sold for export and

 launched by other regional governments or commercial companies.Hidden

 in the basement, and heavily guarded, was a small microbiology

 laboratory whose very existence was known by only a handful of Kang

 employees.The small cadre of scientists who worked in the lab had

 mostly been smuggled in from North Korea.With their families still

 living in the northern provinces, and forceful patriotic mandates

 placed upon them, the microbiologists and immunologists had little

 choice in accepting the nature of their work with hazardous biological

 agents.

 

 The I-411's deadly bombs had been quietly transferred into the lab,

 where an ordnance expert had assisted the biologists in separating the

 powdery smallpox virus from the sixty-year-old compartmentalized aerial

 bombs.The viruses had been freeze-dried by the Japanese, allowing the

 pathogens to remain inert for storage and handling.The smallpox-laden

 bombs were designed to maintain their deadly efficacy for the duration

 of the submarine's voyage until hydrogenated upon deployment.Over

 sixty years later, their porcelain casings had repelled all destructive

 effects from decades of submersion.The aged bomb payloads were still

 every bit as potent as when they were loaded.

 

 Placing samples of the cream-colored powder into a bio safe container,

 the biologists carefully initiated a controlled reconstitution of the

 viruses using a sterile water-based diluent.Under a microscopic eye,

 the dormant, block-shaped microorganisms could be seen waking from

 their long slumber and bouncing off each other like bumper cars as they

 resumed their lethal state.Despite the long period of dormancy, only

 a small percentage of the viruses failed to rejuvenate.

 

 The research lab was run by a highly paid Ukrainian microbiologist

 named Sarghov.A former scientist with Biopreparat, the old Soviet

 Union civilian agency that fronted the republic's military biological

 weapons program, Sarghov had taken his knowledge of bio weapon genetic

 manipulation and sold his skills in the marketplace to the highest

 bidder.Though he never desired to leave his homeland, his stock as a

 budding scientific leader in the agency was tarnished when he was

 caught in bed with the wife of a politburo member.Fearing for his

 life,

 

 he made his way through Ukraine to Romania, where he hopped a Kang

 freighter in the Black Sea.A hefty bribe to the ship's captain led

 him to higher contacts in the company, where his scientific skills were

 recognized and soon put to illicit use.

 

 With ample resources, Sarghov quietly compiled a high-tech DNA research

 laboratory stocked with the equipment and tools necessary for a skilled

 bioengineer to splice, dice, isolate, or recombine the genetic material

 of one microorganism to another.In the confines of Sarghov's secret

 laboratory, a smorgasbord of dangerous bacterial and viral agents was

 littered about the facility, the seeds he cultivated to create a garden

 of death.But he still felt impotent.His stock was a commoner's

 cache of easily acquired agents, such as the hepatitis B virus and

 tuberculosis mycobacterium.Potentially lethal agents in their own

 right, they were nothing like the deadly Ebola, smallpox, and Marburg

 viruses he had worked with during his days at the Russian facility in

 Obolensk.Sarghov's feverish attempts at creating a knockout killer

 agent with the resources at hand had failed.He felt like a boxer with

 one hand tied behind his back.What he needed and desired was a truly

 lethal pathogen, one from the A-list.

 

 His gift to evil science came from an unexpected source.A North

 Korean agent in Tokyo had infiltrated a government records disposal

 center and intercepted a cache of classified Japanese documents.

 Expecting to find a bonanza of current Japanese security secrets, the

 agent's handlers in Pyongyang were angered to find that the records

 were old World War II classified documents.Included in the heist were

 reports relating to Imperial Army experiments with biological weapons,

 records that were to be destroyed for fear of embarrassing the

 government.A sharp intelligence analyst stumbled upon the Imperial

 Army's involvement with the final missions of the I-403 and I-411,

 however, and Sarghov was soon on his way to his own supply of Variola

 major.

 

 In the Frankenstein world of genetic engineering, biologists have found

 it a daunting task to create an entirely new organism from

 

 scratch.But manipulating existing microorganisms through deliberate

 mutation, then prompting their reproduction to useful quantities, has

 been an ongoing art since the seventies.Laboratory-formulated

 agricultural crops that are resistant to pestilence and drought have

 been a major societal benefit of such bioengineering, along with the

 more controversial creation of super developed livestock.But the dark

 side of genetic surgery has always been the potential creation of a new

 strain of virus or bacteria with unknown, and possibly catastrophic,

 consequences.

 

 For a man of his propensity, Sarghov was not content simply to

 regenerate the supply of smallpox.He had much more up his sleeve.

 With help from a Finnish research assistant, Sarghov acquired a sample

 of the HIV-1 virus, the most common source of acquired immune

 deficiency syndrome.Delving into the HIV-1 viral makeup, Sarghov

 synthesized a key genetic element of the horrifying AIDS virus.Taking

 his freshly reconstituted batch of smallpox virus, the scientist

 attempted to grow a new mutated bug, integrating the highly unstable

 HIV-1 virus.Boosted by the synthetic element that acted to stimulate

 recombination, mutant viruses were soon cultivated and then reproduced

 in mass.The result was a new microorganism that contained the

 attributes of both individual pathogens.Microbiologists sometimes

 refer to the process as a "chimera."Sarghov's chimera combined the

 highly contagious lethality of smallpox with the immunitive destroying

 abilities of HIV-1 into one deadly super virus

 

 Reproducing the mutant pathogen in large quantities from scratch was a

 time-consuming process despite the ferocity of the virus.Limited by

 Kang's schedule, Sarghov maximized the quantities as best he could,

 then freeze-dried the resulting mutant viruses much as the Japanese had

 years before.The crystallized super virus was then mixed into the

 larger stores of freeze-dried smallpox virus from the aerial bombs,

 creating a diversified toxic compound.The entire batch was processed

 and refined a second time with boosters that would accelerate the

 rejuvenation process.

 

 The now easily disseminated mixture was delicately packed into a series

 of lightweight tubular containers resembling the insert to a roll of

 paper towels, which were then stacked on a gurney and transported out

 of the lab.The packaged viral amalgamate was rolled upstairs to the

 satellite payload assembly bay, where a team of mechanical engineers

 took over, inserting the tubes into larger stainless steel cylinders

 that encapsulated a hydrogenation tank and fittings.The process was

 repeated under bright floodlights several times over until five of the

 large cylinders were assembled and placed into large shipping crates. A

 forklift arrived and loaded the crates onto the same white Kang panel

 truck that had delivered the ordnance, now making a return trip to the

 covered dock with a highly revitalized form of the weapon.

 

 Sarghov grinned in delight, knowing a large payday was coming his way.

 His exhausted team of scientists had met the mark, verifying that the

 ancient smallpox virus still packed a lethal punch, then boosting its

 strength to murderous proportions.In less than forty-eight hours,

 Sarghov's biologists had processed the sixty-year-old virus into an

 entirely new killer, the likes of which the world had never seen

 before.

 

 What DO you mean the ship has yet to materialize?"Gunn rasped in

 dismay.

 

 The section chief of the FBI's International Terrorism Operations, a

 compact man named Tyler, opened a file on his desk and perused the

 contents as he spoke.

 

 "We've had no information on the whereabouts of the cable ship Baekje.

 The Japanese National Police Agency has been monitoring shipping

 traffic in every port in the country, physically checking every ship

 that remotely resembles the description offered by your NUMA crew.

 They've come up empty so far."

 

 "Have you checked ports outside of Japan?"

 

 "An international notice has been posted with Interpol, and it is my

 understanding that the CIA has been asked to provide inputs at the

 request of the vice president.At this time, no confirming information

 has been received.There's a million places she could be hiding, Rudi,

 or she could have been scuttled herself."

 

 "What about satellite imagery of the site where Sea Rover was sunk?"

 "Bad timing there, unfortunately.With the recent flare-up of

 political tensions in Iran, the National Reconnaissance Office has

 repositioned several of its high-resolution imaging resources to the

 Middle East.The East China Sea is one of many dead spots right now

 that is only covered by periodic scans from non-geosynchronous

 satellites.Which all means that the Baekje could move five hundred

 miles between covering passes.I'm waiting for the historical images

 from the last few days but have been told not to be too hopeful."

 

 Gunn's anger softened as he realized that the slightly balding G-man in

 the starched white shirt was a competent professional doing the best

 with the resources he had available."Any headway on the ship's

 history?"he asked.

 

 "Your man Hiram Yaeger gave us a good head start on that one.Yaeger

 was the one who tentatively identified the ship as the Baekje, based on

 a worldwide review of ship registries through his NUMA computer bank.

 Apparently, there are less than forty known cable-laying ships of the

 size and configuration reported by your NUMA rescued crew.We narrowed

 the list down to twelve that were owned or leased in the Asia Pacific

 region and the Baekje came up missing in action."The FBI man paused

 as he leafed through the folder before extracting a white sheet that

 carried the blurred markings of a fax copy across its header.

 

 "Here we are, details of the vessel.Cable-laying ship Baekje, 445

 feet long, gross tonnage of 9,500.Built by the Hyundai Mipo Dockyard

 Company, Ltd."Ulsan, South Korea, in 1998.Owned and operated by

 Kang Shipping Enterprises, Inchon, South Korea, from 1998 to 2000.

 Since 2000, ship has been under lease to the Nippon Telegraph and

 Telephone Corporation, Tokyo, Japan, for cable-laying services in and

 around the Sea of Japan."

 

 Setting the folder down, he stared straight into the eyes of Gunn.

 "NTT's operating lease expired six months ago, at which time the Baekje sat unutilized in a Yokohama dock.Two months ago,

 representatives from NTT renegotiated a one-year lease of the ship and

 took possession of the vessel with their own crew.Port records show

 she was unaccounted for during a five-week period, then appeared

 briefly back in Yokohama approximately three weeks ago.She was

 believed sighted in Osaka, where she apparently tailed the Sea Rover to

 the East China Sea."

 

 "Was the ship seized from NTT?"

 

 "No.NTT officials were shocked to learn that their name was on a

 revised lease agreement for the vessel since their fiber-optic cable

 route had been completed.The NTT corporate representatives that

 leased the ship were, in fact, impostors who buffaloed the Kang

 Shipping agents.The Kang people produced the paperwork, everything

 looked legitimate to them, though one representative thought it odd at

 the time that the NTT people were providing their own crew, which they

 had not done in the past.The Kang Shipping people are apparently

 scrambling to file an insurance claim on the vessel now."

 

 "Sounds like there must have been some inside information somewhere.

 Any known links between the Japanese Red Army and Nippon Telegraph and

 Telephone?"

 

 "None that we've established yet, but we're looking into it.NTT's

 executives are cooperating fully and seem eager to clear their name

 from a possible connection.Official corporate sponsorship looks

 unlikely, so the Japanese authorities are focusing on a possible

 employee faction somewhere within the company."

 

 Gunn shook his head discouragingly."So we've got a four-hundred-foot

 ship that has vanished into thin air, a U.S. government vessel that has

 been sunk, and an empty list of suspects.Two of my people have been

 kidnapped, possibly murdered, and we have no idea where to even look

 for them."

 

 "We're frustrated, too, Rudi, but we'll get them eventually. Sometimes,

 these things just take time."

 

 Time, Gunn thought.Just how much time did Dirk and Summer still have,

 if any at all?

 

 The hot shower felt delicious.Summer let the steaming water pelt her

 body for more than twenty minutes before finally willing herself to

 turn off the shower control knobs and reach for a towel.It had been

 nearly four days since her last bout with cleanliness, she mentally

 calculated, rerunning over in her mind the events of the last few days.

 Stepping from the marble-tiled shower, she dried herself with a fluffy

 towel, then wrapped the fabric around her body, tucking the loose end

 under an armpit.Before her stretched an immense marble counter with

 double sinks and gleaming gold fixtures set beneath an expansive

 beveled mirror that stretched to the high ceiling.You had to give

 these unsmiling thugs some credit, she thought.Someone around here

 has taste.

 

 After an uncomfortable night's sleep in the motor yacht, where she and

 her brother took turns sleeping on the twin bed with their hands cuffed

 behind their back, a trio of armed guards marched them ashore in the

 morning.Peering at the massive residence perched on the stone bluff

 above them, Dirk remarked, "Kind of reminds you of the Berghof, doesn't

 it?"The stone structure with the commanding view over the Han River

 did bear a passing resemblance to Hitler's vacation lair in the German

 Alps.The image was made all the more complete with the surrounding

 array of black shirted henchmen.

 

 Prodded to the rock-enveloped elevator, they rode up to an interior

 corridor level beneath the main quarters and were escorted to a pair of

 guest roomsIn rough English, a guard barked, "Prepare for dining with

 Mr.Kang, two hour."

 

 While Summer showered, Dirk surveyed his plushly decorated adjoining

 room for a potential means of escape.The windowless rooms dug into

 the face of the cliff, the only entry or exit being the corridor hall,

 where two armed guards stood in front of each room's open door.If

 they were going to make an escape, it probably wasn't going to happen

 here, he figured.

 

 As Summer dried her wet hair, she briefly became lost in the luxury and

 allowed herself to enjoy the surroundings.She sniffed at an array of

 exotic lotions and perfumes aligned on the marble counter, settling on

 an aloe vera body lotion and a lilac-scented fragrance.A rack of silk

 clothing stood in the corner, a conspicuous offering for female guests.

 Running her fingers through the brightly colored collection of

 petite-sized robes and dresses, she spotted a flaming red pullover

 dress with matching short jacket that looked like it might fit.

 Squirming into the silk dress, she eyed herself in the mirror and

 admired the results.A little tight in the bust, but a fair

 representation of a china doll, albeit tall and red-haired, she

 thought, smiling at the reflected image.Finding an assortment of

 shoes at the foot of the rack, she rummaged through a dozen pairs

 before finding a black set of low-heeled flats that fit.Wedging the

 shoes on, she cursed as a thumbnail cracked while tugging at a heel.

 Instinctively, she rummaged through the bathroom counter, bypassing

 combs and brushes before discovering one of a woman's essentials: an

 emery board.Not a cheap cardboard version, the metal file sported a

 small flat porcelain handle.Admiring the tiny tool, she absently

 stuck it in a side pocket after smoothing her thumbnail.An instant

 later, a pounding at the room door indicated her interval of private

 luxury was over.

 

 Exiting the room into the corridor at gunpoint, Summer found Dirk

 standing casually with two rifle muzzles pointed at his back.He

 looked at his sister in the stunning silk dress and let fly a wolf

 whistle.

 

 "I'm afraid we've only got a few rats to guide your chariot tonight,

 Cinderella," he joked, jerking his thumb in the direction of the two

 guards behind him.

 

 "I see you've decided to stick with the Mr.Goodwrench look," she

 countered, observing that he wore the same grease-and-sweat-stained

 NUMA jumpsuit he'd worn since they were abducted.

 

 "Afraid my available wardrobe was a little on the short side," he said,

 pulling the cuffs of his jumpsuit up to midcalf range for emphasis.

 "Never did care much for the Alfalfa sartorial look."

 

 The four guards grew annoyed with their chattering and forcefully

 guided them to the elevator, where they rode silently up one floor. The

 doors opened on Kang's impressive dining room, with the broad vista

 shimmering through the picture windows.Kang sat at the head of the

 dining table, quietly reviewing the contents of a leather-bound folder,

 while Tongju stood erect off his left shoulder.The Korean magnate

 looked the part of an industrial captain, attired in a custom-fitted

 navy blue suit from an expensive Hong Kong tailor, with complementary

 maroon silk tie.His steely slate eyes darted toward the elevator

 briefly, then returned to the documents before him, his face a mask of

 cold austerity.

 

 Dirk and Summer were escorted to the table, where their eyes briefly

 drank in the scenic river scape view through the window before settling

 on their captor host.They both mentally noted how the cove below was

 fed by a narrow winding inlet that led to the wide river in the

 distance.Standing before the table, Summer felt a chill run up her

 spine as Tongju shot her a lascivious look, while Kang peered up

 coldly.Her minor gaiety at being clean and finely dressed withered

 away in the palpable presence of evil.She suddenly felt foolish in

 the silken outfit and subconsciously clasped her hands in front of her

 waist in nervous fear.But her anxiety diminished after she glanced

 over at Dirk.

 

 If her brother felt any fear, he didn't show it.Dirk stood tall with

 his chin thrust out defiantly, yet carried a bored-with-it-all look on

 his face.He seemed to enjoy peering down with derision at Tongju, who

 stood nearly ten inches shorter.The assassin paid no heed and instead

 spoke directly to his boss.

 

 "The submersible operators from the NUMA vessel," he said with a touch

 of disdain.

 

 "Dae-jong Kang," Dirk retorted, ignoring Tongju, "CEO of Kang

 Enterprises."

 

 Kang nodded slightly, then motioned for Dirk and Summer to sit down.

 The guards eased back to a side wall, where they kept a vigilant watch

 over the two captives, while Tongju slid into a chair opposite Dirk.

 

 "Mr.Pitt here was responsible for the death of our two men in

 America," Tongju said, his eyes narrowing on Dirk.

 

 Dirk nodded in mute satisfaction.It was as he suspected, the clear

 connection between the salvage efforts on both Japanese submarines, as

 well as the murder attempt on Vashon Island.

 

 "A small world," Kang replied.

 

 "Too small for mass murderers like you," Summer hissed in a low voice,

 her anger taking rise.

 

 Kang ignored the comment."A pity.The men in Seattle were among

 Tongju's top agents."

 

 "A tragic accident, really," Dirk replied."You must learn to recruit

 employees with better driving skills," he added, his cold glance at

 Tongju met by an equally frigid stare back.

 

 "Fortuitous indeed, as we otherwise may have lost your generous

 assistance in salvaging the I-411," Kang said."I am most curious as

 to what led you to the submarines."

 

 "Luck, mostly.I discovered that an earlier Japanese submarine had

 launched a few cyanide shells at the Oregon coast and wondered if

 someone had recovered some similar shells and used them in the

 Aleutians.It wasn't until I dove on the I-403 and discovered the

 remains of the aerial biological bombs that it became evident that

 there was something more afoot."

 

 "A shame that the bombs were damaged during the vessel's sinking," Kang

 said."They would have been much easier to recover than those from the

 I-411."

 

 "But you did recover one bomb canister intact, which you discharged in

 the Aleutian Islands."

 

 Kang showed a hint of surprise at Dirk's remark."Of course," he

 replied."Rather interesting how the Japanese combined a chemical and

 biological agent in one weapon.Our test release revealed that the

 efficacy of the biological agent was hampered by the dual release,

 although the chemical component was more potent than we anticipated."

 

 "Potent enough to kill two U.S. Coast Guardsmen," Summer commented.

 

 Kang shrugged."How did you come to have such a focus with the death

 of two sailors in the Aleutians?Were you there?"

 

 Summer shook her head in silence.Then Dirk spoke up.

 

 "I was piloting the helicopter that your 'fishing trawler' shot

 down."

 

 Kang and Tongju looked at each other with suspicious eyes."You are

 rather a resilient man, Mr.Pitt," Kang finally stated.

 

 Before he could respond, a side door swayed open and two men in white

 waiter's jackets glided over to the table hoisting large silver trays

 above their shoulders.A colorful array of seafood dishes was spread

 before each place setting, followed by a glass of Veuve Clicquot

 champagne.Dirk and Summer, having not eaten a full meal in days,

 calmly attacked the food as the probing conversation continued.

 

 "Your government... is rather displeased with the Japanese, I suspect,"

 Kang prodded.

 

 "Your shady activities under the guise of the Japanese Red Army was a

 clever ruse but uncovered for what it was by my government.Your two

 flunky hit men were easily traced to Korea," Dirk lied, grinning at

 Tongju."I suspect the authorities will be banging on your door any

 minute now, Kang."

 

 A brief look of agitation on Kang's brow suddenly softened."A

 commendable effort.But the truth is that the two men had no idea

 themselves who their employer was.No, I think it is apparent that you

 know nothing of our intent."

 

 "The long-standing animosity of Korea toward Japan for their many years

 of brutal colonization is well known," Dirk said, continuing the

 pretext."It would be no surprise to expect the warped minds

 possessing these type of weapons to use them on a historical adversary,

 which in your case is the Japanese."

 

 A thin smile crossed Kang's lips and he sat back in his chair with

 satisfaction, less from the meal than from Dirk's words.

 

 "A nice bluff, Mr.Pitt.The fact that your NUMA vessel was neither

 armed nor escorted during the salvage operation tells me that your

 country did not think much of your discovery on the I-403.And your

 presumptive guess as to the operative use of the biological weapons is

 quite off the mark."

 

 "What exactly is your ... intended use of the weapons?"Summer

 stammered.

 

 "Perhaps your own country," Kang teased as the color drained from

 Summer's face."Or perhaps not.That is neither here nor there."

 

 "The smallpox vaccine is readily available in the United States in

 quantities sufficient to vaccinate the entire population," Dirk

 countered."Tens of thousands of health workers have already been

 inoculated.A release of the smallpox virus might create a minor

 panic, at best.Certainly, there's not much risk of creating an

 epidemic."

 

 "Certainly a release of Variola major, or common smallpox, would

 register only a small nuisance.But your vaccinations would be useless

 against a chimera."

 

 "A 'chimera'?Of Greek lore?A monster-part lion, part goat, and part

 serpent?"

 

 "Indeed.Another monster, if you will, would be a hybrid mix of

 virulent agents combined into a single organism that maintains the

 lethal components of each element.A biological weapon against which

 your vaccinations would be laughably impotent."

 

 "But, in God's name, why?"Summer cried.

 

 Kang calmly finished his meal and set his napkin on the table, folding

 it into neat thirds before speaking.

 

 "You see, my country has been divided against itself since your

 incursion in the fifties.What you Americans fail to understand is

 that all Koreans dream of the day when our peninsula is united as one

 nation.Constant interference from outside meddlers will keep us from

 achieving that dream.Just as the presence of foreign military forces

 on our soil creates an impediment to the day when unification becomes a

 reality."

 

 "The American military presence in South Korea ensures that the dream

 of unification will not be realized at the point of a North Korean

 bayonet," Dirk replied.

 

 "South Korea no longer has the stomach for a fight, and the military

 power of North Korea offers the leadership and stabilizing force

 necessary to restore order during reunification."

 

 "I don't believe it," Summer muttered to Dirk."We're having lunch

 with a cross between Typhoid Mary and Joseph Stalin."

 

 Kang, not understanding the remark, continued speaking."The young

 people of South Korea today have had their fill of your military

 occupation and abuses to the citizenry.They are not fearful of

 unification and will help pave the way for a speedy resolution."

 

 "In other words, once the U.S. military is removed the forces of North

 Korea will march south and unify the country by force."

 

 "Absent the U.S. defensive forces, military estimates suggest that

 eighty percent of the South Korean Peninsula can be overrun within

 seventy-two hours.Casualties will be necessary, but the country will

 be unified under Workers' Party rule before the United States, Japan,

 or any other outside interfering force has the opportunity to react."

 

 Dirk and Summer sat in stunned silence.Their fears of a terrorist

 plot using the Japanese smallpox had been well founded, but they had no

 suspicion of the magnitude at stake: no less than the overthrow or the

 Republic of Korea in conjunction with the wholesale death of millions

 of Americans.

 

 "I think you may be underestimating the resolve of the United

 

 States, particularly in the face of a terrorist attack.Our president

 has shown no hesitation in applying swift and fearsome retribution,"

 Dirk said.

 

 "Perhaps.But retribution against whom?The pattern of events all

 still points to a Japanese source ..."

 

 "The Japanese Red Army again," Dirk interjected.

 

 "The Japanese Red Army.You see, there simply are no other

 likelihoods.Your military, intelligence, and political resources will

 be focused entirely on Japan while, at the same time, we will be

 mandating through our government the removal of all U.S. military

 personnel from the Korean Peninsula within thirty days.Your country's

 knee-jerk media will be in a frenzy over the epidemic casualties and so

 focused on finding a culprit in Japan that the American military

 expulsion from Korea will be a minor news item until well after the

 fact."

 

 "The intelligence community will ultimately see past the Red Army

 facade and trace the actions back to you and your communist pals up

 north."

 

 "Perhaps.But how long will that take?How long has it been for your

 government to solve the 2001 anthrax killings in your own capital? When

 and if that day should come, emotions will no longer be running high.

 It will all be a 'moot point," as you say."

 

 "Killing millions of people and calling it 'moot'?"Summer injected.

 "You are sick."

 

 "How many of my countrymen did you kill in the fifties?"Kang retorted

 with a flash of anger in his eyes.

 

 "We left plenty of our own blood on your soil," Summer replied, glaring

 back at Kang.

 

 Dirk peered across the table at Tongju, whose dark eyes were narrowly

 focused on Summer.The assassin was not accustomed to people speaking

 belligerently to Kang, and most certainly not a woman.While his face

 remained expressionless, a piqued intolerance oozed from his gaze.

 

 "Aren't you overlooking your own business interests?"Dirk said to

 Kang, deflecting the tone."Your industrial profits won't continue to

 accrue if the almighty state Workers' Party suddenly takes the

 reins."

 

 Kang smiled weakly."You Americans, always the capitalists at heart.

 As it is, I have already arranged the sale of half my holdings to a

 French conglomerate, with payment in Swiss francs.And when my

 homeland is reunited, who better to help manage the state control of

 South Korea's industrial resources than myself?"he said arrogantly.

 

 "A tidy arrangement," Dirk replied."A pity there won't be a nation

 around that will be interested in purchasing the ill-gotten goods of a

 totalitarian regime."

 

 "You forget China, Mr.Pitt.A huge market in and of itself, as well

 as a friendly conduit for funneling goods to the world markets.There

 will, of course, be a business interruption during the transfer of

 power, but output will quickly recover.There is always a demand for

 inexpensive, quality products."

 

 "Sure," Dirk said sarcastically."Name me one quality consumer product

 that ever came out of a communist country.Face it, Kang, you're on

 the losing end of a new global authority.There's no longer room for

 warped despots who screw their own countrymen for personal wealth,

 military might, or grand delusions of greatness.You and your buddies

 in the north might have a few laughs along the way, but, at the end of

 the day, you'll all be steam rolled by a concept foreign to you called

 'freedom.""

 

 Kang sat stiffly for a moment, a long look of annoyance settling over

 his face."Thank you for the civics lesson.It has been a most

 enlightening meal.Good-bye, Miss Pitt, good-bye, Mr.Pitt," he said

 coldly.

 

 With a glance to the side wall by Kang, the guards were instantly upon

 them, pulling the two to their feet.Dirk had thoughts of grabbing a

 dinner knife off the table and having a go at the guards but

 

 was dissuaded when he saw Tongju pointing a Glock pistol at his

 chest.

 

 "Take them to the river cave," Kang barked.

 

 "Thanks for the warm hospitality," Dirk muttered at Kang."I look

 forward to returning the privilege."

 

 Kang said nothing, nodding at the guards instead, who forcibly pushed

 the pair toward the elevator.Dirk and Summer glanced at each other

 with a knowing look.Their time was short now.If they were to make

 it out of Kang's grasp alive, they would have to act soon.

 

 The immediate problem was Tongju and his Glock 22.Any resistance

 would be futile while the assassin kept his gun aimed at them, as there

 was little doubt he would use it without hesitation.Tongju followed

 the four guards as they herded Dirk and Summer to the elevator, his

 pistol still drawn.As the doors slid open, two pairs of hands shoved

 them forcefully to the rear of the elevator.Tongju barked something

 in Korean, and then, to Dirk's relief, remained standing in the dining

 hall with one of the guards, a menacing look of satisfaction on his

 face as the elevator doors slid shut.

 

 The elevator was cramped with five bodies in it, which would work to

 their advantage.Dirk glanced at Summer and nodded ever so slightly,

 his sister acknowledging the silent message with a quick wink.She

 immediately grabbed her stomach and groaned, leaning forward as if she

 were about to vomit.The nearest guard, a chunky man with a shaved

 head, took the bait and bent down slightly toward Summer.Like a cat

 mistakenly pouncing onto a hot stove, she suddenly sprang her body

 upright, jerking her knee into the man's groin with all the might she

 could muster.The man's eyes nearly burst out of their sockets as her

 knee hit home and he doubled over in agony, a shriek of pain quivering

 from his lips.

 

 Summer's move was all Dirk needed to neutralize guard number two.As

 all three guards' attention turned initially to Summer, he launched an

 uppercut that connected squarely on the man's jaw, nearly

 

 lifting him out of his shoes.Dirk watched from inches away as the

 man's eyes rolled to the back of his head and he slumped to the floor

 unconscious.

 

 Guard number three took a small step back as the fighting broke out and

 attempted to raise the muzzle of his rifle at Dirk.Summer reacted by

 grabbing the shoulders of the man she'd kneed and shoving his

 hunched-over body toward the standing guard.The still-groaning bald

 man swayed heavily into his taller accomplice with just enough force to

 offset the other man's balance.It was enough time to allow Dirk to

 step over the fallen guard and let go a left cross that landed a

 glancing blow on the gunman's temple.The dazed guard tried to counter

 with a braced karate kick, but Dirk's right fist was already there,

 mashing solidly into the man's larynx.The guard's face turned blue as

 he fought to take in air and he dropped to his knees, grabbing his

 throat with both hands.Dirk grabbed the man's assault rifle and swung

 it around viciously, striking the stock against the face of the guard

 struggling with Summer.The blow threw the man against the back of the

 elevator, where he slid to the floor unconscious.

 

 "Nice work, Smokin' Joe," Summer praised.

 

 "Let's not wait for round two," Dirk gasped as the elevator descent

 slowed beneath their feet.He checked that the safety on the assault

 rifle was turned off, then prepared to leap out of the elevator as the

 doors opened.Only there was no where to go.

 

 As the doors slid open, the muzzles of three AK-74s were thrust in, the

 compensators at the end of the gun barrels poking into their faces.A

 security guard sitting at a bank of television monitors had witnessed

 the fracas in the elevator over closed-circuit video and quickly

 dispatched a cadre of guards in the vicinity.

 

 "Saw!"the guards yelled in Korean, their meaning perfectly clear.

 Dirk and Summer froze in their tracks, wondering what degree of hair

 triggers existed on the assault rifles pointed their way.Dirk gently

 dropped his rifle to the ground, detecting a stirring in the elevator

 behind him.Too late, he turned to see the third guard staggering

 from

 

 the elevator while swinging the butt of his rifle toward his head.He

 tried to duck but the gun handle was too far along its way toward the

 top of his skull, where it collided with a thump.

 

 For an instant, he saw a blinding light and shining stars, and, through

 the fog, an odd glimpse of Summer's feet.But that soon gave way to a

 fading darkness that turned to black as the curtain closed and he

 crumpled to the ground in a limp heap.

 

 A throbbing jolt of pain shooting down from the top of his skull to the

 tip of his toes was the first evidence sent to his brain that he was

 still alive.As consciousness slowly seeped back to Dirk, his mind

 performed a physical inventory, denoting via neural signals which parts

 of the body were deviating from their normal state.Pain signals from

 his wrists, arms, and shoulders began registering as if they were

 pulling at a great weight, but were easily outclassed by the agonizing

 pangs from his head.More confusing to his senses was the feeling from

 his feet and legs that he was standing in a bucket of water.As the

 shroud of fog gradually lifted, he opened his eyes to a wet, dark, and

 gloomy cave.

 

 "Welcome back to the land of the living," Summer's voice echoed through

 the gloomy cavern.

 

 "You didn't happen to get the license number of the truck that hit me?"

 he said groggily.

 

 "Yes, but I'm pretty sure he wasn't carrying insurance."

 

 "Where the hell are we?"Dirk asked, his mind beginning to register

 the concepts of time and space.

 

 "A side cavern, just off Kang's floating dock.That cool water

 nibbling at your navel is the River Han."

 

 The bucket of water he thought he was standing in was in fact a cavern

 full of rising river water.His vision now cleared, Dirk could see

 through the murky light that Summer was spread-eagled and handcuffed to

 two large barge anchors.Large weights rather than actual anchors,

 they were nothing more than a three-foot-square block of concrete.The

 white blocks were slickened with a decade's coating of pale green

 algae, with a rusty iron mooring ring protruding from the top.Dirk

 saw that there were nearly a dozen of the weights aligned in a row

 across the floor of the cavern.He and Summer stood adjacent to each

 other, their arms stretched wide with each wrist handcuffed to

 adjoining blocks.

 

 Dirk's eyes wandered about the dim cavern.In the fading dusk light

 that filtered through the mouth of the cave, he could see the distinct

 line on the wall that he was looking for.It was the high-water mark,

 which he noted uncomfortably ran two feet above their heads.

 

 "Death by slow drowning," he said.

 

 "Our Fu Manchu friend, Tongju, was most insistent," Summer replied

 grimly."He even prevented one of the guards from shooting you so that

 we could wallow down here together."

 

 "I must remember to send him a thank-you card."Dirk looked down and

 saw that the water was now sloshing around his rib cage.

 

 "Water's rising pretty fast."

 

 "We're near the mouth of the Han River, so there's plenty of tidal

 surge at work."Summer gazed fearfully at her brother."I'd estimate

 that the water level has risen over a foot in the last hour."

 

 Seeing the despair in his sister's eyes, Dirk's mind engaged in high

 gear to determine a means of escape."We have another hour and a half,

 tops," he calculated.

 

 "I just remembered something," Summer said, crinkling her brow."I've got a small nail file in my side pocket.Might be like trying to

 kill a pterodactyl with a flyswatter, but it might help.""Sure, toss

 it over," Dirk replied.

 

 "This one mooring ring looks pretty mangy," she said, tugging at her

 left wrist."If I could just get one hand free."

 

 "Maybe I can help."Dirk slid his legs toward Summer, leaning his

 torso at an angle along the concrete blocks for support.Raising one

 leg, he slid his foot along until the sole of his shoe met up with the

 face of the protruding iron.Applying as much pressure as he could, he

 pressed his weight hard against the top of the metal ring.

 

 Nothing happened.

 

 Shifting his foot so that his heel was against the ring, he pushed once

 more.This time, the ring bent a fraction toward Summer.Jamming his

 weight repeatedly against the stanchion, he gradually forced the ring

 to bend over nearly ninety degrees.

 

 "Okay, I'll need your help in pushing it back upright," he said. "Let's

 try it on the count of three."

 

 Slipping his foot to the backside of the ring, he counted to three,

 then pulled his leg toward him.Summer pushed with her manacled hand

 and they gradually shoved the ring back to its original vertical

 position.

 

 "Well, that was fun," Dirk said while resting his leg."Let's try it

 again."

 

 For twenty minutes, they toggled the ring back and forth, the movement

 gradually becoming easier as the tensile strength of the old iron

 weakened.With a last strong kick by Dirk, the ring finally snapped

 off its concrete base, freeing Summer's left arm.She immediately

 twisted her hand around and dug into the small side pocket of her silk

 jacket and produced the porcelain-handled nail file.

 

 "I've got the file.Should I try on the handcuff itself or the mooring

 ring?"she asked.

 

 "Go for the ring.Even though it's thicker, it will be much softer to

 cut through than the hardened stainless steel handcuffs."

 

 Using the small file like a hacksaw, Summer began grinding away at the

 base of the mooring ring.Working the file with any degree of accuracy

 beneath the murky river water and fading cavern light would have been a

 Herculean task for most, but Summer's extensive diving experience gave

 her a leg up.Years of exploring and excavating historic shipwrecks in

 foul visibility had heightened her sense of touch to the extent that

 she could nearly tell more about a wreck from her hands than by her

 eyes.

 

 With some measure of hope, she felt the file cut rapidly through the

 outer layer of the rusty ring.Her confidence waned when the blade met

 up with the hardened inner core of the iron ring and progress slowed to

 a snail's pace.The rising water was now level with her chest and the

 pending urgency unleashed a surge of adrenaline.Summer worked the

 blade back and forth as fast as she could muster underwater, gaining

 ground millimeter by millimeter.Taking quick breaks from sawing, she

 placed her hands on the iron ring and pushed and pulled it to weaken

 the metal.Alternating sawing and prodding with an intermittent gulp

 or two of river water, she at last broke through the ring and freed

 herself.

 

 "Got it," she exclaimed with victory.

 

 "Mind if I borrow that file?"Dirk asked calmly, but Summer had

 already kicked and swum her way over and begun cutting into the ring

 grasping his right hand.As she worked the file, she mentally noted

 that it had taken her roughly thirty minutes to cut through the first

 ring and that the water level was now nearly to their shoulders.The

 water was rising faster than she anticipated and would be well above

 Dirk's head in less than an hour.Despite aching fingers and limbs,

 she rubbed the file ferociously against the iron.

 

 Dirk, waiting patiently as Summer filed away, began whistling the old

 1880s tune "While Strolling Through the Park One Day."

 

 "That's not helping," Summer gasped, then smiled to herself at the

 silly tune."Now I won't be able to get that ridiculous song out of my

 head."

 

 Sure enough, he quit whistling, but the tune kept replaying over and

 over in her head.She was surprised to find it became a good sawing

 mantra that provided a rhythm to her hand movements.

 

 While strolling through the park one day,... With each syllable, she

 applied a cutting stroke to the iron, creating an efficient sawing

 cadence.in the merry merry month of May.

 

 I was taken by surprise by a pair of roguish eyes.

 

 In a moment my poor heart was stole away.

 

 The water level had now crept up over her chin and she found herself

 taking in gasps of air, then submerging briefly to keep the file

 clawing in one spot.Dirk was beginning to strain to keep his face out

 of the water while applying alternating tugs and shoves on the ring as

 Summer sawed tirelessly on.A muffled metallic ting finally echoed

 beneath them as the ring broke loose under their combined pressure.

 

 "Three down, one to go," Summer gasped, taking in a lungful of air

 after being submerged for several seconds.

 

 "Let me give you a breather," Dirk said, grabbing the file from Summer

 with his free hand.The release of his right hand gave him a few extra

 inches of breathing room, but it was not enough to file the last

 mooring ring without submerging.Taking a deep breath, he ducked under

 the surface and began filing rapidly on the ring that held down his

 left wrist.After thirty seconds, he bobbed to the surface, sucked in

 some fresh air, and plunged back under.Summer stretched her cramped

 fingers, then swam to Dirk's left side and waited for him to surface.

 Like a pair of tag team wrestlers trying to floor Hulk Hogan, they

 passed the file back and forth and ducked underwater, attacking the

 iron ring with muscle and fervor.

 

 As the minutes wore on, the water level in the cavern crept higher

 

 and higher.Each time Dirk surfaced for a gasp of air, he felt himself

 stretching farther and farther to raise his mouth and nose above water.

 The handcuff shackle on his left wrist dug into his flesh as he

 instinctively yanked hard to escape the clutch of the massive barge

 weight.

 

 "Save your strength for getting out of here," he told his sister as the

 inevitable truth drew closer that they were running out of time. Summer

 said nothing as she grabbed the file out of his hand and plunged back

 beneath the surface.Dirk half-floated with his head tilted back, his

 face just barely out of the water, drawing a few deep breaths.He

 could feel the water wash over his face in ripples and stretched for

 one last deep breath before pulling himself under.Grasping Summer's

 wrist, he pulled the file out of her hand and began a last furious rush

 at cutting through the iron.Feeling the gouge with his thumb, he

 could tell that they had cut only a third of the way through.There

 was just too far to go.

 

 The seconds felt like hours as Dirk made a final effort to break free.

 He could feel his heart beating like a bass drum as it struggled to

 pump oxygen into his depleted blood.In the murkiness, he could feel

 that Summer was no longer by his side.Perhaps she had finally taken

 his advice and sought escape.Or perhaps she just couldn't bear to be

 with him during his final gasp of life.

 

 He paused from filing for a second to try pushing his weight against

 the ring.He could generate little leverage, however, and the iron

 ring held firm.Again, to the file he went, making furious strokes

 with the flimsy metal blade.His ears began pounding with each beat of

 his heart.How long had he been holding his breath now?A minute, two

 minutes?It was difficult to remember.

 

 Light-headedness fell over him as spots began to creep into his vision.

 He exhaled what remaining air was left in his lungs and fought the

 temptation to open his mouth and gulp in.His heart pounded stronger

 and it became a mental fight against succumbing to panic.A light

 current seemed to push him away from the mooring ring, but his hand

 muscle grasped the file tightly in a death grip.A white veil was

 being drawn across his vision and a distant voice inside was telling

 him to let go.As he fought a last battle with the voice, his ringing

 ears detected a deep thump and then a strange vibration rippled up his

 arm and through his body just before his mind tumbled into a dark and

 empty void.

 

 *-.""

 

 Summer knew that THEY were at least twenty minutes from filing through

 the iron ring and that there would have to be another way to free her

 brother.Abandoning Dirk, she dove to the cavern floor, searching and

 groping for another tool or device, anything that would help break the

 manacle.But the flat, sandy bottom yielded nothing, just the row of

 mooring weights, one after the other.Kicking ahead with one hand

 guiding along the blocks of concrete, she touched a large chunk of

 concrete that had broken off one of the weights when it had been

 dropped too close to another.Gliding beyond the debris, she reached

 the last block, where she felt something flat and squishy like soggy

 leather fall away in her hand.A harder piece beneath it was narrow

 and curved, which she identified as the sole of a boot.A stick leaned

 against it, which she started to grab, then let go in horror. It was no

 stick, she could tell, but the femur bone of a skeleton that was still

 wearing the boot.Another victim of Kang's savagery, the corpse had

 long ago been left chained to the anchor.Recoiling, she turned to swim back toward Dirk and bumped her head square

 into the fallen chunk of concrete.The broken piece was roughly square

 shaped, weighing about ninety pounds.She surveyed the block with her

 hands to get around it, then hesitated.It might be the answer, she

 decided, and was the best she could do under the circumstances.

 

 Kicking up for a quick breath of air, she dove back down and muscled

 the block off the floor and up to her chest.On dry land, she would

 have struggled mightily to lift the heavy weight, but underwater the

 block was more yielding.Moving quickly, she shuffled down the row of

 weights to her brother, fighting to keep the chunk balanced.Feeling

 rather than seeing Dirk, she turned and backed into her brother,

 pushing his body away from the block that held his left wrist.She

 noted apprehensively that his body gave way rather limply, unlike his

 normal stone like stature.

 

 Lining herself up with the mooring weight as best she could, she took a

 step and lunged forward, throwing herself and the broken chunk of

 concrete at the iron ring.In a slow-motion haze, Summer floated

 through the water with a slight ripple before the effects of gravity

 took over.But her timing was perfect.In the fraction of a second

 before her forward momentum was replaced by sinking gravity, the

 concrete chunk hit home on the iron ring.An audible clang, muffled by

 the water, told Summer that she was on target as she let go of the

 block.The rusty mooring ring, weakened just enough by the frantic

 filing, succumbed to the weight of the blow and snapped neatly off the

 anchor.

 

 Summer immediately grabbed Dirk's arm and felt down to the wrist, which

 now dangled loosely.In a burst, she pushed her brother to the

 surface, took a deep breath of air herself, then towed his limp body to

 a small rock ledge, pulling him up and out of the water.She knelt by

 his side to administer CPR when his body suddenly stirred, his head

 turning to one side.With a groan, he expunged a small flood of water

 from his mouth and replaced it with a heaving lungful of air.Rising

 unsteadily to his elbows, he turned to Summer and gasped, "I feel like

 I drank half the river.Remind me to stick to bottled water next

 time."

 

 The words barely gurgled out of his mouth when he leaned over and

 retched a second time, then sat up and rubbed his left wrist.Eyeing

 his sister, he was pleased to see she appeared unharmed and in good

 spirits.

