Black Wind

“Dirk, Summer,” he said, his sparkling green eyes glowing with warmth as he threw his arms around his two kids.

“Dad, we thought you and Al were still in the Philippines,” Summer said after giving her father a hug and a peck on the cheek.

“Are you kidding?” Giordino piped in. “The old man practically swam across the Pacific to get back here when he heard you were missing.”

The elder Pitt smiled. “I was just jealous of you two taking a tour of Northeast Asia without me,” he grinned.

“We made some notes of places to avoid,” Dirk laughed in reply.

Pitt visibly warmed in the presence of his two kids. The veteran marine engineer brimmed with a radiant serenity at the world that had recently changed around him. His personal life had been completely jarred by the sudden appearance of his two grown children just a few years earlier whom he never knew existed. But they quickly became a close part of his life, joining him in his underwater work, as well as sharing personal time with him and his new wife. The sudden dose of responsibility had nudged him to take stock of his life and he had finally married his longtime love, Colorado congresswoman Loren Smith. But the changes continued, as even his professional life saw an upheaval. With Admiral Sandecker unexpectedly taking the vice presidency, Pitt was suddenly thrust into the top spot at NUMA. While special projects director, he experienced several lifetimes' worth of adventure and challenges that took him to the four corners of the globe. The hazards had taken a toll on him, both physically and mentally, and now he was glad to ease back on the more vigorous demands of the job. As NUMA's chief director, his administrative and political duties often exceeded his interests, but he still ensured that he and Al spent plenty of time in the field, testing new equipment, exploring prospective marine sanctuaries, or just pushing the limits of the deep. Deep inside, the flame still burned brightly when it came to exploring the unknown or solving an ancient mystery and his old-fashioned sense of propriety never waned. The kidnapping of his children and the sinking of the Sea Rover triggered an anger inside that brought back the old resolve he'd felt time and again to make right in the world.

“Dad, what's the situation with the toxic Japanese cargo ship in the Philippines?” Dirk asked. “I understand that it was leaky chemical munitions causing the reef kill.”

“That's right, a mixture of mustard and lewisite in this case. More biochemical hazards left over from World War Two. We actually have the leak contained. Nobody was volunteering to conduct a costly excavation and removal of the munitions, so we did the next best thing. Bury them.”

“Lucky for us that underwater sandbank was right there,” Giordino explained. “We just fired up a water pump and filled the cargo hold with sand, then sealed it back up. As long as nobody goes digging around down there, there should be no more toxic leakage and the damaged reef should rejuvenate itself in a few years.”

An administrative aid poked her head through the door and spoke to Gunn. “Sir, the video feed from the Pentagon is available for viewing now,” she said, then disappeared out the door like a rabbit down a hole.

Gunn seized the moment to introduce the Homeland Security and FBI men to Pitt and Giordino, then herded everyone toward a large, flat-panel monitor that was hidden behind a sliding panel. Typing in a few quick commands on a keyboard, the screen suddenly illuminated with the image of a large, enclosed dockyard. The camera's eye panned around the facility, showing a series of empty docks. After less than a minute's running time, the video ended and the screen went blank.

“That's Kang's facility, no doubt about it. But there's no sign of the Baekje” Dirk said.

“The Navy report stated that a small tug and a speedboat were the only vessels observed on Kang's property,” Gunn said. “Like Elvis, the Baekje has apparently left the building.”

Webster cleared his throat. “I have confirmed with Interpol and the Korean National Police that Inchon port traffic has been monitored around the clock since the crew of the Sea Rover were rescued and the alert bulletin issued. No vessel matching the Baekje's description has been seen entering or departing the port since.”

“Someone's on the take,” Giordino sneered.

Webster returned the comment with an indignant look. “A remote possibility but not likely. Despite its heavy traffic, Inchon is not a particularly large port. Somebody should have reported seeing her depart.”

“She may have made a stealthy getaway right after Dirk and Summer left the ship,” Gunn conjectured, “which was before the Interpol alert was issued.”

“Or there's another possibility,” Pitt suggested. “The ship may have been camouflaged or reconfigured to resemble another vessel. She may have sailed out of port in broad daylight looking like an ordinary tramp freighter.”

