Текст книги "Black Wind"

Автор книги: Clive Cussler

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“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.”