 

 "Thanks for pulling me out," he said."How did you finally get the

 ring off?"

 

 "I found a loose chunk of concrete and flung it against the stanchion.

 Thankfully, I didn't take your hand off in the process."

 

 "Much obliged for that," he muttered, shaking his head.

 

 After catching their breath, they rested for nearly an hour, slowly

 regaining their strength as Dirk purged the remaining water from his

 lungs, inhaled moments before Summer broke the iron grip that had

 nearly drowned him.What lit de sunlight that earlier wafted through

 the mouth of the cavern had long since vanished with nightfall, leaving

 them prone in the cave in near-total blackness.

 

 "Do you know the way out of here?"Dirk asked once he felt fit to

 move.

 

 "The mouth of the cave is less than fifty meters away," Summer said,

 "just a short distance to the east is Kang's dock."

 

 "How'd we get in here in the first place?"he asked.

 

 "A small skiff.I forgot that you slept through the scenic portion of

 the cruise."

 

 "Sorry I missed it," Dirk replied, rubbing a small gash on the top of

 his head."We'll to have to borrow a boat from Kang if we want to get

 off this rock.There was a small speedboat tied up behind his floating

 palace when we came in and docked. Maybe it's still there."

 

 "If we can untie it from the dock and drift it out into the cove

 undetected before starting it up, it may buy us some more time." Summer

 shivered as she spoke, her body feeling the effects of the cool river

 dousing.

 

 "Back in the water, I'm afraid.You know the way out, so lead on."

 

 Summer ripped the side seam of the silk dress up to her hip to allow

 more freedom for swimming, then slipped back into the cool murky water.

 Dirk followed as they swam and groped their way along the narrow

 winding cavern, moving toward a pale gray circular patch of light that

 faintly shimmered against the surrounding darkness.The murmur of

 distant voices gave them a momentary pause as they approached the

 cave's exit.Swimming around a tight bend, the oval mouth of the

 cavern opened up before them, the night sky twinkling with starlight

 while the glittering reflection of Kang's dockside floodlights danced

 about the water's surface.Dirk and Summer swam silently out of the

 cavern entrance to a small rock outcropping a few yards away.The

 algae-slickened boulders afforded a safely concealed vantage point from

 which they could observe the dock and adjacent grounds.

 

 For several minutes, they hung quietly against the rocks, studying the

 moored boats and shoreline for signs of movement.There were three

 boats tied up to the floating dock that ran parallel to the shore. Just

 as Dirk recalled, a small green patrol speedboat was wedged between

 Kang's large Italian luxury yacht and the high-speed catamaran on which

 they had arrived.No signs of life were visible on any of the three

 boats, which were all tied up in a row bow to stern.Dirk knew that a

 small live-aboard crew would be present on the larger vessel.

 

 A lone sentry finally emerged in the distance, walking slowly along the

 shoreline.As he passed under a floodlight, Dirk could clearly see the

 glint of an assault rifle slung under the man's shoulder.Casually,

 the guard strode out onto the dock and alongside the three boats,

 pausing for several minutes near the large yacht.Growing bored, he

 strode back down the dock and onto shore, advancing along a stone

 walkway toward the estate elevator, where he deposited himself in a

 small security station at the base of the cliff.

 

 "That's our man," Dirk whispered."As long as he stays in that hut,

 his view of the speedboat is overshadowed by the larger boats.""Now's

 the time to steal it, before he makes the next round."Dirk nodded and

 the two of them pushed away from the rocks and began swimming silently toward the dock.He kept an eye on the

 guardhouse while mentally computing how long it might take to hotwire

 the speedboat's ignition in the dark if the keys weren't conveniently

 left in the boat.

 

 They swam well away from the dock, so as not to arouse suspicion until

 they were directly offshore of the speedboat, then slowly worked their

 way in toward it.With handcuffs still clasped to their wrists, their

 swimming motions felt clumsy, but they quietly kept their hands under

 the water as they stroked.

 

 Furtively approaching the dock, they were blocked from view of the

 guardhouse until they reached the stern of the boat, where they again

 had a view of the shore.The guard was still in the security hut,

 where he could be seen sitting on a stool reading a magazine.

 

 Using hand motions, Dirk directed Summer to remove the boat's stern

 line while he would swim forward and take care of the bowline.Moving

 along the boat's hull, he felt the looming presence of Kang's yacht

 towering over him as he crossed the smaller boat's bow.Stretching to

 grab the mooring line in order to pull himself to the dock, he suddenly

 heard a sharp click directly above him and he froze still in the water.

 A spark of yellow light erupted briefly, and, in the glow, he could see

 the ruddy face of a guard lighting a cigarette on the fantail of Kang's

 yacht no more than ten feet away.

 

 Dirk didn't move a muscle, steadying himself with one hand clasped on

 the speedboat's prow, careful not to disturb the quietly lapping water.

 He watched patiently as the red ember of the cigarette rhythmically

 flared like a crimson beacon as the guard inhaled on the tobacco.Dirk

 found himself holding his breath, not for himself but for Summer, whom

 he hoped would avoid detection at the stern of the boat.The guard

 fully enjoyed his smoke, pulling at it for ten minutes before flinging

 the butt over the railing.The burning stub landed in the water just

 three feet from Dirk's head, extinguishing with a hiss.

 

 Waiting until he heard the padded sound of footsteps move away from the

 railing, Dirk ducked underwater and swam toward the rear

 

 of the speedboat.Surfacing just astern of the boat's propeller, he

 found Summer waiting with an impatient look on her face.Dirk shook

 his head at her, then quietly pulled himself up the rear transom of the

 speedboat and peered toward the pilot seat.In the darkness, he could

 just barely make out the dashboard ignition, which winked back at him

 void of a key.He slunk back into the water and looked at Summer, then

 reached for the loose mooring line in her hands.She was surprised

 when he ducked underwater for a minute, then surfaced empty-handed,

 expecting that he was going to retie the line to the dock, instead him

 pointing offshore.Summer followed his finger and began swimming

 silently away from the boat.When they were safely out of earshot,

 they stopped and rested.

 

 "What was that all about?"Summer asked with a tinge of annoyance.

 

 Dirk described the guard positioned on the stern of Kang's yacht.

 "There wasn't much chance without the starter key.As close as the

 boats are together, he'd have seen or heard me trying to rummage around

 hot-wiring the ignition.Chances are, there's a guard or two on the

 catamaran as well.I think we're going to have to settle for the

 skiff."

 

 The small skiff that Kang's thugs had used to ferry Dirk and Summer

 into the cavern was pulled up onto the shore, adjacent to the dock.

 

 "That's awfully close to the guardhouse," Summer noted.

 

 Dirk looked ashore, spotting the guard still sitting in the guardhouse,

 about twenty meters from the skiff."Stealth it will be," he said

 confidently.

 

 Kicking back toward shore, they swam widely around the docked boats and

 approached the rocky beach from the east side.When their feet touched

 bottom, Dirk had Summer wait in the water while he crept slowly to the

 shoreline.

 

 Inching his way out of the water, he crawled snakelike on his belly

 toward the boat, which was wedged between two rocks about twenty feet

 from the water.Using the boat as a shield between him and the

 guardhouse, he burrowed alongside the wooden skiff until he could peer

 over the side.A spool of line, coiled on the front bench and tied to

 a small bow cleat, caught his eye.Reaching over the gunwale, he

 unfastened the line and pulled the coil to his chest, then burrowed

 backward over the loose pebble beach to the boat's stern, which faced

 the water.Running his hand along the top of the transom, he felt a

 bolt-hole for attaching an outboard motor and ran one end of the line

 through, tying it securely.

 

 Scurrying on his belly back into the water, he played out the line

 until he reached the end of its fifty-foot length.Summer swam over

 and they huddled together, hunched over in four feet of water with just

 their heads poking above the surface.

 

 "We'll reel it in like a marlin," Dirk whispered."If anybody gets

 wise, we can duck back behind those rocks by the cavern," he said,

 tilting his head toward the protruding boulders nearby.Placing

 Summer's hands on the line, he leaned back in the water and gradually

 began applying tension to the line.Summer tightened her grip and then

 threw her weight onto the line as it drew taut.

 

 The small boat jumped easily from its perch, emitting a jarring grind

 as its hull scraped across its rocky berth.They quickly eased off the

 line and stared toward the guardhouse.Inside, the guard still had his

 nose stuck in the magazine, impervious to the noise made by the boat.

 They quietly took up the slack and continued to reel the boat toward

 them a foot at a time, stopping periodically to ensure they had not

 attracted any attention.Summer held her breath as the boat approached

 the water's edge, letting out a long sigh when they tugged it fully

 into the water, the scraping sound at last ceasing.

 

 "Let's tow her out a little farther," Dirk whispered, winding the

 towline over his shoulder and kicking toward the center of the cove.

 When they were a hundred meters from the shoreline, he tossed the line

 into the boat and pulled himself over the side, then grabbed Summer's

 hand and pulled her aboard.

 

 "Not exactly a Fountain offshore powerboat but I guess she'll do," he

 said, surveying the interior of the small boat.Spying a pair of oars

 under the bench seat, he popped the shafts into the side oarlocks and

 dipped the blades into the water.Facing the stern of the skiff, with

 Kang's compound illuminated in the background, he pulled heavily on the

 oars, propelling the small boat swiftly into the center of the cove.

 

 "It's about a mile to the main river channel," Summer estimated. "Maybe

 we can find a friendly South Korean naval or Coast Guard vessel on the

 river."

 

 "I'd settle for a passing freighter."

 

 "Sure," Summer replied."Just as long as it doesn't have a Kang

 Enterprises lightning bolt on the funnel."

 

 Glancing toward the shoreline, Dirk suddenly detected a movement in the

 distance and squinted to better see across the water.As his eyes

 focused, he grimaced slightly.

 

 "I'm afraid it's not going to be a freighter offering us the first

 lift," he said as his knuckles tightened their grip on the oars.

 

 The dock side guard had grown bored with his magazine and decided to

 patrol the moored boats once again.A fellow guard stationed on Kang's

 yacht was from a neighboring province and he loved to harass the man

 about the lack of attractive women in his home region.Walking toward

 the dock, he at first failed to take notice of the empty beach, but

 then tripped as he stepped onto the dock ramp.Grabbing the side rail

 to steady himself, his eyes fell to the ground nearby, detecting the

 scarred indentation of a boat that had been dragged across the pebbly

 beach.Only, the boat was gone.

 

 The embarrassed guard quickly radioed his discovery to the central

 security post and, in an instant, two heavily armed guards came running

 from the shadows.After a brief but heated exchange, several

 flashlights were produced, their yellow beams rapidly waved in a

 

 chaotic frenzy about the water, rocks, and sky in a frantic search for

 the missing skiff.But it was the guard on the stern of Kang's yacht

 who located the two escapees.Shining a powerful marine spotlight

 across the water of the cove, he pinpointed the small white boat

 lurching across the waves.

 

 "Not a good time to be in the limelight," Summer cursed as the rays of

 the distant searchlight fell over them.The clattering burst of an

 assault rifle rattled across the water, accompanied by the whistling of

 bullets that raced harmlessly over their heads.

 

 "Get down low in the boat," Dirk commanded his sister as he pulled

 harder on the oars."We're out of accurate firing range but they could

 still get off a lucky shot."

 

 The small skiff was just midway across the cove and Dirk and Summer

 would be sitting ducks for a gunman in Kang's speedboat, which could be

 on them in a matter of seconds.Dirk silently hoped and prayed that

 nobody would notice the boat's stern line as they rushed to chase after

 them.

 

 On shore, one of the guards had already jumped into the green speedboat

 and started the motor.Tongju, awakened by the gunfire, burst out of

 his cabin on the catamaran and began barking inquiries at one of the

 guards.

 

 "Take the speedboat.Kill them if you have to," he hissed.

 

 The two other guards scrambled into the speedboat, one of them casting

 off the bowline as he jumped aboard.In the rushed moment, none of the

 men noticed that the stern line was dropped over the outboard side. The

 pilot saw only that the lines to the dock cleat were free.As the boat

 drifted clear of the dock, he jammed it into gear and pushed the

 throttle all the way to its stops.

 

 The green boat surged forward for a split second, then mysteriously

 stopped dead in its tracks.The engine continued to scream with a

 whine, churning at high rpm, but the boat sat drifting lazily.The

 confused pilot pulled back on the throttle, unsure of what was causing

 the lack of forward motion.

 

 "Idiot!"Tongju screamed from the deck of the catamaran with

 uncharacteristic emotion."Your stern line is caught in the propeller.

 Put someone over the side to cut it free."

 

 Dirk's handiwork had paid off.Diving under the speedboat, he had

 tightly wrapped the stern line around the propeller and its exposed

 shaft, clogging its ability to spin freely.The heavy hand of the

 pilot on the throttle had only served to wind the line tighter,

 spinning it up and into the drive shaft coupling in a laborious mess.

 It would take a diver twenty minutes to cut and yank free the mass of

 coiled rope embedded in the driveline.

 

 Realizing the speedboat's predicament, Tongju burst into the cabin of

 the catamaran's pilot.

 

 "Start the engines.Get us under way immediately," he barked.The

 groggy pilot, clad in a pair of red silk pajamas, nodded sharply and

 made his way quickly to the wheelhouse.

 

 Three-quarters of a mile away, Dirk grunted as he pulled another stroke

 of the oars, his heart pounding fiercely.His shoulder and arm muscles

 began to burn from the strenuous effort to propel the skiff faster, and

 even his thigh muscles ached from pushing against the oars.His tired

 body was telling himself to slow the pace but his mental will pushed to

 keep rowing with all his strength.They had gained a few precious

 minutes by sabotaging the speedboat, but Kang's men still had two more

 boats at their disposal.

 

 In the distance, they could hear the deep muffled exhaust of the

 catamaran as its engines were started and revved.As Dirk rowed in a

 controlled rhythm, Summer helped guide him through the inlet they

 approached at the far end of the cove.Kang's compound and boats

 suddenly drifted from view as they began threading their way through

 the S-curved inlet.

 

 "We've got maybe five minutes," he exhaled between strokes."You up

 for another swim?"

 

 "I can't exactly glide through the water like Esther Williams with

 these," she said, holding up the two handcuffs that dangled from her

 

 wrists, "but I can certainly do without another dose of Kang's

 hospitality-" She knew better than to ask whether Dirk was up for a

 strenuous swim.Despite his exhausted state, she knew her brother was

 like a fish in the water.Growing up in Hawaii, they swam in the warm

 surf constantly.Dirk excelled at marathon swimming and routinely swam

 five-mile ocean legs for pleasure.

 

 "If we can make it to the main channel, we may have a chance," he

 said.

 

 The inlet grew dark as they made their way past the first bend and the

 lights of Kang's compound became shielded by the surrounding hills. The

 otherwise still night was broken only by the faraway sound of the

 catamaran's four diesel engines, which they could detect were now

 throttled up.Like a machine himself, Dirk rhythmically tugged at the

 oars, smoothly dipping the blades in and out of the water in a long,

 efficient stroke.Summer acted as coxswain, offering subtle course

 changes to guide them through the channel in the shortest route

 possible while offering periodic words of encouragement.

 

 "We're coming up on the second bend," she said."Pull to your right

 and we should clear the inlet in another thirty meters."

 

 Dirk continued his even stroke, easing off the left oar with every

 third pull to nose the bow into and through the bend.The beating

 drone of the catamaran's engines grew louder behind them as the speedy

 boat ripped across the cove.Though his limbs ached, Dirk seemed to

 grow stronger with the approach of their adversary, propelling the

 small boat even faster through the flat water.

 

 The ebony darkness softened around them as they rounded the last bend

 of the inlet and rowed into the expansive breadth of the Han River.

 Patches of starry lights twinkled across the horizon, shining from

 small villages scattered along the river and hillsides.The faint

 lights were the only clue to the river's width, which stretched nearly

 five miles across to the opposite shore.In the late hour of the

 night, traffic on the river was almost nonexistent.Several miles

 downstream sat a handful of small commercial freighters, moored for the

 night while

 

 waiting to traverse the Han to Seoul at first daylight.A brightly

 illuminated dredge ship was slowly making its way upstream nearly

 across from Dirk and Summer but was still some four miles away.

 Upriver, a small vessel with an array of multicolored lights appeared

 to be moving down the center of the river at a slow pace.

 

 "Afraid I don't see any passing water taxis," Summer said, scanning the

 dark horizons.

 

 As Dirk tried to row toward the center of the river, he could feel the

 current pushing them downstream.The river's flow was aided by an

 outgoing tide that pulled at the remains of the Han River as it

 dispersed into the dusky waters of the Yellow Sea.He eased off the

 oars for a moment to survey their options.The dredge ship looked

 appealing, but they would have to fight the crosscurrent to reach it,

 which would be near impossible once they took to the water.Peering

 downriver, he spotted a small cluster of yellow lights on the opposite

 shore twinkling fuzzily through the damp air.

 

 "Let's try for the village there," he said, pointing an oar in the

 direction of the lights, which were about two miles downstream."If we

 swim directly across the river, the current should carry us pretty

 close.""Whatever entails the least swimming."

 

 Unbeknownst to both was the fact that the Korean demarcation line ran

 through this section of the Han River delta.The twinkling lights

 downriver were not a village at all but a heavily garrisoned North

 Korean military patrol boat base.

 

 Any further contingency planning was suddenly dashed by the abrupt roar

 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-riverGaining 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 concealment.

 

 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 midriverIt 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.

 After he grew bored with sailing, I traded him a few antique cars for

 her.Plan to cruise the Asian Pacific in her.Started in Japan and am

 going to work my way down to Wellington."

 

 "You sail her by yourself?"Summer asked.

 

 "She's been modified with a strong diesel engine and hydraulic lifts

 for the lug sails which are linked to a computerized automatic pilot.

 She's a breeze to manage, and can, in fact, sail herself."

 

 "Do you have a satellite phone aboard?"Dirk asked.

 

 "Afraid not.A ship-to-shore radio is the best I can offer you.I

 didn't want any phone calls or Internet messages bothering me on this

 cruise."

 

 "Understandable.Where are you headed, and, for that matter, where are

 we located now?"he asked.

 

 Cussler pulled out a marine navigation chart and held it under the weak

 light of the helm console."We're entering the Yellow Sea about forty

 miles northwest of Seoul.I take it you aren't interested in staying

 aboard till Wellington?"he grinned, running an index finger across

 the chart."How about Inchon?"he continued, tapping the map."I can

 drop you there in about eight hours.I believe there's a U.S. Air

 Force base located somewhere near there."

 

 "That would be great.Anywhere we can find a phone and get ahold of

 someone at NUMA headquarters."

 

 "NUMA," Cussler said, mulling over the word."You're not from that

 NUMA ship that sank southwest of Japan?"

 

 "The Sea Rover.Yes, we are.How did you know about that?"Summer

 asked.

 

 "It was all over CNN.I saw them interview the captain.Told how the

 crew was rescued by a Japanese freighter following an explosion in the

 engine room."

 

 Dirk and Summer stared at each other in disbelief.

 

 "Captain Morgan and the crew are alive?"she finally blurted.

 

 "Yes, that was the fellow's name.I thought he said the whole crew was

 rescued."

 

 Summer retold the story of their attack on the ship and abduction by

 Kang's men and their uncertainty over the fate of their crew members.

 

 "I suspect there's more than a few people out there looking for you,"

 Cussler said."You're safe for now.There's some sandwiches and beer

 in the galley.Why don't you two grab a bite and get some rest.I'll

 wake you when we reach Inchon."

 

 "Thank you.I'll take you up on that," Summer replied, heading

 belowdecks.

 

 Dirk lingered a moment, standing at the rail and watching the first

 glimmer of daybreak attempt to paint the eastern horizon.As he

 contemplated the events of the past three days, a hardened resolve

 surged through his exhausted body.By some miracle, the Sea Rover's

 crew had survived the sinking of the NUMA research ship.But Kang

 still had blood on his hands, and the stakes were now dramatically

 higher.If what Kang had told them was true, then millions of lives

 were at risk. The madman would have to be stopped, he knew, and

 quick.

 

 on

 

 Sea Launch platform Odyssey and airship Icarus

 

 June 16, 2007 Long Beach, California

 

 Though it was A cool, damp Southern California morning, Danny Stamp

 could feel the sweat beginning to drip from his underarms.The veteran

 engineer was as nervous as a teenager on prom night awaiting his first

 make-out session.But as those who knew him could affirm, he always

 felt this way when his baby was on the move.

 

 No diaper-clad infant, his baby today was a 209-foot Zenit-3SL

 liquid-fuel rocket that was in the delicate process of being

 transferred to its launch platform.The roundish and slightly balding

 launch vehicle director peered purposefully over the railing of a large

 ship's superstructure as the $90 million rocket he was responsible for

 inched into view below his feet.As the huge white cylinder rolled

 slowly out of its horizontal berth on a centipede like cradle, Stamp's

 eyes were drawn to the large blue letters emblazoned on the rocket's

 housing that read sea launch.

 

 Incorporated in the nineteen nineties, Sea Launch was an international

 commercial venture formed to provide rocket-launch services a *

 

 geared primarily for satellite telecommunications operators.The

 American aerospace giant Boeing was the prime founder, signing on to

 handle launch operations as well as integrating the customer's

 satellite payloads into the rocket housing.Turning swords into

 rubles, a pair of Russian companies joined the consortium by providing

 the actual rockets, or "launch vehicles," as they are known in the

 parlance.Ex-military rockets that once carried nuclear warheads, the

 Zenits were tried-and-true launch vehicles that were perfectly suited

 to commercial applications.But it was a Norwegian firm, Kvaerner,

 that provided perhaps the most unique asset to the venture.Starting

 with a used North Sea oil platform, the Oslo firm constructed a

 self-propelled floating launchpad that could be positioned for

 launching in almost any ocean waters of the world.

 

 Though an interesting selling point, practicality dictates that there

 is only one area on the globe worth launching from and that is the

 equator.For a geosynchronous satellite, which remains in a fixed

 relative orbital position following the earth's rotation, there is no

 more direct path to orbit than from the equator.Less rocket fuel

 burned in pushing a satellite to orbit can allow for a heavier

 satellite payload.Satellite owners, seeking to maximize revenues from

 their multimillion-dollar investments, can thus add more capacity to

 their satellites or additional operating fuel to extend the satellite's

 life.Integrating the satellites into the launch vehicle in Long

 Beach, then sailing the rocket to the equator for launch had grown from

 an intriguing idea to an efficient business model in the high-stakes,

 high-risk game of commercial space operations.

 

 A handheld Motorola radio fastened to Stamp's belt suddenly cackled

 with static."Rollout complete.Ready for crane hook-up," barked the

 unseen voice.Stamp paused and studied the Zenit rocket, which

 protruded from the ship's stern like a stinger on a wasp.In an

 unusual bid for flexibility, the Sea Launch team actually assembled the

 rocket and its payload in the bowels of a custom-fitted ship named the

 Sea Launch Commander.Officially known as the "Assembly and Command

 

 Ship," the 660-foot cargo-designed vessel contained myriad computer

 bays on its upper deck, as well as a mission operations command center,

 which directed the complete launch operation at sea.On the lower deck

 was a cavernous assembly compartment that housed the Zenit rocket

 components.Here, an army of white-smocked engineers and technicians

 bolted together horizontally the segmented Russian rocket sections

 utilizing a rail system that ran nearly the length of the ship.Once

 the rocket assembly was complete, the mission satellite was

 encapsulated into the upper-section payload fairing and then the entire

 launch vehicle was rolled at a snail's pace out the stern of the Sea

 Launch Commander.

 

 "Proceed with hookup.Transfer when ready," Stamp spoke into the radio

 with a slight Midwestern accent.He glanced up at a huge crane system

 built onto the edge of the towering launch platform.A pair of tilted

 M-shaped trusses extended off one end of the platform, dangling several

 lines of thick cable.The floating platform, christened Odyssey, had

 been positioned just aft of the Sea Launch Commander, its crane system

 hanging directly above the prone rocket.The crane's winch lines were

 silently dropped down to the launch vehicle, where teams of engineers

 in hard hats attached the cables to a series of slings and lift points

 along the length of the rocket.

 

 "Sea Launch Commander, this is Odyssey" a new voice blared through

 Stamp's radio."Ready to transfer launch vehicle."

 

 Stamp nodded to a short fellow standing beside him, a bearded man named

 Christiano who captained the Sea Launch Commander.Christiano spoke

 into his own radio.

 

 "This is Commander.Proceed with transfer at will.Good luck,

 Odyssey."

 

 Seconds later, the cable lines drew taut and the horizontal rocket was

 lifted slowly off its cradle.Stamp held his breath as the Zenit

 rocket was hoisted high into the air until it hung suspended far above

 the decks of the Commander.The unfueled rocket was just a fraction of

 its launch weight, so the process was akin to lifting an empty beer

 

 can.But Stamp couldn't help feeling nervous watching the huge rocket

 dangling in midair above him.

 

 After a tantalizingly slow rise to the top of the launch platform, the

 crane operations crew activated the movable winch and the launch

 vehicle was tugged horizontally into an environmentally controlled

 hangar on Odyssey's high deck.Once the tip of the rocket had cleared

 the hangar doors, the entire launch vehicle was gently nested down into

 a wheeled cradle.When the floating platform reached the designated

 launch site, the cradle device would roll the rocket out of its hangar

 and tilt it up on end for firing.

 

 "Launch vehicle secure.Well done, gentlemen.The beers are on me

 tonight.Odyssey out."

 

 Stamp visibly relaxed, a broad grin spreading across his face."Piece

 of cake," he said to Christiano as if the outcome was never in doubt.

 

 "Looks like we'll make the scheduled launch date in seventeen days

 after all," Christiano replied as he watched the empty launch vehicle

 cradle slide back into the ship's lower-deck hangar."The long-range

 weather forecast is still looking favorable.After final checks and

 fueling, the Odyssey can depart in four days and we'll follow in the

 Commander forty-eight hours later after additional spares and

 provisions are put aboard.We'll easily catch up with her before

 reaching the launch site."

 

 "A good thing, too," Stamp said with relief."There's a penalty clause

 in the customer contract that's a killer if we are late to launch."

 

 "Nobody could have predicted the dockworkers' strike would delay

 receipt of the Zenit rocket components by fifteen days," Christiano

 said, shaking his head.

 

 "The launch vehicle team did a heckuva job making up lost schedule. I'm

 not looking forward to seeing the overtime charges but the team must

 have set a record for assembly and integration.Even with our paranoid

 customer shielding the mission payload from everyone."

 

 "What's so terribly secretive about a broadcast television

 satellite?"

 

 "Search me," Stamp said, shrugging his shoulders."Typical Asian lack

 Wind reticence, I guess.The whole operation doesn't make sense to me.

 They've got a relatively lightweight satellite that they could have

 easily launched off the Chinese Long March rocket for a couple of

 million dollars less than our fees."

 

 "Angst with the Chinese isn't an unusual sentiment in the Far East."

 

 "True, but usually overlooked when it comes to dollars and cents.

 Perhaps it's due to the head of the telecommunications firm.He's

 apparently a real maverick."

 

 "He owns the company outright, doesn't he?"Christiano asked, his eyes

 searching skyward trying to recall.

 

 "Yep," Stamp replied."Dae-jong Kang is one rich and powerful man."

 

 Kang leaned back in the padded leather chair of his cherry-wood study

 and listened intently as a pair of engineers from his Inchon facility

 provided a technical briefing.Tongju safsilently at the back of the

 room, his dark eyes scrutinizing the men out of habit.One of the

 engineers, a slight, disheveled man with glasses and a deeply receding

 hairline, spoke to Kang with a raspy voice.

 

 "As you know, the Koreasat 2 satellite was delivered to the launch

 provider's facility approximately three weeks ago, where it was

 encapsulated inside the payload fairing, or nose cone section, of the

 Zenit rocket.The entire launch vehicle has since been loaded onto the

 self-propelled launch platform, which is preparing for departure to the

 equator."

 

 "There have been no security lapses?"Kang asked, throwing a cold

 glance toward Tongju.

 

 The engineer shook his head."We've had our own security team

 protecting the satellite around the clock.The Sea Launch team

 suspects nothing.By all external appearances, the satellite is

 designated for television broadcast services.Now that the satellite

 is enshrouded

 

 in the rocket housing, there is little chance of suspicion."The

 engineer swallowed a sip of coffee from an overflowing mug, spilling a

 few drops of the hot liquid on the sleeve of his worn checkered sport

 coat.The brown stain matched a similar pattern of spots on his tie.

 

 "The aerosol device ... it was verified as operational?"Kang asked.

 "Yes.As you know, we made a number of modifications from the

 small-scale model that was tested in the Aleutian Islands.There is no

 longer a dual agent capability, as the deployment of the cyanide

 mixture was eliminated from the mission.Plus, the system was

 redesigned with removable canisters that will allow us to arm the

 payload with the bio agent just hours before launch.And, of course,

 it is a much higher volume system.The Aleutian test model, you may

 recall, carried less than five kilograms of biochemical compound, while

 the satellite vehicle will deploy 325 kilograms of the chimera agent

 after hydrogenationBefore the satellite was encapsulated at the Sea

 Launch facility, we conducted a final late-night test under secure

 conditions.The test results were flawless.We are confident the

 aerosol system will operate as designed over the target."

 

 "I do not expect any failures from our equipment," Kang stated."The

 launch operation will be the most critical phase of the mission," the

 raspy-voiced engineer continued."Lee-Wook, have we obtained the

 necessary command and control data to proceed with an independent

 launch?"

 

 The second engineer, a younger, greasy-haired man with a broad nose,

 was clearly intimidated by Kang's presence.

 

 "There are two primary components to the launch process," Lee-Wook

 replied, stuttering slightly."The first is positioning and

 stabilizing the floating launch platform, then erecting, fueling, and

 preparing the rocket for launch.We have obtained the Sea Launch

 operating procedures for these steps," he said, neglecting to mention

 the cash bribes involved, "which our team has reviewed and practiced

 thoroughly.In addition, we have obtained the services of two

 Ukrainian launch specialists formerly employed by Yuzhnoye, the

 manufacturer of the Zenit rocket.They are assisting with trajectory

 and fueling computations and will be on hand to assist with the

 mechanical preparations."

 

 "Yes, I am aware of the enticements required to obtain them," Kang

 replied with distaste."I believe the Russians could teach the West a

 thing or two about capitalistic extortion."

 

 Lee-Wook ignored the comment and continued speaking, his stutter

 finally under control."The second critical component is the actual

 launch initiation and flight control.During a normal launch at sea,

 the Sea Launch assembly and command ship performs these controls.For

 our launch, this duty will be handled by the Baekje.We have refitted

 the ship with the necessary communications equipment and computer

 hardware required to execute the launch and flight control," Lee-Wook

 said, his voice almost at a whisper."Our last input has been the

 software that monitors, tracks, and commands the launch vehicle.The

 actual launch from the floating platform is a highly automated process,

 so the software plays a critical role.There are several million lines

 of software code that support the launch, telemetry, and tracking

 phases."

 

 "Have we re-created the necessary software for our mission?"

 

 "It would have required many months to write and test the software on

 our own.We were fortunate in that all of these software programs are

 contained within the databases of the assembly and command ship.As

 the payload customer, our team has had almost unlimited access to the

 ship for the last three weeks while the Koreasat 2 satellite was being

 integrated with the launch vehicle.Once on board, our systems team

 found it relatively easy to breach the vessel's mainframe computers and

 acquire the software code.Under the nose of their computer experts,

 we downloaded copies of the software and, over a four-day period,

 transmitted the code by satellite link direct from the Sea Launch

 vessel to our laboratory at Inchon."

 

 "But I was told the Baekje, or Koguryo as she is now called, left port

 a day ago."

 

 "We have already transferred a portion of the program to the ship-board computers and will download the remaining software while the "

 ship is in transit via satellite."

 

 "And you have determined the optimal flight path to achieve maximum

 dispersal of the agent?"Kang asked.

 

 "We can theoretically launch up range of the target as far as four

 thousand kilometers away; however, the probability of accurately

 striking the target is quite small.There is no guidance system for

 the sub-orbital payload, so we are relying on wind, thrust, and launch

 positioning to reach the strike zone.Utilizing normal Pacific wind

 conditions, our Ukrainian engineers have determined that positioning

 the launch platform approximately four hundred kilometers up range of

 the target will maximize the accuracy of delivery.Adjusting for

 atmospheric conditions at the time of launch, we can expect the

 pay-load to fall to earth within a five-kilometer radius."

 

 "But the aerosol system will be activated well before that," the first

 engineer injected.

 

 "Correct.At an elevation of six thousand meters, the aerosol, or

 payload system, will be activated.This will occur shortly after the

 nose cone fairing has been discarded during flight.In its descent,

 the pay-load system will be traveling nearly eight kilometers downrange

 for every one kilometer of descent.A vapor trail of the armed agent

 will thus be dispersed along a forty-eight-kilometer-long corridor."

 

 "I would have preferred that the launch not take place so close to the

 North American mainland," Kang said with a wrinkled brow, "but if the

 accuracy of the mission dictates such then so be it.The flight

 trajectory will be controlled by the rocket burn?"

 

 "Precisely.The Zenit-3SL is a three-stage rocket designed for pushing

 heavy payloads into high orbit.But our desired maximum altitude is

 less than fifty kilometers, so we will not fuel the second and third

 stages and will short-fuel the first stage.We can terminate the burn

 at any time, which we will program to do at slightly over a minute into

 the flight.As the launch vehicle coasts in flight to the east, we'll

 initiate separation of the payload section from the rocket boosters,

 then release the payload housing.The mock satellite will deploy the

 aerosol system automatically and disperse the agent until impact."

 

 "Are we positive the American missile defense systems pose no risk?"

 

 "The American antiballistic system is still in its infancy.It is

 geared toward intercontinental ballistic missiles that are launched

 from thousands of miles away.They will have no time to react.Even

 if they did, their intercept missiles would arrive after we have

 initiated separation.They might harmlessly destroy the rocket

 boosters at best.No, sir, there will be no stopping the payload

 deployment once we have launched."

 

 "I am expecting the countdown to occur while the G8 leaders are in the

 target area," Kang stated bluntly.

 

 "Weather permitting, we have scheduled the launch to coincide with the

 pre-summit assembly in Los Angeles," the engineer said nervously.

 

 "I understand that you will see things through from Inchon?"

 

 "The telecommunications lab is in constant communications with the

 Koguryo and will be monitoring the launch live.We of course will be

 advising the shipboard crew during the countdown preparations.I trust

 that you will be able to join us in viewing the launch?"

 

 Kang nodded."As my schedule permits.You have done exceptional work.

 Bring the mission to success and you will bring high honor to the

 Central People's Committee."

 

 Kang nodded again, indicating that the briefing was over.The two

 engineers glanced at each other, then bowed to Kang and quietly

 shuffled out of the study.Tongju rose from his seat and stepped to

 the front of the large mahogany desk.

 

 "Your assault team is in place?"Kang asked his quiet enforcer.

 

 "Yes, they remained aboard ship in Inchon.With your indulgence,

 

 I have arranged for a company jet to fly me to an abandoned Japanese

 airstrip in the Ogasawara Islands, where I will rejoin the vessel for

 the operation."

 

 "Yes, I expect you to lead the assault phase."Kang paused for a

 moment."We have come a long way in implementing our plan of deception

 to risk failure now," he said sternly."I will hold you responsible

 for the continued secrecy of our operation."

 

 "The two Americans ... they surely drowned in the river," Tongju

 replied in a hushed tone, catching Kang's drift.

 

 "There is little they know or could prove even if they somehow

 survived.The difficulty lies in maintaining the deception once the

 mission succeeds.The Japanese must be painted as the responsible

 party, with no recourse."

 

 "Once the strike is made, the only physical evidence will be aboard the

 Koguryo!"

 

 "Precisely.Which is why you must destroy the ship after the launch."

 Kang spoke as if he were asking for a napkin at a cocktail party.

 

 Tongju arched a brow."My assault team will be on the ship, as well as

 your many satellite telecommunications experts?"he questioned.

 

 "Regrettably, your team is expendable.And I have already ensured that

 my top satellite engineers are remaining in Inchon during the

 operation.It is the way it must be, Tongju," Kang said, showing a

 rare hint of empathy.

 

 "It will be done."

 

 "Take these coordinates," Kang said, passing an envelope across the

 desk."One of my freighters bound for Chile will be waiting at that

 position.Once the launch is initiated, have the captain sail the

 Koguryo to within sight of the freighter and scuttle her.Take the

 captain and two or three men, if you wish, and make your way to the

 freighter.Under no condition must the Koguryo be apprehended with the

 crew aboard."

 

 Tongju nodded in silence, accepting the mass murder assignment without

 question.

 

 "Good luck," Kang said, rising and escorting him to the door."Our

 homeland is counting on you."

 

 After he left, Kang returned to his desk and stared up at the ceiling

 for a long while.The wheels were in motion now.There was nothing

 more he could do but wait for the results.Eventually, he pulled out a

 file of financial reports and began methodically calculating his next

 quarter's expected profit.

 

 The G8 Summit meeting is a forum that was created by former French

 president Giscard d'Estaing in 1975.Designed as a conference for the

 leaders of the major industrialized nations to come together and

 discuss global economic issues of the day, the summit is by tradition

 restricted to heads of state only.No controlling advisers or staff

 members are allowed, just the top world leaders thrown together once a

 year in a private and informal setting.Though the meetings

 occasionally result in little more than a prized photo op, the agendas

 have expanded beyond global economics over the years to include issues

 of world health, the environment, and combating terrorism.

 

 Having recently passed a major global warming legislative package, the

 president of the United States was anxious to promote his environmental

 protection initiatives on a world stage as host of the next summit.

 Following in the tradition of recent nation hosts, President Ward had

 selected the scenic and tranquil setting of Yosemite National

 

 Park as the site of the summit.The remote location, he knew, would

 deter the usual throng of urban protesters.But in an out-of-character

 bow to the worldwide amour with Hollywood, he had agreed to host a

 pre-summit reception at a posh Beverly Hills hotel the day before, to

 be attended by the current crop of top movie actors and film industry

 moguls.Not surprisingly, the invitation was accepted by each of the

 leaders of Japan, Italy, France, Germany, Russia, Canada, and the

 United Kingdom, rounding out the complete G8 membership ranks.

 

 What the president and his security advisers had no way of knowing was

 that the G8 reception in Beverly Hills was ground zero for Kang's

 missile payload.

 

 Adverse weather, unforeseen mechanical problems, a thousand and one

 things could throw off the timetable, Kang knew.But the goal was set.

 Make a successful strike while the major leaders of the free world were

 assembled and the shock value would be incalculable.Even without

 striking the assembled G8 leaders, the terror from the planned attack

 would rock the world.

 

 Arcing across the sky from an unseen launch position in the Pacific

 Ocean, the aerosol dispenser would be timed to activate as the pay-load

 crossed landfall.Commencing its release over the beachfront of Santa

 Monica, the payload would dump its deadly agent in a swath across

 northern Los Angeles, streaking over the mansions of Beverly Hills, the

 film studios of Hollywood, and on past the suburban enclaves of

 Glendale and Pasadena.Passing over the Rose Bowl, the viral canisters

 would finally run dry and the empty payload would plunge to an

 obliterating impact somewhere in the San Gabriel Mountains.

 

 The light mist settling to the ground would be innocuous to the people

 on the street.Yet over the next twenty-four hours, the dispersed

 viruses would remain alive and highly contagious, even in its low

 concentrated dose.Through the hustle and bustle of LAs main tourist

 corridor, the unseen viruses would latch onto unsuspecting

 

 victims, without discriminating among men, women, or children.

 Rejuvenated by their living hosts, the viruses would silently launch

 their internal cellular attacks.Like a quietly ticking time bomb,

 there would be no initial clues or symptoms of infection during the

 following two-week incubation period.Then, suddenly, a frightening

 horror would strike.

 

 At first, it would appear as a small trickle of people staggering to

 their doctor's office complaining of fever and body aches.Quickly,

 the numbers would swell, soon swamping hospital emergency rooms

 throughout Los Angeles County.With the disease having been eradicated

 for over thirty years, health professionals would be slow to identify

 the culprit.When the diagnosis of smallpox was finally made and the

 extent of the outbreak realized, pandemonium would ensue.A frenzied

 media would fan the hysteria as more and more cases were diagnosed.

 County hospitals would be mobbed by the thousands as every

 hypochondriac with a headache or elevated fever rushed to see a

 physician.But that would be just the tip of the iceberg for health

 officials.As thousands of new smallpox cases suddenly appeared, the

 health facilities would be woefully unprepared to provide the primary

 treatment for smallpox victims: quarantine.Without an adequate

 ability to isolate confirmed cases, the epidemic would grow

 exponentially.Kang's scientists had conservatively estimated that

 twenty percent of the people exposed to the released vapor would

 succumb to infection.With over eighteen million people in the Los

 Angeles metropolitan area, even the narrow swath of the payload's

 flight path would expose two hundred thousand people to the germ,

 infecting some forty thousand.The real expansion would come two weeks

 later, as those initially infected would have spread the contagious

 germs unknowingly during their first few days of illness.Medical

 experts had modeled a tenfold explosion in smallpox cases from those

 first exposed.In a month's time, nearly half a million people in

 Southern California would be fighting the lethal disease.

 

 Fear would spread faster than the smallpox infection itself, made

 

 more shocking by the vision of the president and other G8 world leaders

 fighting the lethal disease.As the epidemic gained strength, cries of

 help from citizens, health care workers, and the media would quickly

 overwhelm the federal government.Federal authorities would assure the

 nation that all would be safe, as sufficient smallpox vaccinations were

 on hand to inoculate the entire national population. The Centers for

 Disease Control would deliver the vaccinations to local health

 authorities to quickly counter the spreading scourge.But to those

 already exposed to the virus, the vaccinations would come too late to

 be of any help.And to many who received the vaccination, it would

 turn out to be useless as well.

 

 For to the horror of health care and public officials, the veracity of

 the chimera virus would suddenly come to life.By virtue of its

 re-combinant strength, the killer bug would prove itself largely immune

 to the U.S. stockpiled smallpox vaccinations.With the death toll

 mounting, distressed health officials and scientists would scramble to

 develop an effective vaccination that could be mass-produced, but that

 would take months.In the meantime, the viral plague would begin

 sweeping across the country like a tidal wave.Tourists and travelers

 from Los Angeles would unknowingly carry the live virus to points all

 over the nation, sparking new outbreaks in a thousand different cities.

 As the vaccinations were found to be ineffective, authorities would

 resort to the last available means of stopping the epidemic: mass

 quarantine.Public assemblies and gatherings would be banned in a

 desperate attempt to halt the viral storm.Airports would close,

 subways halted, and buses parked as mandatory travel restrictions would

 be imposed.Businesses would be forced to furlough employees while

 local governments curtailed their services to avoid debilitating their

 entire workforce.Rock concerts, baseball games, and even church

 gatherings would all be canceled in fear of sparking new outbreaks.

 Those who would venture out for food or medicine would only do so clad

 in rubber gloves and surgical masks.

 

 The economic impact to the country would be devastating.Whole

 

 sale industries would be forced to shut down overnight.Furloughed and

 laid-off workers would spike unemployment rates to double that of the

 Great Depression.The government would teeter on insolvency as tax

 revenues would dry up while the demand for food, medical, and social

 services would explode.In a few short weeks, the national output

 would fall to the level of a third world country.

