Текст книги "Black Wind"

Автор книги: Clive Cussler

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Текущая страница: 28 (всего у книги 35 страниц)

“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.