Black Wind

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 rooms In 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.