 

 A further crisis would ensue in defending the national security.The

 highly contagious disease would rip through the armed forces, infecting

 thousands of soldiers and sailors living in close quarters.Entire

 army divisions, air wings, and even naval fleets would be

 incapacitated, reducing the effective military force to a paper tiger.

 For the first time in nearly two centuries, the country's ability to

 defend itself would be seriously endangered.

 

 In the civilian population, health facilities and morgues would be

 stretched beyond their breaking point.The number of sick and dying

 would quickly reach a critical mass, overwhelming available resources.

 Despite operating around the clock, the country's available crematories

 would rapidly be overrun with the dead.Like a scene from Mexico City

 at the conquest of Cortes, stacks of dead bodies would accumulate in

 overwhelming numbers.Makeshift crematories would hastily be assembled

 to burn the dead in mass, reproducing the ancient funeral pyres of

 old.

 

 In homes and apartments, citizens would be forced to live like

 incarcerated prisoners, afraid to mingle with neighbors, friends, or

 even close relatives for fear of risking infection.Rural inhabitants

 would fare best, but in the major cities few families would be spared

 the affliction.The diseased would be carefully quarantined while

 family members burned sheets, towels, clothing, furniture, and anything

 else that might have caught an ambient germ.

 

 The lethal virus would take a deadly toll across all ages and races.

 But hardest hit would be working adults, forced to expose themselves to

 greater risk of infection in order to provide food for their families.

 With millions of adults lying dead, the raging disease would create

 an

 

 immense class of orphaned children across the land.In a terrible

 replay of Western Europe after World War I, an entire generation would

 nearly be lost, vanished in just a few months' time.Only a SARS-like

 containment of infected travelers, after being alerted by the initial

 U.S. outbreaks, would prevent the scourge from decimating other

 countries in a similar fashion.

 

 To those infected, the disease would wreak a rapid and horrifying

 progression of agony.Following the two-week incubation period, a

 burning rash would emerge on the infected after the initial onset of

 fever, starting in the mouth and spreading to the face and body.The

 stricken would be highly contagious at this stage, where face-to-face

 contact, or even shared clothes and bedding, would easily spread the

 disease.Over the course of three or four days, the rash would expand

 and painfully develop into hard raised bumps.The mass of

 horrid-looking skin lesions, produced with the sensation of a hot torch

 to the skin, would then gradually dry and scab over.For two to three

 more weeks, the afflicted would battle the body-morphing disease until

 all of the scabs had fallen away and the last risk of transmission

 subsided.All the while, the sick would be forced to fight it alone,

 as smallpox has no cure once the virus is unleashed in the body.

 

 The survivors, if lucky, would be left with just the telltale pitted

 scars on their skin as a constant reminder of their ordeal.Less

 fortunate survivors would end up blind as well.The one-third of

 infected persons who lost the fight would die a painful death, as their

 lungs and kidneys slowly shut down under the viral onslaught.

 

 But the horror would not end there.For still hidden in the smallpox

 outburst was the specter of HIV.Slower acting and less detectable but

 all the more deadly, the HIV attributes not only made the chimera virus

 resistant to the smallpox vaccine but continued a viral path of

 destruction in the surviving victims.Thriving in an already weakened

 immune system, the virus would surge through the victims, destroying

 and altering cells in a barbaric invasion.While most HIV victims

 succumb to its debilitating effects in the course of a decade, the

 

 chimera would attain lethality in just two to three years.Like a

 satanic roller coaster, yet another wave of death would surge across

 the country, striking down the poor souls who had overcome the initial

 bout with smallpox.While the smallpox pandemic would claim a thirty

 percent mortality rate, the HIV death rate would hover near ninety

 percent.An already shocked and numbed nation would face a death pall

 the likes of which had never been seen in its history before.

 

 By the time the chimera ran its course, tens of millions would lie dead

 in the U.S."with untold more around the world.Not a family would go

 unscathed by its black touch and not a soul would live free from the

 fear of a lethal biological shadow in the doorway.Amid the initial

 unfolding of the scourge, few would pay concern to political

 disturbances around the world.And, on the far side of the globe, when

 the old ally of South Korea was overrun by its totalitarian neighbor to

 the north there would be little response from the devastated nation

 aside from a feeble cry of protest.

 

 The Chinese junk looked like an antiquated relic amid the modern

 freighters and containerships swarming about Inchon Harbor.Cussler

 carefully threaded the high-sterned sailing vessel through a maze of

 midmorning commercial traffic before easing into a small public marina

 that was nestled between two large cargo docks.An odd assortment of

 beat-up sampans and expensive weekend sailboats encircled the marina as

 he motored the teak junk to a transit dock and tied up.He gave a

 quick knock on the spare cabin door to wake its slumbering occupants,

 then brewed a large pot of coffee in the galley as a marina employee

 refilled the junk's fuel tank.

 

 Summer staggered out into the sunshine of the aft deck holding the

 dachshund in her arms as Dirk followed a few steps behind, trying to

 suppress a yawn.Cussler threw a mug of coffee in their hands, then

 ducked belowdecks for a moment before emerging with a hacksaw in his

 grip.

 

 "Might be a good idea to off-load those handcuffs before going ashore,"

 he grinned.

 

 "I'll be only too happy to dispose of these bracelets," Summer

 concurred, rubbing her wrists.

 

 Dirk peered around the neighboring boats, then turned to Cussler.

 "Anybody follow us in?"he asked.

 

 "No, I'm quite sure we arrived alone.I kept a keen watch, and

 zigzagged our course a few times just to be sure.Nobody seemed intent

 on following us.I bet those boys are still cruising up and down the

 Han River looking for you two," he laughed.

 

 "I sure hope so," Summer said with a shudder, stroking the small dog's

 ears for comfort.

 

 Dirk picked up the hacksaw and began cutting into the shackle on

 Summer's left wrist."You saved our lives back there.Is there

 anything we can do to repay you?"he asked while gliding the saw blade

 evenly across an edge of the handcuff.

 

 "You don't owe me anything," he replied warmly."Just stay out of any

 more trouble and let the government take care of those hoodlums."

 

 "Can do," Dirk replied.After efficiently sawing through both of

 Summer's shackles, he relaxed while she and Cussler took turns cutting

 through his handcuffs.When the last shackle fell free, he sat up and

 downed the last of his coffee.

 

 "There's a phone in the marina restaurant you can use to call the

 American embassy, if you like.Here, take some Korean won.You can

 use it to make the call and buy a bowl of kimchi," Cussler said,

 passing Summer a few purple-colored bills of the national currency.

 

 "Thanks, Mr.Cussler.And good luck on your voyage," Dirk said,

 shaking the man's hand.Summer leaned over and kissed the old sailor

 on the cheek."Your kindness was overwhelming," she gushed, then

 patted the dog good-bye.

 

 "You kids take care.Be seeing you."

 

 Dirk and Summer stood on the dock and waved good-bye as the junk eased

 out into the harbor, smiling as Mauser barked a final farewell from the

 bow deck.They made their way up a set of well-worn concrete steps and

 entered a faded yellow building that was a combination marina office,

 sundry store, and restaurant.The walls were draped in the traditional

 lobster trap and fishing net motif that sufficed for interior

 decorating in a thousand seafood restaurants around the world.Only,

 this one smelled like the nets were hung up while still dripping wet

 with salt water.

 

 Dirk found a phone on the wall in back and, after several failed

 attempts, completed a connection to NUMA headquarters in Washington.

 The NUMA operator required only minimal convincing before patching the

 call through to Rudi Gunn's home line, despite the late hour on the

 East Coast.Gunn had just dropped off to sleep but answered the phone

 on the second ring and nearly flew out of bed when he heard Dirk's

 voice.After several minutes of animated conversation, Dirk hung up

 the phone.

 

 "Well?"Summer asked.

 

 Dirk glanced toward the smelly restaurant with a look of adventure.

 "I'm afraid it's time to take the man up and sample some kimchi while

 we wait for a ride," he replied, rubbing his stomach with hunger.

 

 The hungry pair downed a Korean breakfast of hot soup, rice, tofu

 flavored with dried seaweed, and the omnipresent side dish of fermented

 vegetables, kimchi, which nearly blew smoke out of their ears from the

 spiciness.As they finished their meal, a bulky pair of U.S. Air Force

 security police strode sternly into the restaurant.Summer waved the

 two men over and the senior of the two men confirmed their identity.

 

 "I'm First Sergeant Bimson, Fifty-first Fighter Wing Security

 

 Forces.This is Staff Sergeant Rodgers," he continued, nodding to his

 partner."We have orders to escort you to Osan Air Base without

 delay."

 

 "The pleasure will be all ours," Summer assured him as they stood and

 left the marina restaurant, following the airmen to a government sedan

 parked outside.

 

 Though Seoul was actually a shorter distance to Inchon than Osan Air

 Base, Gunn had elected to take no chances with their safety, ordering

 their transport to the nearest military base.The airmen drove south

 from Inchon, winding through mountainous hills and past flooded rice

 paddies before entering the sprawling complex of Osan, which started

 life as a lone airfield constructed during the Korean War.The modern

 base now hosted a large contingent of combat-ready F-16 fighter jets

 and A-10 Thunderbolt II attack planes, deployed in the forward defense

 of South Korea.

 

 Entering the main gate, they traveled a short distance to the base

 hospital, where a fast-talking colonel greeted Dirk and Summer and led

 them to a medical examination room.After a brief checkup and

 treatment of Dirk's wounds, they were allowed to clean up and then

 given a fresh set of clothes.Summer laughed that the baggy military

 fatigues provided did nothing for her figure.

 

 "What's our travel situation?"Dirk asked of the colonel."There's an

 Air Mobility Command C-141 bound for McChord Air Force Base leaving in

 a few hours that I'm holding a pair of first-class seats on.Your NUMA

 people have arranged a government aircraft to transport you from

 McChord to Washington, DC, after you arrive.In the meantime, you are

 welcome to rest here for a bit, then I'll take you by the officers'

 club, where you can grab a hot meal before jumping on that twenty-hour

 plane ride stateside."

 

 "Colonel, if we have the time I'd like to contact an in-country Special

 Ops unit, preferably Navy, if that's at all possible.And I'd like to

 make a phone call to Washington."

 

 The Air Force colonel's face turned up indignantly at Dirk's mention of

 the word Navy."There's only one Navy base in the country and that's

 just a small operations support facility in Chinhae near Pusan. I'll

 send over one of our Air Force S.O. captains.As I think about it,

 there are SEALs and UDTs running in and out of here all the time. He

 ought to be able to help you out."

 

 Two hours later, Dirk and Summer climbed aboard a gray Air Force C-141B

 Starlifter with a large contingent of GIs headed stateside.As they

 settled into their seats in the windowless transport jet, Dirk found an

 eye mask and a pair of earplugs in the seat back in front of him.

 Donning the sleep aids, he turned to Summer and said, "Please don't

 wake me till we're over land.Preferably, land where they don't serve

 seaweed for breakfast."

 

 He then pulled down the eye mask, stretched out flat in the seat, and

 promptly fell fast asleep.

 

 The fire was minuscule by most arson standards, burning less than

 twenty minutes before it was brought under control.Yet the targeted

 damage had been carefully calculated with a precise outcome in mind.

 

 It was two in the morning when the fire bells sounded aboard the Sea

 Launch Commander, jolting Christiano from a deep sleep in his captain's

 cabin.In an instant he was on the bridge, alertly checking the ship's

 fire control monitors.A graphic image of the ship showed a single red

 light on the ship's lower topside deck.

 

 "Conduit room on the shelter deck, just forward of the launch control

 center," reported a dark-haired crewman manning the bridge watch.

 "Automated water mist system has been activated."

 

 "Cut all electrical power except for emergency systems to that part of

 the ship," Christiano ordered."Notify the port fire station that we

 require assistance."

 

 "Yes, sir.I have two men en route to the conduit room and am awaiting

 their report."

 

 While at port, the Commander carried only a skeleton marine crew aboard

 around the clock, few of whom had any degree of firefighting training.

 A rapidly spreading fire could easily gut the ship before sufficient

 help arrived, Christiano knew.The captain looked out a bridge window,

 half-expecting to see smoke and flames erupting from the ship but there

 were none.The only indication of fire was the acrid odor of burned

 electrical components that wafted through his nostrils and the distant

 shriek of a port fire truck rumbling toward the pier.His attention

 turned toward a handheld radio clipped to the crewman's belt as a deep

 voice suddenly rasped through the bridge.

 

 "Briggs here," the radio crackled."The fire is burning in the conduit

 room but does not appear to have spread.The computer hardware bay is

 okay, and the FM-200 gas system has been activated there to prevent

 combustion.It doesn't look like the fire suppression system was

 triggered in the conduit room, but if we can get some extinguishers on

 her before she spreads I think we can contain it."

 

 Christiano grabbed the radio."Do what you can, Briggs, help is on the

 way.Bridge out."

 

 Briggs and a fellow mechanic he had pressed into fire duty found a

 smoking rage billowing from the conduit room.No bigger than a large

 walk-in closet, the room housed power connections between the ship's

 electrical generator output and the myriad computers aboard the vessel

 that supported payload processing and launch operations.Briggs leaned

 into the bay and quickly emptied two fire extinguishers, then stood

 back a moment to see if the smoke would lessen.A cloud of acrid blue

 haze rolled out of the room, the noxious fumes it carried filtered by

 Briggs's respirator.His assistant passed him a third fire

 extinguisher and this time Briggs burst into the fiery room, directing

 the carbon dioxide spray at the remaining flames he could see

 flickering through the billows of dark smoke.His extinguisher

 empty, he quickly danced out of the room and caught his breath before peering

 in again.The room was pitch-black, with the beam of his flashlight

 reflecting only smoke.Satisfied that the flames were doused and not

 likely to reignite, he stepped into a side hallway and radioed the

 bridge.

 

 "The fire is extinguished.Briggs out."

 

 Though the flames were extinguished, the damage had been done.It

 would take another two hours before the melted mass of wire, cabling,

 and connectors stopped smoldering and the Port of Long Beach Fire

 Department declared the ship safe. The pungent smell of an electrical

 fire hung over the ship like a cloud, refusing to go away for days.

 Danny Stamp arrived at the ship shortly after the fire crew left, the

 launch director having been summoned by Christiana Sitting with the

 captain in the adjacent launch control center, he shook his head as he

 listened to the damage assessment from the Sea Launch Commander's

 computer operations manager.

 

 "You couldn't have picked a worse place for a fire to break out," the

 systems man said, his face tinted red in frustration."Literally every

 launch ops computer on the ship runs through that room, as well as most

 of the test and tracking monitors.We'll have to rewire the whole

 works.It's a complete nightmare," he said, shaking his head.

 

 "What about the actual hardware?"asked Stamp.

 

 "Well, if you want to call that the good news, there was no damage to

 any of our hardware resources.I was really concerned with the

 potential for water damage, but, thankfully, our own crew put down the

 flames before any hoses were let loose on board."

 

 "In order to go operational, then, we're just talking about restringing

 the hardware.How long will that take?"

 

 "Oh, man.We've got to rebuild the conduit room, order and obtain a

 couple miles of cable, some of it custom application, and re

 

 string the whole system.That would take three or four weeks at best

 under normal circumstances."

 

 "Our circumstances are a pending launch with significant delay

 penalties.You've got eight days," Stamp replied, staring hard into

 the eyes of the computer manager.

 

 The frazzled man nodded his head slowly, then got up to leave the room.

 "Guess I've got to get a few people out of bed," he muttered while

 slipping out through a side door.

 

 "Do you think he can do it?"Christiano asked once the door had closed

 shut.

 

 "If it can be done, then he'll get us close."

 

 "What about the Odyssey} Do we hold her in port until the damage to the

 Commander'is repaired?"

 

 "No," Stamp said after mulling over the question."The Zenit is loaded

 and secured aboard the Odyssey, so we'll send her out as planned.We

 can still make the equator with the Commanderin half the time the

 platform will take to get there.And there's no harm in having the

 Odyssey wait on station a few days if we're a little late getting out.

 That's just more opportunity for the platform crew to prep for the

 launch."

 

 Christiano nodded, then sat silently in thought.

 

 "I'll notify the customer of our revised plans," Stamp continued."I'm

 sure I'll have to do a Kabuki dance to keep them calm.Do we know the

 cause of the fire yet?"

 

 "The fire inspector will take a look first thing in the morning.

 Everything points to a short, probably some defective cable

 couplings."

 

 Stamp nodded silently.What next?he wondered.

 

 The Long Beach fire inspector stepped aboard the Sea Launch Commander

 promptly at 8 A.M. After performing a cursory examination of the charred

 conduit room, he proceeded to interview the fire response team and

 other crewmen on duty when the fire started.He | then returned to the

 site of the blaze and methodically examined the burn damage, taking

 photographs of the blackened room and making notes. After carefully

 scrutinizing the charred cables and melted fittings for nearly an hour,

 he satisfied himself that there was no evidence present indicating

 arson.

 

 It would have taken an excruciatingly attentive analysis to detect the

 proof.But beneath his soot-covered boots, there were the peculiar

 minuscule remains of a frozen orange juice container.A chemical

 analysis of the container would show that a homemade napalm mixture of

 gasoline and Styrofoam chunks had been mixed and stored in the small

 container.Planted by one of Kang's men days before and ignited by a

 small timer, the tiny fire bomb had splattered its flaming goo about

 the conduit room in a rain of fire, quickly incinerating its contents.

 With the overhead sprinkler system sabotaged to appear faulty, the

 damage was assured, as scripted.Enough damage to delay the Sea Launch

 Commander from sailing for several days, but not enough to raise

 suspicions that the cause was anything but accidental.

 

 Stepping past the charred and indistinguishable juice container, the

 inspector paused outside the conduit room as he completed his fire

 assessment."Electrical short due to faulty wiring or improper

 grounding," he wrote in a small notebook, then stuck his pen in his

 shirt pocket and made his way off the ship past a gang of oncoming

 construction workmen.

 

 A slow gray drizzle was falling at McChord Air Force Base south of

 Tacoma when the C-141 lumbered in from its transpacific flight.The

 big jet's tires screeched on the damp runway before the aircraft rolled

 to a stop in front of a transit terminal, where its engines were shut

 down and the large rear cargo door lowered to the tarmac.

 

 Holding true to his word, Dirk had slept nearly the entire flight and

 exited the ramp feeling refreshed but hungry.Summer followed behind

 in a groggier state, having slept unevenly in the noisy aircraft.An

 air transit lieutenant located the pair and escorted them to the base

 officers' club for a quick hamburger before returning them to the

 flight line.Spotting a phone booth, Dirk eagerly dialed a local

 number.

 

 "Dirk, you're all right!"Sarah answered with obvious relief.

 

 "Still kicking," he chimed.

 

 "Captain Burch told me you were aboard the NUMA ship that sank in the

 East China Sea.I've been worried sick about you."

 

 Dirk beamed to himself, then proceeded to tell her an abbreviated

 version of events since flying to Japan.

 

 "My gosh, the same people that released the cyanide in the Aleutians

 intend to launch a larger attack?"

 

 "It appears that way.We hope to find out more when we get back to

 

 D.C."

 

 "Well, keep your friends at the CDC informed.We have a terrorism

 emergency response team in place to combat sudden chemical or

 biological outbreaks."

 

 "You'll be the first one I call.By the way, how's the leg?""Fine,

 though I'm still getting used to these blasted crutches.When are you

 going to autograph my cast?"

 

 Dirk suddenly noticed Summer waving him toward a small jet parked on

 the runway.

 

 "When I take you to dinner."

 

 "I'm off to Los Angeles tomorrow for a weeklong conference on

 environmental toxins," she said with disappointment."It will have to

 be the following week.""Consider it a date."

 

 Dirk barely had time to sprint to the Gulfstream V jet that was warming

 its engines on the tarmac.Climbing aboard, he was chagrined to find

 Summer sitting at the center of attention, surrounded by a small group

 of Pentagon colonels and generals on the jet bound for Andrews Air

 Force Base.

 

 The large executive jet buzzed over the Jefferson Memorial at six the

 next morning en route to landing at the Air Force base located just

 southeast of the nation's capital.A NUMA van was waiting for the pair

 and whisked them through the light early morning traffic to the

 headquarters building, where Rudi Gunn greeted them in his office.

 

 "Thank God you're safe," Gunn gushed."We were turning Japan upside

 down looking for you and that cable ship."

 

 "Nice idea but wrong country," Summer said with a gibe."There's some

 folks here who'd like to hear about your ordeal first

 

 hand," Gunn continued, hardly giving Dirk and Summer a chance to relax.

 "Let's go to the admiral's office."

 

 They followed Gunn as he led them around the bay to a large corner

 office overlooking the Potomac River.Though Admiral Sandecker was no

 longer the director of NUMA, Gunn subconsciously refused to acknowledge

 the fact.The door to the office was open and they walked in.

 

 Two men were seated at a side couch discussing coastal port security,

 while Homeland Security Special Assistant Webster sat in a chair across

 from them, studiously reviewing a file folder.

 

 "Dirk, Summer, you remember Jim Webster from Homeland Security.This

 is Special Agent Peterson and Special Agent Burroughs, with the FBI's

 Counterterrorism Division," Gunn said, motioning a hand toward the two

 men on the couch."They've met with Bob Morgan already and are very

 interested to know what happened to you after the Sea Rover was

 sunk."

 

 Dirk and Summer settled into a pair of wingback chairs and proceeded to

 describe the entire course of events, from their imprisonment on board

 the Baekje to their escape on the Chinese junk.Summer was surprised

 to note that three hours rolled by on an antique ship's clock mounted

 on the wall by the time they finished their saga.The homeland

 security administrator, she noted, appeared to turn whiter shades of

 pale as their report progressed.

 

 "I just can't believe it," he finally muttered."Every shred of

 evidence we had pointed to a Japanese conspiracy.Our whole

 investigative focus has been centered on Japan," he said, shaking his

 head.

 

 "A well-designed deception," Dirk stated."Kang is a powerful man with

 considerable resources at his disposal.His means and abilities should

 not be underestimated."

 

 "You are certain he aims to target the United States with a biological

 attack?"asked Peterson.

 

 "That's what he insinuated and I don't believe he was bluffing.The

 incident in the Aleutians would seem to have been a test application

 

 of their technology to disperse a bio weapon into the air.Only now

 they have boosted the strength of their smallpox virus to a much more

 virulent form."

 

 "Not unlike stories I've heard that the Russians may have created a

 vaccine-resistant strain of smallpox back in the nineties," Gunn

 added.

 

 "Only this one's a chimera.A deadly combination of more than one

 virus that takes on the lethal elements of each," Summer said.

 

 "If the strain is immune to our vaccines, an outbreak could kill

 millions," Peterson muttered, shaking his head.The room fell silent

 for a moment as the occupants considered the horrifying prospect.

 

 "The attack in the Aleutian Islands proves that they have the means to

 disperse the virus.The question becomes, where would they target a

 strike?"Gunn asked.

 

 "If we can stop them before they have the chance to strike, then it

 doesn't matter.We should be raiding Kang's palace, and his shipyard,

 and his other sham businesses, and we should be raiding them right

 now," Summer said, slapping a hand on her leg for emphasis.

 

 "She's right," Dirk said."For all we know, the weapons are still on

 board the vessel at the Inchon Shipyard and the story can end there."

 

 "We'll need to assemble more evidence," the homeland security man said

 flatly."The Korean authorities will have to be convinced of the risk

 before we can assemble a joint investigative force."

 

 Gunn quietly cleared his throat."We may be on the verge of providing

 the necessary evidence," he said as all eyes shifted his way."Dirk

 and Summer had the foresight to contact Navy Special Forces before

 leaving Korea and briefed them on Kang's enclosed dock facility at

 Inchon."

 

 "We couldn't authorize them to act, but a well-placed call by Rudi got

 them to at least listen to what we had to say," Summer grinned toward

 Gunn.

 

 "It's well beyond that now," Gunn explained."After you and Dirk

 departed Osan, we formally requested an underwater special ops

 reconnaissance mission.Vice President Sandecker went out on a limb

 

 to obtain executive approval in hopes we'll be able to locate a smoking

 gun.Unfortunately, with the ruckus over our military deployment in

 Korea it's a sensitive time to be nosing around our ally's backyard."

 

 "All they need to do is snap a picture of the Baekje sitting at Kang's

 dock and we've got proof positive," Dirk said.

 

 "That would certainly boost our case.When are they going in?" Webster

 asked.

 

 Gunn looked at his watch, then mentally calculated the fourteen-hour

 time difference between Washington and Seoul."The team will be

 deployed in about two hours.We should know something early this

 evening."

 

 Webster silently gathered his papers, then stood up."I'll be back

 after dinner for a full debriefing," he grumbled, then made his way

 toward the door.As he left the room, the others could hear just a

 single word being muttered repeatedly from his lips as he vanished down

 the hall: "Korea."

 

 Commander Bruce McCasland looked up at the Korean night sky and

 grimaced.A heavy bank of low rain clouds had drifted in over Inchon,

 obscuring the earlier clear skies.With the low clouds came

 illumination, the optical boomerang of light waves from thousands of

 the port city's streetlamps, residences, and billboards.Refracting

 off the clouds, the lights brightened the midnight hour with a fuzzy

 radiance.For a man whose livelihood depended on stealth, the dark of

 night was his best friend, the arrival of clouds a curse.Perhaps it

 will rain, he thought hopefully, which would improve their cover.But

 the dark clouds silently rolled by, holding their moisture with

 taunting stubbornness.

 

 The Navy SEAL from Bend, Oregon, hunched back down in the rickety

 sampan and glanced at the three men lying low under the gunwale besides

 him.Like McCasland, they were clad in black underwater wet suits,

 with matching fins, mask, and backpack.As their mission was one of

 reconnaissance, they were armed for only minimal close quarters combat,

 each carrying a compact Heckler & Koch MP5K 9mm submachine gun.

 Clipped to their vests were an assorted mix of miniature still and

 video cameras, as well as a pair of night vision goggles.

 

 The weathered boat putted past the commercial docks of Inchon, trailing

 a pall of blue smoke from its sputtering outboard motor.To the casual

 eye, the sampan appeared like a thousand others in the region used by

 merchants and tradesmen up and down the coastal Korean waters as a

 common mode of transport.Hidden beneath its aged-appearing exterior,

 however, was a fiberglass-hulled assault craft.With a high-speed

 inboard motor, the covert boat was specially built to launch and

 retrieve small teams of underwater special forces.

 

 Meandering through the quiet north corner of the harbor, the sampan

 approached within two hundred meters of the Kang Marine Services entry

 channel.Exactly on cue, the twenty-two-foot boat's motor sputtered

 and coughed several times, then died.Two SEALs, disguised as a pair

 of derelict fishermen, began swearing loudly at each other in Korean.

 While one of the men tugged at the outboard motor to restart it, the

 other made a loud show of grabbing an oar and splashing it in the water

 in a clumsy attempt to row them toward shore.

 

 McCasland peered over the gunwale with a pair of night vision

 binoculars trained on the sentry post at the mouth of the channel.Two

 men looked back from the interior of their guard hut but made no move

 toward a black speedboat tied up a few feet away.Satisfied the guards

 were too lazy to investigate further, he called quietly to the three

 men beside him.

 

 "In the water.Now."

 

 With the gracefulness of a Persian cat leaping from a settee, the three

 men slipped quietly over the side and into the water with barely a

 gurgle.McCasland adjusted his faceplate, gave a thumbs-up to the two

 "fishermen," then followed the frogmen over the side.Having grown hot

 in the boat wearing the insulated wet suit, he was refreshed by the

 cool water as it seeped against his skin.Clearing his ears, he

 submerged to a depth of twenty feet, then leveled off, peering around

 

 into the black gloomy murk.The dank polluted harbor water offered

 only a few feet of visibility, which fell to zero at night without a

 flashlight.McCasland ignored the blind diving conditions and spoke

 into a wireless underwater communication system attached to his face

 mask.

 

 "Audio and nav check," he barked.

 

 "Bravo here.Nav confirmed.Out," came one voice.

 

 "Charlie here.Nav confirmed.Out," followed a second voice, this one

 with a slight Georgia twang.

 

 "Delta here.Nav confirmed.Out," the third diver's voice copied.

 

 "Roger, stand by," McCasland replied.

 

 Above them, the two SEALs in the sampan had beached the boat next to a

 battered and abandoned pier within sight of Kang's security men. Making

 a show of repairing the boat, the two men clanged tools together and

 cursed loudly as they pretended to fumble with the motor while the men

 in the water carried out their mission.

 

 Below the surface, McCasland activated his Miniature Underwater GPS

 Receiver (MUGR), or "Mugger" as it was nicknamed.No larger than a

 Palm Pilot, the small device contained a navigation system that was

 calibrated by signals from the GPS satellite system.McCasland briefly

 kicked up to a depth of ten feet, where the underwater receiver could

 pick up the GPS signal and establish a fixed base point.A muted green

 display screen popped on, displaying an animated trail that zigzagged

 through and around a series of obstacles.Based on aerial survey

 photographs and the description provided by Dirk and Summer, McCasland

 had programmed a series of GPS way points into the Mugger.The

 aggregate points created a path to the covered dock entrance they could

 follow while completely submerged.All four divers held one of the

 devices, which also showed one another's relative position with a tiny

 flashing light.Swimming in complete darkness, they could follow the

 path to the covered dock while staying within just a few feet of one

 another.

 

 "Okay, let's move," he spoke into his faceplate after descending

 again.

 

 With a deep thrust of his fins, McCasland kicked forward into the inky

 water, his eyes glued to the electronic compass and depth gauge, which

 he ensured never wavered from the twenty-foot mark.Reaching the

 entrance to the private ship channel, he turned and swam into the

 narrow inlet, passing almost directly beneath the security guards'

 speedboat, which bobbed on the surface well above him.Over

 McCasland's shoulder, the three other SEALs followed in a triangular

 pattern a few feet behind.

 

 Day or night, the SEAL divers would have been nearly impossible to

 detect due to their use of rebreathers.Forgoing the standard dive

 tank of compressed air, which generates telltale exhaust bubbles

 visible on the surface, the Navy divers utilized a Carleton

 Technologies VIPER system for their air supply.Embedded within a

 sleek-looking backpack, the VIPER rebreather provided pure oxygen to

 the divers that was recirculated through a chemical scrubber, which

 removed harmful carbon dioxide while dispelling only a minute amount of

 exhaust.The streamlined system could enable the divers to remain

 underwater for up to four hours should the need arise.But with no

 visible exhaust bubbles rising to the surface, their whereabouts were

 safely concealed from the naked eye.

 

 Following the Mugger's imaginary trail, the four divers swam through

 the winding inlet, kicking through the black water until they

 approached the entrance to the enclosed dock.The quarter-mile

 submerged swim would have exhausted most sport divers, but years of

 demanding physical training made it seem like crossing the street to

 the hardened SEALs. Their heartbeats thumped just above resting as

 they regrouped in front of the massive door to the enclosed dock.

 McCasland then swam in a circular pattern until his hands found a pylon

 that supported one side of the entrance.Following the pylon up, he

 ascended slowly until finding the lower edge of the sliding door,

 which

 

 hung three feet beneath the water's surface.Confident he was at the

 proper location, he descended again to the depth of the other divers.

 

 "Proceed with preliminary recon. Regroup this position in three-zero.

 Out."

 

 From this point on, each diver had a different trail to follow inside

 the covered dockyard.Dirk and Summer had drawn a detailed map of the

 dock layout from memory, which was used to establish a different

 reconnaissance point for each diver.McCasland had the farthest and

 most dangerous assignment, to swim to the land's-end side of the

 dockyard for a frontal view of the facility.Two other divers would

 reconnoiter the main dock to verify and film the Baekje, while the

 fourth diver would stand by as backup near the entrance door.

 

 The bright overhead lights of the hangar illuminated the upper water

 shallows, casting a dark shadow from the dock's supporting concrete

 pilings.McCasland found that at a depth of fifteen feet, he could

 just make out the dark outline of the pilings in the water ahead of

 him.He held the Mugger to his chest and kicked harder, using his

 vision to guide him quickly down the length of the dock.After passing

 dozens of pilings, a solid wall of concrete suddenly rose up before him

 and he knew that he had reached the end of the pier.Resting against a

 pylon, he readied a digital camcorder and prepared to surface, fighting

 back an uneasy feeling of defeat.He had felt a strange void while

 swimming beneath the pier, sensing an absence of the mass he thought he

 should feel nearby even though it was out of sight.

 

 Quietly breaking the water's surface beneath the edge of the dock, his

 eyes confirmed the empty feeling in his stomach.The giant covered

 dockyard was bare.There was no four-hundred-foot cable ship tied up

 in front of him.In fact, the main dock was completely empty.

 McCasland silently scanned the facility with his camera, finding only

 one vessel in the entire structure, a beat-up tugboat perched on a

 dry-dock.Nearby, a group of bored dockworkers on the graveyard shift

 were chasing each other around in a forklift, the only signs of life in

 the massive structure.

 

 His filming complete, McCasland ducked underwater and kicked back along

 the dock toward the main entrance door.Reaching the support pylon, he

 pulled up the Mugger and saw that the other three divers had already

 returned and were waiting in the surrounding waters a few feet away.

 

 "Mission complete," he said curtly, then swam off into the inlet.

 

 The four SEALs made their way back to the beached sampan and silently

 crawled inside.The mock fishermen suddenly found the cure to the

 ailing motor and restarted the outboard engine. With more vocal

 cursing, they cruised past Kang's inlet and motored off into the

 night.

 

 Once out of sight, McCasland sat up and took off his faceplate, taking

 a breath full of the dank port air while staring at the twinkling

 waterfront lights.A drop of rain struck him on the face, then another

 and another.Shaking his head, he sat silently while a healthy deluge

 opened up from the skies on the frustrated commando.

 

 Webster, Peterson, and Burroughs returned to the NUMA headquarters

 building at exactly six o'clock and found a subdued scene when they

 arrived at Gunn's office.The results of the SEAL team's

 reconnaissance mission had just been received, and Gunn, Dirk, and

 Summer sat morosely discussing the report.

 

 "Disappointing news, I'm afraid," Gunn said."The cable ship wasn't

 there."

 

 "How could it come and go without being seen?"Webster wondered.

 "We've got Interpol and customs authorities on the lookout for that

 vessel all throughout Asia Pacific."

 

 "Perhaps a few of them are on Kang's payroll," Summer said.

 

 Webster brushed aside the suggestion."We're certain the

 reconnaissance team didn't misidentify anything?"

 

 "There apparently was nothing in the enclosed dock to see.A video

 feed of the surveillance is being sent by satellite right now.We can

 take a look for ourselves on the admiral's viewing monitor," Gunn

 replied.

 

 For the second time that day, he led a procession to the admiral's

 former office.As he approached the corner suite, he was surprised to

 hear a familiar laugh emanating from the office as a hazy cloud of

 smoke drifted out the open door.

 

 Entering the threshold, Gunn was shocked to find Al Giordino sitting on

 the couch.With a wild wave of his dark curly hair askew, the newly

 appointed NUMA director of underwater technology sat reclining with his

 legs up on the coffee table, a stubby cigar dangling from his lips.He

 was dressed in a worn NUMA jumpsuit and looked like he just stepped off

 a boat.

 

 "Rudi, my boy, here flogging the crew a little late tonight, aren't

 we?"Giordino asked before blowing a puff of smoke from the cigar

 skyward.

 

 "Somebody's got to mind the store while you're out basking on a warm

 tropical beach."

 

 Dirk and Summer grinned as they entered the room and spotted Giordino,

 who was like a favorite uncle to them.They didn't immediately see

 their father, who stood at the opposite end of the office gazing at the

 lights across the Potomac.His six-foot-three frame stood tall against

 the window, having lost little of its younger muscular leanness.A

 touch of gray at the temples and a few slight wrinkles around the eyes

 hinted at his age.The weathered, tan face of Dirk Pitt, the legendary

 special projects director and now head of NUMA, broke into a broad grin

 at the sight of his children.

 

 "Dirk, Summer," he said, his sparkling green eyes glowing with warmth

 as he threw his arms around his two kids.

 

 "Dad, we thought you and Al were still in the Philippines," Summer said

 after giving her father a hug and a peck on the cheek.

 

 "Are you kidding?"Giordino piped in."The old man practically swam

 across the Pacific to get back here when he heard you were missing."

 

 The elder Pitt smiled."I was just jealous of you two taking a tour of

 Northeast Asia without me," he grinned.

 

 "We made some notes of places to avoid," Dirk laughed in reply.

 

 Pitt visibly warmed in the presence of his two kids.The veteran

 marine engineer brimmed with a radiant serenity at the world that had

 recently changed around him.His personal life had been completely

 jarred by the sudden appearance of his two grown children just a few

 years earlier whom he never knew existed.But they quickly became a

 close part of his life, joining him in his underwater work, as well as

 sharing personal time with him and his new wife.The sudden dose of

 responsibility had nudged him to take stock of his life and he had

 finally married his longtime love, Colorado congresswoman Loren Smith.

 But the changes continued, as even his professional life saw an

 upheaval.With Admiral Sandecker unexpectedly taking the vice

 presidency, Pitt was suddenly thrust into the top spot at NUMA.While

 special projects director, he experienced several lifetimes' worth of

 adventure and challenges that took him to the four corners of the

 globe.The hazards had taken a toll on him, both physically and

 mentally, and now he was glad to ease back on the more vigorous demands

 of the job.As NUMA's chief director, his administrative and political

 duties often exceeded his interests, but he still ensured that he and

 Al spent plenty of time in the field, testing new equipment, exploring

 prospective marine sanctuaries, or just pushing the limits of the deep.

 Deep inside, the flame still burned brightly when it came to exploring

 the unknown or solving an ancient mystery and his old-fashioned sense

 of propriety never waned.The kidnapping of his children and the

 sinking of the Sea Rover triggered an anger inside that brought back

 the old resolve he'd felt time and again to make right in the world.

 

 "Dad, what's the situation with the toxic Japanese cargo ship in the

 Philippines?"Dirk asked."I understand that it was leaky chemical

 munitions causing the reef kill."

 

 "That's right, a mixture of mustard and lewisite in this case.More

 biochemical hazards left over from World War Two.We actually have the

 leak contained.Nobody was volunteering to conduct a costly excavation

 and removal of the munitions, so we did the next best thing. Bury

 them."

 

 "Lucky for us that underwater sandbank was right there," Giordino

 explained."We just fired up a water pump and filled the cargo hold

 with sand, then sealed it back up.As long as nobody goes digging

 around down there, there should be no more toxic leakage and the

 damaged reef should rejuvenate itself in a few years."

 

 An administrative aid poked her head through the door and spoke to

 Gunn."Sir, the video feed from the Pentagon is available for viewing

 now," she said, then disappeared out the door like a rabbit down a

 hole.

 

 Gunn seized the moment to introduce the Homeland Security and FBI men

 to Pitt and Giordino, then herded everyone toward a large, flat-panel

 monitor that was hidden behind a sliding panel.Typing in a few quick

 commands on a keyboard, the screen suddenly illuminated with the image

 of a large, enclosed dockyard.The camera's eye panned around the

 facility, showing a series of empty docks.After less than a minute's

 running time, the video ended and the screen went blank.

 

 "That's Kang's facility, no doubt about it.But there's no sign of the

 Baekje" Dirk said.

 

 "The Navy report stated that a small tug and a speedboat were the only

 vessels observed on Kang's property," Gunn said."Like Elvis, the

 Baekje has apparently left the building."

 

 Webster cleared his throat."I have confirmed with Interpol and the

 Korean National Police that Inchon port traffic has been monitored

 around the clock since the crew of the Sea Rover were rescued and the

 alert bulletin issued.No vessel matching the Baekje's description

 has been seen entering or departing the port since."

 

 "Someone's on the take," Giordino sneered.

 

 Webster returned the comment with an indignant look."A remote

 possibility but not likely.Despite its heavy traffic, Inchon is not a

 particularly large port.Somebody should have reported seeing her

 depart."

 

 "She may have made a stealthy getaway right after Dirk and Summer left

 the ship," Gunn conjectured, "which was before the Interpol alert was

 issued."

 

 "Or there's another possibility," Pitt suggested."The ship may have

 been camouflaged or reconfigured to resemble another vessel.She may

 have sailed out of port in broad daylight looking like an ordinary

 tramp freighter."

 

 "Or the Love Boat" Giordino added.

 

 "Whatever her disposition, the fact remains that without the ship we

 have insufficient evidence to make a move against Kang with the Korean

 authorities," Webster said.

 

 "What about Dirk and Summer?"Pitt replied with rising anger."Do you

 think they showed up on Korean soil aboard the Queen Mary?"

 

 "The proof against Kang has to be ironclad," Webster replied with a

 stressed look."There's a serious political problem with South Korea

 right now.Our people in the State Department have their knees

 shaking, and even the Pentagon is nervous as hell.The prospect of

 losing our military presence in Korea is very real and nobody wants to

 jeopardize a precarious situation at this critical juncture in time."

 

 "So you're afraid to ask South Korea to investigate Kang?"Pitt

 asked.

 

 "This comes from the top.We're to stay away from Korea until after

 the National Assembly vote on the expulsion of our military forces."

 

 "What does the admiral have to say about this?"Pitt asked of Gunn.

 

 Gunn shook his head slowly."Admiral, er, Vice President Sandecker has

 informed me that the president is deferring to the State Department for

 reaction to the sinking of the Sea Rover.Dirk and Summer's indictment

 of Kang has unfortunately resulted in the edict that Jim just

 mentioned.Everyone is to lay low until after the National Assembly

 vote.Apparently, intelligence reports have revealed secret business

 dealings between Kang and the president of South Korea that go well

 beyond their known public friendship.The president is afraid of

 losing his support against the National Assembly measure if a

 potentially embarrassing investigation is initiated."

 

 "Doesn't he understand the magnitude of the risk involved with the

 weapons Kang possesses?"Summer asked incredulously.

 

 Gunn nodded."The president has iterated that once the resolution has

 been voted upon, he will request an immediate and full investigation

 from the Korean authorities into Kang's involvement with the sinking of

 the Sea Rover and his potential connections to North Korea.In the

 meantime, he has authorized Homeland Security to issue a heightened

 domestic security advisory, with emphasis on aircraft and marine

 vessels arriving from Japan and South Korea."

 

 The younger Pitt began pacing across the room in frustration."It's

 too little too late," Dirk finally said in a low tone."Promoting the

 removal of U.S. forces in South Korea is part of Kang's strategy, using

 the perceived terrorist threat from Japan as a diversion.Don't you

 see?If he's going to attempt a strike on the U.S."it will happen

 before the vote comes up in the National Assembly."

 

 "Which is just ten days from now," Gunn said.

 

 "Then we have to anticipate Kang's next move," Pitt injected with a

 logical calmness."We know he operates a large shipping line and

 therefore has comprehensive knowledge of American port facilities.It

 would figure that he would try to bring the weapons in via a commercial

 freighter, most likely on the West Coast."

 

 "Much easier than smuggling it on an airplane," Giordino agreed.

 "Probably send them over on a Japanese-flagged carrier."

 

 "Or perhaps the elusive Baekje" Dirk added.

 

 "Yaeger has the rundown on what to look for in the way of biological

 components and likely storage," Gunn said."I'll see that customs is

 appropriately educated for their port inspections."

 

 "That may still be too late," Pitt replied."They could release the

 agent as they're sailing into port, contaminating the whole region

 before they dock.Think of San Francisco Bay, for example."