“Or the Love Boat” Giordino added.

“Whatever her disposition, the fact remains that without the ship we have insufficient evidence to make a move against Kang with the Korean authorities,” Webster said.

“What about Dirk and Summer?” Pitt replied with rising anger. “Do you think they showed up on Korean soil aboard the Queen Mary?”

“The proof against Kang has to be ironclad,” Webster replied with a stressed look. “There's a serious political problem with South Korea right now. Our people in the State Department have their knees shaking, and even the Pentagon is nervous as hell. The prospect of losing our military presence in Korea is very real and nobody wants to jeopardize a precarious situation at this critical juncture in time.”

“So you're afraid to ask South Korea to investigate Kang?” Pitt asked.

“This comes from the top. We're to stay away from Korea until after the National Assembly vote on the expulsion of our military forces.”

“What does the admiral have to say about this?” Pitt asked of Gunn.

Gunn shook his head slowly. “Admiral, er, Vice President Sandecker has informed me that the president is deferring to the State Department for reaction to the sinking of the Sea Rover. Dirk and Summer's indictment of Kang has unfortunately resulted in the edict that Jim just mentioned. Everyone is to lay low until after the National Assembly vote. Apparently, intelligence reports have revealed secret business dealings between Kang and the president of South Korea that go well beyond their known public friendship. The president is afraid of losing his support against the National Assembly measure if a potentially embarrassing investigation is initiated.”

“Doesn't he understand the magnitude of the risk involved with the weapons Kang possesses?” Summer asked incredulously.

Gunn nodded. “The president has iterated that once the resolution has been voted upon, he will request an immediate and full investigation from the Korean authorities into Kang's involvement with the sinking of the Sea Rover and his potential connections to North Korea. In the meantime, he has authorized Homeland Security to issue a heightened domestic security advisory, with emphasis on aircraft and marine vessels arriving from Japan and South Korea.”

The younger Pitt began pacing across the room in frustration. “It's too little too late,” Dirk finally said in a low tone. “Promoting the removal of U.S. forces in South Korea is part of Kang's strategy, using the perceived terrorist threat from Japan as a diversion. Don't you see? If he's going to attempt a strike on the U.S.” it will happen before the vote comes up in the National Assembly."

“Which is just ten days from now,” Gunn said.

“Then we have to anticipate Kang's next move,” Pitt injected with a logical calmness. “We know he operates a large shipping line and therefore has comprehensive knowledge of American port facilities. It would figure that he would try to bring the weapons in via a commercial freighter, most likely on the West Coast.”

“Much easier than smuggling it on an airplane,” Giordino agreed. “Probably send them over on a Japanese-flagged carrier.”

“Or perhaps the elusive Baekje” Dirk added.

“Yaeger has the rundown on what to look for in the way of biological components and likely storage,” Gunn said. “I'll see that customs is appropriately educated for their port inspections.”

“That may still be too late,” Pitt replied. “They could release the agent as they're sailing into port, contaminating the whole region before they dock. Think of San Francisco Bay, for example.”

“Or even before they arrive at port, if there is a prevailing wind. The release in the Aleutians was apparently launched by boat offshore of Yunaska Island, so it's certainly possible they could strike without entering port,” Dirk said.

“The Coast Guard is tasked with port security under Homeland Security jurisdiction and presently boards and inspects all incoming commercial vessels shortly before arrival in port,” noted Webster.

“But do they board and inspect offshore commercial vessels that are not port bound?” Dirk asked.

“I do not believe that the Coast Guard's resources are sufficient for that to be considered part of their security mission. They have beefed up their sea marshal program but still have a limited number of vessels available that they can put to sea. Asking for expanded coverage along the entire West Coast is well beyond their resource ability.”

“What about the Navy?” Summer asked. “Why can't some ships of the Pacific Fleet be pressed into service? With the national security at risk, it seems to me we should press every available military vessel into blockade duty.”

“A good question with a sticky answer,” Gunn responded. “It's a gray area of the Navy's mission. They're never big on playing a supporting role to the Coast Guard. They'd likely balk at the request until we got the secretary of defense or the White House to press the issue. I'll bring it up with the vice president, but, realistically, we're talking a week at best before they could be brought online. And that might be too late.”

