Текст книги "Black Wind"

Автор книги: Clive Cussler

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Текущая страница: 9 (всего у книги 35 страниц)

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 bar Donuts 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.