 

 "Or even before they arrive at port, if there is a prevailing wind. The

 release in the Aleutians was apparently launched by boat offshore of

 Yunaska Island, so it's certainly possible they could strike without

 entering port," Dirk said.

 

 "The Coast Guard is tasked with port security under Homeland Security

 jurisdiction and presently boards and inspects all incoming commercial

 vessels shortly before arrival in port," noted Webster.

 

 "But do they board and inspect offshore commercial vessels that are not

 port bound?"Dirk asked.

 

 "I do not believe that the Coast Guard's resources are sufficient for

 that to be considered part of their security mission.They have beefed

 up their sea marshal program but still have a limited number of vessels

 available that they can put to sea.Asking for expanded coverage along

 the entire West Coast is well beyond their resource ability."

 

 "What about the Navy?"Summer asked."Why can't some ships of the

 Pacific Fleet be pressed into service?With the national security at

 risk, it seems to me we should press every available military vessel

 into blockade duty."

 

 "A good question with a sticky answer," Gunn responded."It's a gray

 area of the Navy's mission.They're never big on playing a supporting

 role to the Coast Guard.They'd likely balk at the request until we

 got the secretary of defense or the White House to press the issue.

 I'll bring it up with the vice president, but, realistically, we're

 talking a week at best before they could be brought online.And that

 might be too late."

 

 "There is another option," Pitt said, reaching into a desk drawer and

 withdrawing a daily report of NUMA research vessel assignments."Let's

 see, the Pacific Explorer just arrived in Vancouver, the Blue Gill is

 conducting a marine survey off Drake's Bay north of San Francisco, and

 the Deep Endeavor is testing a submersible in San Diego.It's not a

 

 fleet of battleships but I can reassign three of my research vessels to

 be in position off the major West Coast metropolitan ports assisting

 the Coast Guard in two days."

 

 "That would be a significant boost in offshore resources.And I'm sure

 the Coast Guard would be grateful for the support," Webster said.

 

 "Call it a temporary loan," Pitt said."At least until Rudi can find a

 way to bill back the charges."

 

 "I'm sure we can work out some sort of compensation for our support

 during this heightened state of alert," Gunn said, eyeing Webster with

 a sharklike grin.

 

 "It's settled, then.The West Coast NUMA fleet will initiate offshore

 bomb-sniffing exercises at once.One thing, though," Pitt said to

 Webster in a rigid tone."Kang already sank one of my vessels, I don't

 want to lose another.I want an armed cutter in the vicinity of my

 ships at all times."

 

 "Agreed.The interdiction teams will be alerted as well to the

 possibility of an armed response."

 

 "Good.Our team here will coordinate with the regional Coast Guard

 surveillance squadrons.Rudi, you'll have to tear yourself out of the

 headquarters building.I'd like you to fly to San Francisco to set up

 the Blue Gillwith the regional Coast Guard squadron and then see that

 the Pacific Explorer is similarly assigned in the Seattle/ Vancouver

 region.Dirk and Summer, I'd like you back on the Deep Endeavor in San

 Diego to assist with surveillance off Southern California," Pitt

 directed.

 

 "What about me, boss?"Giordino asked with mock indignation."Don't I

 get a boat inspector's pass?"

 

 "Oh, no," Pitt replied with a mischievous smile."I have something

 much higher in store for you."

 

 There was little fanfare when a pair of scruffy tugboats began slowly

 nudging the Sea Launch platform Odyssey away from her home dock.The

 excitement surrounding a new launch had waned over the years, to the

 extent that only a handful of family, friends, and corporate managers

 stood and waved good-bye to the crew.A smaller platform crew also

 brought out fewer than normal well-wishers.Only forty-two men manned

 the big platform, roughly twenty fewer than usual, as Launch Director

 Stamp held back many of the launch engineers to aid the fire repairs

 being made on the support ship.Captain Christiano watched restlessly

 from the bridge of the Sea Launch Commander v& the rocket-laden

 platform crept away from the pier, offering a farewell to the crew and

 vessel with a long blast from his ship's horn.Several decks beneath

 him, an army of electricians and computer technicians worked feverishly

 around the clock to repair the control room fire damage in hopes that

 the command ship could follow the platform out to sea in another three

 or four days.

 

 Christiano's greeting was met by a short horn blast from the Odyssey

 that seemed to come from the clouds.The Odyssey's main platform deck

 towered nearly a hundred feet above the water.An oceangoing vessel in

 her own right, the floating platform relied on tugboats to get her

 cleanly in and out of port.Although she could position herself on a

 dime, visibility of small boats and harbor obstacles was precarious

 from the pilothouse positioned high atop the structure so tugs were

 utilized for safe navigation in congested waters.

 

 The massive structure moved slowly past the port entrance jetty,

 appearing like a mammoth tarantula creeping across the calm waters. The

 converted North Sea oil platform rode high atop five thick support

 columns aligned along each flank.Slicing through the waves barely

 above the surface, the base of the columns rested upon a huge pair of

 underwater pontoons, each stretching over four hundred feet in length.

 Affixed to each aft pontoon hull was a pair of four-bladed propellers,

 which could push the ungainly craft through the swells at speeds of up

 to 12 knots.At over thirty thousand tons of displacement, the Odyssey

 was the largest self-propelled catamaran vessel in the world and easily

 the most impressive to the eye.Gliding past the entrance to Long

 Beach Harbor, the platform crept another two miles offshore before the

 tugs ground to a halt.

 

 "Stand by to take up tow lines barked the Odyssey's commander, a

 no-nonsense ex-tanker captain named Hennessey.

 

 The tugs released their tow lines which were quickly reeled in by the

 Odyssey's crew.The platform's four three-thousand-horsepower direct

 current motors were engaged, and, as the tugs peeled off to the sides,

 the Odyssey moved forward under her own power.Riding high atop its

 large pair of pontoons, the crew on the elevated platform swayed slowly

 back and forth as if in a skyscraper during a windstorm.The powerful

 Zenit rocket, tightly secured in its horizontal berth, was immune to

 the gentle motion.The experienced crew went casually about their

 duties, falling into a relaxed routine during the slow journey toward

 the launch site as the beige coast of California gradually disappeared

 from view.Hennessey gently increased power until the platform was

 chugging along at 9 knots, then laid in a course to the southwest

 toward the designated launch site fifteen hundred miles south of Hawaii

 at the equator.No one suspected it was to be a destination they would

 never see.

 

 Fifteen hundred miles to the west, the Koguryo raced across the Pacific

 like a greyhound chasing a rabbit.Only a diversionary stop in the

 Ogasawara Islands to retrieve Tongju had slowed her pace since

 departing Inchon.After skirting a storm front west of Midway, the

 vessel had encountered calm seas and a strong tailwind, allowing her to

 churn east at top speed.Stripped of her bulky cable-laying equipment

 and the miles of heavy cable normally stored belowdecks, the Koguryo

 rode nine feet higher in the water than usual.Her four diesel engines

 pushed the lightened ship along at a rapid 21 knots, propelling her

 across the ocean at nearly six hundred miles a day.

 

 On board, the large team of engineers and technicians readied

 themselves for the coming Zenit rocket launch.A launch control

 center, nearly an exact duplicate of the control room on the Sea Launch

 Commander, had been constructed on a lower deck of the Koguryo and was

 the site of continuous activity.The final batch of launch software

 had been received from the Inchon lab and the software support team

 loaded up a series of mock launch scenarios for the operations team.

 Each day, the launch team worked their way through a series of sample

 test launches until, after a week at sea, the simulations were

 performed flawlessly.Told only that they would be controlling the

 launch of a Kang satellite from a floating platform, the team had no

 idea of the illicit mission they were actually supporting and looked

 forward to firing off the actual rocket.

 

 Tongju utilized the time at sea to hone his tactics for the assault on

 the Odyssey.He and his commando team pored over blueprints of the

 launch platform, calculating strike positions and coordinating force

 movements, until he had a minute-by-minute plan of attack.The

 commandos memorized their moves, cleaned their weapons, and generally

 stayed out of sight of the other crewmen as the ship moved closer and

 closer to its target.After an evening meal with his assault team,

 Tongju invited his second-in-command Kim back to his cabin.In the

 privacy of his room, he explained Kang's order to scuttle the

 Koguryo.

 

 "I have provided Captain Lee with the rendezvous position where we are

 to meet the waiting freighter.I did not inform him, however, of the

 plan to sink his ship, only that we would be transferring the launch

 crew to the other vessel for safety."

 

 "You do not trust his obedience to Kang?"Kim asked, unaffected by the

 prospect of murdering two hundred of his fellow shipmates.

 

 "No, it is not wise.No sea captain desires to sink his own ship and

 abandon his crew.We shall make our escape without him."

 

 "How is the ship to be destroyed?"

 

 Tongju reached under his cot and pulled out a small satchel, which he

 handed to Kim.

 

 "Semtex plastic explosives with wireless detonators.I intend to

 activate the charges while the ship is in motion."

 

 He walked to a bulkhead and pointed at a small cutaway diagram of the

 Koguryo pinned to the wall.

 

 "By blasting a series of holes in the forward hull and bow sections

 beneath the waterline, the momentum of the ship will force a rapid

 flooding of the lower decks.The vessel will plunge to the bottom like

 a submarine before the crew has a chance to react."

 

 "There may still be the chance for some to escape on the lifeboats,"

 Kim countered.

 

 Tongju shook his head with a malignant smile."I have applied a liquid

 weld compound to all of the lifeboat davits.None of those boats will

 be leaving this vessel without a considerable effort."

 

 "And what about us?"Kim asked, a slight uncertainty creeping into his

 voice.

 

 "You and two others will leave with me on the assault boat.I will

 convince Lee to let us depart the ship for an advanced surveillance

 check once the freighter is detected within radar range.When he has

 brought the Koguryo back up to speed, we will detonate the charges."

 

 Kim let out a quiet sigh and nodded deeply."It will not be easy to

 abandon my assault team," he said quietly.

 

 "They are all good men but expendable.I will leave it to you to pick

 the two men to join us.But first we must get the explosives planted.

 Take your demolitions man, Hyun, and set the charges in the forward bow

 compartments E, F, and G. Don't let any of the ship's crew observe

 you."

 

 Kim grasped the satchel tightly and nodded again."It will be done,"

 he said, then left the cabin.

 

 After he left, Tongju stared at the diagram of the ship for several

 minutes.The whole operation was a hazardous mission fraught with

 risks and hidden dangers.But that was exactly the way he liked it.

 

 On a collision course with evil, the Odyssey plodded along from Long

 Beach at its meager pace,-the ungainly assembly churning up ten miles

 of foam over the course of an hour.Cutting past the California

 channel island of San Clemente, the Odyssey cruised due west of San

 Diego shortly before midnight and soon after departed the territorial

 waters of the United States.Fishing boats and pleasure craft

 gradually vanished from the horizons as the platform pushed farther

 into a desolate section of the Pacific Ocean west of Baja California.

 By the end of the third day at sea, cruising some seven hundred miles

 from the nearest landfall, the Odyssey shared the ocean with only a

 small dot on the northeast horizon.

 

 Captain Hennessey watched with mild interest as the distant speck

 slowly grew larger, bearing down on a southerly heading.When it

 approached within five miles, he aimed his binoculars at the vessel,

 eye-tog a stout blue ship with a yellow funnel.In the fading evening

 dusk,

 

 Hennessey made it out to be a research vessel or special-purpose ship

 rather than a commercial freighter.He noted with annoyed curiosity

 that the ship was on a perfect collision course with the Odyssey's

 current heading.Hennessey stuck close to the helm for the next hour,

 watching the other vessel as it inched to within a mile of his

 starboard flank before appearing to slow and nose toward the southwest

 behind him.

 

 "He's slowing to cross our wake," Hennessey said to the helmsman,

 dropping his binoculars from the mysterious blue ship."The whole

 empty Pacific Ocean and he's got to run right down our path," he

 muttered, shaking his head.

 

 The thought never occurred to him that it was anything more than a

 coincidental encounter.Nor would he ever suspect that a trusted

 crewman, one of a handful of Kang's men working on board as launch

 technicians, was feeding their exact position to the ship using a

 simple GPS receiver and portable radio transmitter.After crossing the

 length of the Pacific, the Koguryo had picked up the radio transmission

 twenty-four hours earlier and vectored in on the Odyssey's path like a

 homing pigeon to roost.

 

 As the lights of the unknown ship twinkled off the Odyssey's port stern

 in the evening darkness, Hennessey put the ship out of his mind and

 focused on the empty blackness before him.They were still nearly ten

 days to the equator and there was no telling what other obstacles might

 cross their path.

 

 The experienced assault team came quickly, in the dark of night and

 with complete surprise.After shadowing the Odyssey for most of the

 evening, the Koguryo had suddenly stopped its engines, letting the

 self-propelled platform churn on toward the horizon.In the pilothouse

 of the Odyssey, the night shift helmsman and watch officer relaxed as

 the lights of the other ship fell away.With an autopilot steering the

 platform, their only concerns were monitoring the radar screen and

 weather forecast.But on an empty sea in the dead of night, there was

 little cause for concern.Focus on duty waned as the two men paced the

 bridge, engaging in a tireless debate about World Cup soccer rather

 than studying the electronic monitors about them.Had either man

 watched the radarscope more closely, they would have had an inkling of

 things to come.

 

 Far from changing course or making repairs, the Koguryo had stopped to

 launch its high-speed tender.The open-decked, thirty-foot boat was a

 spacious and luxurious assault craft for Tongju, Kim, and the dozen

 other men dressed in black commando outfits who sat brandishing their

 assault rifles on leather-cushioned seats.Though low on stealth, the

 boat provided a fast and stable means of crossing open water to strike

 the platform with an ample attack force.

 

 The tender bounded in darkness across the rolling waves, racing across

 the open sea under a bright canopy of stars that spread from horizon to

 horizon.The speedy boat quickly gobbled up ground between itself and

 the moving platform, which was lit up against the night sky like a

 Times Square marquee.As the tender's pilot approached the shadow of

 the massive platform, he steered the boat dead center under the

 structure, threading the boat between the Odyssey's twin pontoons.

 Holding its speed, the boat darted under the platform and past the

 thick support columns, barely skimming under a set of massive

 triangular supports that horizontally crisscrossed the columns just

 twelve feet above the water.Slowing to match speeds with the Odyssey,

 he inched toward the forward starboard column, where a salt-encrusted

 steel stairway led up to the heights above.When he edged to within a

 few feet, one of the commandos leaped from the bow with a small line

 and quickly tied it to the stairwell post.One by one, the remaining

 commandos jumped onto the stairwell and began the long climb to the

 platform above.Pausing at the top steps to catch their breath, the team paused for a moment to regroup

 before Tongju nodded his head to proceed.The secure door to the

 stairwell had been left unlocked by one of Kang's crewmen already

 aboard and the commandos quickly slipped through and fanned out across

 the deck.

 

 Though Tongju had studied photos and plans of the Odyssey, he was still

 overwhelmed by the massive scale of the launch deck, which stretched

 well over a football field in length.At the far end stood the launch

 tower, separated by a large tract of open deck that led to the launch

 vehicle hangar.Along the recessed starboard beam sat the massive fuel

 storage tanks, which would gas up the rocket shortly before launch.On

 either side of the launch vehicle hangar stood two small buildings that

 housed the crew's quarters, offering accommodations for sixty-eight men

 plus a galley and medical station.That would be the first target.

 

 The assault team was primed to strike simultaneously, five men to the

 hangar, three to the bridge, and the balance to the crew's quarters.

 Most of the forty-two-man crew aboard the Odyssey had little to do

 until the platform reached the launch site and spent the hours reading,

 playing cards, or watching movies.By 3 a.m."only a handful of men

 were still awake, mostly crewmen assigned to sail the platform or

 monitor the launch vehicle.When the commandos struck the crew's

 quarters with drill precision, the confused technicians and engineers

 were too stunned to react.With a blast of light and prodding from the

 muzzles of AK-74 assault rifles, the sleeping men were quickly roused

 at gunpoint.Two men playing cards in the galley thought it was some

 sort of equatorial prank before a swinging rifle butt knocked one to

 the floor.A startled chef in the kitchen dropped a stack of pans at

 the sight of the armed men, doing more to wake the disbelieving crew

 than the gunmen themselves.

 

 In the launch vehicle hangar, it was a similar story.The small

 commando team rapidly swept through the air-conditioned building that housed the cradled Zenit rocket, rounding up a handful of engineers

 without a fight.On the bridge situated high atop the launch vehicle

 hangar, the two men manning the helm couldn't believe their eyes when

 Tongju walked in and calmly leveled his Glock pistol at the executive

 officer's ear.In less than ten minutes, the entire platform was

 secured by Tongju's men.Not a shot fired, the Sea Launch crew never

 expected to be commandeered in the middle of the Pacific.

 

 The commandos were surprised to find that most of the platform's marine

 crew were Filipino while the launch team was an assorted mix of

 American, Russian, and Ukrainian engineers.The subdued multinational

 crew was herded to the galley where they were held at gunpoint, except

 for the dozen of Kang's planted crew members and satellite company

 representatives, who took over operational control of sailing the

 platform.Even Captain Hennessey, captured and roughly bound by one of

 Kim's men, was forced to the galley in shock, with the rest of his

 crew.

 

 On the bridge, Tongju radioed the Koguryo that the platform was taken

 with no resistance.Examining an unfurled navigation chart left on a

 side table, he barked at one of Kang's crewmen now manning the helm.

 

 "Revise bearing to fifteen degrees north-northeast.We are diverting

 to a new launch site."

 

 As the crack of dawn approached, the Koguryo maneuvered alongside the

 northbound Odyssey and slowed to match speeds with the platform as it

 mashed through five-foot swells.Edging to within twenty feet of the

 Odyssey, Captain Lee held the Koguryo perfectly in tandem with the

 moving platform's starboard beam.In the wheel-house of the Odyssey, a

 nervous helmsman ensured that the autopilot was properly engaged as the

 ex-cable-laying ship hove to alongside.

 

 On the top deck of the hangar, Tongju supervised the movement of a

 large crane as it was swung out over the starboard edge of the

 platform.A heavy block and hook swung wildly from the end of the

 crane for a moment before being lowered to the rear deck of the

 Koguryo.A ready signal was relayed over the marine radio and the

 crane began hoisting up a square metal container the size of a sofa,

 which was swung over and lowered to the platform's main deck.Stored

 inside were the special canisters containing the freeze-dried chimera

 cultures ready to be inserted into the payload aerosol dispenser.

 

 While the deadly virus was being hoisted to the platform, the Koguryo's

 tender ferried over a dozen launch and payload specialists, who

 immediately swarmed into the rocket hangar and began dissecting the

 Zenit's payload section.An additional security contingent was also

 ferried over to help relieve Tongju's assault commandos.

 

 Tongju returned to the pilothouse and peered out the heavy-paned

 windows at the rolling sea two hundred feet beneath him.The swaying

 of the platform was slight as the motion rolled up from the distant

 pontoons beneath the surface.Gazing to his right, he saw the Koguryo

 begin to peel away from the Odyssey, its ferrying services complete for

 the time being.

 

 "Increase speed to maximum," his said to the helmsman.

 

 The nervous Filipino adjusted the propulsion controls on both pontoons

 and then watched as the digital speed indicator slowly counted

 upward.

 

 "Twelve knots, sir.Maximum cruising speed," the seaman replied, his

 eyes twitching back and forth.

 

 Tongju nodded in satisfaction, then reached for an overhead radio

 transmitter and called Captain Lee on the Koguryo.

 

 "We are progressing on schedule.Please notify Inchon that we are in

 control of the launch vessel and intend to initiate launch countdown in

 approximately thirty hours.Out."

 

 The apprehensive helmsman stared straight ahead, avoiding the gaze of

 Tongju.Whatever fearful thoughts tumbled around his head about

 Tongju's intent were minuscule compared to the commando leader's true

 objective.

 

 IT took the launch vehicle engineers just under twenty-four hours to

 convert the rocket's payload into a weapon of mass horror.Like

 surgeons conducting a transplant operation, the engineering team

 carefully removed several sections of the outer payload fairing and

 delved into the inner workings of the mock satellite.Fake components,

 built to resemble communication transponders, were removed and replaced

 with small electric pumps, which would drive the aerosol system.Lines

 and fittings were attached to the phony solar panels, which would open

 in flight to spread the rejuvenated virus, disseminating it as a fine

 mist across the California sky.

 

 Working in protective clean room bunny suits, the technicians performed

 a final test on the dispensing system, ensuring it was fully functional

 for the short rocket flight.The final step of the operation was then

 reached: inserting the chimera virus into the payload vehicle.The

 canisters from Inchon containing the freeze-dried germs were carefully

 mounted to the satellite frame and steel braided lines from

 

 the hydrogenation tanks were connected to the aerosol system.When

 activated, a software-controlled program would vacuum-mix the powdered

 substance with purified water, then transfer the live fluid through the

 vaporizer and out into the atmosphere.

 

 With the deadly cocktail loaded aboard, the payload fairing was

 reassembled around the satellite.Propellant explosives were inserted

 at key points inside the fairing to blast the payload doors away at the

 appointed moment during flight.When the final section of the nose

 cone housing was sealed into place, the tired engineering team

 congratulated one another briefly and then staggered toward the crew's

 quarters.A few precious hours of sleep was all they could ask for

 before it would be time to start the final launch countdown.

 

 Without publicly raising the color-coded Threat Advisory System, the

 Department of Homeland Security quietly issued an elevated marine port

 and airport security alert.Stepped-up screening and random searches

 were performed on all aircraft and vessels originating from an Asian

 locale, with special inspections for biological and chemical agents. At

 Vice President Sandecker's insistence, the Coast Guard was ordered to

 stop, board, and search all Japanese- or Korean-flagged inbound ships

 with a fully armed security contingent.All available Coast Guard

 cutters were put to sea along the West Coast, concentrated around the

 commercial hubs of Seattle, San Francisco, and Los Angeles.

 

 In San Francisco, Rudi Gunn coordinated NUMA's interdiction support

 with the local Coast Guard commandant.When the research vessel Blue

 Gllartived from Monterey, Gunn immediately assigned her picket duty ten

 miles off the Golden Gate Bridge.He then jumped up to Seattle, where

 he directed local NUMA resources in support of coastal screening, and

 enlisted the aid of the Canadian Coast Guard in Vancouver to search all

 British Columbia-bound ships.

 

 Dirk and Summer flew to San Diego, where they were welcomed by the

 city's trademark seventy-two-degree balmy weather.Taking a short cab

 ride from San Diego International Airport's Lindbergh Field to Shelter

 Island, it took them only a few minutes to locate the Deep Endeavor

 tied up at the end of a large municipal dock.As they approached the

 ship, Dirk noticed that an odd-shaped submersible painted a metallic

 burnt orange sat on the vessel's stern deck.

 

 "Well, if it isn't the Prisoners of Zenda," Jack Dahlgren called from

 the bridge wing upon spotting the twosome boarding the ship.Dirk's

 close friend hopped down a stairwell and met them at the head of the

 gangway.

 

 "Heard you two enjoyed a seaside tour of the Korean Peninsula,"

 Dahlgren laughed as he shook Dirk's hand firmly, then gave Summer a

 hug.

 

 "Yes, but we somehow missed the Mkhelin-mt&A attractions," Summer

 grinned back.

 

 "Now, wait, that DMZ tour was pretty stimulating," Dirk said, feigning

 seriousness.Turning to Dahlgren, he asked, "You and the crew ready to

 do a little search-and-seizure work?"

 

 "Yep.A Coast Guard team joined us an hour ago so we're ready to shove

 off at any time.

 

 "Good.Let's get after it, then."

 

 Dahlgren escorted Dirk and Summer up to the bridge, where they were

 greeted by Leo Delgado and Captain Burch, then introduced to a

 uniformed Coast Guard sea marshal named Aimes.

 

 "What's our intercept procedure, Lieutenant?"Dirk asked, noting the

 insignia on Aimes's uniform.

 

 "Call me Bill," replied Aimes.A studious man with cropped blond hair,

 Aimes took his duty seriously but hated unnecessary formality "We'll be

 assisting the regional Coast Guard vessels as a backup, when and if

 commercial traffic gets particularly heavy.Otherwise, we'll be

 assigned to ad hoc survey and reconnaissance.Under legislative rule,

 we can intercept and board all inbound commercial vessels up to twelve

 miles offshore.As NUMA's Coast Guard representative, I will lead all

 boardings and searches with my team but will be assisted by several of

 your crewmen who have undergone a brief training session."

 

 "What are the chances we could actually locate a weapons cache or bomb

 hidden on a large containership?"Summer wondered.

 

 "Better than you might think," Aimes replied."As you know, we work

 closely with the Customs Department under the direction of the Homeland

 Security Department.Our customs agents are located at foreign ports

 around the globe and are on site to inspect and seal all cargo

 containers before the goods are allowed to ship.Upon arriving in U.S.

 ports, containers are verified by customs agents as having not been

 opened or tampered with before acceptance into this country.The Coast

 Guard provides an advance check of the ship and containers before they

 have a chance to reach port."

 

 "There's plenty of places on a ship outside of the cargo containers

 where somebody could hide a bomb," Dahlgren stated.

 

 "That's a more difficult problem, but it's where the dogs come into

 play," Aimes replied, nodding his head toward the far end of the

 bridge.Dirk noticed for the first time that a pair of yellow Labrador

 retrievers were tied to a bulkhead stanchion and lay asleep on the

 deck.Summer had already made her way over to the dogs and begun

 scratching them contentedly behind the ears.

 

 "The dogs are trained to sniff out a variety of explosive compounds

 commonly used in bomb manufacture.Best of all, they can run through a

 ship in quick order.If a biological bomb is being smuggled in on a

 containership, there's a good chance those boys could sniff out the

 explosives component of it."

 

 "That's what we're looking for," Dirk said."So, we'll be working off

 of San Diego?"

 

 "No," Aimes replied, shaking his head."There's only minimal

 commercial traffic that moves through San Diego and the regional Coast

 Guard vessels are more than adequate to handle the volume.We've

 

 been ordered to patrol a quadrant southwest of the Port of Los Angeles

 in support of the L.A.-Long Beach Coast Guard Marine Safety Group. Once

 on site, we'll coordinate local positioning and boarding through

 Icarus!"

 

 "Icarus?"Dahlgren asked.

 

 "Our all-seeing eye in the sky on the project," Dirk said with a

 knowing smile.

 

 As the Deep Endeavor chugged toward the Pacific, cruising past Coronado

 Island and a Navy aircraft carrier inbound from the Indian Ocean, Dirk

 and Summer went aft and studied the strange submersible that faintly

 resembled a steroid-augmented earthworm.The bullet-shaped vessel was

 dotted with a series of bladed propulsion units mounted irregularly

 about the main body like glued-on heat pumps.Strutted beneath the

 front of its bullet nose stood a giant coring device that stood ten

 feet long, protruding upward like a unicorn's horn.Bathed in its

 garish orange red metallic hue, the submersible reminded them of a

 giant insect from a fifties horror film.

 

 "What's the story on this contraption?"Summer asked of Dahlgren.

 

 "Your father didn't tell you about the Badger?It's a prototype that

 he authorized.That's why we were here in San Diego.Some of our

 engineers have been working on a joint venture with Scripps Institute

 to develop this hot rod.It's a deep-water corer designed to gather

 sediment samples from the seabed.The scientific community is anxious

 to gather sediment and organism samples around volcanic hydrothermal

 vents, many of which are located ten thousand feet or deeper."

 

 "What's with all the propulsion units?"Dirk asked."To get to the

 bottom in a hurry.She's a real speed buggy.Rather than waiting for

 gravity to pull her to the seafloor, she has a hydrogen fuel cell power

 plant that allows her to submerge at speed to the bottom.She allows

 you to descend, take a core sample, and then pop back to the surface

 without twiddling your thumbs all day.Less time spent diving and

 surfacing means more core samples for the geologists to pick

 through."

 

 "And the boys at Scripps were actually willing to trust you behind the

 wheel?"Summer asked with a laugh.

 

 "They didn't ask how many speeding tickets I have on land so I didn't

 feel compelled to tell them," Dahlgren replied with mock innocence.

 

 "Little do they know," Dirk grinned, "that they just loaned their new

 Harley-Davidson to Evel Knievel."

 

 The Deep Endea vor steamed up the California coast for three hours

 before turning out to sea just before darkness.Dirk stood on the

 bridge watching the ship's progress on a colored navigation map

 displayed on an overhead monitor.As the coastline fell away behind

 them, he observed the island of San Clemente scroll up on the map to

 the west of their aligned path.He studied the map for a moment, then

 turned to Aimes, who stood nearby examining a radarscope.

 

 "I thought your interdictions were restricted to no more than twelve

 miles from the coast?We're headed by San Clemente Island, which is

 over fifty miles from the mainland."

 

 "For normal coastal duty, we recognize the twelve-mile limit from the

 mainland.The Channel Islands are technically a part of California,

 however, so, legally, we can operate from the islands as an origination

 point.For this mission, we have been given temporary authorization to

 expand our normal interdiction zone, with the Channel Islands as a

 baseline.We'll set up position about ten miles west of Santa Catalina

 as our base monitoring position."

 

 Two hours later, they cruised beyond the large island of Catalina

 

 and the engines slowed as they neared their station point.At a slow

 crawl, the Deep Endeavor began patrolling a large north-to-south loop

 west of the island, using the ship's radar as surveillance eyes.A

 sprinkling of pleasure craft and fishing boats was all the radar

 detected, along with a Coast Guard cutter on patrol nearby to the

 north.

 

 "We are positioned well south of the main shipping lane to L.A. and not

 likely to catch much night traffic in this quadrant," Aimes said.

 "We'll get tossed into the fray in the morning when Icarus shows up for

 work.In the meantime, I suggest we take shifts and get some sleep."

 

 Dirk took the hint and walked out onto the bridge wing, inhaling a deep

 breath of sea air.The night was still and damp and the seas almost as

 flat as a pancake.As he stood in the darkness, his mind tumbled over

 his meeting with Kang and the less-than-implicit threat that the mogul

 had delivered to Summer and him.Another week and the South Korean

 Assembly vote would be history and the legal authorities could pursue

 Kang with full fury.That's all they needed.A week without incident.

 As he stared at the sea, a chilled gust of wind suddenly whisked his

 face, then fell away again just as suddenly, leaving a tranquil and

 seeming calm.

 

 By 9 p.m."the Odyssey had backtracked some three hundred miles and

 was now approaching the designated launch position calibrated in

 Inchon.Tongju, catching up on some lost sleep in Captain Hennessey's

 cabin, was startled awake by a rapid pounding at the door.An armed

 commando entered the room and bowed as Tongju sat up and began pulling

 on his boots.

 

 "So sorry to intrude," the commando said apologetically."It's Captain

 Lee.He has requested that you return to the Koguryo at once.There

 is some sort of dispute with the Russian launch engineers."

 

 Tongju nodded, then shook off the cobwebs and made his way to the

 pilothouse, where he verified that the platform was still cruising

 north-northeast at 12 knots.Radioing for the Koguryo's tender, he

 made his way down the long flight of stairs on the forward piling and

 hopped into the idling boat that awaited him.A short ride took him to

 the nearby support ship, where Captain Lee was waiting for him.

 

 "Come with me to the Launch Control Center.It's those damn

 

 Ukrainians," the captain cursed."They can't agree on where to

 position the platform for launch.I think they're going to kill one

 another."The two men made their way down a flight of stairs and along

 an interior passageway to the expansive Launch Control Center.As Lee

 opened a side entry door, a loud staccato of foreign swearing burst

 upon their ears.At the center of the room, a group of launch

 engineers were huddled loosely around the two Ukrainian launch

 specialists, who stood toe-to-toe with their arms in the air arguing

 violently with each other.The crowd of engineers parted as Tongju and

 Lee approached, but the Ukrainians didn't skip a beat.Looking on in

 disgust, Tongju turned and grabbed a padded console chair, then lifted

 it over his head and hurled it at the two jabbering engineers.The

 gathered spectators gasped as the chair flew into the two men, smashing

 into their heads and chests before ricocheting to the floor with a

 crash.The stunned Ukrainians finally fell silent as they shook off

 the blow from the flying chair and turned toward the two men."What is

 the issue here?"Tongju growled.

 

 One of the Ukrainians, a goateed man with shaggy brown hair, cleared

 his throat before speaking.

 

 "It is the weather.The high-pressure front over the eastern Pacific,

 specifically off North America, has stalled due to the push from a

 low-pressure system in the south.""And what does this mean?"

 

 "The normally prevailing high-altitude easterly winds have, in fact,

 reversed and we are instead facing a strong headwind at the moment.

 This has thrown off our planned mission flight profile by a

 considerable margin."Shuffling through a file of papers, he pulled

 out a sheaf of algorithmic paper containing numerous calculations and

 trajectory profiles handwritten in pencil.

 

 "Our base mission plan has been to fuel the Zenit rocket first stage at

 fifty percent of capacity, which will produce an estimated down-range

 flight trajectory of 350 kilometers.Approximately fifty kilometers

 of this distance is over the target region, where the payload system

 will be activated.Thus, our planned launch position was three hundred

 kilometers west of Los Angeles, assuming normal local weather patterns.

 Given the present weather scenario, we have two options: either wait

 for the low-pressure front to yield to the prevailing winds or

 reposition the launch platform closer to the target."

 

 "There's a third option," the other Ukrainian grumbled irritably."We

 can increase the fuel load in the Zenit to reach the target from the

 original launch position."As he spoke, his counterpart stood shaking

 his head silently.

 

 "What is the risk of that?"Tongju asked the doubter.

 

 "Sergei is correct in that we can adjust the fuel load to reach the

 target from the original launch position.However, I have grave doubts

 about the accuracy that we would achieve.We do not know the wind

 conditions for the entire flight trajectory.Given the current unusual

 weather pattern, the wind conditions along the entire flight path might

 vary significantly from what we can measure directly above us.The

 launch vehicle could easily be diverted north or south of the intended

 target by a large deviation.We could also overshoot the target by

 tens of kilometers or, alternatively, undershoot the target by a

 similar degree.There is just too much potential variability in the

 flight path from this distance."

 

 "A minor risk, compounded by speculation," countered Sergei.

 

 "How long before normal weather patterns return to the area?"asked

 Tongju.

 

 "The low-pressure front has already showed signs of weakening.We

 expect it to collapse over the next day and a half, with the dominant

 high-pressure system prevailing in approximately seventy-two hours."

 

 Tongju silently contemplated the arguments for a moment, then made his

 decision without debate.

 

 "We have a timetable to meet.We can ill afford to sit and wait for

 the weather to change, nor can we risk diluting the target strike. We

 

 shall move the platform closer to the target and initiate countdown as

 soon as possible.How far must we move to mitigate the atmospheric

 uncertainty?"

 

 "To minimize the impact of the adverse winds, we must shorten the

 trajectory.Based on our latest wind measurements, we must position

 ourselves here," the goateed Ukrainian said, pointing to a map of the

 North American seaboard."One hundred and five kilometers from the

 coast."

 

 Tongju studied the position silently for a minute, calculating the

 added distance to cover.The proposed position was dangerously near

 the coastline, he observed, noting a pair of offshore islands in close

 proximity.But they could reach the spot and still launch within

 Kang's desired time schedule.As all eyes in the room waited for his

 command, he finally turned and nodded toward Lee."Alter course at

 once.We will position both vessels at the new position before dawn

 and initiate launch countdown at daybreak."

 

 You've got to be kidding me.A blimp?"Giordino scratched his chin,

 then shook his head at Pitt."You dragged me all the way across

 country to go for a ride in a blimp?"

 

 "I believe the preferred term is airship" Pitt said, throwing his

 partner a mock look of indignation.

 

 "A gasbag, by any other name."

 

 Giordino had wondered what Pitt had up his sleeve after the two arrived

 at LAX on an overnight flight from Washington.Rather than heading

 south from the airport, toward the Port of Los Angeles and adjacent

 Coast Guard Marine Safety regional command, Pitt had turned their

 rental car north.Giordino promptly fell asleep in the passenger seat

 as the head of NUMA drove them out of the Los Angeles metro area.

 Awakening later to find the specter of strawberry fields rushing past

 the window, he rubbed his eyes as the car entered the tiny Oxnard

 Airport and Pitt parked the vehicle near a large blimp moored to a

 truck-mounted vertical boom.

 

 Peering at the blimp, Giordino cracked, "I didn't think the Super Bowl

 was scheduled for another couple of months."

 

 The 222-foot long Airship Management Services Sentinel 1000 was, in

 fact, much larger than the usual advertising blimps seen hovering over

 football games and golf tournaments.An enlarged version of the

 company's popular Skyship 600 series of blimps, the Sentinel 1000 was

 designed to lift a useful load of nearly six thousand pounds by way of

 an envelope that held ten thousand cubic meters of gas.Unlike the

 rigidly framed dirigibles of the twenties and thirties that relied on

 highly flammable hydrogen for lift, the Sentinel 1000 was a true

 non-rigid blimp that utilized the safer element of helium to rise off

 the ground.

 

 "Looks like a runt nephew of the Hindenburg" Giordino moaned, eyeing

 the silver-skinned airship warily.

 

 "You happen to be looking at the latest in surveillance and tracking

 technology," Pitt said."She's fitted with a LASH optical system. NUMA

 is testing her out for possible survey use on coral reef and tide

 studies.The system has already been used successfully to track

 migrating whales."

 

 "What is a "LASH system?"

 

 "Stands for "Littoral Airborne Sensor-Hyperspectral."It's an optical

 imaging system that uses a breakdown in the color band to detect and

 track targets that the eye cannot see.Homeland Security is

 considering using it for border security and the Navy for antisubmarine

 warfare."

 

 "If we can give it a test run over Malibu Beach, then I'm all for it."

 A ground crewman wearing a NUMA identification badge climbed out of the

 gondola as Pitt and Giordino approached the airship.

 

 "Mr.Pitt?We've installed the radio set that the Coast Guard sent

 up, so you'll be able to conduct secure communications with their

 vessels.The Icarus has been weighed off for a landing equilibrium of

 plus-one hundred kilograms when your fuel supply runs down to five

 percent, so just don't run the tanks dry.The airship is also fitted

 with both a water ballast system and an experimental fuel dump release,

 should you need emergency lift."

 

 "How long can we stay aloft?"Giordino asked, eyeing a pair of ducted

 propellers jutting from either side of the gondola's aft section.

 

 "Eight to ten hours, if you go easy on the throttles.Enjoy your

 flight, she's a joy to fly," he said, bowing slightly.

 

 Pitt and Giordino climbed through the gondola door and into a spacious

 cabin that was comfortably outfitted to seat eight passengers.

 Squirming through a forward opening into the flight compartment, Pitt

 took up the pilot's controls while Giordino plopped into the copilot's

 seat.With a muffled roar, Pitt started the pair of turbocharged

 Porsche 930 air-cooled engines mounted on the rear flanks of the

 gondola, which served as propulsion.With the engines idling, Pitt

 obtained clearance to take off from the airport control tower, then

 turned to Giordino.

 

 "Ready for takeoff, Wilbur?"

 

 "Ready when you are, Orville."

 

 Launching the blimp was not a simple action handled solely by the

 pilots but rather a carefully orchestrated maneuver assisted by a large

 ground crew.Outside the gondola, the Icaruis support crew, all

 attired in bright red shirts, took up positions around the airship.A

 pair of ropes attached to the blimp's nose were pulled taut by three

 men standing off either side of the bow while four additional men

 grabbed onto side rails running the length of the gondola.Directly

 forward of the wide cockpit window that ran nearly to his feet, Pitt

 stared toward the crew chief, who stood at the base of the mobile

 mooring mast.At Pitt's command, the crew chief signaled another

 crewman, standing high atop the mooring mast, to release the nose

 tether.In unison, the ground crew then tugged at the weightless

 blimp, walking it away from the mooring mast several dozen yards to a

 safe launching point clear of obstacles.

 

 Pitt gave a thumbs-up signal to the crew chief, then reached over and

 pulled down a pair of levers protruding from the center console, increasing the throttle to the twin engines.As the ground crew let

 free of their clutches and moved clear, he gently pulled back on a

 center yoke control mounted in front of his seat.The controls

 manipulated the motor-driven propellers, which were each enclosed in

 swiveling ducts.As he pulled on the yoke, the ducts tilted upward,

 providing additional lift from the churning propellers.Immediately,

 the blimp began to rise, creeping forward as it climbed.Almost

 without the feeling of movement, the big airship rose off the ground

 and into the sky with its nose pointed high.Giordino cheerfully waved

 out an open side window to the ground crew below, who shrank to the

 size of bugs as the airship rapidly gained altitude.

 

 Despite Giordino's request for a low-flying pass over Malibu, Pitt

 steered the airship directly offshore from Oxnard after leaving the

 grounds of the airport and soon leveled the blimp off at a height of

 twenty-five hundred feet.The Pacific Ocean resonated a deep aqua

 color under a bright sun, and the men easily counted out the northerly

 Channel Islands of Santa Cruz, Santa Rosa, and San Miguel under the

 clear skies.As they floated east, Pitt noticed dew dripping off of

 the blimp, its fabric sides warming under the rays of the morning sun.

 He glanced at a helium pressure gauge, noting a slight rise in the

 needle as the helium expanded from the warming temperatures and higher

 cruising altitude.An automatic venting system would release any

 excess gas if the pressure rose too high, but Pitt kept the blimp well

 below its pressure height so as not to needlessly stave off helium.

 

 The controls of the Sentinel 1000 were heavy in his hands and he noted

 that the sensation of flying the blimp felt closer to sailing a

 twenty-meter racing yacht than piloting an airplane.Turning the huge

 rudders and elevators required some muscling of the yoke, which

 resulted in an anxious pause before the ship's nose would gradually

 respond.Correcting course, he absentmindedly watched the lines

 dangling off the blimp's nose sway back and forth.A boat bobbed into

 view beneath them, which he recognized as a charter fishing boat.The

 tiny-looking day fishermen on the boat's stern suddenly waved up

 

 at them with friendly abandon.There was something about an airship

 that always seemed to strike a warm chord with people.They captured

 the romance of the air, Pitt decided, offering a reminder of times past

 when flying was still a novelty.With his hands on the controls, he

 could feel the nostalgia himself.Floating at a leisurely pace over

 the water, he let his mind churn back to the days of the thirties when

 mammoth dirigibles like the Graf Zeppelin and Hindenburg shared the

 skies with the huge Navy airships Akron and Macon.Like the opulent

 cruise ships of the same era, they offered a certain relaxed majesty

 that simply no longer existed in modern travel.

 

 When they reached a distance of thirty miles offshore, Pitt angled the

 blimp south and began navigating a large, lazy arc off the Los Angeles

 metropolis.Giordino powered up the LASH optical system, tied into a

 laptop computer, which enabled him to spot the images of incoming

 surface vessels up to thirty-five miles away.The freighters and

 containerships came chugging in toward the ports of Los Angeles and

 Long Beach at a sporadic yet endless pace.The big vessels hailed from

 a variety of exotic-sounding home ports from Mumbai to Jakarta, though

 China, Japan, and Taiwan accounted for the largest volume of traffic.

 More than three thousand vessels a year entered the adjacent ports,

 creating a constant stream of traffic that crawled across the Pacific

 toward America's busiest port like ants to a picnic.As Giordino

 studied the laptop, he reported to Pitt that he could spot two large

 vessels inbound in the distance that figured to be commercial ships.

 Squinting out the cockpit window, Pitt could just make out the leading

 vessel on the horizon.