“There is another option,” Pitt said, reaching into a desk drawer and withdrawing a daily report of NUMA research vessel assignments. “Let's see, the Pacific Explorer just arrived in Vancouver, the Blue Gill is conducting a marine survey off Drake's Bay north of San Francisco, and the Deep Endeavor is testing a submersible in San Diego. It's not a fleet of battleships but I can reassign three of my research vessels to be in position off the major West Coast metropolitan ports assisting the Coast Guard in two days.”

“That would be a significant boost in offshore resources. And I'm sure the Coast Guard would be grateful for the support,” Webster said.

“Call it a temporary loan,” Pitt said. “At least until Rudi can find a way to bill back the charges.”

“I'm sure we can work out some sort of compensation for our support during this heightened state of alert,” Gunn said, eyeing Webster with a sharklike grin.

“It's settled, then. The West Coast NUMA fleet will initiate offshore bomb-sniffing exercises at once. One thing, though,” Pitt said to Webster in a rigid tone. “Kang already sank one of my vessels, I don't want to lose another. I want an armed cutter in the vicinity of my ships at all times.”

“Agreed. The interdiction teams will be alerted as well to the possibility of an armed response.”

“Good. Our team here will coordinate with the regional Coast Guard surveillance squadrons. Rudi, you'll have to tear yourself out of the headquarters building. I'd like you to fly to San Francisco to set up the Blue Gillwith the regional Coast Guard squadron and then see that the Pacific Explorer is similarly assigned in the Seattle/ Vancouver region. Dirk and Summer, I'd like you back on the Deep Endeavor in San Diego to assist with surveillance off Southern California,” Pitt directed.

“What about me, boss?” Giordino asked with mock indignation. “Don't I get a boat inspector's pass?”

“Oh, no,” Pitt replied with a mischievous smile. “I have something much higher in store for you.”

There was little fanfare when a pair of scruffy tugboats began slowly nudging the Sea Launch platform Odyssey away from her home dock. The excitement surrounding a new launch had waned over the years, to the extent that only a handful of family, friends, and corporate managers stood and waved good-bye to the crew. A smaller platform crew also brought out fewer than normal well-wishers. Only forty-two men manned the big platform, roughly twenty fewer than usual, as Launch Director Stamp held back many of the launch engineers to aid the fire repairs being made on the support ship. Captain Christiano watched restlessly from the bridge of the Sea Launch Commander v& the rocket-laden platform crept away from the pier, offering a farewell to the crew and vessel with a long blast from his ship's horn. Several decks beneath him, an army of electricians and computer technicians worked feverishly around the clock to repair the control room fire damage in hopes that the command ship could follow the platform out to sea in another three or four days.

Christiano's greeting was met by a short horn blast from the Odyssey that seemed to come from the clouds. The Odyssey's main platform deck towered nearly a hundred feet above the water. An oceangoing vessel in her own right, the floating platform relied on tugboats to get her cleanly in and out of port. Although she could position herself on a dime, visibility of small boats and harbor obstacles was precarious from the pilothouse positioned high atop the structure so tugs were utilized for safe navigation in congested waters.

The massive structure moved slowly past the port entrance jetty, appearing like a mammoth tarantula creeping across the calm waters. The converted North Sea oil platform rode high atop five thick support columns aligned along each flank. Slicing through the waves barely above the surface, the base of the columns rested upon a huge pair of underwater pontoons, each stretching over four hundred feet in length. Affixed to each aft pontoon hull was a pair of four-bladed propellers, which could push the ungainly craft through the swells at speeds of up to 12 knots. At over thirty thousand tons of displacement, the Odyssey was the largest self-propelled catamaran vessel in the world and easily the most impressive to the eye. Gliding past the entrance to Long Beach Harbor, the platform crept another two miles offshore before the tugs ground to a halt.

"Stand by to take up tow lines barked the Odyssey's commander, a no-nonsense ex-tanker captain named Hennessey.