 

 "Let's go take a look," Pitt replied, aiming the nose of the airship

 toward the approaching ship.Flicking a button on the Coast Guard

 radio set newly installed in the cockpit, he spoke into his headset.

 

 "Coast Guard Cutter Halibut, this is airship Icarus.We are on

 station

 

 and preparing to survey two inbound vessels approximately forty-five

 miles due east of Long Beach, over."

 

 "Roger, Icarus" came a deep-voiced reply."Glad to have you and your

 eyes in the sky with us.We have three vessels deployed and engaged in

 current interdiction actions.We'll await your surveillance reports on

 new inbound vessels as they approach.Out."

 

 "Eyes in the sky," Giordino grumbled."I'd rather be the stomach on

 the sofa," he said, suddenly wondering if anyone had packed them a

 lunch aboard the airship.

 

 Throughout the night, the Odyssey had churned west, inching her way

 closer to the California coast that she had departed just days before.

 Tongju returned to the platform after resolving the launch position

 dispute and stole a few hours of sleep in the captain's cabin before

 rising an hour before dawn.Under the first trickles of morning light,

 he watched from the bridge as the platform followed in the Koguryo's

 wake, noticing the shadow of a sizable island in the distance off the

 starboard bow.It was San Nicolas Island, a dry and windblown rock

 farthest from shore of all the Channel Islands and owned by the Navy

 for use primarily as an amphibious training site.They continued west

 for another hour before the radio crackled with the voice of Captain

 Lee.

 

 "We are approaching the location that the Ukrainian engineers have

 indicated.Prepare to halt engines, and we will take up position to

 the southeast of you.We will be standing by to initiate launch

 countdown at your direction."

 

 "Affirmative," Tongju replied."We will set position and ballast the

 platform.Stand by for positioning."

 

 Tongju turned and nodded to one of Kang's undercover crewmen who was

 piloting the Odyssey.With skilled confidence, the helmsman eased off

 the platform's forward-propulsion throttles, then activated

 

 the self-positioning thrusters.Using a GPS coordinate as a fixed

 target, the computer-controlled system of forward, side, and rear

 thrusters was activated, locking the Odyssey in a fixed position as if

 parked on a dime.

 

 "Position control activated," the helmsman barked in a crisp military

 voice."Initiating ballast flooding," he continued, pushing a series

 of buttons on an illuminated console.

 

 Two hundred feet below the pilothouse, a series of gate valves were

 automatically opened inside the twin pontoons and a half-dozen ballast

 pumps began rapidly pumping salt water into the hollow steel hulls. The

 flooding was imperceptible to those standing on the platform deck, as

 the computer-controlled pumps ensured an even rate of flooding.On the

 bridge, Tongju studied a computerized three-dimensional image of the

 Odyssey on a monitor, its catamaran hulls and lower columns turning a

 bright blue as the seawater poured in.Like a lethargic elevator ride,

 as the men on the bridge watched rather than felt, the platform sank

 slowly toward the waves.Sixty minutes passed before the platform

 gently dropped forty-six feet, the bottom of its twin hulls submerged

 to a stabilizing depth seventy feet below the surface.Tongju noted

 that the platform had ceased its slow swaying evident earlier.With

 its submerged pontoons and partially sunken pilings, the Odyssey had

 become a rock-stable platform from which to launch a million-pound

 rocket.

 

 A buzzer sounded as the designated launch depth was attained, the

 rising blue water on the monitor graphic having reached a red

 horizontal line.The helmsman pressed a few more buttons, then stood

 back from the console.

 

 "Flooding complete.Platform is stabilized for launch," he said.

 

 "Secure the bridge," Tongju replied, nodding toward a Filipino crewman

 who stood near the radarscope.A guard standing near the door was

 waved over and quickly escorted the crewman off the bridge without

 saying a word.Tongju followed out the rear of the bridge, entering a

 small elevator, which he rode to the floor of the hangar.A dozen or so engineers were hovering around the huge horizontal rocket,

 examining an array of computer stations that were wired directly into

 the launch vehicle.Tongju approached a thick-haired man with round

 glasses named Ling who headed up the launch operations team.Before

 Tongju could speak, Ling gushed with a nervous testimony.

 

 "We have verified final tests on the payload with positive results. The

 launch vehicle is secure and all electromechanical systems have tested

 nominal."

 

 "Good.The platform is in the designated position and ballasted for

 launch.Is the rocket ready to be transported to the launch tower?"

 

 Ling nodded enthusiastically."We have been awaiting word to proceed.

 We are prepared to initiate launch vehicle transport and erection."

 

 "There is no reason to dawdle.Proceed at once.Notify me when you

 are ready to evacuate the platform."

 

 "Yes, of course," Ling replied, then hurried over to a group of nearby

 engineers and spoke at them rapid-fire.Like a band of scared rabbits,

 the engineers scattered in a fury to their collective posts.Tongju

 stood back and watched as the massive hangar doors were opened,

 revealing a railed path across the deck to the standing launch tower at

 the opposite end of the platform.A series of electrical motors were

 then started, which reverberated loudly off the hangar's interior

 walls.Tongju walked behind a console panel and peered over Ling's

 shoulder as the launch leader's hands danced over the control board.

 When a row of lights suddenly glowed green, Ling pointed to another

 engineer, who activated the mobile cradle.

 

 The two-hundred-foot horizontal rocket rocked sluggishly toward the

 hangar doors, its support cradle creeping forward on a countless mass

 of wheels that churned like the legs of a centipede.With its base

 thrusters leading the way, the rocket crept through the doors and into

 the daylight, its white paint glistening under the morning sun.Tongju

 strolled alongside the rolling launch vehicle, admiring the potent

 power of the huge rocket while amazed at its massive girth in the prone

 position.Several hundred yards away, the Koguryo stood off the

 platform, a throng of crew and engineers craning from her top deck to

 catch a glimpse of the big rocket under way.

 

 Crossing the open deck, the mechanical caterpillar ground to a halt as

 it reached the base of the launch tower.The upper section of the

 rocket had not completely cleared the hangar and a sliding panel in the

 hangar roof suddenly crept open to provide clearance.The transporter

 was locked securely in place to the deck and then the erector

 mechanicals were engaged, activating hydraulic pumps that pushed gently

 against the rocket's cradle.With delicate patience, the launch

 vehicle was slowly tilted upright, its nose sliding through the hangar

 roof opening, until it stood vertically against the launch tower.A

 series of support braces clamped the rocket to the platform, while a

 jumble of fuel, cooling, and venting lines were affixed and checked.

 Several workmen on the tower plugged in a series of data cables that

 allowed the engineers on the Koguryo to monitor the dozens of

 electronic sensors embedded under the rocket's skin.Once the Zenit

 was affixed upright, the erector transporter support cradle was gently

 eased away, leaving the rocket braced only by the launch tower.With a

 hydraulic murmur, the cradle was slowly lowered to its original

 horizontal position and returned to the hangar, where it would be

 sheltered out of harm's way during launch.

 

 Ling spoke anxiously by radio to the Launch Control Center on the

 Koguryo before dashing over to Tongju.

 

 "Some minor anomalies, but, overall, the launch vehicle meets all major

 prelaunch parameters."

 

 Tongju looked up at the towering rocket with its payload of deadly

 virus, aimed to rain death on millions of innocent people.The

 suffering and deaths meant nothing to him, a man purged of emotional

 empathy decades ago.The power he felt before him was all that

 mattered, a power greater than he had ever known before, and he

 relished the moment.Gradually, his eyes played down from the tip of

 the

 

 rocket to its base, then swept slowly across the breadth of the plat

 form, before settling on Ling.The engineer stood waiting anxiously

 for a reply.Tongju let Ling wallow in discomfort a moment longer before breaking the silence in a deep, firm tone."Very well," he said.

 "Begin the countdown."

 

 The crew OF the Deep Endeavor had quickly found interdiction support

 duty to be a monotonous assignment.After two days on station, they

 had only been requested to board and search one ship, a small freighter

 from the Philippines carrying a shipment of hardwood timber.The

 commercial shipping traffic that approached Los Angeles from the

 southwest had been light and ably handled by the nearby Coast Guard

 cutter Narwhal. The NUMA crew preferred to be put to work rather than

 circle aimlessly waiting for action and quietly hoped traffic would

 pick up in their quadrant.

 

 In the ship's galley, Dirk sat sipping a cup of coffee with Summer

 while she studied a report on coral mortality in the Great Barrier Reef

 when a crewman approached and told them that they were wanted on the

 bridge.

 

 "We've received a call from the Narwhal," Delgado reported."They're

 halfway through a container vessel search and asked us toconfirm identification on a vessel approaching west of Catalina and

 then stand by for possible interdiction."

 

 "No advance identification from our eye-in-the-sky?"Dirk asked.

 

 "Your father and Al took off in the Icarus this morning.They're

 working their way down from the north and will probably make a pass

 through our quadrant within the next couple of hours."

 

 Summer peered out the bridge window to the north, spotting the Narwhal

 bobbing alongside a large containership that rode low in the water from

 its heavy cargo.Farther west, she spotted a red speck approaching on

 the horizon.The Deep Endeavor's pilot was already steering an

 intercept course toward it.

 

 "Is that her?"Summer asked, pointing a finger toward the object.

 

 "Yes," Delgado replied."The Narwhal has already radioed her to halt,

 so we'll intercept her after she's had a chance to slow.She's

 reported herself as the Maru Santo out of Osaka."

 

 An hour later, the Deep Endeavor hove to alongside the Maru Santo, a

 rusty, multipurpose cargo freighter of small size by inter-Pacific

 standards.Aimes's Sea Marshal team, along with Summer, Dahlgren, and

 three other NUMA crewmen, climbed into a small launch and motored over

 to the freighter, tying up to a rust-stained stairwell that was lowered

 over the side.Having made fast friends with the bomb-sniffing dogs,

 Summer quickly volunteered to take the leash of one of the retrievers.

 As Aimes and Dahlgren met with the freighter's captain to review the

 manifest, the remaining contingent began a bow-to-stern search of the

 ship.With the dogs leading the way, the search crew wedged through

 the ship's holds, checking the container seals and examining several

 loose crated shipments of running shoes and apparel manufactured in

 Taiwan.A gritty Malaysian crew looked on with bored amusement as the

 yellow Labs sniffed their way through the dimly lit crew's quarters.

 

 Dirk stood on the bridge of the Deep Endeavor, studying the Japanese

 cargo ship.A pair of the freighter's crew stood on the deck looking

 back at the NUMA vessel.Dirk tossed a friendly wave as the two

 

 men leaned against a railing in disheveled clothes, smoking cigarettes

 and cracking jokes in an obviously relaxed manner.

 

 "There is no threat from this ship," he turned and said with certainty

 to Captain Burch.

 

 "How can you be so sure?"

 

 "The crew is too lax.The men on Kang's ship were no-nonsense

 professionals, not the ragtag jovial sort on this tub.There would be

 a slew of paranoid undercover security types running around as well,"

 he added, recalling the image of Tongju and his men.

 

 "Be worth noting to Aimes when he gets back.If nothing else, it's

 still a good practice exercise for the boys.And, heck, I got Dahlgren

 off the bridge for a few minutes at least," the captain smiled.

 

 "We've still got to find them first.There's just too many places to

 hide at sea," Dirk muttered.

 

 As the search team appeared above decks for a moment, Captain Burch

 picked up a pair of binoculars and scanned the horizon.He noted a

 pair of dots far to the southwest, then scanned to the north, taking in

 the Narwhal as she started to pull away from the container-ship.Burch

 started to drop the binoculars when a sudden glint caught his eye.

 Raising the glasses and adjusting the focus, he smiled broadly, then

 spoke to Dirk.

 

 "I guess there will be a few less places to hide on the sea now that

 our illustrious leaders of the deep are checking things out from the

 balcony."

 

 Two thousand feet above the calmly rolling swells of the Pacific, the

 silver Icarus floated gracefully across the sky at thirty-five miles

 per hour.While the elder Pitt handled the blimp's flight controls,

 Giordino adjusted a row of dials at the base of a flat-panel color

 monitor.A WE SCAM long-distance camera mounted to the side of the

 gondola, a supplement to the LASH imaging system, fed into the

 

 monitor, providing a zoom image of objects located hundreds of yards

 away.Pitt glanced from the flight controls to the monitor, which

 displayed a close-up picture of the stern of a small boat where two

 bikini-clad women were stretched out sunbathing.

 

 "I hope your girlfriend doesn't catch wind of your voyeuristic

 tendencies," Pitt laughed.

 

 "Just testing the resolution," Giordino replied in a serious tone while

 prankishly zooming the image in and out on one of the women's

 behinds.

 

 "Ansel Adams you're not.Let's see what that setup will read with a

 real target," Pitt said, turning the airship west toward an outbound

 vessel a few miles away.Dropping down a few hundred feet, Pitt nosed

 the Icarus to starboard and increased the throttle, gradually gaining

 ground on the departing ship.While still nearly a half mile away,

 Giordino zoomed the camera lens onto the stern of the black-hulled

 freighter, easily reading the name: "Jasmine Star... Madras."He

 raised the camera along the ship's deck, noting a stacked array of

 containers, before settling on the bridge mast, where the monitor

 revealed a flag of India snapping crisply in the breeze."Works like a

 champ," Al said proudly.

 

 Pitt looked at the LASH screen on the laptop, which showed an empty

 swath of sea in advance of the Indian freighter."Nothing coming up on

 the main shipping channel for the time being.Let's keep going south,

 where it looks like there's a little more activity," he said, noting

 several images on the left edge of the screen.

 

 Maneuvering the blimp south, they soon passed over the Narwhal and the

 containership she just searched, then they cruised over a portion of

 Catalina Island.Passing back over the water, Giordino pointed out the

 windshield toward a turquoise ship in the distance.

 

 "There's the Deep Endeavor.Looks like she has gotten into the act as

 well," he said, noting the red freighter idling nearby.

 

 Pitt guided the blimp toward the NUMA ship, calling it up on the radio

 as they approached.

 

 "Icarus to Deep Endeavor.How's the fishing down there?"

 

 "Nary a nibble," Burch's voice replied."How are you gentlemen

 enjoying your sightseeing flight?"

 

 "Delightful, except for Al's incessant crunching at the caviar table,

 which is interrupting my enjoyment of the in-flight movie.We'll see

 if we can't rustle you up some more business."

 

 "Roger, we'd be much obliged."

 

 Giordino adjusted the blimp's LASH system, examining it for targets.

 

 "Looks like we've got an inbound vessel in the main shipping channel

 about twenty-two miles to the northwest and what looks like a couple of

 stationary targets eighteen miles to the west of us," he said, pointing

 to some gray-and-white patches on the monitor that contrasted with the

 blue ocean background.

 

 Pitt looked at the laptop, then glanced at his watch."We ought to be

 able to catch the northwest ship on the fly.Let's go see what's

 parked out here first," he replied, aiming the blimp to the west and

 toward the two large smudges on the screen that were oddly sitting

 still.

 

 Firing A rocket off the Sea Launch platform is traditionally preceded

 by a seventy-two-hour launch countdown.During the three-day

 preparation, dozens of tests are performed to ensure that all support

 systems are operational and all mechanical and computer systems aboard

 the rocket are ready to withstand the violent rigors of launch.At

 T-15 hours before launch, the engineers and all but a handful of

 crewmen are evacuated from the platform as the final stages of the

 countdown progresses.The assembly and command ship is then moved to a

 safe operating area four miles up range of the platform.

 

 At T-5 hours, the last of the crewmen are evacuated from the platform

 aboard a helicopter and the remaining countdown procedures are handled

 remotely from the support ship.With less than three hours to go, the

 hazardous operation of fueling the launch vehicle is performed

 automatically, the kerosene and oxygen combustibles remotely pumped

 into the rocket from the large storage tanks housed on the platform.

 Once fueled, the decision is then left to the launch engineers aboard

 the support ship to proceed with the launch and fire the rocket when

 ready.

 

 Absent the luxury of time, Ling's team of launch engineers consolidated

 the Sea Launch firing procedures into a bare-minimum schedule.

 Redundant and nonessential tests were scrapped, built-in launch holds

 were eliminated, and the fueling time reduced on account of the

 shortened flight plan.By their accord, they could launch the Zenit in

 just eight hours from the time the Odyssey was ballasted and

 stabilized.

 

 Tongju stood on the platform near the base of the launch tower and

 gazed at a large digital clock mounted on the roofline of the hangar.

 The red illuminated numbers read 03:32:17, with the digits clicking

 backward a second at a time.Three hours and thirty-two minutes until

 liftoff.Barring a major technical difficulty, there would be no

 halting the launch now.In Tongju's eyes, it would soon come down to

 the simple task of fueling the rocket and lighting it off.

 

 But before the button could be pushed, the Koguryo had to obtain total

 control of the launch process.Ling and his engineers first

 established a radio link to the automated launch control system, which

 was tested and verified through the Koguryo's launch control center.

 Then there was the transfer of the Odyssey's own command system.A

 wireless marine positioning system allowed the launch platform to be

 remotely controlled after all personnel were evacuated for launch. like

 a radio-controlled toy, the platform could be raised, lowered, or moved

 by the touch of a keypad aboard the Koguryo.Once the controls had

 been passed to the support ship, Ling approached Tongju on the deck.

 

 "My work here is complete.Full system control now lies on the

 Koguryo.My team and I must return to the support ship to resume

 launch countdown activities."

 

 Tongju glanced again at the countdown clock."My compliments.

 

 You are ahead of schedule.I will call for the Koguryo's tender and

 you may take your men off the platform at once."

 

 "You will not be joining us now?"Ling asked.

 

 "I must secure the prisoners first, then my assault team will follow

 along.It is my desire to be the last man off the platform before

 launch," Tongju said."That is, except for the men who will not be

 coming off at all," he added with a sinister smile.

 

 "There's not supposed to be an oil platform located here."

 

 Giordino's eyes shifted from the large square object on the water ahead

 of them to an oversized navigational chart he'd folded on his lap."No

 man-made hazards are indicated in this region at all.I don't think

 the Sierra Club is going to take kindly to some stealth drilling this

 close to the coast."

 

 "They might be even more perturbed when you tell them the oil platform

 has a rocket aboard," Pitt replied.

 

 Giordino squinted out the airship's windshield toward the approaching

 platform."I'll be.Give that man with the eagle eye a cookie."

 

 Pitt turned the blimp as they approached, making a wide loop around the

 platform and adjacent support ship, careful to avoid its airspace.

 

 "Sea Launch?"Giordino asked.

 

 "Must be.I didn't think they'd move it around with the rocket

 standing upright, though."

 

 "I think they're parked," Giordino replied, noting there was no wake

 from the nearby support ship."You don't suppose they would be

 launching from here?"

 

 "No way.They are supposed to fire those things off from the equator.

 They would at least be up north off the Vandenberg range if they were

 going to try a live launch around here.Probably some sort of test,

 but let's find out."

 

 Pitt punched a switch on a marine band radio and hailed the platform

 through his headset.

 

 "Airship Icarus to Sea Launch platform.Over."

 

 An empty pause ensued and then Pitt repeated the call.After another

 lengthy lull, an accented voice finally replied.

 

 "This is Sea Launch platform Odyssey.Over."

 

 "Odyssey, what is the nature of your position?Do you require

 assistance?Over."

 

 Another long pause."Negative."

 

 "I repeat, what is the nature of your position?"

 

 A pause again."Who is requesting inquiry?"

 

 "Friendly sorts, aren't they?"Giordino said to Pitt.

 

 Pitt shook his head slightly and spoke again into the radio."This is

 airship Icarus, supporting Coast Guard border security.Please

 identify current state.Over."

 

 "This is Odyssey.We are conducting system tests.Please stay clear.

 Over and out."

 

 "The guy's a regular Gabby Hayes," Giordino said."Do you want to

 stick around?We need to roll back north if we want to intercept that

 incoming vessel," he said, pointing to the radar screen.

 

 "I guess there's not much we can do from up here.Okay, we'll do our

 job and play tag with the next inbound vessel.But let's have one of

 the boys downstairs check this out," Pitt said, turning the airship

 around to the north.

 

 Giordino took to the radio as Pitt laid in an intercept course toward

 the inbound commercial ship."The Deep Endeavor and the Narwhal are

 working this region.Deep Endeavor is still searching a Japanese

 freighter, but the Narwhal is freed up at the moment.She says the

 platform is outside their twelve-mile operating limit, however."

 

 "We're not asking for an interdiction boarding.Just request a remote

 visual survey and verification with Sea Launch authorities."

 

 Giordino spoke into the radio again, then turned to Pitt."Narwhal

 agrees and is on her way."

 

 "Good," Pitt replied, watching the platform fade away in the distance

 behind them.But he didn't feel good. A nagging sensation told him

 they had missed something on their flyover.Something important.

 

 Kim stood with Tongju on the bridge of the Odyssey watching the blimp

 circle away to the north.

 

 "They did not loiter for very long.Do you think they suspect

 anything?"Kim asked.

 

 "I do not know," Tongju replied, his eyes moving from the blimp to a

 chronometer mounted on the bulwark."The launch will take place in

 just over two hours.There is no room for interference now.Return to

 the Koguryo, Ki-Ri, and stand by with Captain Lee.If there is any

 attempted outside hindrance, deal with it decisively.Do you

 understand?"

 

 Kim looked his commander squarely in the eye and nodded."I understand completely."

 

 Dirk and Captain Burch listened in on the Deep Endeavor's Coast Guard

 radio as Giordino asked the Narwhal to survey the Sea Launch platform

 and support ship.Minutes later, the Narwhal called up the NUMA

 vessel.

 

 "Deep Endeavor, we have completed inspection of the containership

 Andaman Star and are proceeding to the offshore platform for a visual

 inspection.No incoming traffic in our quadrant is presently in range,

 so you may accompany us at your convenience if desired.Over."

 

 "Shall we take a look?"Captain Burch asked of Dirk.

 

 "Why not?Business is slow.We can follow along once we're finished

 here."

 

 Burch glanced at the Japanese freighter, noting that Aimes and the

 search crew were beginning to assemble at the rail, their inspection

 nearly complete.

 

 "Affirmative, Narwhal" Burch radioed to the Coast Guard vessel.

 

 "We'll shadow you upon completion of our current inspection, in another

 five or ten minutes.Out."

 

 "Wonder what piqued the old man's interest," Dirk asked rhetorically as

 he and Burch peered across the horizon trying to make out the image of

 the floating platform.

 

 Three miles away, the Narwhalhzd stoked up its twin diesel motors and

 was skimming across the waves at its top speed of 25 knots.The

 eighty-seven-foot cutter was one of the newer Barracuda-class patrol

 boats employed by the Coast Guard, designed to work out of smaller

 ports and harbors.With their mission focused primarily on inspection

 and sea rescue, the boat's crew of ten was only lightly armed with a

 pair of 12.7mm machine guns mounted on the bow deck.

 

 Lieutenant Bruce Carr Smith braced himself against a bulkhead in the

 cramped bridge as the white-and-orange-trimmed boat lurched over a

 swell, her bow slapping the sea with a spray of foam.

 

 "Lieutenant, I've radioed command headquarters.Dispatch is going to

 contact the Sea Launch port office to determine what's up with their

 platform," the Narwhal's red-haired communications officer stated from

 the corner.

 

 Smith nodded in reply, then spoke to a boyish-looking helmsman manning

 the wheel."Steady as she goes," he said firmly.

 

 The two dots they chased on the horizon gradually grew larger until the

 distinct shapes of an oil platform and a utility ship drew into focus.

 The support ship was no longer aside the platform and Smith could see

 that it was in fact moving away from the stationary platform.Smith

 took a quick glance over his shoulder and saw that the Deep Endeavor

 had completed her freighter inspection.The turquoise vessel was

 moving away from the freighter and appeared to be following his path in

 the distance.

 

 "Sir, would you like to approach the platform or the ship?"the

 helmsman asked as they drew nearer.

 

 "Bring us alongside the platform for starters, then we'll go take a

 look at the ship," Smith replied.

 

 The small patrol boat slowed as it eased near the platform, which now

 rode fourteen meters lower in the water under its ballasted state.

 Smith looked in awe at the huge Zenit rocket standing at its launch

 tower near the stern edge of the platform.Peering through binoculars,

 he studied the platform deck but saw no signs of life.Surveying the

 forward section of the platform, he caught sight of the launch

 countdown clock, which now read 01:32:00, one hour and thirty-two

 minutes.

 

 "What the hell?"Smith muttered as he watched the digital numbers tick

 lower.Grabbing the marine radio transmitter, he called to Odyssey.

 

 "Sea Launch platform, this is Coast Guard cutter Narwhal.Over." After

 a pause, he tried again.But he was met only with silence.

 

 "Sea Launch director of information, how may I help you?"a soft,

 feminine voice answered over the phone line.

 

 "This is the Eleventh District U.S. Coast Guard, Marine Safety Group,

 Los Angeles, central dispatch.We're requesting mission and location

 status of Sea Launch vessels Odyssey and Sea Launch Commander,

 please."

 

 "One moment," the information director hesitated, shuffling through

 some papers on her desk.

 

 "Here we are," she continued."The launch platform Odyssey is en route

 to her designated launch site in the western Pacific, near the equator.

 Her last reported position, as of eight a.m. this morning, was at

 approximately 18 degrees North Latitude, 132 degrees West Longitude, or

 roughly seventeen hundred miles east-southeast of Honolulu Hawaii.The

 assembly and command ship Sea Launch Commander is presently at port in

 Long Beach undergoing minor repairs.She is expected to depart port

 tomorrow morning to rendezvous with the Odyssey at the equator, where

 the Koreasat 2 launch is scheduled in eight days."

 

 "Neither vessel is currently located at sea off the coast of Southern

 California?"

 

 "Why no, of course not."

 

 "Thank you for the information, ma'am."

 

 "You're welcome," the director replied before hanging up, wondering why

 the Coast Guard would think the platform was anywhere near the coast of

 California.

 

 Smith was too anxious to dally for a response from the Los Angeles

 Coast Guard Group and brought his vessel closer to the platform.The

 Coast Guard lieutenant was annoyed at the lack of response from the

 Odyssey, which had ignored his repetitive radio calls.He finally

 turned his attention toward the support ship, which had now crept a

 quarter mile away from the platform.Repeated radio calls to the ship

 went unanswered as well.

 

 "Sir, she's flying a Japanese flag," the helmsman noted as the Narwhal

 moved toward the vessel.

 

 "No excuse for ignoring a marine radio call.Let's move alongside the

 vessel and I'll try to talk to them over the PA system," Smith

 ordered.

 

 As Narwhal moved out of the shadow of the platform, pandemonium struck

 at once.Coast Guard dispatch broke over the Narwhal's radio with word

 that the Odyssey was reported a thousand miles away from California and

 that her support ship was sitting docked in Long Beach.Aboard the

 Koguryo, a handful of crewmen pushed aside a lower deck siding,

 revealing a row of large cylindrical tubes pointing

 

 seaward.Though in disbelief, Smith's instincts took over, correctly

 assessing the situation and barking orders before he even realized the

 words were flowing from his lips.

 

 "Hard to port!Apply full power!Prepare for evasive maneuvers!"But

 it was too late.The helmsman was just able to swing the Narwhal

 broadside to the Koguryo when a plume of white smoke suddenly billowed

 from the larger ship's lower deck.The smoke seemed to build at its

 source before a bright flash burst forth.Then, out of the smoke, a

 Chinese CSS-N-4 Sardine surface-to-surface missile erupted from its

 launch tube, bursting horizontally away from the ship.Watching

 mesmerized from the bridge, Smith had the distinct sensation of being

 shot between the eyes with an arrow as he observed the missile charge

 directly toward him across the water.The nose tip of the missile

 seemed to smile at him in the fractional second before it smashed into

 the bridge just a few feet away.

 

 Carrying 365 pounds of high explosives, the Chinese missile had enough

 demolition power to sink a cruiser.Striking at short range, the

 cutter had no chance.The nineteen-foot missile ripped-into the

 Narwhal and exploded in a massive fireball, blasting the Coast Guard

 ship and its crew into fiery bits that scattered across the water.A

 small black mushroom cloud rose like a macabre tombstone above the

 devastation as the flames died quietly on the water's surface.The

 incinerated white hull, the only material remains of the ship left

 intact, clung to the sea's surface in a futile battle to stay afloat.

 Around her, flaming chunks of debris blazed in the water before slowly

 sinking to the seabed.The smoldering hull clung to the surface for

 nearly fifteen minutes before the fight left her and the last remains

 of the Narwhal slipped under the surface with a gasping sizzle and a

 wisp of steam.

 

 My God, they've fired a missile at the Narwhall" Captain Burch cried

 out as he watched the Coast Guard ship disappear in a cloud of smoke

 and fire two miles ahead of the Deep Endeavor.Del-gado immediately

 attempted to raise the Narwhalon the marine radio as the others peered

 out the bridge window.Summer grabbed a pair of high-power binoculars

 but there was little to be seen of the Narwhal, its shattered remains

 obscured by a thick veil of smoke.Looking past the smoke, she scanned

 the platform and the adjacent support ship, which she studied for a

 long while.

 

 "There's no response," Delgado said quietly after repeated attempts to

 contact the Coast Guard vessel were met with silence.

 

 "There may be survivors in the water," Aimes stuttered, stunned at the

 sudden demise of a boat and crew he knew well.

 

 "I can't dare move any closer," Captain Burch replied with angst.

 "We're completely unarmed, and they may well be aiming their next

 missile at us as we speak."Burch then turned and ordered his helmsman

 to stop engines and hold their present position.

 

 Delgado spoke to Aimes."The captain is right.We'll call for help

 but we can't endanger our crew.We don't even know who or what we are

 up against."

 

 "It's Kang's men," Summer said, handing the binoculars to her

 brother.

 

 "You're sure?"Aimes asked.

 

 She nodded silently with a shiver as Dirk surveyed the vessels.:

 "She's right," he said slowly."The support ship.It's the same

 vessel that sank the Sea Rover.She's even flying a Japanese flag.

 They've painted and reconfigured her, but I'll bet my next paycheck

 it's the same ship."

 

 "But why are they standing off here with the platform?"Aimes added, a

 mask of confusion crossing his face.

 

 "There can only be one reason.They are preparing to launch a strike

 with the Sea Launch rocket."

 

 A subdued silence fell across the bridge as the gravity of the

 situation sunk in.A disbelieving Aimes finally broke the hushed

 confines.

 

 "But the Narwhal.We've got to see if anyone's alive."

 

 "Aimes, you need to get some help out here, and now," Dirk replied

 brusquely."I'll go see if there are any survivors."

 

 Delgado looked at Dirk with a furrowed brow."But we don't dare bring

 the Deep Endeavor any closer," he cautioned.

 

 "I don't intend to," Dirk replied without explanation as he quickly

 exited the bridge.

 

 Tongju gazed down from the Odyssey's bridge at the smoldering debris of

 the Narwhal and stared quietly.There was no choice but for the

 Koguryo to act against the Coast Guard vessel.It was what he had

 ordered Kim to do.But they were positioned far enough off shore that

 they should never have been detected in the first place.He knew now

 that it was the encounter with the blimp that had raised suspicions.

 Silently, he cursed the Ukrainian engineers for moving the launch site

 closer to shore, neglecting to consider that the final decision had

 been his.

 

 Pacing the Odyssey's bridge anxiously, he noted the launch countdown

 clock read 01:10:00, one hour and ten minutes to go.A radio call from

 the Koguryo crackled through the air, breaking his thoughts.

 

 "This is Lee.We destroyed the enemy vessel, as you directed.There

 is another vessel standing off two thousand meters.Do you wish us to

 destroy her also?"

 

 "Is she another military vessel?Over," Tongju asked, peering out the

 bridge toward the distant ship.

 

 "Negative.Believed to be a research vessel."

 

 "No.Save your armament, we may need it later."

 

 "As you wish.Ling reports that his launch team is securely aboard the

 Koguryo.Are you ready to evacuate the platform?"

 

 "Yes.Send the tender back to the platform, my remaining team will be

 ready to evacuate shortly.Out."

 

 Tongju hung up the radio transmitter, then turned to a commando

 standing at the rear of the bridge.

 

 "Transfer the Sea Launch prisoners in small groups to the launch

 vehicle hangar and lock them in the storage bay located inside.Then

 assemble the assault team for transport back to the Koguryo!"

 

 "You do not fear that the platform crew may survive the launch inside

 the hangar?"the commando asked.

 

 "The exhaust gases will likely kill them.I do not care whether they

 live or die just as long as they are unable to interfere with the

 launch.

 

 The commando nodded, then slipped out the rear of the bridge.Tongju

 slowly walked across the pilothouse, carefully examining the array of

 marine electronics built into the lower forward bulkhead.Finding a

 panel that contained the manual override switches to the automated

 controls, he pulled out a combat knife and jammed the blade

 

 into a side seam and pried open the cover.Grasping the mass of wires

 inside, he yanked the serrated edge of his knife across and through the

 bundle, rendering the switches useless.Continuing his trek through

 the bridge, he gathered up a half-dozen keyboards attached to various

 navigational and positioning computers and tossed them through an open

 window, watching patiently as they splashed into the ocean below.A

 trio of laptop computers quickly followed the long plunge to a watery

 demise.For good measure, he pulled out his Glock and fired several

 rounds into an assortment of computer and navigation monitors

 positioned about the bridge.As Ling had been ordered to do with the

 launch control computers in the hangar, Tongju disabled the navigation

 computers in the pilothouse, destroying any possibility of last-minute

 intervention.With less than an hour till liftoff, all control of the

 platform and the rocket was in the hands of the Koguryo, and there it

 would remain.

 

 "Let me go with you," Summer said."You know that I can pilot anything

 under the sea."

 

 "It's just a two-seater, and Jack is the only one with experience in

 this thing.It's better that he and I go," Dirk replied, nodding

 toward Dahlgren as he prepared the deep-probe submersible for

 launching.Grabbing his sister's hand, he looked deeply into her pearl

 gray eyes.

 

 "Get ahold of Dad and tell him what happened.Tell him we need help

 right away."

 

 Giving his sister a quick embrace, he added quietly, "Make sure Burch

 keeps the Endeavor in a safe position even if something happens to

 us."

 

 "Be careful," she said as he quickly climbed up and into the

 submersible, sealing the hatch behind him.Squirming into the pilot's

 seat beside Dahlgren, he saw that the submersible was fully powered up

 and ready to go.

 

 "Thirty knots?"Dirk asked with skepticism.

 

 "That's what the owner's manual states," Jack Dahlgren replied, then

 turned and gave a thumbs-up signal through the view port window.On

 the stern of the Deep Endeavor, a crane operator nodded in reply and

 lifted the bright red submersible off the ship's deck and over the

 side, dropping it hurriedly into the ocean.The two men caught a quick

 glimpse of Summer waving to them on the deck before they were engulfed

 in the green water.With the NUMA ship's bow pointed toward the

 platform, the submersible was effectively blocked from view by the Deep

 Endeavor's superstructure and they were deployed without being seen.

 A diver in the water released the cable hook, then gave a rap on the

 side to signal they were free.

 

 "Let's see what she'll deliver," Dirk said, activating the six

 thrusters and pushing the throttles to their stops.

 

 The cigar-shaped submarine surged rather than leaped forward, amid a

 whine of electric motors and rushing water.Dirk adjusted a pair of

 diving planes slightly until they were at a submerged depth of twenty

 feet, then followed a compass-directed path toward the wreck of the

 Narwhal.

 

 Through his hands, the ride felt like driving a vacuum cleaner.The

 submersible bobbed and weaved through the current and maneuvered like

 they were in a bowl of molasses.But with the buzzing of the thrusters

 in his ears, there was no denying she was a speed demon.Even without

 a relative speed gauge inside the submersible, Dirk could tell from the

 water rushing past the view port that they were moving at a rapid

 clip.

 

 "I told you she was a thoroughbred," Dahlgren grinned as he monitored

 an elapsed time clock on the console.Turning serious, he added, "We

 should be approaching Narwhal's position in about sixty seconds."Dirk

 gradually eased off the throttles a minute later, throwing the motors

 into idle as the Badger's forward momentum waned.Floating to the

 surface, Dahlgren adjusted the ballast tanks to keep them low in the

 water in order to remain as covert as possible.With his expert touch,

 the submersible just barely broke the surface, showing less than a foot

 of its topside surfaces above the water.

 

 A few yards in front of them, they could see the demolished hull of the

 smoldering Narwhal, her stern raised high in the air at an awkward

 angle.Dirk and Dahlgren barely had a chance to gaze at the hulk

 before her stern tipped upward even higher, then the entire remnant

 slipped quietly under the waves.Scattered about was a handful of

 floating debris, some smoldering but none larger than a doormat.Dirk

 guided the Badger in a small circle around the wreckage, but there was

 no sign of life in the water.Dahlgren solemnly radioed Aimes on the

 Deep Endeavor and reported that all appeared lost in the explosion.

 

 "Captain Burch asks that we return to the Deep Endeavor at once,"

 Dahlgren added.

 

 Dirk acted as if he didn't hear the comment and guided the submersible

 closer to the platform.From their vantage point low in the water,

 there was little on the platform deck they could see beyond the top

 half of the Zenit and the upper portion of the hangar.But suddenly he

 halted the Badger and pointed a finger past the rocket.

 

 "Look, up there."

 

 Dahlgren peered past the rocket but just saw the roof of the hangar and

 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 when 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,

 nodding 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

 launch tower, all of the men could not help but look up at the

 shimmering white rocket that towered over them.The captives were led

 to the very base of the standing rocket, which clung to the

 

 tower several feet above them.Dirk and Dahlgren were shoved against a

 tower bracing and ordered to stand still as the guard with the rope

 began cutting it into several lengths with a serrated knife.

 

 Tongju stood and casually unholstered his Glock, aiming it at Dirk's

 throat, as a guard hog-tied his wrists and elbows behind his back and

 around a tower support beam.The guard then tied his ankles together

 and wrapped them to the beam before moving over to Dahlgren and roping

 him to the tower in the same fashion.

 

 "Enjoy the launch, gentlemen," Tongju hissed, then turned and walked

 away.

 

 "We shall, knowing that vermin like you won't have long to breathe,"

 Dirk cursed.

 

 He and Dahlgren watched silently as Tongju and his men jogged across

 the platform toward the forward support column and disappeared down the

 stairwell.A few minutes later, they observed the tender speeding away

 toward the Koguryo, which was now positioned nearly two miles from the

 Odyssey.From their captive position, they had a clear view of the

 launch clock as it ticked down to 00:26:00, twenty-six minutes.Dirk

 looked up and morbidly studied the Zenit's huge thrusters that hung

 several feet above their heads.At the first seconds of launch, 1.6

 million pounds of thrust would be expelled onto them like a firestorm,

 incinerating their bodies to ashes.At least it would be a quick

 death, he thought.

 

 "I guess that's the last time I let you talk me into crashing a party

 uninvited," Dahlgren said, breaking the tension.

 

 "Sorry, I guess we were a little underdressed," Dirk replied without

 humor.He tugged and twisted at the binding ropes, searching for an

 avenue of escape, but there was little room to even wiggle his hands.

 

 "Any chance you can slip your ropes?"he asked hopefully of

 Dahlgren.

 

 "Afraid not.This guy definitely earned his merit badge in knot

 tying," Dahlgren said, pulling at his restraints.

 

 A loud clanging across the platform seized their attention, which

 

 was followed by a deep rumbling beneath their feet.The rushing sound

 of flowing liquid bellowed up behind them, roaring up and overhead

 through a series of pipes built into the launch tower.The pipes

 creaked and groaned around them as they protested the flow of the

 supercooled liquid oxygen and kerosene being pumped into the Zenit.

 

 "They're fueling the rocket," Dirk observed."Too dangerous to do with

 the crew aboard so they wait until just prior to launch, after the

 platform has been evacuated."

 

 "That makes me feel so much better.I just hope the guy manning the

 pump doesn't get sloppy and overfill the tank."

 

 They both looked up at the rocket in apprehension, knowing that a spill

 of liquid oxygen would burn right through their skin.The rocket

 shuddered and wailed as it drank in the liquid fuel, seeming to come

 alive with the infusion.Pumps and motors whirred above their heads as

 priming fuel was released into the rocket engine's initial combustion

 chamber.Both men stared up in numbed silence at the mouth of the

 rocket thrusters, contemplating the impending conflagration that would

 rain upon them.Dirk thought of Sarah and felt a sudden pang in his

 chest, realizing he would never see her again.Worse still, he

 remembered that she was visiting Los Angeles.She, too, might well

 succumb to the effects of the missile launch, a launch that he had

 failed to prevent.Then his sister and father sprang to mind and he

 felt remorse in that they would never know what befell his

 disappearance.There certainly wouldn't be any remains left to bury,

 he thought morbidly.His attention was drawn to a low hiss, caused by

 puffs of white steam venting out of several safety valves along the

 Zenit's exterior.As the chilled oxygen warmed in the daytime air, the

 expanding vapor was purged from the rocket, accumulating in wispy

 clouds above their heads.To the cruel irony of the two captives

 awaiting death in their last minutes, the sky seemed to darken over

 them as the vapor shadows obscured the rays of the sun.But Dirk's

 heart suddenly skipped a beat when he realized that the shadow

 

 cast over them above the rocket was slowly creeping across the platform

 deck.

 

 Even from high in the sky, the Sea Launch platform and Zenit rocket

 looked impressive.But for the men in the Icarus, the focus was not

 one of sightseeing.There was no puttering around the airspace this

 time as the blimp came floating directly over the stationary

 platform.

 

 "There's the Badger.She's tied up alongside the forward support

 column," Giordino said, pointing toward a corner of the platform where

 the red submersible could be seen bobbing in the water.

 

 "Dirk and Jack clearly made it aboard," Pitt replied with a touch of

 concern.

 

 Upon receiving a radio call from Summer on the Deep Endeavorthat the

 Narwhal had been attacked, Pitt immediately yanked the blimp around to

 the south and came charging back at full speed.The twin Porsche

 engines affixed to the gondola whined as the rpm's climbed and the

 airship was pushed to its top speed of 50 knots.On the horizon, Pitt

 and Giordino could see the black smoke from the Narwhal's smoldering

 hull rising like a beacon before the ship slipped underwater.Pitt

 willed the blimp toward the debris as fast as the ungainly airship

 would go while Giordino focused the long-distance camera at the site

 ahead.As they grew nearer, they observed the Koguryo distancing

 herself from the platform, while discovering little remains of the

 Coast Guard vessel through the magnified camera lens.

 

 "You might not want to cruise too close to that support ship," Giordino

 cautioned after several tight passes over the Narwhal site failed to

 reveal any survivors.

 

 "You think she's carrying SAMs?"Pitt asked.

 

 "She stung the Narwhal with a surface-to-surface, so it's a betting

 chance."

 

 "I'll keep the platform positioned in between us.That should dissuade

 them from firing on us and, hopefully, alleviate your Hindenburg

 fears."

 

 Pitt brought the airship down to an altitude of five hundred feet and

 eased back on the high-reving motors as they approached the platform.

 Giordino focused the WES COM camera onto the Koguryo standing off in

 the distance, eyeing it warily for signs of a potential strike on the

 blimp.The shuttle boat suddenly lurched into view on the monitor as

 it pulled up alongside the ship.Pitt and Giordino watched as Tongju

 and the last of his assault team climbed onto the larger vessel.Pitt

 noted that Jack and his son were not among the group.

 

 "The last of the rats leaving the platform?"Giordino asked.

 

 "Could be.Doesn't look like they are sending the tender back.Let's

 see if we can find anyone left minding the store."