The tugs released their tow lines which were quickly reeled in by the Odyssey's crew. The platform's four three-thousand-horsepower direct current motors were engaged, and, as the tugs peeled off to the sides, the Odyssey moved forward under her own power. Riding high atop its large pair of pontoons, the crew on the elevated platform swayed slowly back and forth as if in a skyscraper during a windstorm. The powerful Zenit rocket, tightly secured in its horizontal berth, was immune to the gentle motion. The experienced crew went casually about their duties, falling into a relaxed routine during the slow journey toward the launch site as the beige coast of California gradually disappeared from view. Hennessey gently increased power until the platform was chugging along at 9 knots, then laid in a course to the southwest toward the designated launch site fifteen hundred miles south of Hawaii at the equator. No one suspected it was to be a destination they would never see.

Fifteen hundred miles to the west, the Koguryo raced across the Pacific like a greyhound chasing a rabbit. Only a diversionary stop in the Ogasawara Islands to retrieve Tongju had slowed her pace since departing Inchon. After skirting a storm front west of Midway, the vessel had encountered calm seas and a strong tailwind, allowing her to churn east at top speed. Stripped of her bulky cable-laying equipment and the miles of heavy cable normally stored belowdecks, the Koguryo rode nine feet higher in the water than usual. Her four diesel engines pushed the lightened ship along at a rapid 21 knots, propelling her across the ocean at nearly six hundred miles a day.

On board, the large team of engineers and technicians readied themselves for the coming Zenit rocket launch. A launch control center, nearly an exact duplicate of the control room on the Sea Launch Commander, had been constructed on a lower deck of the Koguryo and was the site of continuous activity. The final batch of launch software had been received from the Inchon lab and the software support team loaded up a series of mock launch scenarios for the operations team. Each day, the launch team worked their way through a series of sample test launches until, after a week at sea, the simulations were performed flawlessly. Told only that they would be controlling the launch of a Kang satellite from a floating platform, the team had no idea of the illicit mission they were actually supporting and looked forward to firing off the actual rocket.

Tongju utilized the time at sea to hone his tactics for the assault on the Odyssey. He and his commando team pored over blueprints of the launch platform, calculating strike positions and coordinating force movements, until he had a minute-by-minute plan of attack. The commandos memorized their moves, cleaned their weapons, and generally stayed out of sight of the other crewmen as the ship moved closer and closer to its target. After an evening meal with his assault team, Tongju invited his second-in-command Kim back to his cabin. In the privacy of his room, he explained Kang's order to scuttle the Koguryo.

“I have provided Captain Lee with the rendezvous position where we are to meet the waiting freighter. I did not inform him, however, of the plan to sink his ship, only that we would be transferring the launch crew to the other vessel for safety.”

“You do not trust his obedience to Kang?” Kim asked, unaffected by the prospect of murdering two hundred of his fellow shipmates.

“No, it is not wise. No sea captain desires to sink his own ship and abandon his crew. We shall make our escape without him.”

“How is the ship to be destroyed?”

Tongju reached under his cot and pulled out a small satchel, which he handed to Kim.

“Semtex plastic explosives with wireless detonators. I intend to activate the charges while the ship is in motion.”

He walked to a bulkhead and pointed at a small cutaway diagram of the Koguryo pinned to the wall.

“By blasting a series of holes in the forward hull and bow sections beneath the waterline, the momentum of the ship will force a rapid flooding of the lower decks. The vessel will plunge to the bottom like a submarine before the crew has a chance to react.”

“There may still be the chance for some to escape on the lifeboats,” Kim countered.

Tongju shook his head with a malignant smile. “I have applied a liquid weld compound to all of the lifeboat davits. None of those boats will be leaving this vessel without a considerable effort.”

“And what about us?” Kim asked, a slight uncertainty creeping into his voice.

“You and two others will leave with me on the assault boat. I will convince Lee to let us depart the ship for an advanced surveillance check once the freighter is detected within radar range. When he has brought the Koguryo back up to speed, we will detonate the charges.”

Kim let out a quiet sigh and nodded deeply. “It will not be easy to abandon my assault team,” he said quietly.