 

 The blimp drifted over the stern of the platform and Pitt guided the

 airship along the length of the portside deck toward the bow.Not a

 soul could be seen wandering the deck below.Giordino pointed out the

 backward-ticking clock on the hangar, which read 00:27:00, twenty-seven

 minutes.As they floated past the forward edge, Pitt turned and ran

 across the Odyssey's bow and alongside the roof-mounted pilothouse.

 Giordino swung the camera until it pointed into the windows of the

 platform's command station.On the monitor, they could see clearly

 into the bridge.Scanning back and forth, there was not a solitary

 sign of life.

 

 "Looks like the ghost ship Mary Celeste around here," Giordino said.

 

 "No doubt about it.They're getting ready to light the fuse."

 

 Pitt turned the blimp's controls again and brought the airship down the

 length of the starboard side, then circled tightly around the Zenit

 rocket.Plumes of white smoke spewed from the release valves on the

 rocket, venting the warming fuel.Giordino panned up and down the

 rocket with the camera system.

 

 "She looks gassed and ready to roll at any minute."

 

 "Twenty-six minutes, to be precise," Pitt said, eyeing the countdown

 clock.

 

 Giordino let out a whistle as he glanced at the clock.A slight

 movement on the monitor brought his eyes back to the rocket display,

 but he still almost missed it.He curiously tweaked the focus down the

 length of the rocket until the monitor suddenly filled with the image

 of two men standing at the base of the tower.

 

 "It's Dirk and Jack!They're tied to the tower."

 

 Pitt stared at the screen for a moment and nodded, his eyes squinting

 in recognition.Without saying a word, he quickly scanned the platform

 for a spot to bring the blimp down.Though the rear deck of the

 platform offered a large open space between the hangar and the launch

 tower, a tall crane was angled up and inward, impeding the airspace.

 The airship's fabric sides might gash open if contact were made with

 the structure.

 

 "Nice of them to leave the can opener out for us," Giordino said as he

 peered at the imposing crane.

 

 "No troubles.We'll just have to make like a helicopter."

 

 Skimming over the hangar and descending rapidly, Pitt eased the blimp

 down toward the large round helipad mounted above the pilothouse.With

 a finesse touch, he eased the blimp down until the gondola lightly

 kissed the pad.

 

 "Can I trust you not to go off sightseeing without me?"Pitt asked as

 he hastily climbed out of the pilot's seat.

 

 "Cross my heart."

 

 "Give me ten minutes.If we're not back, then just get this thing the

 hell away from the platform before she lights up."

 

 "I'll keep the meter running," Giordino replied, giving Pitt a nod of

 good luck.

 

 In a flash, Pitt was out the gondola door and sprinting across the pad.

 As he disappeared down a stairwell, Giordino looked at his watch and

 anxiously started counting the seconds.

 

 Tongju climbed aboard the Koguryo and immediately raced to the bridge,

 where Captain Lee and Kim stood surveying the Odyssey.

 

 "You cut your departure a little thin," Lee said soberly."They have

 already commenced fueling the rocket."

 

 "A minor delay, due to an unexpected interruption," Tongju replied.

 Scanning the horizon, he noted the airship drifting slowly back toward

 the platform."Have you detected any more approaching vessels?"

 

 The captain shook his head."No, none yet.Besides the airship, there

 has just been the lone research ship that was following behind the

 Coast Guard vessel," he said, pointing to a radar blip on the opposite

 side of the platform."She's remained in her present position, two

 miles to the northeast of the platform."

 

 "And no doubt has radioed for assistance.Those damn Ukrainians, he

 spat."They have brought us too close to shore and placed the mission

 in peril.Captain, we must get under way immediately after liftoff.

 Adjust course due south at full power to Mexican waters before laying

 in for our rendezvous point."

 

 "What about the airship?"Kim asked."It must be destroyed as well,

 for it can track our escape."

 

 Tongju studied the silver blimp, which sat hovering on the Odyssey's

 helicopter pad.

 

 "We cannot fire upon them while they are positioned near the platform.

 They can do no harm at this late time.Perhaps they will stupidly burn

 in the launch themselves.Come, let us enjoy the liftoff.We will

 dispense with them later."

 

 With Kim in tow, Tongju left the bridge and quickly made his way aft to

 the launch control center.The brightly lit bay was packed with

 white-coated engineers sitting at workstations arranged in a horseshoe

 shape around the room.On the front center wall was a large flat-panel

 video screen that showed a full image of the Zenit rocket at the launch

 tower, wisps of vapor emanating from its sides.Tongju spotted Ling

 hunched over a monitor conversing with a technician and approached the

 launch operations engineer.

 

 "Ling, what is the launch status?"Tongju asked.

 

 The round-faced engineer squinted at Tongju through his glasses.

 

 "The fueling will be complete in another two minutes.One of the

 backup flight control computers is not responding, there's a

 low-pressure reading in one of the cooling lines, and the number two

 auxiliary turbo pump indicator shows a fluid leakage."

 

 "What does that mean for the launch?"Tongju asked, a sudden flush

 rising over his normally placid face.

 

 "None of the items, either individually or collectively, are mission

 critical.All other systems are showing nominal.The launch will

 proceed as scheduled," he said, eyeing a digital launch clock beneath

 the video panel, "in exactly twenty-three minutes and forty-seven

 seconds."

 

 At twenty-three minutes and forty-six seconds, Jack Dahlgren looked up

 from the Odyssey's ticking launch clock to the Icarus, which seemed

 to be fixed hovering above the pilothouse.He knew there was no chance

 that they could have been spotted by the high-flying gondola, but he

 still wondered if Pitt or Giordino might somehow find a way to stop the

 launch.He strained to turn toward Dirk beside him, expecting his

 friend to be looking at the blimp with hopeful optimism.Instead, Dirk

 was oblivious to the airship, his full attention focused on defiantly

 trying to break the bounds of his ropes.Jack started to offer some

 words of encouragement but his lips froze when he saw a movement inside

 the hangar.He blinked and took another hard look.Sure enough, he

 could see it was a man sprinting through the hangar directly toward

 them.

 

 "Dirk, there's somebody coming our way.Is that who I think it is?"

 

 Dirk glanced toward the hangar while continuing to strain at his bound

 hands and feet.He squinted at the lone figure bursting out of the

 hangar and tearing across the platform carrying what looked like a long

 stick in his hand.The figure was tall and lean with dark hair and

 Dirk suddenly stopped struggling at the ropes when he recognized the

 gait.

 

 "I don't ever recall seeing my father move that fast before," he said

 to Dahlgren, a broad grin spreading across his face.

 

 As the head of NUMA drew closer, they could see that it was a fire ax,

 not a stick, that he toted in his right hand as he ran.Sprinting up

 to the tower, the elder Pitt smiled in relief at seeing that the two

 men were uninjured.

 

 "I thought I told you boys never to accept a ride with strangers," he

 gasped, patting his son on the shoulder as he examined the rope

 restraints.

 

 "Sorry, Dad, but they offered us the moon and the stars," Dirk grinned,

 then added, "Thanks for dropping by to get us."

 

 "I've got a taxi waiting.Let's just get out of here before they

 ignite this thing."

 

 Eyeing the center of the rope, he took a full swing and laid the blade

 through the rope that secured Dirk's elbows.With another swing, he

 cut the wrist binds, the blade of the ax ringing loudly as it cut

 through to the tower beam.As Dirk worked to untie his ankles, Pitt

 repeated his Paul Bunyan routine on Dahlgren's ropes.The two men

 quickly scrambled to their feet as Pitt tossed the ax aside.

 

 "Dad, the Sea Launch platform team is locked up inside the hangar.We

 need to get them out."

 

 Pitt nodded."I thought I heard some banging around in there.Lead

 on."

 

 Almost as one, the three men dashed back across the open platform at

 full speed, knowing that every second counted.As they ran, Dirk

 looked at the launch clock above his head.Just twenty-one minutes and

 thirty-six seconds remained before the platform would be engulfed in a

 blasting inferno.As if that wasn't enough motivation to move faster,

 a sudden whirring noise erupted from inside the hangar.An electronic

 command had been issued from the Koguryo's launch control software and

 the hangar's large barn doors began sliding closed in preparation for

 the blastoff.

 

 "The doors are closing," Dahlgren huffed."We've got to hurry."

 

 Like a trio of Olympic sprinters heading to the tape, the men bolted

 side by side toward the shrinking gap of the closing doors.Though he

 still had plenty of fire in his step, Pitt eased back as they

 approached the opening and let Dirk and Dahlgren jump through first.

 Following single file, he turned and slid sideways through the gap just

 before the doors sealed shut.

 

 Midway down the hangar, they could hear the sound of muffled voices and

 a metallic banging as the men inside the metal shed fought

 

 to extricate themselves.Dirk, Dahlgren, and Pitt scurried to the shed

 and examined the chained and padlocked door as they caught their

 breath.

 

 "That chain isn't going to give, but maybe we can pry the door off its

 hinges ... if we can find a crowbar around here," Dahlgren said,

 scanning the area for a potential tool.

 

 Pitt glanced at the motorized work platform Jack had ridden across the

 hangar and reached up and grabbed the control box, which dangled from

 the railing.

 

 "I think we've got our crowbar right here," he said, lowering the

 platform a few feet, then rolling the device up to the front of the

 shed.As Dirk and Dahlgren looked on, Pitt grabbed a loose end of the

 padlock chain and wrapped it tightly around the platform's railing,

 then yelled at the men inside the shed: "Stand back from the door."

 

 Waiting a second, he then hit the raise button and watched as the

 platform rose slowly, drawing the chain tight.The lifting mechanism

 groaned and strained for a moment as the wheels of the platform rocked

 across the floor.Then, with a loud crack, the shed's door ripped off

 its hinges and popped into the air, slamming against the platform with

 a shudder before dropping and dangling from the chain midair.Pitt

 quickly backed the platform out of the way as the Sea Launch crew

 surged out of the claustrophobic shed.

 

 The crewmen had been given little to eat since the Odyssey was

 commandeered and they appeared weak and haggard from the stress of

 their captivity.Yet an underlying anger purveyed over the men, a

 group of seasoned professionals who didn't take kindly to having given

 up their rocket and platform.

 

 "Is the captain and launch manager here?"Pitt shouted over the cries

 of thanks from the released crew.

 

 A battered Captain Christiano elbowed his way through the throng,

 followed by a thin, distinguished-looking man with a goatee.

 

 "I'm Christiano, captain of the Odyssey.This is Larry Ohlrogge,

 platform launch manager," he added, nodding to the man beside him

 

 "Has the platform been secured from those scum?"he spat with

 contempt.

 

 Pitt shook his head."They've evacuated the platform in preparation

 for launching the rocket.We don't have much time."

 

 Ohlrogge noted the erector transporter had been returned to the hangar

 and that the hangar doors had been closed.

 

 "We're talking minutes," he said with alarm in his voice.

 

 "About eighteen, to be precise.Captain, get your crew to the helipad

 now," Pitt directed."There's an airship waiting that can evacuate

 everyone from the platform if we move quick."

 

 Turning to Ohlrogge, Pitt added, "Is there any way we can stop the

 launch?"

 

 "The launch sequence is completely automated and controlled by the

 assembly and command ship.Presumably, these terrorists have

 duplicated that functionality on their own vessel."

 

 "We can mechanically halt the fueling of the rocket," Christiano

 noted.

 

 "It is too late," Ohlrogge said, shaking his head."There is an

 override control in the bridge that would be our only hope at this late

 time," he added grimly.

 

 "The elevator at the rear of the hangar leads to the bridge deck.The

 helipad is just above," Christiano said."Then let's get moving," Pitt

 replied.

 

 Quickly, the group shuffled en masse to the rear of the hangar and

 crowded around a medium-sized elevator.

 

 "There's not enough room for all," Christiano stated, regaining his

 captain's form."We'll need three trips.You eight men first, then

 this group, then you ten men over there," he ordered, dividing the

 crowd into three groups.

 

 "Jack, you go with the first group and help them onto the Icarus.Let

 Al know there's more on the way," Pitt said."Dirk, you bring up the

 last group, make sure everyone makes it out of here.Captain, we need

 to visit the bridge now," he said, turning to Christiano.

 

 Christiano, Ohlrogge, Dahlgren, and Pitt crowded into the elevator with

 eight other men and waited impatiently as the elevator zipped up to the

 bridge level above the hangar.Dahlgren quickly located a stairwell

 off to one side that led to the helipad and herded the crewmen up to

 the exposed deck.

 

 As promised, the silver airship hung hovering several feet above the

 pad, Giordino at the controls smoking a fat cigar.He quickly rotated

 the swiveling propulsion ducts and brought the gondola down to the deck

 as Jack ran up.

 

 "Hi, sailor.Give a few girls a ride?"Dahlgren asked, poking his

 head into the gondola doorway.

 

 "Certainly," Giordino replied."How many do you have?"

 

 "About thirty, give or take," Dahlgren replied, looking suspiciously at

 the gondola's passenger compartment.

 

 "Shove 'em in, we'll make them fit.But we better toss any unnecessary

 weight if we want to get off the ground.Just make it quick, as I have

 an aversion to getting baked alive."

 

 "You and me both, pardner," Dahlgren replied, herding the first of the

 crewmen aboard.

 

 In addition to the two-seat cockpit, the gondola's passenger

 compartment was configured to seat eight passengers in oversized

 leather airplane-type seats.Dahlgren studied the arrangement and

 grimaced at the prospect of squeezing all the men in and possibly

 grounding the blimp.As the crew climbed aboard, he checked the

 mountings of the seats and found that they had a quick-release

 mechanism for temporary removal.He quickly unlatched five of the

 seats and, with the help of a Russian engineer, tossed them out the

 door of the gondola.

 

 "Everybody to the back of the bus," he barked."It's going to be

 standing room only."

 

 As the last man in his group wedged into the passenger compartment,

 Dahlgren turned to Al.

 

 "How much time do we have?"

 

 "About fifteen minutes, by my count."

 

 The next group of crewmen began spilling off the stairs and sprinting

 across the deck of the helipad.Dahlgren let out a slight sigh.There

 would be time, if not room, to get every man to the blimp before

 blastoff.But would it be enough time to stop the launch, he wondered,

 catching sight of the Zenit rocket standing fueled and ready across the

 platform.

 

 Inside the Odyssey's bridge, Captain Christiano turned pale and shook

 his head silently as he surveyed the bullet-ridden computer stations

 and shattered glass that littered the floor.Walking to the navigation

 station, he curiously noticed a lonely computer mouse dangling by its

 cord, its companion keyboard nowhere to be seen.Ohlrogge observed

 that the computer drive itself was undamaged.

 

 "I've got scores of laptop computers downstairs.We can plug one in

 and activate the platform controls," he offered.

 

 "They have no doubt secured the automated controls," Christiano said

 with disgust, thrusting a thumb over his shoulder toward the window.

 Pitt followed his motion, observing the Koguryo sitting defiantly in

 the distance.Returning his gaze to the captain, Pitt caught sight of

 the Badger, still tied up in the water off the starboard support column

 far below.

 

 "There is no time.It might take hours to work around," Christiano

 

 continued, moving to the bridge's center console with a look of despair

 on his face.

 

 "You said there was a manual override on the bridge?"Pitt asked.

 

 Christiano anticipated the results before his eyes reached the console.

 They had simply known too much.How to navigate and ballast the

 platform, how to fuel the Zenit, how to control and launch the rocket

 from their own support ship.There was simply too much inside

 knowledge for the terrorists not to have sabotaged the manual override.

 With disappointing confidence in his beliefs, he looked down at a

 jumbled mass of cut wires and smashed controls that offered the last

 hope of halting the launch.

 

 "Here's your manual override control," he swore, flinging a segregated

 clump of wires and switches across the bridge.The three men stood in

 silence as the mass of electronics bounced across the deck before

 coming to a halt against the bulkhead.Then the bridge door opened and

 Dirk thrust his head into the bay.From the looks on the other men's

 faces, he knew that their attempt to prevent the launch had failed.

 

 "The crew is all aboard the airship.I respectfully suggest we abandon

 the platform, and now."

 

 As the last four men aboard the platform began to scramble up the

 helipad stairwell to the waiting airship, Pitt stopped and grabbed his

 son by the shoulder.

 

 "Get the captain aboard the blimp and tell Al to take off without me.

 Make sure he gets the airship up range of the platform before the

 rocket fires."

 

 "But they said there was no getting around the automated launch

 controls," the younger Pitt protested.

 

 "I may not be able to stop the rocket from launching, but I just might

 be able to change its destination."

 

 "Dad, you can't stay aboard the platform, it's too dangerous."

 

 "Don't worry about me, I don't intend to stick around," Pitt replied,

 giving his son a gentle shove."Now get going."

 

 Dirk looked his father in the eye.He had heard numerous tales of his

 father placing the safety of others above himself and now he was seeing

 it firsthand.But there was something else in his eyes.It was a calm

 look of assurance.Dirk took a step toward the stairwell, then turned

 back to wish his father luck but he had already vanished down the

 elevator.

 

 Sprinting up the stairwell two steps at a time, the younger Pitt leaped

 onto the deck of the helipad and looked on in amazement at the waiting

 blimp.The gondola looked like a windowed can of sardines, with the

 fish replaced by humans.The entire Sea Launch crew had managed to

 squeeze aboard the passenger compartment, cramming into every available

 square inch.The weakest of the crew were given the three passenger

 seats that Dahlgren did not remove while the rest of the men stood

 shoulder to shoulder in the remaining space.Scores of men hung their

 heads out the side windows while one or two were even jammed into the

 small bathroom at the rear of the gondola.The sight made a New York

 City subway at rush hour look spacious by comparison.

 

 Dirk ran over and wedged himself through the door, hearing Dahlgren's

 voice somewhere in the mass telling him that the copilot's seat was

 vacant.Half-crawling, he squirmed his way into the cockpit, taking

 the empty seat alongside Giordino, who had moved to the left-hand

 pilot's seat.

 

 "Where's your dad?We need to get off this barbecue grill, pronto."

 

 "He's staying put.Has one last trick up his sleeve, I guess.He said

 to get the blimp up range of the platform, and that he'll meet you for

 a tequila on the rocks after the show."

 

 "I hope he's buying," Giordino replied, then tilted the propeller ducts

 to a forty-degree angle and boosted the throttles.The gondola chugged

 forward, pulling the helium-filled envelope with it.But in

 

 stead of rising gracefully into the air as before, the gondola clung to

 the deck, dragging across the helipad with a dull scraping sound.

 

 "We've got too much weight," Dirk stated.

 

 "Get up, baby, get up," Giordino urged the mammoth airship.

 

 The gondola continued to skid across the pad, heading to the forward

 edge, which dropped straight down two hundred feet to the sea.As they

 approached the lip of the helipad, Giordino adjusted the propellers to

 a higher degree of inclination and jammed the throttles to their stops

 but the gondola continued to scrape along the deck.An eerie silence

 filled the cabin, as every man held his breath while the gondola

 slipped over the edge of the helipad.

 

 A falling surge suddenly hit the pit of everyone's stomach as the

 gondola lurched down ten feet, then halted.The occupants were roughly

 thrown forward as the blimp's fabric-covered tail bounced off the

 helipad, pushing the nose of the blimp at a steep decline as the

 airship's balance of weight cleared the edge.Continuing to jar

 forward, the tail finally scraped past the platform edge and the entire

 blimp rushed nose first toward the sea.

 

 Giordino had a split-second decision to make in order to save the

 airship.He could either pull the thrusters all the way back to a

 ninety-degree vector and hope the engine propulsion would overcome the

 excess weight and hold the blimp at altitude.Or he could do the

 complete reverse: by pushing down the thrusters, he could try to

 increase the blimp's forward velocity, which would generate lift if he

 gained sufficient speed.Staring at the looming ocean, he let the

 momentum of the blimp guide his decision and calmly pushed the yoke

 forward, accelerating their downward dive.

 

 Cries of alarm wafted from the rear passengers as it appeared Giordino

 was deliberately trying to crash into the sea.Ignoring the pleas, he

 turned to Dirk in the copilot's seat.

 

 "Above your head there is a water ballast release control.At my

 command, hit the release."

 

 While Dirk located the button on the overhead console, Giordino

 

 focused his eyes on the altimeter.The dial was rolling backward

 quickly from two hundred feet as their descent speed increased.

 Giordino hesitated until the dial read sixty feet, then barked:

 "Now!"

 

 In unison, Giordino yanked back on the yoke while Dirk activatec the

 water ballast system, which instantly dumped a thousand pounds of water

 stored in a compartment beneath the gondola.Despite the sudden

 actions, there was no immediate response from the blimp. The massive

 airship moved at its own deliberate pace, and, for an instant Giordino

 thought he had acted too late.As the approaching ocean filled the

 view out the cockpit windshield in a rush of speed, the nose gently

 began to pull up in a sweeping arc.Giordino eased of the yoke to

 level the airship as the gondola surged closer toward the sea, its nose

 rising with agonizing slowness.With a sudden jolt, the base of the

 gondola slapped the water's surface as the airship flattened from out of

 its dive but bounded quickly up and off the surface.As every man

 aboard held his breath, the blimp staggered forward a short distance

 before slowly climbing a few feet above the water and holding steady.

 As the seconds ticked by and the airship held in the air, in became

 apparent that Giordino had pulled it off.Though risking high-speed

 impact, the accelerated dive and last-second ballast release had been

 just enough to keep them airborne.

 

 The relieved men in the passenger compartment let out a cheer as

 Giordino gingerly coaxed the blimp up to an altitude of one hundred

 feet, the big airship slowly stabilizing under his steady hand.

 

 "I guess you showed us who's master of the airship," Dirk laudedl

 

 "Yeah, and almost commander of a submarine," Giordino replied as he eased

 the nose of the blimp to the east and away from the platform.

 

 "Uprange and away from shore isn't exactly the direction I'd like to be

 going at this altitude," he added, eyeing the Koguryo warily out the

 window to port."I radioed Deep Endeavor to get out of the way of the

 rocket's flight path, so they should be cutting a wide swath around to

 the north.We ought to keep them in sight in case we have to

 ditch."

 

 Dirk scanned the horizon, keeping one eye locked on the launch

 platform.Far to the southwest, he spotted the distant mass of San

 Nicolas Island.Peering to the northeast, he saw a tiny blue dot,

 which he knew to be the Deep Endeavor.Then, just to the north of the

 NUMA ship, he noticed a small brown mass rising from the sea.

 

 "That landmass up ahead.I recall from the navigation charts that it's

 a small channel island called "Santa Barbara."Why don't we head that

 way?We can drop the crew there and have Deep Endeavor pick them up

 before we get into any more trouble."

 

 "And get back to find your dad," Giordino said, finishing Dirk's

 thought.Dirk looked back at the platform with hesitation.

 

 "Can't be much time left," he muttered.

 

 "About ten minutes," Giordino replied, wondering like Dirk what Pitt

 could possibly pull off in such little time.

 

 Physically surviving A launch on board the Odyssey was not impossible.

 When a rocket was fired, the main thrust was directed beneath the

 platform at ignition.The Odyssey had been constructed as a reusable

 launch platform, and, in fact, had already withstood more than a dozen

 launches.The deck, hangar, crew compartment, and pilothouse were all

 built to withstand the fiery heat and exhaust generated from a powerful

 rocket launch.What a human inhabitant was not likely to survive,

 however, was the noxious fumes that engulfed the platform at blastoff.

 A massive billow of exhaust from the spent kerosene and liquid oxygen

 fuel all but buried the Odyssey in a thick cloud of smoke for several

 minutes after liftoff, smothering the breathable air in the vicinity of

 the platform.

 

 But that was of little concern to Pitt as he jumped off the elevator

 and raced out a back door of the hangar.He had no interest in hanging

 around the platform when the Zenit was lit off.Instead, he was

 hell-bent on making it to the bright red submersible he saw bobbing

 

 in the water from the pilothouse window.Like a contestant running a

 timed obstacle course, Pitt ran, jumped, and hurdled his way across the

 platform to the corner column support and sprinted down the steps to

 the water's edge.In their haste to evacuate the platform, Tongju and

 his men had not thought it necessary to let adrift the NUMA sub.Pitt

 was thankful to find her still tied to the column steps as he

 exhaustedly reached the water's edge.

 

 Untying the line, he jumped aboard and scrambled down the Badger's top

 hatch, sealing it closed behind him.In seconds, he had activated the

 submersible's power systems and opened the ballast tank for submersion.

 Engaging the throttles, he quickly maneuvered away from the Odyssey's

 forward column and proceeded down the interior length of the platform

 before positioning the submersible for the task at hand. Holding the

 submersible steady, Pitt activated the controls to the bow-mounted

 coring device and, with just minutes to spare, prayed that his

 cockamamie plan would work.

 

 The Korean launch team aboard the Koguryo watched the video screen with

 curiosity as the silver blimp touched down on the Odyssey's helipad and

 the crew of the platform jammed into the gondola.Kim grimaced with

 anger but noted that Tongju remained calm.

 

 "We should have killed the crew and destroyed that airship when we had

 the opportunity," Kim hissed as they watched the Icarus lurch off the

 platform.An alternate camera was turned toward the blimp, showing the

 airship fight for altitude before turning out to sea.Tongju nodded

 toward the video image with assurance.

 

 "She is overloaded and unable to make speed.We shall easily catch and

 destroy her after the launch," he said quietly to Kim.

 

 His eyes returned to the launch countdown and the noisy jabber of the

 engineers within the control center.The room was a flurry of activity

 and pressure as the final minutes drew to a close.Ling stood

 

 nearby, reviewing the output from a series of launch vehicle

 assessments.Beads of sweat rolled from his forehead in tense

 anticipation despite the cool temperature of the air-conditioned bay.

 

 For Ling, there was every reason to be nervous.In the world of space

 vehicle delivery, there was an astounding rate of mortality.He knew

 all too well that roughly one in ten satellite launches ended in

 failure, and that the fault could come from a thousand and one sources.

 Failure of the rocket at launch was still not an uncommon occurrence,

 though most satellite losses were due to deploying the payload in an

 incorrect orbit.The short, suborbital flight of the mission at hand

 eliminated a great deal of the problematic issues associated with most

 rocket flights, but the risk of a catastrophic launch failure never

 went away.

 

 Ling breathed easier as he digested the latest status updates.All

 critical systems appeared operational.There was nothing to indicate

 that the trustworthy Zenit rocket would not fire off in its usual

 dependable manner.With less than five minutes to go, he turned to

 Tongju and spoke with a glimmer of confidence.

 

 "There will be no launch holds.The countdown will proceed

 unimpeded."

 

 Their attention turned to the image of the rocket on the video screen

 in its last minutes before takeoff.Despite the multitude of studious

 eyes converged on the image of the rocket and platform, no one in the

 room noticed the tiny movement at the periphery of the picture.Only

 the camera saw as a dark-haired man ran to the edge of the platform and

 scrambled out of sight down the corner column stairwell.

 

 Pitt had wasted no time in engaging the full set of thrusters that

 powered the Badger.Though he knew it was the worst possible place to

 be, he quickly guided the submersible down the underbelly length

 

 of the platform and maneuvered the vehicle to a stop alongside the rear

 starboard support column.Directly above him was the recessed

 launchpad flame deflector, which would route the titanic blast of the

 Zenit's thrust toward the sea at liftoff.

 

 Pitt turned the nose of the submersible until it was aimed at the

 column, then backed away from the rotund support leg as he submerged

 the vessel to a depth of fifteen feet.Using a set of manipulator

 controls, he lowered the huge coring probe until it stretched perfectly

 horizontal in front of the submarine's prow, protruding like a medieval

 jousting lance.Pitt braced his feet against the metal deck plate and

 muttered, "Okay, Badger, let's see your bite," as he jammed the

 throttles to full forward.

 

 The shiny red submersible clawed its way through the water, quickly

 gaining speed over the short distance to the column.Pushed by the

 full weight and force of the submersible, the coring probe slammed into

 the side of the massive steel column with a bang.Pitt held his breath

 as he was jolted forward and continued to slide ahead until the nose of

 the submersible slapped against the column.Rammed to a halt, he

 quickly threw the thrusters in reverse and peered through the surging

 bubbles as the submersible backed away from the column.A metallic

 grating sound echoed back at him as the probe was drawn roughly off the

 column.Through the murky and turbulent water, he caught a glimpse of

 the coring probe jutting intact off the bow and he exhaled in relief.

 As Pitt had hoped, the momentum of the speedy submersible had driven

 the tip of the coring probe cleanly through the side of the support

 column, opening an eight-inch-diameter hole.

 

 Pitt felt a little like Ezra Lee on the Turtle.The Revolutionary War

 volunteer had attempted to sink a British warship in David Bushnell's

 small wooden submarine by drilling a hole in the side and attaching a

 mine.Though the attempt failed, the Turtle would be remembered in

 history as the first submarine ever used in combat.With the benefit

 of propulsion, Pitt backed the Badger away twenty feet and adjusted his

 depth slightly, then reversed the thrusters and charged into the

 column

 

 again.Once more, the probe tore through the outer wall of the column,

 leaving a neat round hole for the seawater to pour into.

 

 Though abjectly crude, Pitt's mad ploy had an element of simple genius

 to it.He calculated that if there was no way to stop the rocket from

 lifting off, then, perhaps, there was a way to change its intended

 destination.By creating an imbalance in the platform, he might at

 least angle the rocket off its intended flight path.On such a short

 flight, the rocket's guidance system would not have sufficient time to

 fully correct the deviation and could miss its intended target by

 miles.And there was no doubt that the Achilles' heel of the platform

 at launch were the rear support columns.With the rocket standing

 vertically at the extreme rear edge of the platform, the Odyssey had to

 maintain a careful balance to handle the uneven weight distribution

 across the entire platform.An active trim-and-heel system utilized

 ballast tanks in the columns and pontoons to maintain stability,

 managed by six large ballast pumps.By flooding the rear support

 columns, there was a chance of destabilizing the launch deck.For

 Pitt, it would be a desperate race against the ballast pumps to create

 a material imbalance.

 

 Like a passenger on a carnival ride gone amok, Pitt was violently

 thrown about the submersible as he rammed into the column time and time

 again.Electronic equipment was jarred from its mounts, crashing and

 flying about his feet with each impact.The nose section of the

 submersible soon became battered after repeated collisions with the

 column wall and small rivulets of salt water began streaming into the

 interior through the damaged seams.But none of this mattered to Pitt.

 The risk to himself and the submersible was the last concern on his

 mind as the seconds to launch ticked down.One more time, he flung the

 force of the submersible against the support column, poking a hole in

 its surface like a rampant mosquito, the jab not drawing blood but

 letting in a flood of water.

 

 After more than a dozen strikes at the starboard column, Pitt spun the

 leaking Badger around and raced toward the rear port support.Glancing

 at his Doxa watch, he calculated there was less than two minutes before

 liftoff.With a towering crash, he slammed into the other support

 column, driving the probe to its base and further crumbling the nose of

 the submersible.More water began leaking into the interior but Pitt

 ignored it.With salt water sloshing around his feet, he calmly

 reversed thrust and backed away for another stab at the column.As he

 lined up for another assault, he wondered if his actions were the

 futile gesture of an underwater Don Quixote charging at an errant

 windmill.

 

 Unknown to Pitt, his very first blow on the starboard support column

 had activated one of the ballast pumps.As the number of holes and the

 amount of inrushing water increased, additional pumps were activated,

 until all six pumps were engaged.The pumps operated at the base of

 the columns, which were already submerged some forty feet under the

 water.While the automated ballast system easily kept each pontoon

 level with one another side by side, there was only limited means of

 maintaining balance fore and aft.With the water level rising rapidly

 in the stern support columns, it didn't take long before Pitt's

 drilling overwhelmed the rear ballast pumps.The sinking stern of the

 platform created a programming dilemma for the automated stabilization

 system.Under normal conditions, the trim-and-heel system would

 compensate the aft list by flooding the forward compartments and

 lowering the overall platform depth.But the platform was in launch

 position and had already been flooded to launching depth.Ballasting

 the platform lower, the computer knew, risked damaging the low-hanging

 thrust deflectors.In a handful of nanoseconds, the computer program

 reviewed its software logic for priority actions.The results came

 back unambiguous.During a designated launch countdown, the

 stabilization system was to maintain launch depth as its first

 priority.The sinking aft columns would be ignored.

 

 Aboard the Koguryo, a red warning light began blinking id the launch

 control room with less than two minutes to go.A bespectacled

 engineer studied the platform stabilization warning for moment, then

 jotted down some notations and briskly stepped over to Ling.

 

 "Mr.Ling, we have a platform stabilization warning," he reportec

 

 "What is the deviation?"Ling asked hurriedly.

 

 "An aft list of three degrees."

 

 "That is inconsequential," he replied, brushing off the engineer.

 

 Turning to Tongju, who stood at his side, he said, "A list of five

 degrees or less is no cause for concern."

 

 Tongju could almost taste the results of the launch now.There could

 be no turning back now.

 

 "Do not halt the launch for any reason," he hissed at Ling in a tense voice.

 The chief engineer gritted his teeth and nodded, then stared nervously

 at the waiting rocket that stood shimmering on the video screen.

 

 The interior of the Badger was a jumbled mess of tools, computer parts,

 and interior pieces that sloshed back and forth across the floor with

 each jerk of the sub.Pitt remained oblivious to the carnage as he

 rammed the submersible against the platform column for the umpteenth

 time.Seawater slapped at his calves as he braced himself for yet

 another collision, listening for the warning barn of the core probe as

 it punched into the column side.Thrown harshly forward at impact, he

 detected the smell of burned wiring as yet another electrical component

 shorted out from saltwater immersion.Pitt's hammering had turned the

 submersible into a shattered hulk of its former self.The rounded

 exterior bow had been pounded nearly flat, its coating of glittery red

 paint roughly scraped away from the repeated blows.The coring probe

 was bent and twisted like a piece of- licorice and barely clung to the

 Badger by a pair of mangled brace supports.Inside, the lights

 flickered, the water level rose, and the propulsion motors began dying

 one by one.Pitt could feel the life ebbing from the submersible as he

 listened to the groans and gurgles of the flailing machine.As he

 tried to reverse the thrusters and back away from the column, a new

 sound struck his ears.It was a deep rushing noise emanating far above

 his head.

 

 To the casual observer, the first sign of an imminent rocket blast off

 the Sea Launch platform is the roaring rush of fresh water as it is

 pumped into the deluge system.At T-5 seconds, a veritable flood of

 dampening water is released into the flame trench positioned beneath

 

 the launchpad.The effect of the massive water dousing is to lessen

 the thrust exhaust effects to the platform, and, more important,

 minimize potential acoustic damage to the payload from the maelstrom at

 launch.

 

 At T-3 seconds, the Zenit rocket begins groaning and stirring as its

 internal mechanisms are activated and the massive rocket comes to life.

 Inside its metal skin, a high-speed turbine pump begins force-feeding

 the volatile liquid propellant through an injector into the rocket

 engine's four combustion chambers.Inside each chamber, an igniter is

 activated, detonating the propellant in what amounts to a controlled

 explosion.The exhaust from the fiery detonation, seeking the path of

 least resistance, comes blasting out of each chamber through a

 constricted nozzle at the base of the rocket.The power of thrust is

 generated by the purged exhaust, enabling the Zenit rocket to defy the

 force of gravity and lift itself off the launchpad.

 

 But the final three seconds of countdown are all critical.In those

 brief few seconds, onboard computer systems quickly monitor the engine

 start-up, checking propellant mixture, flow rates, ignition

 temperature, and a host of other mechanical readings affecting engine

 burn.If a significant deviation is discovered in any of the engine

 parameters, the automated control system takes over, shutting down the

 engine and scrubbing the launch.A reinitialization of the entire

 launch process is then required, which may take upward of five days

 before another launch can be attempted.

 

 Ling ignored the video screen of the Zenit at the launch tower and

 instead stared at a computer display of critical measurements as the

 final seconds of the launch countdown ticked toward zero.At T-1

 second, a row of green lights burst onto the screen and Ling allowed

 himself a slight breath of relief.

 

 "We have main engine thrust up!"he shouted aloud as the display told

 him the computers were ramping up the rocket's RD-171 engine to maximum

 launch thrust.Every eye in the room turned to the video screen as the

 propellant floodgates were opened and the fuel burst

 

 through the rocket's engine in a torrent.For a long second, the

 rocket sat still on the pad as the fiery exhaust burst from its

 nozzles, the flames licking the water deluge and spraying a thick cloud

 of white smoke beneath the platform.Then, with a burgeoning burst of

 power, the Zenit surged up off the pad.The launch tower clamps fell

 away as the white rocket, erupting with 1.8 million pounds of thrust,

 climbed up past the tower and into the sky with a blinding glare and

 deafening roar.

 

 A cheer rang through the launch control center as the engineers watched

 the Zenit rise successfully off the platform.Ling broke into a broad

 smile as the rocket climbed higher, grinning good-naturedly at Tongju.

 Kang's henchman simply nodded back in satisfaction.

 

 At the far side of the bay, the bespectacled engineer who monitored the

 platform continued to stare mesmerized at the video image of the rocket

 as it climbed into the crisp blue sky.Oblivious to him was the

 computation on his computer monitor, which showed that the platform

 stabilization deviation had continued to rise, creeping past fifteen

 degrees in the last seconds prior to launch.

 

 Fifteen feet beneath the water's surface, Pitt's ears were bleeding

 from the acoustical barrage.What started with the sound of a distant

 freight train had rumbled into the bombardment of a thousand erupting

 volcanoes as the Zenit's engine reached full thrust.The deafening

 sound, Pitt knew, was only a warning of the real savagery to come.The

 building force of the rocket's exhaust was deflected into the flame

 trench, where thousands of gallons of water dampened the inferno.The

 blasting force of the exhaust was little repressed, however, gathering

 into a steaming cloud of fury that proceeded past the deflectors to the

 open sea below the platform, where it pounded the water like a

 sledgehammer.

 

 Positioned almost directly beneath the launchpad, the Badger was

 

 pummeled like a small toy, surging twenty feet down in a blast of

 bubbles and vapor.Pitt felt as if he were trapped in a washing

 machine as the submersible was tossed violently about.The seams of

 the vessel twisted and groaned from the force of the surge and the

 interior lights flickered from the shaking.A loose battery pack

 bounced off Pitt's head, gashing his temple as the submersible nearly

 turned turtle in the bellowing turbulence.Shaking off the blow, he

 discovered a new worry when he braced a hand against the bulkhead

 during a side roll.To his surprise, the bulkhead was searing hot.He

 quickly pulled his hand away, cursing as he shook it in the air to

 cool.A sickening thought drew over him as he felt a heavy mist of

 sweat dripping down his forehead and realized the water sloshing at his

 feet was rapidly warming.The rocket's exhaust was creating a boiling

 tempest around him, which might poach him alive before the rocket

 cleared the platform.

 

 A second, more powerful surge stuck the submersible as the rocket's

 full thrust came to bear.The force of the current pushed the Badger

 charging through the water in a contorted angle, nearly on its side.

 Pitt clung to the controls for balance, unable to see ahead through the

 turbulent water, which offered no visibility.Had he an inkling where

 the submersible was headed, he might have braced himself for the

 impact.But the collision came without warning.

 

 Ripping with the surge like a raft down the Colorado River, the

 submersible tore head-on into the side of the Odyssey's flooded port

 pontoon.A metallic clap thundered through the water as the

 submersible smacked against the immovable hull.Pitt was jerked from

 the pilot's seat and flung against the forward bulkhead amid a rain of

 loosened electronic debris as the interior lights fell black and a

 series of hissing sounds erupted throughout the compartment.A

 grinding noise told Pitt that the Badger was sliding along the pontoon

 until another clang erupted and the submersible tilted over to one side

 and jerked to a sudden stop.As Pitt collected his senses, he realized

 that the submersible was wedged against the platform hull from the

 force of the rushing water, perhaps entangled in one of the pontoon's

 drive propellers.Turned on its side against the huge pontoon, there was no way

 that Pitt could open the entry hatch, dare he try to flood the interior

 and escape to the surface.With a sickening awe, he realized that if

 he wasn't soon baked alive he would face a swift death by drowning

 trapped inside the leaking submersible.

 

 Six thousand miles away, Kang smiled weakly as he watched a satellite

 feed of the rocket bursting off the deck of the Odyssey.

 

 "We have opened the genie's bottle," he said quietly to Kwan, sitting

 across his desk."Let us hope he follows his master's wishes."

 

 Tongju watched intently as the Zenit climbed up past the launch tower

 with a thundering reverberation that could be felt even inside the

 bowels of the Koguryo's control center.A lingering applause still

 rang through the control center as the jubilant launch crew cheered the

 rocket's ascent.Ling afforded himself a wide smile as the computer

 display told him that the Zenit's engine was operating at full thrust.

 He peered at Tongju, who returned the glance by nodding tight-lipped in

 approval.

 

 "The mission is still far from over," Ling said, visibly relieved that

 the rocket was finally under way.But the riskiest phase of the

 mission was behind them now, he knew.Once the rocket was ignited, he

 had little control, if any, over the outcome of the mission.With a

 quiet uneasiness, he settled in as a spectator to monitor the balance

 of the flight.

 

 From the cockpit of the Icarus, Al, Dirk, and Jack watched with dread

 as the blast of the rocket shook across the open sea.Just seconds

 before, Giordino had eased the struggling airship down onto a flat

 clearing atop Santa Barbara Island, where the relieved Sea Launch crew

 quickly jumped out of the overcrowded gondola.Captain Chris-tiano

 hesitated at the cockpit doorway, stopping to shake hands.

 

 "Thank you for saving my crew," Christiano said through a grim face

 pained with disgrace for losing command of the Odyssey.

 

 "Now that we can get airborne again, we'll make sure they don't get

 away," Dirk replied with shared anger.He then pointed out the cockpit

 windshield toward an approaching blue dot on the horizon.

 

 "The Deep Endeavor's on her way.Get your men down to the shoreline

 and prepare to transfer aboard."

 

 Christiano nodded then stepped off the gondola, leaving it empty save

 for Jack.

 

 "All ashore," he uttered into the cockpit.

 

 "Then let's get this gasbag back into the sky," Giordino grunted,

 turning the propeller ducts upward and advancing the throttles.With

 roughly eight thousand pounds of human cargo suddenly off-loaded, the

 blimp rose easily into the air.As Giordino aimed the airship back

 toward the Odyssey, their eyes collectively caught the first billows of

 smoke that indicated the launch was initiated.

 

 The fuming exhaust of the burning liquid oxygen and kerosene propellant

 bursting against the platform's water dampener system created a massive

 white cloud of vapor that quickly enveloped the entire platform and

 surrounding sea.For what seemed like minutes, the Zenit stood still

 at the launch tower.To the men in the airship, there was a hopeful

 moment where it appeared that the rocket was not going to leave the

 pad, but finally the tall white rocket began to rise, its blinding

 exhaust glaring like a fireball.Even a half-dozen miles across the

 water, they could hear the sharp crackling sound of the combusting fuel

 as the hot explosive thrust met the cool surrounding air, creating the

 echo of an ax ripping through a pine log.

 

 Though it was a powerful, almost beautiful sight, Dirk felt a sickening

 knot in his stomach as he watched the rocket ascend.The glistening

 white missile would host the most savage terrorist attack the world had

 ever seen, resulting in a horrifying death for millions.And he had

 failed to stop it.As if that was not punishment enough, he knew that

 Sarah was somewhere in the target area of Los Angeles and might very

 well be one of the strike's first victims.And then there was the fate

 of his father.Glancing forlornly at Giordino, he saw a grimace on the

 old Italian's face the likes of which he had never seen before.It was

 not a look of anger with the terrorists but an expression of concern

 for the loss of a lifelong friend.As much as Dirk did not want to

 face it, he knew that amid the noxious inferno of the rocket's blastoff

 his father was somewhere on the platform fighting for his survival, or

 worse.

 

 Aboard the Deep Endeavor, Summer felt the same pangs of dread swell

 through her body.Dirk had radioed the ship with news that the Sea

 Launch crew had been rescued, but also that their father was somewhere

 aboard the platform.When Delgado was the first to observe the rocket

 igniting, she thought her legs had turned to rubber.

 

 Grasping the captain's chair for support, she stared stoically toward

 the platform as tears welled in her eyes.All fell silent on the

 bridge around her as they watched in disbelief at the rocket as it

 surged off the launchpad.As one, their thoughts were on the fate of

 the NUMA leader, lost somewhere in the rocket's white plume of smoke.

 "It can't be," Burch muttered in shock."It just can't be."

 

 Inside the Badger, the temperature was unbearable.The superheated

 metal skin created a sauna effect with the water that was rising

 inside.Pitt could feel himself on the verge of passing out from the

 heat as he clawed his way back to the tilted pilot's seat.A handful

 of lights still blinked on the control panel, indicating that the

 emergency life-support system still had power, but the propulsion

 systems were long expired.Though his body was numb from the heat, his

 mind quickly calculated that he had one chance to break free from the

 grip of the pontoon.Through sweat-laden eyes, he reached forward and

 mashed a control button market ballast pump.Then, grasping the

 control yoke, he flung himself backward into the rising water, using

 his full weight and remaining strength to yank the sub's rudder against

 the burgeoning current.The rudder blade protested at first, then

 swung slowly against the rushing water, fighting against Pitt's every

 movement.With muscles aching and spots appearing before his eyes,

 Pitt clung desperately to the yoke, fighting not to pass out.For a

 second, nothing happened.All Pitt could hear was the

 churning torrent of the water rushing against the sub, while the

 temperature inside continued to rise.Then, almost imperceptibly, a

 grinding noise struck his ears.Gradually, the noise grew louder,

 matching the sound he had heard before.A faint smile crossed Pitt's

 lips as he fought to maintain consciousness.Hang on, he told himself,

 gripping the yoke tightly.Just hang on.

 

 An eagle-eyed flight engineer, standing on a rocky hilltop of Santa

 Barbara Island amid his stunned Sea Launch colleagues, was the first to

 detect it.A subtle, almost invisible waggle at the base of the rocket

 as it cleared the launch tower.

 

 "She's oscillating," he said aloud.

 

 His surrounding crewmates, exhausted and stunned by the entire ordeal,

 ignored his words and watched in angry disbelief as somebody else

 launched their rocket from their platform.But as the rocket climbed

 higher and higher into the sky, more of the experienced launch veterans

 detected something amiss with the flight trajectory.At first, just a

 murmur rippled through the assembled crew; then, an excited buzz jolted

 the men like an electric shock.One man started to yell, cursing at

 the rocket to burst, and then another followed suit.Before long, the

 entire crew was jumping up and down while shouting at the soaring

 rocket, cajoling the mechanical beast like some last-dollar bettors

 urging a long-shot nag to the wire at Pimlico.

 

 On board the Koguryo, the excitement of the launch had yet to wane when

 a seated flight engineer turned to Ling and said, "Sir, the Stage One

 engine indicates an active gimbaling beyond nominal flight plan

 parameters."

 

 The Zenit-3SL, like most modern rockets, was steered in flight by

 adjusting, or gimbaling, the launch vehicle's engine, redirecting its

 thrust to govern the rocket's heading.As Ling was aware, the initial

 launch sequence called for no gimbaling until the rocket was in a

 stabilized climb, then the navigation system would initiate slight

 steering adjustments to guide the rocket toward the target.Only an

 undetected imbalance would create an immediate steering correction from

 launch.

 

 Ling walked over to the engineer's station and peered at the man's

 computer monitor.His mouth fell open as he saw that the rocket's

 engine was gimbaled to its maximum degree.He watched in silence as, a

 second later, the engine adjusted back to its neutral position, then

 gimbaled to the full extent in the opposite direction.Almost

 immediately, the whole cycle started over again.Ling immediately

 surmised the cause.

 

 "Choi, what was the launchpad horizontal deviation at T-0?"he shouted

 to the platform engineer.

 

 The engineer looked back sheepishly at Ling and uttered in a barely

 audible voice, "Sixteen degrees."

 

 "No!"Ling gasped in a raspy voice as his eyes scrunched closed in a

 panic of disbelief.The color rushed from Ling's face and he felt

 himself grasping the computer monitor to steady his suddenly weakening

 knees.With dire foresight, he slowly opened his eyes and stared at

 the video screen of the charging rocket, waiting for the inevitable.

 

 Pitt had no way of knowing the impact from his frenetic hole drilling.

 But the dozens of gouges poked into the side of the support columns had

 opened up a flood of incoming seawater that quickly overpowered the

 Odyssey's ballast pumps.With the automated controls set to maintain

 the prescribed launch depth, the incoming water collected in the rear

 support columns and tugged the platform down by its aft side.Firing

 off the platform, the Zenit rocket was over fifteen degrees off

 vertical center as it left the launchpad and immediately tried to

 correct the deviation from its prescribed flight plan by shifting the

 engine thrust.But at the low speed of takeoff, the initial command

 was diluted so the engine position was tweaked again to its maximum

 adjustment.As the launch vehicle gained speed, the adjustment quickly

 became an over correction and the rocket's computers gimbaled the

 engine in the opposite direction to counterbalance the movement.Under

 normal conditions, the rocket might have been able to stabilize itself

 with a few minor adjustments.But on this flight, the Zenit's fuel

 tanks were only half full.The partially empty fuel tanks allowed the

 liquid propellant to slosh back and forth during the thrust

 inclinations, creating a whole new set of balancing dynamics.The

 overtaxed stabilization control system tried vainly to smooth the

 flight but, ultimately, exacerbated the situation and the rocket began

 to waffle.

 

 On video screens and satellite feeds, out an airship cockpit window,

 and from a barren rocky island in the Pacific Ocean, a thousand eyes

 stared transfixed at the streaming white rocket as it began a slow and

 morbid gyration across the sky.What started as a slight wobble at

 liftoff grew into a continuous waggle during ascent until the entire

 rocket was shaking uncontrollably toward the clouds like an anorexic

 belly dancer.Had Sea Launch been managing the flight, an automated

 safety control would have detonated the rocket as it veered out of

 parameter.But the abort command had been deleted from the flight

 software by Kang's crew and the Zenit was left to struggle upward in a

 tortuous dance of death.

 

 To the unbelieving sight of those who watched, the huge rocket swung

 wildly in the sky before tearing itself apart from the inside out and

 literally snapping in two.The lower Stage immediately disintegrated

 in a massive fireball as the fuel tanks were simultaneously ignited,

 swallowing everything in its radius with a cauldron of flame.Chunks

 and pieces of rocket machinery not dissolved by the explosion rained

 down over a swath of empty sea, while the high-altitude

 

 mushroom cloud from the explosion hung in the blue sky as if painted

 there.

 

 The nose cone and upper stage of the Zenit oddly sailed free of the

 carnage and continued speeding across the sky like a streaking bullet,

 fueled only by momentum.In a graceful parabolic arc, the

 smoke-trailed payload gradually lost energy and nosed down toward the

 Pacific, smacking the surface with a watery geyser of debris miles

 downrange from the initial explosion.As the sudden sound of silence

 drifted over the water, the stunned observers stared miraculously at

 the white rainbow of smoke that trailed the death flight and arched

 quietly from horizon to horizon.

 

 ON A rocky beach of Santa Barbara Island, an elephant seal awoke from a

 leisurely nap and cocked an ear toward the inland.The odd sound of

 cheering wafted down the hillside from thirty or so men congregated on

 a small bluff.The seal looked quizzically up at the disheveled group

 of men, then stretched back out and resumed his nap.

 

 For the first time in their lives, the Sea Launch platform crew of

 technicians and engineers were happy to witness a launch failure.Men

 cheered and whistled while others poked their fists in the air in

 celebratory victory.As the launch vehicle blew up above their heads,

 even Christiano grinned a sigh of relief as Platform Launch Manager

 Ohlrogge slapped him on the back.

 

 "Somebody was smiling down on us for once," Ohlrogge said.

 

 "Thank God.Whatever those bastards were trying to launch could not

 have been good."

 

 "One of my flight engineers noted a roll oscillation right from launch.

 Must have been a nozzle adjustment malfunction, or a stabilization

 issue with the platform."

 

 Christiano thought of Pitt and his comment before departing the

 Odyssey."Maybe that fellow from NUMA worked some magic."

 

 "If so, we owe him big."

 

 "Yes, and somebody owes me, too," Christiano replied.

 

 Ohlrogge looked at the captain quizzically.

 

 "That was a ninety-million-dollar launch vehicle that just went up in

 flames.There will be hell to pay when we pass that bill to the

 insurer," the captain said, finally letting loose a laugh.

 

 Kang flinched as he watched the satellite feed of the Zenit

 disintegrate before his eyes.As the camera caught pieces of falling

 debris, he silently reached for the remote control and turned off the

 monitor.

 

 "Though the strike has failed, the specter of the attack will still

 represent a serious provocation to the American public," Kwan assured

 his boss."Anger will be high and the fallout against Japan

 significant."

 

 "Yes, our staged media security leaks should ensure that," Kang said,

 suppressing his anger at the failure."But the disappearance of the

 Koguryo and launch team remains at hand.Their capture would corrupt

 much of our hard work to date."

 

 "Tongju will fulfill his duties.He always has," Kwan replied.

 

 Kang stared at the darkened television monitor for a moment, then

 slowly nodded.

 

 The mood in the Koguryo\ launch control center quickly turned from joy

 to shock to sullen disappointment.In an instant, the mission

 requirements of the launch team fell away and the assembled technicians

 and engineers sat silently at their computer stations, staring at the

 displays that no longer provided any launch data.No one seemed to

 know what to do next and whispered quietly with one another.

 

 Tongju threw a long, frigid glare toward Ling, then left the control

 center without saying a word.As he made his way toward the bridge, he

 called Kim on a portable radio and spoke briefly in a low voice.On

 the bridge, he found Captain Lee staring out the starboard bridge

 window at the smoke-trailed rain of debris that scarred the blue sky

 with white strips of vapor.

 

 "She shook herself apart," he said with wonder, then looked into the

 blank eyes of Tongju.

 

 "A problem with the platform," Tongju replied."We must evacuate the

 area immediately.Can we get moving at once?"

 

 "We are standing by for departure.We just need to hoist in the

 tender, then we can be under way."

 

 "There is no time," he hissed suddenly."The American Coast Guard and

 Navy may already be looking for us.Proceed under full power at once,

 and I will personally cut the tender loose."

 

 Lee looked at Tongju warily, then nodded.

 

 "As you wish.Our course is already laid in.We shall make for

 Mexican waters, then divert under cover of darkness for the rendezvous

 position."

 

 Tongju took a step to exit the bridge, then stopped suddenly.Out of

 the forward window, he gazed at the smoke-enshrouded Sea Launch

 platform.Approaching the platform from the northwest was the silver

 blimp, now cruising several hundred feet above the water.Tongju waved

 an arm in the direction of the Icarus.

 

 "Alert your surface-to-air missile team.Take out that airship

 immediately," he spat, then vanished out the door.

 

 As the Roguryo's twin four-bladed propellers began churning the water

 beneath the ship's hull, Tongju hustled his way back to the

 

 portable stairwell that ran down the vessel's port flank.At the base

 of the stairwell bobbed the white tender, a mooring line tied across to

 the railing.He noted bubbles of smoke rising from the boat's stern,

 alerting him that the engine was running at idle.Quickly untying the

 line, he coiled it in his hand and waited until the next passing wave

 pushed the tender up against the side of the ship.With barely a step,

 he hopped aboard the bow of the boat and shuffled toward the cabin,

 tossing the coiled line into an empty bucket on deck.Inside the

 cabin, he found Kim and two of his commandos standing beside the wheel.

 "Everything aboard?"Tongju asked.

 

 Kim nodded."During the excitement of the launch, we moved our arms

 and provisions on board, and even hoisted extra fuel aboard, without

 any interference."Kim tilted his head toward the rear open deck where

 four fifty-five-gallon drums of gasoline were tied off against the

 gunwale.

 

 "Let us drift off the stern for a moment, then we shall make our run to

 Ensenada.When will the charges detonate?"Kim glanced at his watch.

 "In twenty-five minutes.""Plenty of time for the missile crew to

 destroy the airship."The Koguryo quickly churned away from the small

 boat as the tender continued to idle in the low swells.When the

 former cable ship had cleared a quarter mile of open water, Kim moved

 the throttles to slow and crept forward with the bow pointed southeast.

 In no time, he figured, they would look like another ordinary fishing

 charter heading home to San Diego.

 

 Long after the Zenit had climbed into the sky and detonated, a thick

 cloud of white smoke still hung over the Odyssey like a fog bankEver

 so gently, the light sea breeze began poking holes through the exhaust,

 revealing sporadic patches of the launch platform through the haze.

 

 "Looks like a bowl of clam chowder down there," Giordino said as he

 banked the Icarus over the platform.While Giordino and Dahlgren

 visually surveyed the platform for any signs of Pitt, Dirk activated

 the LASH system and scanned for optical anomalies that might signify a

 human being.

 

 "Don't quote me but I think that baby is sinking," Dahlgren said as

 they glided around the aft end of the platform and could make out an

 exposed section down to the water.The men in the gondola could

 clearly see that the aft support columns appeared shorter than the bow

 columns.

 

 a "She's definitely taking on water in the stern," Dirk replied...

 "Wonder if that's the handiwork of your old man?He may have just

 cost somebody a new rocket," Giordino said."And maybe a new

 launchpad," Dahlgren added.

 

 "But where is he?"Dirk asked aloud.They could all detect that there

 was no apparent sign of life on the platform.

 

 "The smoke is starting to clear.Once the helipad opens up, I'll take

 us in for a closer look," Giordino replied.

 

 As they drifted back toward the bow of the platform, Dahlgren looked

 down and grimaced.

 

 "Damn.The Badger's gone, too.Must have sank during the launch."

 

 The threesome fell quiet, reflecting that the disappearance of the

 submersible was the least of their losses.

 

 Three miles to the south, a gunnery crewman on the Koguryo was

 transferring the radar-derived coordinates of the blimp into a Chinese

 CSA-4 surface-to-air missile guidance system.The slow-moving airship

 was as easy an objective as the gunnery crew could ever hope to target.

 With such a large object at close range, the odds of failing to strike

 the blimp were nearly zero.

 

 In an enclosed room adjacent to the dual missile canister, a weapons

 

 control expert stood at a console transferring the firing guidance

 through a missile command link.A row of green lights flashed at him

 as the engagement radar embedded in the missile acknowledged a tar-get

 lock.The man immediately picked up a telephone receiver that ran

 directly to the bridge.

 

 "Target acquired and missile armed," he said in monotone to Captain

 Lee."Awaiting orders to fire."

 

 Lee looked out a bridge side window toward the blimp hovering over the

 platform in the distance.The high-powered missile exploding into the

 airship would make for a spectacular display, he thought childishly.

 Perhaps they should also destroy the distant turquoise vessel that

 lingered on the edge of their radar screen and then make a clean

 escape.But, first things first.He moved the receiver to his mouth

 to issue the command to fire when suddenly his lips froze.His eyes

 had detected a small pair of dark objects emerging from behind the

 airship.He stood frozen and watched as the objects quickly

 materialized into a pair of low-flying aircraft.

 

 The F-16D Falcon fighter jets had been scrambled from an Air National

 Guard base in Fresno minutes after a NORAD satellite had detected the

 launch of the Zenit rocket.While flying toward the launch site, the

 pilots were directed to the Koguryo with the help of the Coast Guard

 distress call that had originated from the Deep Endeavor.The sleek

 gray jets flew low above the water and burst over the Koguryo just a

 few hundred feet above her fore bridgeThe crackling roar of the jets'

 engines struck a second after their shadows had whisked by overhead,

 rattling the windows of the bridge where Lee stood with a sickened look

 on his face.

 

 "Stand down!Stand down and secure the battery!"he barked over the

 phone.As the SAM was stowed away, Lee watched as the two fighter jets

 gained altitude and began crisply circling the fast-moving ship.

 

 "You!"he cursed at a crewman standing nearby."Find Tongju and bring

 him to the bridge ... at once."

 

 The men in the blimp beamed in relief at the sight of the Air National

 Guard jets circling above the Koguryo, having no idea how close they

 were to being blasted out of the sky by the ship's SAM battery.They

 knew that a horde of Navy ships was on the way and that there was

 little chance the ship would escape apprehension now.They again

 turned their attention to the smoke-covered platform below.

 

 "The haze is lifting off the helipad," Giordino observed."I'll set

 her down if you boys want to jump off and take a look around."

 

 "Absolutely," Dirk replied."Jack, we can start with the bridge, then

 move down to the hangar if the air is breathable."

 

 "I'd start with the ship's lounge," Giordino said, trying to cut the

 somber mood."If he's okay, my money says he's mixing a martini and

 eating up the ship's store of pretzels."

 

 Giordino swung the blimp wide of the platform, bringing the airship

 around with its nose into the wind.As he lined upon the helipad and

 began dropping altitude, Dahlgren stuck his head back into the cockpit

 and pointed out the side window.

 

 "Take a look over there," he said.

 

 Several hundred feet off the side of the platform, a sudden surge of

 bubbles erupted from beneath the surface.A few seconds later, a

 mottled gray metallic object broke the surface.

 

 "Launch debris?"Dahlgren asked.

 

 "No, it's the Badger^" Giordino exclaimed.

 

 Guiding the airship toward the object, the three men could see that it

 was in fact the NUMA submersible bobbing low in the water.The

 underwater vehicle's bright metallic paintwork had been cooked off in

 the launch blast, leaving its skin a dappled mix of primer and bare

 metal.The bow section was bent and mangled, as if it had been

 involved in a head-on traffic accident.How the thing still managed to

 float was anybody's guess, but there was no denying it was

 

 the experimental submersible Dirk and Dahlgren had sailed to the

 platform.

 

 As Giordino brought the blimp down for a closer look, the three men

 were stunned to see the top hatch suddenly twist and pop open.A cloud

 of steaming vapor streamed from the open hatch as they looked on

 incredulously.For several agonizing seconds, their eyes hung glued to

 the hatch, hoping against hope.Finally, they saw the odd apparition

 of a pair of stockinged feet rise up and out of the hatch.A patch of

 dark hair then appeared and they realized that the feet they observed

 were actually hands covered in a pair of socks.The stocking-wrapped

 hands, protected from the hot metal, quickly hoisted up the lean,

 racked body of their owner from the enclosed oven.

 

 "It's Dad!He's okay!"Dirk exclaimed with glaring relief.

 

 Pitt climbed to his feet and swayed on the rocking sub, sucking in

 lungfuls of the cool ocean air.He was a haggard mass of blood and

 sweat, and his clothes stuck to him as if they were glued to his skin.

 But his eyes shined as he looked skyward and threw a jaunty wave to the

 men in the gondola.

 

 "Going down," Giordino announced as he proceeded to guide the blimp

 down toward the sea until the gondola was skimming just inches above

 the waves.With a deft touch, Giordino gently eased the blimp

 alongside the submersible.Pitt leaned down and secured the Badger's

 top hatch, then took a few steps and staggered into the open door of

 the gondola, where Dirk and Dahlgren grabbed his arms and yanked him

 safely aboard.

 

 "I believe," he said to Giordino in a dry parched voice, "I'll take

 that drink now."

 

 Pitt slipped into the blimp's copilot seat and gulped down a bottled

 water as Al, Dirk, and Jack described the fiery disintegration of the

 Zenit rocket minutes before.While studying the vapor trails in the

 

 sky and eyeing the Koguryo fleeing in the distance, Pitt countered with

 a description of his drilling attack on the Odyssey's support columns

 and the tumultuous assault from the wake of the blastoff.

 

 "And here I had good money down that you were lolling about in the

 Odyssey's lounge nursing a martini," Giordino grumbled.

 

 "I was the one shaken and stirred," Pitt laughed."Would have been

 baked alive when the Badger got jammed against the side pontoon, but I

 was able to manually force the rudder against the surge and broke free

 into cooler water.Even with the ballast tanks purged, it took me a

 while to surface until I got the bilge pump working.There's still a

 lot of water sloshing around inside, but she should stay afloat a while

 longer."

 

 "I'll radio Deep Endeavor and have her fish the Badger out once they've

 picked up the platform crew on Santa Barbara Island," Giordino

 replied.

 

 "I will have a furious sister on my hands if you first don't let her

 know you are safe," Dirk chided.

 

 Summer nearly fell over when her father's voice crackled through the

 Deep Endeavor's radio, jokingly ordering a beer and a peanut butter

 sandwich.

 

 "We feared the worst," she gushed."What on earth happened to you?"

 

 "It's a long story.Suffice it to say that the Scripps Institute isn't

 going to be too happy with my submarine-driving skills," he said,

 leaving all on the bridge of the Deep Endeavor scratching their

 heads.

 

 As Giordino lifted the airship up off the water, Pitt noticed the F-16s

 circling the fleeing Koguryo.

 

 "Cavalry finally arrive?"he asked.

 

 "Just moments ago.The Navy has an armada headed this way as well.

 She's not going to get away."

 

 "Her tender is sure making haste," Pitt said, nodding toward a white

 speck to the south.

 

 Lost in the spectacle and confusion was the Koguryo's tender, which had

 slipped quietly away from her mother ship and was now motoring south

 toward the horizon at high speed.

 

 "How do you know that's her tender?"Giordino asked, squinting

 downrange.

 

 "Over here," Pitt replied, tapping the WE SCAM monitor.Pitt had been

 fooling around with the zoom lens while talking and happened to catch

 the speeding boat flashing by.The focused image clearly showed it was

 the Koguryo's tender, which they had observed earlier.

 

 "The jets definitely aren't tracking her," Dirk said from the rear,

 noting the F-16s circling tightly around the Koguryo as she sailed

 farther to the west.

 

 "Let's stay on her," Pitt stated.

 

 "She has nary a chance against our fleet wings aflutter," Giordino

 snarled, pushing the throttles to full and watching as the airspeed

 indicator crept slowly toward 50 knots.

 

 Why haven't they fired on the aircraft, or that infernal airship?"

 Tongju swore as he stared at the Koguryo through a pair of binoculars.

 The bouncing movement of the tender as it ran at full speed through the

 waves made it impossible for him to steady his gaze and he finally

 threw the glasses down harshly onto a cowling.

 

 "The aircraft have intimidated Lee," Kim said over his shoulder as he

 clutched the steering wheel tightly."He will pay with his life in

 about two more minutes."

 

 The Koguryo was growing smaller on the horizon as the tender

 accelerated south.But when the planted explosives detonated, they

 could clearly see puffs of water spray into the air along the ship's

 hull line.

 

 Standing on the bridge, Captain Lee at first thought that the F-16s had

 fired on him.But the warbirds still circled lazily above, and there

 was no sign that they had fired any missiles.As the damage

 assessments came in reporting that the lower hull was compromised in

 several locations, Lee suddenly realized the culprit.Minutes before,

 a

 

 crewman had reported observing Kim and Tongju board the tender and the

 small boat was now seen running south at high speed.With a sick

 sensation of betrayal, Lee knew that he and his ship had been deemed

 expendable.

 

 But a miscalculation would save them.Kim's demolition team had

 planted ample explosives to rip the bowels out of a normal ship

 Koguryo's size.But a critical piece of information about the cable

 ship had not been considered: she had a double hull.The detonated

 charges easily ruptured the vessel's inner hull but only buckled the

 plates of the outer hull.Seawater gushed into the lower holds, but

 not with the massive force that would submerge the running ship as

 Tongju had envisioned.Lee immediately stopped the ship, deployed

 portable pumps to the damaged holds, and then sealed off the high-risk

 areas behind watertight doors.The ship would list and be unable to

 run at speed but she would not founder.

 

 Once the flooding was halted, the captain peered through a set of field

 glasses at the speeding tender escaping in the distance.Lee knew that

 he had little to live for now.As the captain of the vessel that

 launched the aborted missile attack against the United States, he would

 be the prime scapegoat if captured.If he somehow escaped, or was

 released, there would be no telling what sort of reception he'd receive

 from Kang.Satisfied that the ship was stabilized, Lee excused himself

 from the bridge and retired to his cabin.Retrieving a Chinese-made

 Makarov 9mm pistol from beneath a dresser drawer filled with pressed

 shirts, Lee lay down neatly on his bed, held the barrel to his ear, and

 pulled the trigger.

 

 While pursuing the speeding tender, the men in the Icarus caught sight

 of the series of explosions that ripped along the hull of the Koguryo.

 "Are those lunatics trying to scuttle her with all hands?"Dahlgren

 wondered.

 

 For several minutes, they watched the ship as she slowed but held

 steady.Pitt noticed that there was no apparent rush for the

 lifeboats, and he could see several members of the crew standing idly

 at the rail watching the jets overhead.He studied the waterline for a

 significant change but could only detect a slight list.

 

 "She's not going to disappear on us anytime soon," he said."Let's

 keep after the tender."

 

 Giordino glanced at the LASH system output on the laptop computer,

 spotting several gray shapes to the southeast approximately thirty

 miles away.

 

 "Our Navy pals are on the way," he said, tapping the screen."They

 won't be alone for long."

 

 With a nearly 20-knot advantage in speed, the airship began easily

 gaining ground on the fleeing white boat.The Icarus had only ascended

 to a five-hundred-foot altitude when Giordino gave chase and he didn't

 waste power on any further climbing.The blimp glided smoothly toward

 the boat's wake, driving fast and low over the water.As the airship

 moved closer, Pitt focused the surveillance camera on the boat's open

 rear deck and cabin.Through the covered portico, he could only make

 out indiscriminate shapes at the helm.

 

 "I count four men above decks," he said.

 

 "Apparently, they're not ones for a crowded escape," Giordino

 replied.

 

 Pitt scanned the camera about the deck, relieved to find no heavy

 armament but noting the extra drums of fuel near the stern.

 

 "Plenty of gas for a run to Mexico," he said.

 

 "I think our Coast Guard friends in San Diego might have something to

 say about that," Giordino replied, tightening his bearing on the

 boat.

 

 Tongju and his men had been focused on the Koguryo, but one of the

 commandos finally noticed the approaching blimp.While Kim

 

 manned the helm, the other three men instinctively stepped to the rear

 open deck to better observe the airship.Pitt focused the zoom lens of

 the camera on the men until their faces could clearly be

 distinguished.

 

 "Recognize any of these characters?"Pitt asked over his shoulder to

 Dirk and Dahlgren.

 

 The younger Pitt studied the screen for just a moment before gritting

 his teeth hard.The flash of anger subsided quickly, though, as a

 contented smile returned to his face.

 

 "The Fu Manchu character standing in the center.His name is Tongju.

 He's Kang's master of ceremonies for torture and assassination.

 Appeared to be calling the shots aboard the Odyssey earlier."

 

 "For such a nice guy, it would be kind of a shame to ruin his Mexican

 vacation," Giordino replied.

 

 As he spoke, he dipped the prow of the blimp down and held steady as

 the airship slowly dove toward the water.When it looked like he was

 going to drive the nose into the sea, Giordino gently pulled up on the

 controls, leveling the gondola just fifty feet above the water.The

 Icarus had closed the gap between the two vessels during the dive, and

 Giordino guided the airship along the port side of the tender until the

 gondola was suspended side by side.

 

 "You want to step off and have a beer with these guys?"Pitt asked as

 he eyed the men on the boat just a few dozen feet away.

 

 "No, just want to let them know that they ain't going to outrun Mad Al

 and his Magic Bag of Gas," he grinned.

 

 Giordino eased back on the throttles until he matched speeds with the

 bouncing tender, the large envelope of the blimp casting a shadow over

 the topsides of the boat.Above the din of the tender's twin inboard

 engines and the airship's Porsche motor-driven propellers, the men in

 the Icarus suddenly detected an unwelcome staccato.Glancing back at

 the tender, Pitt saw that Tongju and the two commandos had retrieved

 automatic weapons and were standing on the stern deck blasting away at

 the blimp.

 

 "I hate to be the one to tell you but they're shooting holes in your

 gasbag, Mad Al," Pitt said.

 

 "The jealous lowlifes," Giordino replied, goosing the throttles.

 

 Before departing Oxnard, they had been told that the airship could

 withstand a profusion of holes and gashes to the air bags and still

 retain its lift.Tongju and his men would have to exhaust a crate of

 ammunition to threaten the airworthiness of the helium-filled blimp.

 But the safety of the gondola was less assured.After a momentary

 pause in the firing, the floor of the main cabin suddenly erupted in a

 spray of splinters as the gunmen redirected their weapons at the

 gondola.

 

 "Everybody down!"Pitt yelled as a burst of fire smashed the side

 cockpit window, the bullets grazing just over his head.The sound of

 shattering glass resonated through the cabin as a rain of bullets

 poured into the gondola.Dirk and Dahlgren lay flat on the floor as

 several bursts stitched past them and into the ceiling above.Giordino

 jammed the throttles all the way forward, and, while waiting anxiously

 for the blimp to speed ahead, turned the yoke full to port to turn away

 from the tender.

 

 "No," Pitt yelled at him, "turn and fly over him."

 

 Giordino knew not to question Pitt's judgment and, without hesitation,

 threw the rudder over in the opposite direction, pushing the Icarus

 back toward the tender.Glancing at Pitt, he could see him studying

 the tender below with an arched brow.The blistering fire continued to

 tear into the gondola for a second, then abruptly stopped as Giordino

 steered the gondola above and slightly ahead of the tender's cabin

 roof, temporarily obscuring the field of fire.

 

 "Everyone all right?" Pitt asked.

 

 "We're okay back here," Dirk replied, "but one of the engines isn't

 faring too well."

 

 As the sound of gunfire fell away, the men could hear sputtering and

 coughing emanating from the starboard gondola motor.Giordino glanced

 at the console gauges and shook his head.

 

 "Oil pressure falling, temperature rising.Going to be tough to run

 away from these guys on one leg."

 

 Pitt peered down at the deck of the tender, spotting Tongju and the two

 gunmen moving toward the stern of the boat reloading their weapons.

 

 "Al, hold your position," he said."And lend me your cigar."

 

 "It's one of Sandecker's finest," he replied, hesitating before handing

 Pitt the saliva-soaked green stub.

 

 "I'll buy you a box of 'em.Hold steady for ten seconds, then turn

 hard to port and get us the hell away from the boat."

 

 "You're not going to do what I think you are?"Giordino asked.

 

 Pitt just flashed a sly look, then reached up for an overhead ripcord

 with one hand while he turned a dial marked fuel ballast to the open

 position.Pulling on the cord, he silently counted to eight, then

 released the line and closed the lever.At the stern of the gondola,

 an emergency dump valve opened on the fuel tank, releasing a flood of

 gasoline that surged out the bottom of the tank.

 

 Pitt's quick discharge released more than seventy-five gallons of

 gasoline out of the gondola tank, which sprayed down directly onto the

 stern deck of the tender.Pitt looked down and could see that the rear

 deck was awash in fuel that sloshed along the rear gunwale as the boat

 charged through the waves.Tongju and the two gunmen covered their

 faces and sprinted under the portico as the rain of liquid splattered

 down on them but quickly returned after the deluge ended and raised

 their weapons again to finish off the blimp.Pitt watched curiously as

 the pool of gasoline washed around their feet and splashed over some

 deck chairs, a bench, and the four fifty-five-gallon drums tied to the

 side.He stoked a few puffs on the cigar to brighten its ember, then

 stuck his head out the shattered side cockpit window.Just a few yards

 away, Pitt eyed Tongju and smiled as the assassin looked up and swung

 his assault rifle toward him.Through his legs, Dirk could feel the

 blimp begin pulling to one side as Giordino threw the

 

 controls over.With a calm nonchalance, he took a last puff on the

 cigar and casually tossed it toward the stern of the tender.

 

 A wave jostled the tender, and Tongju braced himself against a side

 railing as he jerked the stock of the AK-74 assault rifle to his

 shoulder.He barely noticed the small green object that fluttered down

 and struck the deck beside him as he took aim at Pitt's head poking out

 the cockpit window.His finger was just tightening on the trigger when

 a loud poof erupted at his feet.

 

 The cigar's glowing ember ignited the gasoline vapors rising off the

 deck before the stogie even struck the surface.The airship's rain of

 gasoline had sprayed everywhere and in seconds the whole stern of the

 boat was a wall of flame.A commando standing beside Tongju had been

 drenched in fuel and the flames shot up his legs and torso in a rush.

 The panicked man dropped his weapon and danced frantically about the

 deck, his arms flailing wildly to douse his burning clothes.Screaming

 in pain, he finally ran to the railing and flung himself over the side,

 the ocean waters quickly extinguishing the human torch in a whiff of

 smoke.Kim watched from the helm as the man leaped off the boat but

 made no move to turn the boat around and rescue the scorched

 commando.

 

 Tongju, too, was temporarily engulfed in flames, angrily lowering his

 rifle without firing and leaping under the portico, where he was able

 to stamp out the flames burning his shoes and pants.Kim gazed from

 the blazing stern to Tongju with a look of alarm in his eyes.

 

 "Keep going," Tongju shouted, "the flames will burn themselves out."

 

 The wind and sea spray from the charging boat had, in fact,

 extinguished some of the peripheral flames, but pools of burning

 gasoline still sloshed across the deck and deep black plumes of smoke

 revealed that more than just the fuel was on fire.

 

 "But the fuel barrels!"Kim cried, watching as the flames licked at

 the drums of gasoline.

 

 Tongju had forgotten about the full barrels of gasoline tied to the

 rear deck amid the blazing fire.The flames were initially

 concentrated to the rear of the barrels, but the sloshing gas on the

 deck brought the fire up to the base of the drums.Scanning the helm

 console, Tongju spotted a small fire extinguisher mounted to the

 bulkhead.With a quick lunge, he scooped up the extinguisher, pulled

 its lock-pin, and sprinted onto the rear deck to protect the fuel

 drums.But he was too late.

 

 A seal cap on one of the drums had not been tightened all the way,

 allowing a thin wisp of vapor to escape.The constant jarring from the

 pounding boat had generated more vapor pressure inside the drum, which

 expanded further by the heat of the nearby fire.When the flames

 finally drew near enough to ignite the vapor, the fuel drum exploded

 like a powder keg.In quick succession, the other three fuel drums

 ignited with devastating effect.

 

 As the blimp peeled away from the boat, Pitt and the others watched in

 awe as the first fuel drum exploded right into Tongju.A chunk of

 flying shrapnel from the drum burst through his body, tearing an oblong

 hole the size of a Softball through his chest.A stunned look crossed

 the assassin's face as he sunk to his knees.In the last seconds of

 life, he peered skyward toward the blimp and scowled defiantly before

 he was swallowed up in an inferno of flames.

 

 The subsequent explosions leveled the entire superstructure of the boat

 in a maelstrom of flying timbers and debris.A huge fireball rolled

 into the sky as the stern of the boat rose into the air briefly, its

 still-driving propellers churning at the sky.The explosion blasted a

 gaping hole through the hull, which quickly sucked the boat under the

 waves in a boil of froth and smoke, taking the bodies of Tongju, Kim,

 and the third commando to the seafloor.

 

 Giordino had sharply turned the Icarus away from the exploding boat,

 but flying debris still splattered against the airship, shearing an

 additional array of holes into the fabric skin.More than a hundred

 rips, tears, and bullet holes peppered the surface, creating avenues

 for helium to escape.The bruised and damaged airship refused to go

 down, however, and clung to the sky like a battered fighter.

 

 The men in the gondola surveyed the surreal scene around them.In the

 sky above, a heavy white plume of smoke still hung in the air, marking

 the Zenit rocket's explosive demise.Across the water, a Navy frigate

 and destroyer could be seen bearing down on the Koguyro as a swarm of

 fighter jets circled overhead.And beneath them, a scattering of

 burning timbers smoldered in the water, denoting the grave of Tongju

 and the sunken tender.

 

 "Guess we showed your pal a hot time," Giordino said to Dirk as he

 stuck his head into the cockpit.

 

 "I have a feeling he'll be burning in hell for quite some time to

 come."

 

 "We gave him a nice head start," Pitt said."You and Jack okay back

 there?"

 

 "Just a few scratches.We both managed to dance around the flying

 lead."

 

 "But look what they did to my airship," Giordino-muttered with feigned

 hurt, waving a hand about the shot-up gondola.

 

 "At least all of our vital signs are good.Despite the gunshots to the

 envelope, our helium pressure is holding up, and we've got fifty

 gallons of fuel to get us back to shore," Pitt replied, eyeing the

 console gauges before shutting down the damaged engine."Take us home,

 Mad Al."

 

 "As you wish," Giordino replied, easing the nose of the Icarus toward

 the east.Slowly steering the battered airship back to the mainland on

 its one good engine, he turned to Pitt and said, "Now, about those

 cigars ..."

 

 IT took only the mere sight of the U.S. Navy frigate and destroyer for

 the captainless crew of the Koguryo to throw in the towel.As more

 and more fighter planes appeared in the sky overhead, it became obvious

 to all aboard that trying to flee would result in their destruction.

 And with the damaged hull, they were not about to outrun anybody.As

 the Navy ships approached, the Koguryds executive officer wisely

 radioed their surrender.In minutes, a small boarding party arrived

 from the destroyer USS Benfold and took custody of the ship.A repair

 team was then sent aboard to assist in stabilizing the damaged hull,

 and then the Japanese-flagged ship was sailed to San Diego at a slow

 crawl.

 

 Arriving at San Diego early the next morning, a media frenzy erupted.

 As word broke of the attempted rocket attack on Los Angeles, scores of

 small boats packed with reporters and cameramen buzzed around the

 harbor trying to get a close-up glimpse of the terrorist ship and crew.

 For their part, the crew and technicians aboard

 

 the Koguryo looked down at the swarming media with befuddled amusement.

 Their greeting at the San Diego Naval Station was less inviting as

 teams of government security and intelligence officers whisked the crew

 into heavily guarded buses, where they were hurriedly driven away to a

 secure facility for detailed interrogation.

 

 Back at the dock, investigators combed every inch of the ship, removing

 the launch control data and securing the surface-to-surface and

 surface-to-air missile systems.Marine engineers studied the hull

 damage, proving with certainty that it had been created by internally

 detonated explosive charges.It would take several days before

 intelligence analysts would discover that all the software data related

 to the mission flight profile and rocket payload had been

 systematically destroyed prior to the ship's capture.

 

 Interrogation of the ship's crew proved equally frustrating.The

 majority of the crew and launch team had believed they were actually

 launching a commercial satellite and had no clue how close they were to

 the continental United States.Those who knew otherwise refused to

 talk.Investigators were quickly able to finger Ling and the two

 Ukrainian engineers as kingpins for the mission, despite their vehement

 denials.

 

 Publicly, the launch created a furor, which magnified as word leaked

 that the payload carried smallpox virus.The Japanese Red Army was

 behind the attack, newspapers and television reports screamed, fueled

 in part by the staged media leaks perpetrated by Kang operators.The

 government silently made no denials while piecing together their own

 evidence, further inciting the public rage against Japan.The

 attempted attack, though unsuccessful, seemed to have achieved Kang's

 desired outcome.The single-minded media applied their full reporting

 resources to the incident.Constant news coverage focused strictly on

 the investigation and speculation about possible retaliation measures

 to take against the shadowy Japanese terrorist group.Lost in the news

 was the issue of Korea and the pending vote in the National Assembly

 over the removal of U.S. troops from the South Korean Peninsula.

 

 As the media ran dry of new facts about the failed rocket launch, they

 turned their attention toward hero-making.The Sea Launch platform

 crew was nearly mugged by reporters when they stepped off the Deep

 Endeavor in Long Beach.Many of the tired crewmen were given just a

 few hours' rest, then helicoptered back to the Odyssey to patch up the

 holes Pitt had carved in the support structure and sail the listing

 platform back to port.Those escaping work duty were badgered for

 in-depth interviews about their capture and imprisonment aboard the

 platform, as well as their later rescue by Pitt and Giordino in the

 blimp.The men from NUMA were lionized as heroes and every news media

 organization was on the hunt for them.But they were nowhere to be

 found.

 

 After setting the perforated blimp down on an unused runway at LAX, the

 men beat it down to Long Beach, where they met the docking Deep

 Endeavor.Slipping quietly aboard after the Sea Launch crew departed,

 they were warmly greeted by a relieved Summer and the ship's crew.

 Dahlgren was happy to see the mangled Badger sitting upright on the

 fantail deck.

 

 "Kermit, we've got another search ahead of us," Pitt said to Burch.

 "How soon can we be under way?"

 

 "Just as soon as Dirk and Summer step ashore.Sorry, son," he said,

 turning to the younger Pitt, "but I'm afraid Rudi called.He's been

 trying to track all four of you guys down for the last two hours.Says

 the top brass wants to talk to you and Summer.They need your insight

 on the bad guys, and right away."

 

 "Some guys get all the luck," Giordino said, grinning at Dirk's

 misfortune.

 

 "Seems like we never get much time with you," Summer frowned at her

 father.

 

 "We'll get the next dive in together," Pitt said, throwing an arm

 around each of his kids' shoulders."I promise."

 

 "I'll be counting on it," Summer replied, giving her father a kiss to

 the cheek.

 

 "Me too," Dirk said."And thanks for the blimp ride, Mad Al.Next

 time, I'm going Greyhound."

 

 "The highbrow type, eh?"Giordino replied, shaking his head.

 

 Dirk and Summer said a quick good-bye to Dahlgren and the other men on

 the bridge, then hopped off the Deep Endeavor as the vessel backed away

 from the dock.A feeling of satisfaction should have beat through

 them, but, with Dirk, an underlying anger still brewed.The deadly

 virus strike had been prevented, the Koguryo was captured, and even

 Tongju was dead.More selfishly, Sarah was safe as well.But on the

 other side of the world, Kang still breathed.As they moved down the

 pier, Dirk felt Summer hesitating beside him and he turned and stopped

 so she could wave a friendly farewell to the ship.He stared and waved

 as well, but his mind was churning elsewhere.Together, they stood and

 watched a long while as the turquoise NUMA ship chugged out the harbor

 and eased slowly toward the western horizon.

 

 Well before the Homeland Security investigation team thought to round

 up all available search and salvage vessels and comb for the sunken

 rocket debris, the Deep Endeavor had already slipped her towed sonar

 array fish over the side and was scanning the depths for the remains of

 the payload.Captain Burch had anticipated a salvage operation and

 knew precisely where to start searching.While standing on the deck of

 the Deep Endeavor watching the Zenit disintegrate across the sky, he

 had carefully tracked the trajectory of the debris and marked on a

 nautical chart an impact zone where he thought the nose cone struck the

 water.

 

 "If the payload remained intact, it should be somewhere within that

 box," he told Pitt as they chugged back to sea, pointing to a

 nine-square-mile grid penciled on the chart."Though we're probably

 dealing with a scattered debris field."