“They are all good men but expendable. I will leave it to you to pick the two men to join us. But first we must get the explosives planted. Take your demolitions man, Hyun, and set the charges in the forward bow compartments E, F, and G. Don't let any of the ship's crew observe you.”

Kim grasped the satchel tightly and nodded again. “It will be done,” he said, then left the cabin.

After he left, Tongju stared at the diagram of the ship for several minutes. The whole operation was a hazardous mission fraught with risks and hidden dangers. But that was exactly the way he liked it.

On a collision course with evil, the Odyssey plodded along from Long Beach at its meager pace,-the ungainly assembly churning up ten miles of foam over the course of an hour. Cutting past the California channel island of San Clemente, the Odyssey cruised due west of San Diego shortly before midnight and soon after departed the territorial waters of the United States. Fishing boats and pleasure craft gradually vanished from the horizons as the platform pushed farther into a desolate section of the Pacific Ocean west of Baja California. By the end of the third day at sea, cruising some seven hundred miles from the nearest landfall, the Odyssey shared the ocean with only a small dot on the northeast horizon.

Captain Hennessey watched with mild interest as the distant speck slowly grew larger, bearing down on a southerly heading. When it approached within five miles, he aimed his binoculars at the vessel, eye-tog a stout blue ship with a yellow funnel. In the fading evening dusk,

Hennessey made it out to be a research vessel or special-purpose ship rather than a commercial freighter. He noted with annoyed curiosity that the ship was on a perfect collision course with the Odyssey's current heading. Hennessey stuck close to the helm for the next hour, watching the other vessel as it inched to within a mile of his starboard flank before appearing to slow and nose toward the southwest behind him.

“He's slowing to cross our wake,” Hennessey said to the helmsman, dropping his binoculars from the mysterious blue ship. “The whole empty Pacific Ocean and he's got to run right down our path,” he muttered, shaking his head.

The thought never occurred to him that it was anything more than a coincidental encounter. Nor would he ever suspect that a trusted crewman, one of a handful of Kang's men working on board as launch technicians, was feeding their exact position to the ship using a simple GPS receiver and portable radio transmitter. After crossing the length of the Pacific, the Koguryo had picked up the radio transmission twenty-four hours earlier and vectored in on the Odyssey's path like a homing pigeon to roost.

As the lights of the unknown ship twinkled off the Odyssey's port stern in the evening darkness, Hennessey put the ship out of his mind and focused on the empty blackness before him. They were still nearly ten days to the equator and there was no telling what other obstacles might cross their path.

The experienced assault team came quickly, in the dark of night and with complete surprise. After shadowing the Odyssey for most of the evening, the Koguryo had suddenly stopped its engines, letting the self-propelled platform churn on toward the horizon. In the pilothouse of the Odyssey, the night shift helmsman and watch officer relaxed as the lights of the other ship fell away. With an autopilot steering the platform, their only concerns were monitoring the radar screen and weather forecast. But on an empty sea in the dead of night, there was little cause for concern. Focus on duty waned as the two men paced the bridge, engaging in a tireless debate about World Cup soccer rather than studying the electronic monitors about them. Had either man watched the radarscope more closely, they would have had an inkling of things to come.

Far from changing course or making repairs, the Koguryo had stopped to launch its high-speed tender. The open-decked, thirty-foot boat was a spacious and luxurious assault craft for Tongju, Kim, and the dozen other men dressed in black commando outfits who sat brandishing their assault rifles on leather-cushioned seats. Though low on stealth, the boat provided a fast and stable means of crossing open water to strike the platform with an ample attack force.

The tender bounded in darkness across the rolling waves, racing across the open sea under a bright canopy of stars that spread from horizon to horizon. The speedy boat quickly gobbled up ground between itself and the moving platform, which was lit up against the night sky like a Times Square marquee. As the tender's pilot approached the shadow of the massive platform, he steered the boat dead center under the structure, threading the boat between the Odyssey's twin pontoons. Holding its speed, the boat darted under the platform and past the thick support columns, barely skimming under a set of massive triangular supports that horizontally crisscrossed the columns just twelve feet above the water. Slowing to match speeds with the Odyssey, he inched toward the forward starboard column, where a salt-encrusted steel stairway led up to the heights above. When he edged to within a few feet, one of the commandos leaped from the bow with a small line and quickly tied it to the stairwell post. One by one, the remaining commandos jumped onto the stairwell and began the long climb to the platform above. Pausing at the top steps to catch their breath, the team paused for a moment to regroup before Tongju nodded his head to proceed. The secure door to the stairwell had been left unlocked by one of Kang's crewmen already aboard and the commandos quickly slipped through and fanned out across the deck.