 

 "Whatever is left has only been sitting on the bottom a few hours,

 

 so we'll have a fresh profile at least," Pitt replied, studying the

 chart.Burch guided the Deep Endeavor to a corner of the grid, where

 they began running north south survey lanes.Just two hours into the

 search, Pitt identified the first scattering of debris visible against

 the rolling bottom.Pointing to the sonar monitor, he fingered a

 cluster of sharp-edged objects protruding in succession.

 

 "We've got a string of man-made objects running in a rough line to the

 east," he said.

 

 "Either a local garbage scow spilled her goods or we've got a pile of

 rusting rocket parts," Giordino agreed, eyeing the data.

 

 "Kermit, why don't we break off the lane and run a tack to the east.

 Let's see if we can follow the debris trail and see where it leads."

 

 Burch ordered the ship about and they followed the trail of wreckage

 for several minutes as it intensified in quantity before slowly

 petering out.None of the debris appeared larger than a few feet long,

 however.

 

 "That's one heckuva jigsaw puzzle someone's gonna have to piece

 together," Burch said as the last of the wreckage fell away from the

 screen."Shall we resume the survey lane?"he asked Pitt.

 

 Pitt thought for a moment."No.Let's hold our course.There's got

 to be more substantial remains."

 

 Pitt's years of underwater exploration had refined his senses to almost

 psychic ability.Like an underwater bloodhound, he could nearly sniff

 out the lost and hidden.There was a lot more of the Zenit still out

 there and he could feel it.

 

 As the sonar monitor reeled off nothing but flat bottom, the men on the

 bridge began to have their doubts.But a quarter mile later, a few

 small pieces of ragged-edged debris crept onto the screen.Suddenly,

 the silhouette of a large rectangular object filled the monitor lying

 perpendicular to the other debris.As it rolled off the screen, a new

 image crawled into view.It was the shadow of a large, high

 cylinder.

 

 "Boss, I think you've just found the whole enchilada," Giordino

 grinned.

 

 Studying the image with a nod, Pitt replied, "Let's go have a taste."

 

 Minutes later, the Deep Endeavor fixed its position by engaging its

 side thrusters and lowered a small remote-operated vehicle over the

 stern railing.A large winch unrolled the ROV's power cable as the

 machine sunk to the seafloor nine hundred feet beneath the surface.In

 a dimly lit electronics bay beneath the wheelhouse, Pitt sat in an

 oversized captain's chair where he controlled the unmanned submersible

 thrusters with a pair of joysticks.A rack of video monitors lined the

 wall in front of him, displaying multiple images of the sandy bottom

 fed from a half-dozen digital cameras mounted on the

 

 ROV.

 

 Adjusting the thrusters so that the ROV hovered a few feet above the

 bottom, Pitt gently guided the submersible toward a pair of dark

 objects nearby.Protruding from the sandy bottom, the cameras

 revealed, were two jagged pieces of white metal several feet long,

 which were clearly chunks of skin from the Zenit rocket.Pitt kept the

 ROV moving past the debris until the initial sonar targets materialized

 in the inky water, two unmistakable sections of the launch vehicle

 rising high off the bottom.As the ROV moved closer, Pitt and Giordino

 could see the first section was nearly fifteen feet long, and almost as

 high, but flattened on one side.The rocket section had tumbled before

 impact, smacking the water lengthwise in a jarring blow that had given

 it the rectangle shape identified by the sonar.Guiding the ROV to one

 end, the cameras showed a large thruster nozzle protruding from a mass

 of pipes and chambers that constituted a rocket engine.

 

 "An upper stage engine?"Giordino asked, eyeing the image.

 

 "Probably the Zenit's third stage motor, the uppermost propulsion unit

 designed to drive the payload section into final orbit."

 

 The unfueled section appeared to have broken cleanly from the lower

 Stage 2 component during the explosion.But the payload section that

 rode above it had separated also and was no longer attached.

 

 A few yards away, a large white object stretched into the murky range

 of the camera lens.

 

 "Enough with the preliminaries.Let's go take a look at that big boy,"

 Giordino said, pointing to the edge of one of the video monitors.

 

 Pitt guided the ROV toward the object, which quickly filled the video

 screens with white.It was clearly another section of the Zenit

 rocket, even more intact than the Stage 3 section.Pitt estimated it

 was about twenty feet long, and noticed that it appeared to have a

 slightly larger diameter.The nearest end was a mangled mass of

 carnage.Twisted and jagged edges of the white metal skin jutted

 inward as if mashed by a giant sledgehammer.Pitt maneuvered the ROV

 to peer inside but there was little to be seen besides mashed metal.

 

 "This has to be the payload.It must have struck the water on its

 end," Pitt remarked.

 

 "Maybe there's something exposed on the other side," Giordino said.

 

 Pitt quickly guided the ROV along the length of the horizontal rocket

 section until reaching the opposite end, then glided the submersible

 around in a wide U-turn.Shining the ROV's illuminating lights into

 the exposed end, Pitt and Giordino craned at the monitor to get a

 closer look.The first thing that Pitt noticed was an inward-flared

 ring around the interior edge.It was apparent that the

 smaller-diameter Stage 3 rocket section had been mated to the section

 at this end.Inching the ROV closer, they could see that a vertical

 piece of fairing had been stripped off the rocket along the exposed top

 side.Raising the ROV until it hovered just above the prone rocket,

 Pitt guided the submersible along its upper side, following the open

 seam with the cameras pointed inside.After viewing a maze of tubes

 and wiring, Pitt stopped the ROV as the video image suddenly displayed

 a flat board that glistened under the submersible's high-power lights.

 A wide grin quickly spread across Pitt's face.

 

 "I do believe that there's a solar panel shining back at us," he

 said.

 

 "Well done, Dr.von Braun," Giordino replied, nodding.

 

 As the ROV inched forward, they could clearly see the folded wings of

 the solar panels and the cylindrical body of the mock satellite through

 the open seam.Though the nose cone had been mashed at impact, the

 satellite payload inside had survived intact, and, with it, the deadly

 cargo of virus.

 

 After carefully studying the integrity of the entire payload section

 with the remote video, Pitt returned the ROV to the Deep Endeavor and

 directed the vessel into salvage mode.Though Deep Endeavor was

 primarily an exploration vessel, she was equipped to handle light

 salvage with the help of her onboard submersibles.Despite the loss of

 the Badger, Pitt and Giordino employed a backup submersible to affix a

 sling support around the payload and slowly bring the rocket section to

 the surface with the aid of large lift bags.Under cover of darkness

 and away from the prying eyes of the occasional media boat, the

 pay-load was hoisted out of the water and onto the deck of the Deep

 Endeavor.Pitt and Giordino looked on as the rocket piece was secured

 and covered under a shroud of canvas.

 

 "That'll give the intelligence boys something to chew on for a while,"

 Giordino said.

 

 "It will certainly prove that the attack was not attempted by an

 amateur group of terrorists.Once the lethality of the payload is

 revealed to the public, the ignoble Mr.Kang will wish he was never

 born."

 

 Giordino waved an arm toward a fuzzy glow of light on the eastern

 horizon."All things considered, I'd say the good people of Los

 Angeles owe us a beer for protecting their fair city ... and maybe the

 keys to the Playboy Mansion."

 

 "They have Dirk and Summer to thank."

 

 "Too bad they weren't here to see this baby come up."

 

 "I still haven't heard from the kids since we dropped them at the

 dock."

 

 "They're probably doing the same thing their old man would have done,"

 Giordino grinned."Slipped the intelligence interview and headed down

 to Manhattan Beach for some surfing."

 

 Pitt laughed briefly then looked out at the dark sea as his thoughts

 wandered.No, he knew, now wasn't the time for that.

 

 Forty-two thousand feet above the Pacific, Dirk sat in the cramped seat

 of a government jet trying to get some sleep.But the adrenaline still

 surged through his body, keeping him awake as the plane nosed closer to

 South Korea.It was just hours before that he and Summer had been

 summoned off the Deep Endeavor to brief FBI and Defense Department

 intelligence officials on their meeting with Kang and to provide

 details about the industrialist's fortified residence.

 

 They learned that Sandecker had finally persuaded the president, and

 the White House had issued orders to get Kang, swiftly and silently and

 without informing the South Korean government.An assault plan had

 been formulated, targeting several of Kang's facilities, including the

 shipyard at Inchon.The mysterious leader had not been seen in public

 for days so his private residence was moved to the top of the list of

 incursion targets.Because few Westerners had ever been invited to the

 residence, Dirk and Summer's insights were critical.

 

 "We'll be happy to provide you with a full layout of the site, identify

 entry points and passageways, even give you the security force

 positions and monitoring technology," Dirk offered to the delight of

 the intelligence agents."But I expect one thing in return," he added,

 "and that's a ticket to the show."

 

 Dirk smiled to himself as he watched the color drain from their faces.

 After some grumbling counter arguments and a few calls to Washington,

 he won out.There would be value, they knew, in having him on the

 ground with the assault force.For her part, Summer thought he was

 crazy.

 

 "You actually want to go back to that chamber of horrors?"she asked

 incredulously when the agents had left the room.

 

 "You bet," he replied."I want a front-row seat when they slip the

 noose around Kang's neck."

 

 "Once was enough for me.Please be careful, Dirk.Leave the assault

 work to the professionals.I nearly lost both you and Dad today," she

 said with sisterly concern.

 

 "Not to worry.I'll keep quietly to the rear with my head down," he

 promised.

 

 Two hours of intense briefings later, he was whisked to LAX and bound

 again for Korea.Shortly after the jet's wheels touched down at Osan

 Air Base after the long flight across the Pacific, he was at it again,

 this time briefing the Special Operations Forces that would be carrying

 out the assault.Dirk was particularly thorough, providing every

 detail and scrap of information about Kang's residence that he could

 remember.He then sat back and listened intently as the tactical

 assault plans were presented in precise detail.Two Army Special Ops

 teams were tasked with infiltrating Kang's marine dock and nearby

 telecommunications center in Inchon while a Navy SEAL team would broach

 his residence.The operations would be conducted simultaneously, with

 backup teams standing by to strike additional Kang properties, should

 the enigmatic leader not be found at the initial targets.

 

 After the briefing, a no-nonsense Navy captain responsible for

 coordinating the SEAL assault approached Dirk.

 

 "You've got five hours to relax before we assemble.You'll go in as

 part of Commander Gutierrez's team.I'll see that Paul has you

 outfitted ahead of time.Sorry, but we can't issue you a firearm.

 Orders."

 

 "I understand.I'm just grateful to join the ride."

 

 Grabbing a quick meal and nap at a temporary officers' quarters, Dirk

 assembled with the SEAL team, where he was issued a set of black

 camouflage fatigues, an armored vest, and a pair of night vision

 goggles.After a final briefing, the men boarded a pair of enclosed

 trucks and were driven to a small dock south of Inchon.Under cover of

 darkness, the twenty-four-man SEAL team boarded a nondescript support

 boat and quickly shoved off, proceeding north into the Yellow Sea

 toward Kyodongdo Island.The team of highly trained commandos

 anxiously rechecked their weapons under the enclosed main cabin's dim

 lights as the boat sped across the open sea.Commander Paul Gutierrez,

 a short but husky man who wore a thin mustache, approached Dirk when

 they neared the mouth of the Hun River.

 

 "You'll be going in with my squad in boat number two," he said."Just

 stick close by when we hit the ground and follow my lead.With any

 luck, we'll be in and out without firing a shot.But, just in case,"

 he paused and handed Dirk a small satchel.

 

 Dirk unzipped the bag and pulled out a SIG Sauer P226 9mm automatic

 pistol with spare ammunition clips.

 

 "Much obliged.I was hoping I wouldn't have to walk into a potential

 firefight unarmed," Dirk replied.

 

 "The Kevlar vest will keep you safe, but this will add some insurance.

 Just don't tell anyone where you found it," he nodded with a wink, then

 turned and ambled off to the wheelhouse to check their progress.

 

 A half hour later, the support boat sped past the cove entrance that

 led to Kang's residence and continued upriver another two miles

 

 before suddenly cutting the engines.As the boat slowed to a stop

 against the current and began drifting back downriver, three Zodiac

 black rubber boats were quickly lowered over the side.With quiet

 efficiency, eight SEALs quietly climbed into each boat and paddled away

 from the support craft, Dirk joining the men in the second rubber boat.

 Nearly invisible against the darkened night, the three boats moved

 easily downriver with the current before silently turning into the

 inlet to Kang's property.

 

 A cloudy sky softly reflected the lights of Kang's compound as the

 three rubber boats turned the last corner of the winding inlet and

 entered the expansive cove beneath the residence.Dirk gripped a

 paddle tightly and rowed in silent unison with the heavily armed SEAL

 team members beside him in the boat.The lingering effects of jet lag

 and exhaustion from the aborted Sea Launch strike were quickly shaken

 off at the sight of Kang's stone fortress.

 

 Halfway across the cove, the boats split up, two heading left to land

 on the sandy beach near the boat dock while the third moved toward the

 right.The third boat's wet suit-clad occupants would swim ashore

 first, creeping in along the rocky landing on the opposite side of the

 dock.Dirk rowed in one of the boats that headed to the beach,

 wondering if the advance SEAL team had missed neutralizing any of the

 surveillance video cameras Kang had mounted around the inlet.

 

 As they paddled closer to shore, Dirk noticed the same configuration of

 boats tied up at the dock as when he escaped with Summer.Kang's big

 Benetti yacht and the blue high-speed catamaran were tied up in a row,

 while the small speedboat was centered in between.The yacht and

 catamaran quickly became the focus of all the men in Dirk's rubber

 boat.Their mission was to secure Kang's docked vessels while the

 other SEAL teams rushed the compound.Surveying the dock and

 surrounding area, Dirk smiled to himself at the sight of the missing

 skiff.

 

 The two rubber boats hung offshore for several minutes as the submerged

 SEALs crept ashore on the far side.From his vantage point in the

 cove, Dirk watched as a handful of black shapes moved silently out of

 the water and along the rocky shoreline.A pair of dark shapes crept

 up to the security booth and quickly subdued the on-duty guard, whose

 nose was buried in a newspaper.

 

 At the bow of Dirk's boat, Commander Paul Gutierrez quietly raised his

 hand and the ops team dipped their paddles in the water, rapidly

 driving the rubber boat ashore after a few dozen hard strokes.The

 boat's hull barely scraped the sand when its occupants burst out and

 sprinted down the shoreline toward the dock.All remained quiet about

 the compound as the following boat's team simultaneously raced up to

 the cliff entrance under cover of the advance squad.

 

 Dirk followed his team of eight men as they hustled onto the dock ramp,

 then split in two.Four men peeled off and leaped aboard the catamaran

 while Commander Gutierrez and three men continued down the dock toward

 the Benetti.Dirk kept running past the catamaran, opting to join the

 men headed for the larger yacht.But twenty yards from the yacht, he

 suddenly froze in his tracks as a yellow flash of light burst from the

 stern deck.The clatter from an AK-74 shattered the night air a

 microsecond later, followed by a sickening series of dull thumps as the

 bullets slammed into the bodies of the two men in front of him. Ducking

 behind a barrel, Dirk yanked the SIG Sauer 9mm pistol from a side

 holster and quickly squeezed ten shots toward the source of the

 gunfire.A few yards ahead of him, Gutierrez had also returned fire,

 sweeping the yacht's rear deck with a Heckler & Koch MP5K submachine

 gun.Their combined bursts silenced the unseen gunman amid a spray of

 flying splinters and shattered glass.

 

 The sudden bursts of gunfire seemed to awaken the whole island as small

 arms fire erupted throughout the compound.A pair of pistol-wielding

 gunmen popped out of a cabin door on the catamaran with guns blazing

 but were quickly mowed down by the SEAL team already positioned aboard.

 A guard in the main security house noticed the

 

 murdered beach guard over a video camera and quickly alerted the

 residence security forces.The approaching SEALs found themselves

 walking into the fire from a half-dozen armed guards.

 

 Back on the dock, Dirk leaned over the two men sprawled on the ground

 in front of him.To his shock, he found the first man was dead, a

 series of bullet punctures noticeable across his neck and clavicle. The

 second man was wriggling about, gasping in pain.He had been saved by

 his Kevlar combat vest, the burst having caught him across the stomach,

 his unprotected hips and thighs catching the worst of the fire.

 

 "I'm okay," the tough SEAL grunted as Dirk tried to assess his wounds.

 "Finish the mission."

 

 As he spoke, the powerful motors of the Benetti yacht gurgled to life.

 Dirk looked up to see more gunfire erupt from the boat's dock-side

 gunwale as a pair of crewmen worked down the length of the vessel, one

 cutting the mooring lines while the other sprayed covering fire across

 the deck.

 

 "We'll get them," Dirk said to the prone man, patting his shoulder.

 Reluctantly leaving the injured soldier, he stood up and sprinted

 toward the yacht.The yacht's motors began to rumble loudly as the

 throttles were shoved to full.A foaming torrent boiled off the

 transom as the boat's propellers cut into the water.

 

 A few feet ahead of Pitt, Gutierrez let off a quick burst of fire aimed

 at the starboard passageway, then stood and barked, "Let's get

 aboard!"

 

 Dirk bolted past Gutierrez and the other SEAL at a dead run as the two

 commandos scrambled to chase after the departing yacht. The crack of

 an automatic pistol belched somewhere above Dirk three times and he

 could hear the whine as the bullets flew just over his head.A loud

 thud resonated from the dock behind him and a voice shouted out "I'm

 hit" just as Dirk leaped off the dock.

 

 The fleeing yacht was only a few feet removed from the dock when Dirk

 jumped and he easily grasped the side railing midair and pulled

 

 himself aboard in a single fluid move, dropping to the deck and lying

 still on the darkened stern.A second later, a thump banged against

 the side as another body jumped onto the side of the moving boat.Dirk

 saw the outline of a black-camouflaged man quickly slide over the

 railing and onto the deck a few feet behind him.

 

 "It's Pitt here," he whispered back to the shadow, not wishing to get

 shot by mistake."Who's there?"

 

 "Gutierrez," came the gravelly voice of the SEAL commander."We need

 to get to the wheelhouse and stop this craft."

 

 Gutierrez started to get up and creep forward when Dirk stuck out his

 hand in a halting motion.Both men froze as Dirk trained his eyes and

 ears on the port side of the deck.On the far side, he could see that

 a stairwell led down from an open observation deck above their heads.

 As the yacht headed into the cove, the lights from the dock flared over

 the boat's stern and Dirk detected a slight movement in the shadows of

 the stairwell.Slowly unholstering his 9mm, he took a bead on the

 shadowy spot and waited.When the shadow suddenly appeared to descend

 a step, Dirk squeezed the SIG Sauer's trigger twice.

 

 A metallic clunk rang across the deck from a fallen handgun and the

 long shadow slumped down the stairwell into the visible mass of a

 crumpled man dressed in black fatigues.

 

 "Nice shooting," Gutierrez grumbled."Now, let's move."

 

 As the commando crept forward, Dirk followed close behind, nearly

 losing his footing and slipping to the deck at one point.Glancing

 down, he noticed the deck was covered in a pool of blood from the

 gunman Gutierrez had shot from the dock.The dead man's body lay

 facedown next to a teak bar, a bent cigarette still clenched between

 his lips.

 

 Roaring away from the brightly lit dock, the yacht was now enshrouded

 in total darkness as it sped across the cove at top speed.Nearly all

 of the boat's lights had been extinguished, save for a few dim interior

 floor lightsThe two men felt their way along to the main

 

 rear cabin that housed the dining salon and skirted around to the

 starboard-deck passageway.Gutierrez suddenly raised a hand and

 stopped, taking a step back toward the salon.

 

 "There's next to no cover along the side passageways.It would be

 better if we split up.Take the port passage and try to move forward.

 I'll work up the starboard side here," Gutierrez directed, knowing

 another gunman was likely waiting around the corner."We better work

 fast, before we end up sailing to the wrong side of the DMZ."

 

 Dirk nodded."See you on the bridge," he whispered, then darted across

 the stern deck.With his senses tuned high, he edged around the

 portside corner and stepped onto the teak passageway leading forward.

 Distant gunfire from the shore rattled over the yacht's pulsating

 engines, but Dirk was focused on the sounds aboard the boat.Padding

 silently, he crept forward until the passageway ended at a stairwell.

 The bridge was almost in reach now, just up a level and another thirty

 feet.As he peered up the stairs, the loud bark of automatic gunfire

 suddenly cracked through the air. His heart skipped a beat, but then

 he realized it was on the other side of the yacht.

 

 Gutierrez had been waiting for the burst.Slinking forward on the

 starboard side, he kept low to the ground in anticipation of an unseen

 gunman.Reaching the opposite stairwell, he climbed it like a cat,

 poised on the balls of his feet for a sudden barrage.He didn't have

 to go far to find it.The SEAL had barely set foot on the landing when

 a spray of gunfire whistled over his head.Hiding off the bridge wing,

 a black-clad gunman fired with an AK-74.

 

 Gutierrez barely escaped the initial fusillade.The gunman's burst was

 thrown high when the yacht suddenly slowed and swerved into the narrow

 cove inlet.Diving back for the stairwell, Gutierrez slid down the

 first few steps before twisting around and aiming his MP5K.The SEAL

 waited calmly for several seconds until the gunman's muzzle flashed

 again.The incoming burst chewed up the deck just inches from his

 head, peppering his face with teakwood splinters.Calmly adjusting his

 aim, Gutierrez let off a solid burst from the Heckler &

 

 lack Wind

 

 Koch into the darkness.A brief muffled cry rang out, then another

 flash of fire spewed from the concealed shooter's gun.Only this time,

 the spray of yellow fire arced skyward, then ceased altogether as the

 mortally wounded gunman fell dead to the deck.

 

 On the other side of the yacht, Dirk heard the gunfire fall silent and

 wondered whether Gutierrez had survived the firefight.Moving up the

 port stairwell, he climbed two steps then froze at the sound of a faint

 click behind him.Tilting his head back, he detected that the sound

 came from a side cabin door at the base of the stairs.Descending

 silently, Dirk crept back down the stairs until he stood in front of

 the doorway.Gripping the SIG Sauer firmly in his right hand, he

 reached for the brass door handle with his left hand and gentry turned

 it to its stops.Holding the latch open for a second, he took a deep

 breath, then shoved the door open and lunged in.

 

 He had expected the door to fly fully open, but, instead, it abruptly

 stopped from the mass of a human being.Slightly thrown off balance by

 the sudden jar, Dirk found himself bouncing off a muscular guard

 standing with a surprised look inside the doorway.Facing just inches

 away, Dirk noted a deep L-shaped scar on the man's chin and a bent

 angular nose that had once been broken.In his hands he held an AK-74

 rifle, which he was attempting to reload.The rifle's barrel was

 pointed at the floor as the man fumbled with the clip, but he

 immediately swung the stock up toward Dirk's right side.Lurching back

 a step in order to bring the SIG Sauer to bear, Dirk was struck by the

 rifle before he could aim and his shot fired harmlessly into the wall.

 But rather than stiffly absorbing the blow, Dirk rolled to his right as

 the rifle struck, at the same time swinging his left arm around.As he

 pivoted with the force, he balled his left fist and threw a sharp

 uppercut which landed fimly on the jaw of the man's face.The blow

 sent the gunman staggering backward, where he tripped and fell over a

 basket of laundered clothes.

 

 For the first time, Dirk noticed that the cabin was a small laundry

 room.A tiny washing machine and dryer sat against the far wall

 while

 

 an open ironing board stood next to the doorway.Regaining his

 balance, he quickly leveled the SIG Sauer at the guard's chest and

 squeezed the trigger.

 

 There was no loud bark from the muzzle nor a kick to his wrist.

 Instead, just a metallic click as the gun's firing pin beat down on an

 empty chamber.Dirk grimaced as he realized that he had emptied the

 pistol's thirteen-round magazine.Smiling in the face of the empty

 handgun, Kang's guard rolled to his knees.In his right hand, he still

 held the full ammo clip, which he expertly jammed into the stock of the

 assault rifle.Dirk knew there was no way he could reload the SIG

 Sauer in time, but his body was already reacting with an alternate

 plan.Barely seen out of the corner of his eye, the shiny object that

 his hand was already reaching for was a last-gamble defense.

 

 The chrome iron sitting atop the ironing board was not hot, nor even

 plugged in.But it made for a sharp and nasty projectile.With a toss

 that would have made John Elway proud, Dirk grabbed the iron and fired

 it at the gunman like a bullet.The gunman, intent on training his

 loaded rifle at Dirk, didn't even bother to duck.The flat side of the

 iron struck his head like an anvil, smacking his skull with an audible

 crack.The assault rifle fell to the floor first, followed by the

 gunman, his eyes rolled far back in his head.

 

 Beneath his feet, Dirk felt the boat's motors suddenly rumble louder

 again.The yacht had cleared the inlet and was accelerating into the

 Han River.It would easily outrun the special forces support vessel

 stationed off the inlet.If it was to be stopped, he and Gutierrez

 would have to act quick.But how many more gunmen were aboard?And,

 more important, where was Gutierrez?

 

 utierrez kneeled at the top of the starboard stairwell peering down the

 passage, searching for shadows.The black silhouette of the gunman he

 had dropped lay motionless on the deck beside the bridge.He could

 detect no movement around the area, and no one was firing at him, at

 least for the moment.No sense in waiting for reinforcements to

 appear, he decided.Vaulting from the stairwell, he dashed across the

 open passageway to the bridge wing and leaped over the dead gunman,

 then burst through the open bridge door.

 

 He half-expected a horde of armed guards waiting to greet him with a

 cluster of hot muzzles pointing his way, but it was not the case.Just

 three men stood on the expansive bridge, their eyes turned to him with

 contempt.A burly, salt-faced man who was obviously the captain stood

 at the helm, guiding the yacht toward the center of the Han River. Near

 the port wing door stood a surly guard fingering an assault rifle, who

 glared at the SEAL with anticipation.And at the rear of the

 

 bridge, sitting in a raised leather captain's chair with a look of

 disdain on his face, was none other than Kang himself.The mogul, whom

 Gutierrez recognized from a briefing photo, was dressed in a burgundy

 silk robe, having slept on his yacht in preparation for a last-minute

 getaway.

 

 As the four sets of eyes locked on one another, Gutierrez's reflexes

 were already in motion.The trained SEAL quickly aimed his weapon at

 the guard and squeezed the trigger, a full second before the other man

 reacted.In a quick burst, three rounds spat from his gun, striking

 the guard in a clean cluster across his chest.A stunned look spread

 over the guard's face as he was thrown back against the bulkhead, but

 his finger instinctively tightened in the trigger guard.A wild spray

 of fire burst from his assault rifle, ripping across the deck and

 toward Gutierrez.The SEAL stood helpless as a seam of lead flew in

 his direction before the gunman sagged to the floor dead.

 

 It took a split second for Gutierrez to take stock.He had been hit by

 one round, which nipped him in the thigh.He felt a warm rivulet of

 blood from the wound run down his leg and collect in his boot.Another

 round nearly struck him in the abdomen but was deflected by his own

 machine gun.The bullet had smashed into the MP5K's breech, he

 realized, and rendered the firearm useless.

 

 The other men on the bridge noticed it as well.The burly captain,

 standing just a few feet from Gutierrez, let go of the ship's wheel and

 plunged at the wounded SEAL.Unsteady from the wound to his left leg,

 Gutierrez stood inert as the captain barreled into him.The captain

 used his bulk to throw a bear hug around the SEAL and then slam him

 into the helm.Gutierrez could feel the breath forced from his lungs

 and felt as if his ribs were going to snap as the captain tried to

 squeeze the life out of him.But in Gutierrez's right hand, he still

 held the compact MP5 machine gun, which he swung upward and smashed

 against the back of the captain's skull.To his astonishment, nothing

 happened.The captain seemed to squeeze even tighter, and Gutierrez

 could see a kaleidoscope of stars starting to shimmer before his

 

 eyes as the oxygen in his blood ebbed.Sharp pains flared from the

 wound in his leg while hammering pangs throbbed against his temples.

 Again, he thrust the gun's stock against the man's head and, again, the

 grip seemed only to tighten.Desperation started to seep into the

 SEAL's mind as he approached the verge of passing out and he wildly

 thrust the gun at the man's head again and again.Gutierrez sensed his

 body falling and presumed he was blacking out.But he was suddenly

 jarred conscious by a collision to his body.

 

 The repeated blows had finally knocked the stubborn captain cold and

 the two of them fell hard to the deck, Gutierrez still embraced in the

 captain's bear hug.The SEAL gasped for breath as the man's iron grip

 fell slack and he crawled to his knees inhaling deeply.

 

 "An impressive display.But, regrettably, it shall be your last."The

 voice of Kang spat with the flavor of venom.While grappling with the

 yacht's captain, Kang had approached and leveled a Glock automatic

 pistol at Gutierrez's head.The SEAL searched for a defense but there

 was none.The guard's AK-74 was wedged in the dead man's hands across

 the bridge and his own weapon lay empty and useless in his right hand.

 On his knees, weakened from gunshots and the struggle with the captain,

 there was nothing he could do.With a resolute look of defiance, he

 stared up at Kang and the Glock pistol aimed inches from his face.

 

 The single gunshot burst through the bridge like a crack of thunder.

 Gutierrez felt nothing and was surprised by the sudden stunned look in

 Kang's eyes.Then he realized that the Korean's hand, the one holding

 the pistol, had disappeared along with the gun amid a shower of crimson

 blood.Two more cracks filled the air and a splattering of blood flew

 out of Kang's left knee and right thigh.With a garbled cry of agony,

 Kang fell to the deck, grasping the remains of his bleeding hand and

 writhing in misery.As he fell, Gutierrez looked across the bridge to

 where the gunshots had originated.

 

 Standing across the deck in the port doorway, Dirk held an AK-74 at eye

 level, the smoking barrel still leveled at the prone figure of

 

 Kang.A relieved look spread across his face as he made eye contact

 with Gutierrez and realized the SEAL was still alive.

 

 Dirk walked across the bridge, noting the pilotless yacht was still

 barreling across the width of the Han River at nearly 40 knots.Off

 the starboard beam but falling rapidly behind was the SEAL support

 ship, fighting to keep up with the faster yacht.Across the river, but

 now directly ahead, was the brightly illuminated river dredge he had

 seen before, slowly scooping a channel lane near the opposite bank.

 Dirk stared at the dredge a moment, thinking of the dead SEAL on the

 dock and the Coast Guardsmen killed in Alaska.Then he turned back to

 the wriggling figure of Kang and stepped close to the mogul, who was

 bleeding heavily onto the deck.

 

 "Your ride is over, Kang.Enjoy your stay in hell."

 

 Kang peered up at Dirk with an angry look and grunted an obscenity but

 Dirk turned and walked away before he could finish.Stepping to the

 helm, he reached down and yanked Gutierrez to his feet.

 

 "Nice going, partner, but what took you so long?"Gutierrez rasped.

 

 "Just had to get a few things ironed out," Dirk replied as he

 half-dragged the SEAL to the side railing.

 

 "We better stop this cruise ship now," Gutierrez grunted."I didn't

 expect to find the big cheese aboard.Intel will be anxious to get him

 under the hot spotlight."

 

 "I'm afraid Kang has an appointment with the grim reaper," Dirk said,

 grabbing a life preserver off the bulkhead and throwing it over

 Gutierrez's head and shoulders.

 

 "My orders are to take him alive," Gutierrez protested.But before he

 could argue further, Dirk grabbed him firmly by the lapels and rolled

 the both of them over the side railing and into the water below.Dirk

 ensured he was positioned beneath Gutierrez and took the brunt of the

 blow as they struck and bounced across the water, nearly knocking the

 wind out of him from the high-speed impact.After a quick submersion,

 they bobbed to the surface as the yacht roared past them, Dirk holding

 the SEAL commander afloat.

 

 The crew of the following support ship saw them go over the side and

 quickly broke off the chase to pull them out of the water.But Dirk's

 and Gutierrez's eyes were on the yacht as they floated in the water,

 watching Kang's vessel race across the river.The Benetti's course

 held firm as it crossed midriver and streaked toward the dredge and

 the opposite bank.As it drew closer to the opposite shore, it became

 apparent to everyone who watched that the vessel was headed directly

 for the dredge.The dredge's pilot, seeing the speeding yacht heading

 toward him, let loose with a long blast from his whistle but the

 rapidly approaching boat held steady.

 

 With a thunderous shriek, the gleaming white yacht burst into the

 dredge ship like a charging bull, her bow plowing into the rusty steel

 vessel amidships.Striking at top speed, the yacht disintegrated into

 a cloud of white smoke, followed by a small fireball that floated into

 the air as the fuel tanks were crushed and ignited.Splinters of wood

 and debris rained across the dredge and around the river as the mashed

 remains of the vessel slid off the dredge and sank to the bottom.When

 the smoke and flames cleared, there was little evidence to indicate a

 165-foot yacht had existed moments before.

 

 Dirk and Gutierrez drifted in the river, watching the carnage with grim

 captivation as a rescue dinghy from the support ship puttered toward

 them.

 

 "Might be hell to pay for not bringing him in alive," Gutierrez said

 after the flames and smoke had dissipated.

 

 Dirk shook his head bitterly."So he could spend the rest of his days

 in a country club prison?No thanks."

 

 "You get no argument from me.I think we just bestowed a colossal

 favor upon humanity.But his death might bring repercussions.My

 superiors are not going to be happy if we create an international

 incident with Korea."

 

 "When the facts come out, there will be no tears shed for Kang and his

 enterprise of murderers.Besides, he was still alive when we left the

 yacht.It looked like a boating accident to me."

 

 Gutierrez thought for a moment." "A boating accident," " he repeated,

 trying to convince himself."Sure, that might just fly."

 

 Dirk watched as the remaining smoke from the collision slowly

 dissipated over the river, then smiled a tired grin at Gutierrez as the

 rescue boat approached and fished them out of the river.

 

 Referendum

 

 July 1, 2007

 

 As Kang was obliterated, so fell his empire.The SEAL forces that

 swept through his residence captured his assistant Kwan alive, along

 with a cache of incriminating documents that he was desperately trying

 to destroy in his employer's private office.To the south at Inchon,

 additional Special Forces teams sped through Kang's shipyard and

 neighboring telecommunications facility.Heavy security resistance at

 the facility raised suspicions and a large intelligence team quickly

 descended on the building.The secret biological research lab in the

 basement was soon discovered, as were the staff's ties to North Korea.

 Faced with mounting evidence and the death of his master, Kwan quickly

 folded under the duress and fully confessed Kang's sins in a

 self-serving ploy to save his own neck.

 

 Back in the United States, news of the "accidental death of Kang as he

 was fleeing authorities" brought a similar reaction from ling and his

 top engineers.Threatened by officials with attempted mass murder

 charges, they cooperated as well, offering the ill excuse that they

 

 were just following orders.Only the Ukrainian engineers refused to

 cooperate, which eventually ensured their lengthy stay in a federal

 penitentiary.

 

 The government authorities, meanwhile, held their cards to the vest

 publicly until the final piece of damning evidence had been uncovered.

 The remains of the rocket payload that Pitt and Giordino had retrieved

 were transferred under secrecy to Vandenberg Air Force Base north of

 Los Angeles.In a tightly guarded hangar, a team of space engineers

 carefully disassembled the payload, uncovering the mock satellite that

 disguised the virus canisters and vapor-dispensing system.Army and

 CDC epidemiologists removed the canisters of the freeze-dried virus,

 finding, to their shock, that they contained the lethal chimera of

 smallpox and HIV organisms.Samples from the Inchon lab were quietly

 matched up and the horror confirmed.Despite an interest by the Army

 in maintaining samples, the recovered viruses were ordered destroyed in

 their entirety by the president.Fears lingered that additional

 samples escaped capture and destruction, but the chimera engineered by

 Kang's scientists was in fact fully eradicated.

 

 With the Koguryo and her crew traced to Kang Enterprises and the ties

 from Kang to North Korea firmly established, officials from the

 Homeland Security Department finally went public.A firestorm of media

 attention broke worldwide as details of the deadliest attempted

 terrorist attack on U.S. soil were fully released.The global press

 transferred its focus from Japan to North Korea as the diplomatic

 assassinations were additionally linked to Kang.The failed rocket

 attack brought worldwide outrage against the North Korean totalitarian

 regime despite the Korean Workers' Party blanket denial of involvement.

 The few trading partners North Korea had cultivated before the incident

 retaliated by placing even tighter restrictions on imports and exports.

 Even China joined in the sanctions by halting its trade with the

 outlaw regime.Once again, the starving peasantry in the North began

 to quietly question the dictatorial rule of their nepotistic leader.

 

 In South Korea, the overwhelming evidence against Kang and the

 

 actions of his accomplices hit Seoul like a nuclear strike.Any

 displeasure the South Korean government initially manifested at the

 American unilateral military intervention was quickly put aside by the

 ensuing global uproar.South Korean sentiment turned from shock and

 disbelief to anger and outrage at their country's duping by Kang and

 his servitude to North Korea.The fallout was rapid.Political

 cronies and deal makers who had supported Kang were publicly vilified.

 A wave of resignations swept through the National Assembly, leading

 right up to the office of the presidency.Revelations of close

 personal ties with Kang forced even the South Korean leader to resign

 from office.

 

 The national embarrassment and anger led the government to quickly

 nationalize the holdings of Kang Enterprises.The yachts and

 helicopters were dispensed with first and his fortress residence turned

 into a think tank devoted to the study of South Korean sovereignty. His

 name was removed from any association with his former assets, which

 were later broken up and sold to competing businesses over time.Soon

 there was nothing left to remind any of his very existence.Almost by

 silent decree, the name of Kang was entirely purged from the South

 Korean lexicon.

 

 The expose of Kang's ties to the north impacted every level of society.

 Youthful demonstrations for reunification fell away as a wariness of

 the neighbor to the north reemerged in the national psyche.The

 massive North Korean military force poised across the border was no

 longer conveniently overlooked.Reunification remained a national

 goal, but it would have to come on South Korea's terms.When

 reunification finally did arrive on the Korean Peninsula some eighteen

 years later, it was driven by a growing hunger for capitalism in the

 Korean Workers' Party.Acceding to the personal freedoms that came

 with it, the party at last purged itself of dictatorial family rule and

 unilaterally converted the bulk of its military troops into a civilian

 economic workforce.

 

 But before all that could occur, the South Korean National Assembly had

 to vote on Bill 188256, the legislative measure calling for the

 expulsion of U.S. military forces from within the national borders. In

 a rare show of bipartisan accord, the measure lost by a unanimous

 vote.

 

 At Kunsan City, Korea, Air Force Master Sergeant Keith Catana was

 quietly walked out of a dingy municipal jail cell just before dawn and

 released into the waiting custody of an Air Force colonel attached to

 the American embassy.Far beyond his comprehension of events, Catana

 was told nothing about the reason for his release.Catana would never

 know that he had been set up for the murder of an underage prostitute

 as part of a concerted plot to influence public sentiment against the

 U.S. military presence in Korea.Nor would he know that Kang's own

 assistant, Kwan, had revealed the details of the staged murder.

 Ensuring full blame fell to the dead assassin Tongju, Kwan readily

 confessed to the plot, along with the political assassinations that

 occurred in Japan.None of this mattered to the stunned serviceman as

 he was whisked onto a U.S.-bound military jet.He knew only one thing.

 He would happily oblige the order given by the Air Force colonel never

 to set foot on Korean soil again for as long as he lived.

 

 In Washington, D.C."NUMA was briefly exalted for the role played in

 diverting the launch and preventing the release of the deadly virus

 over Los Angeles.But with the death of Kang and the public release of

 his culpability for the attack, Pitt's and Giordino's exploits quickly

 fell to yesterday's news.Congressional hearings and investigations

 into the attack were the order of the day, and a drumbeat for war with

 North Korea beat loudly for a spell.But emotions eventually cooled as

 the diplomats were held at bay and the focus gradually shifted to Homeland Security's border resources and ensuring that such

 an act could never occur again.

 

 Shrewdly seizing the moment, the new head of NUMA appealed to Congress

 for a special appropriations supplement for his organization, to fund a

 replacement helicopter, research ship, and two submersibles for those

 damaged or destroyed by Kang's men.In a wave of patriotic gratitude,

 Congress heartily approved the measure, the bill sweeping through both

 houses in just a matter of days.

 

 Much to Giordino's chagrin, Pitt had sneaked an additional funding item

 into the approved bill, requesting a mobile atmospheric marine

 surveillance platform for the agency to use in coastal research.It

 was otherwise known as "a blimp."

 

 It was A clear, crisp afternoon in Seattle, the type of day that was

 just a few degrees shy of invigorating.The declining sun was casting

 long shadows from the tall pines dotting Fircrest Campus when Sarah

 hobbled out the front door of the Washington State Public Health Lab. A

 heavy plaster cast coated her right leg, which she was heartened to

 know would finally be removed in just a few more days.

 

 She winced slightly as she set her weight on a pair of aluminum

 crutches, her wrists and forearms sore from carrying the load of her

 broken leg for the past few weeks.Hobbling a few paces out the

 doorway, she dropped her eyes to the pavement and navigated herself

 down a short flight of steps.Carefully picking the next spot along

 the ground to jab her crutches, she did not notice the car parked

 illegally at the sidewalk entrance and nearly bumped into it.Looking

 up, she dropped her jaw in amazement.

 

 Parked in front of her was Dirk's 1958 Chrysler 300-D convertible.The

 car looked to be in a semi state of restoration.The pockmarked leather seats had been temporarily taped over while the bullet holes in

 the body had been sealed with bondoAssorted spots of gray primer

 paint across the turquoise body gave the car the look of a giant

 camouflaged manta ray.

 

 "I promise not to break the other leg."

 

 Sarah turned to the deep voice behind her to find Dirk standing there

 with a bouquet of white lilies and a mischievous grin on his face. Lost

 in emotion, she dropped her crutches and threw her arms around him in a

 warm hug.

 

 "I was beginning to worry.I hadn't heard from you since the rocket

 attack."

 

 "I was away on an all-expense-paid trip to Korea for a farewell cruise

 on Dae-jong Kang's yacht."

 

 "The virus they concocted ... it's just mad," she said, shaking her

 head.

 

 "There is no need to worry anymore.Confidence is high that all the

 samples were retrieved and destroyed.Hopefully, that bug will never

 appear on earth again."

 

 "There's always some crazy working on the next biological Pandora's box

 for money or notoriety."

 

 "Speaking of crazies, how's Irv doing?"

 

 Sarah laughed at the simile."He's going to be the only modern-day

 survivor of smallpox in the world.He's fast on his way to a full

 recovery."

 

 "Glad to hear it.He's a good man."

 

 "Looks like your car is on the road to recovery as well," she said,

 nodding toward the Chrysler.

 

 "She's a tough old beast.I had the mechanicals refurbished while I

 was away but haven't got to the body and interior yet."

 

 Dirk turned and looked at Sarah tenderly."I still owe you that crab

 dinner."

 

 Sarah looked deep into Dirk's green eyes and nodded.With a quick

 scoop, Dirk bent over and picked Sarah up and placed her gently on

 

 the front seat of the car with the lilies, then kissed her lightly on

 the cheek.Tossing the crutches into the backseat, he jumped in behind

 the wheel and fired up the car.The rebuilt motor kicked over easily

 and idled with a deep purr.

 

 "No ferries?"Sarah asked, snuggling close to Dirk.

 

 "No ferries," Dirk laughed, slipping an arm around Sarah.Tapping on

 the accelerator, the old convertible rumbling deeply, he steered across

 the lush grounds and into the pink-tinted dusk.

 