Though Tongju had studied photos and plans of the Odyssey, he was still overwhelmed by the massive scale of the launch deck, which stretched well over a football field in length. At the far end stood the launch tower, separated by a large tract of open deck that led to the launch vehicle hangar. Along the recessed starboard beam sat the massive fuel storage tanks, which would gas up the rocket shortly before launch. On either side of the launch vehicle hangar stood two small buildings that housed the crew's quarters, offering accommodations for sixty-eight men plus a galley and medical station. That would be the first target.

The assault team was primed to strike simultaneously, five men to the hangar, three to the bridge, and the balance to the crew's quarters. Most of the forty-two-man crew aboard the Odyssey had little to do until the platform reached the launch site and spent the hours reading, playing cards, or watching movies. By 3 a.m." only a handful of men were still awake, mostly crewmen assigned to sail the platform or monitor the launch vehicle. When the commandos struck the crew's quarters with drill precision, the confused technicians and engineers were too stunned to react. With a blast of light and prodding from the muzzles of AK-74 assault rifles, the sleeping men were quickly roused at gunpoint. Two men playing cards in the galley thought it was some sort of equatorial prank before a swinging rifle butt knocked one to the floor. A startled chef in the kitchen dropped a stack of pans at the sight of the armed men, doing more to wake the disbelieving crew than the gunmen themselves.

In the launch vehicle hangar, it was a similar story. The small commando team rapidly swept through the air-conditioned building that housed the cradled Zenit rocket, rounding up a handful of engineers without a fight. On the bridge situated high atop the launch vehicle hangar, the two men manning the helm couldn't believe their eyes when Tongju walked in and calmly leveled his Glock pistol at the executive officer's ear. In less than ten minutes, the entire platform was secured by Tongju's men. Not a shot fired, the Sea Launch crew never expected to be commandeered in the middle of the Pacific.

The commandos were surprised to find that most of the platform's marine crew were Filipino while the launch team was an assorted mix of American, Russian, and Ukrainian engineers. The subdued multinational crew was herded to the galley where they were held at gunpoint, except for the dozen of Kang's planted crew members and satellite company representatives, who took over operational control of sailing the platform. Even Captain Hennessey, captured and roughly bound by one of Kim's men, was forced to the galley in shock, with the rest of his crew.

On the bridge, Tongju radioed the Koguryo that the platform was taken with no resistance. Examining an unfurled navigation chart left on a side table, he barked at one of Kang's crewmen now manning the helm.

“Revise bearing to fifteen degrees north-northeast. We are diverting to a new launch site.”

As the crack of dawn approached, the Koguryo maneuvered alongside the northbound Odyssey and slowed to match speeds with the platform as it mashed through five-foot swells. Edging to within twenty feet of the Odyssey, Captain Lee held the Koguryo perfectly in tandem with the moving platform's starboard beam. In the wheel-house of the Odyssey, a nervous helmsman ensured that the autopilot was properly engaged as the ex-cable-laying ship hove to alongside.

On the top deck of the hangar, Tongju supervised the movement of a large crane as it was swung out over the starboard edge of the platform. A heavy block and hook swung wildly from the end of the crane for a moment before being lowered to the rear deck of the Koguryo. A ready signal was relayed over the marine radio and the crane began hoisting up a square metal container the size of a sofa, which was swung over and lowered to the platform's main deck. Stored inside were the special canisters containing the freeze-dried chimera cultures ready to be inserted into the payload aerosol dispenser.

While the deadly virus was being hoisted to the platform, the Koguryo's tender ferried over a dozen launch and payload specialists, who immediately swarmed into the rocket hangar and began dissecting the Zenit's payload section. An additional security contingent was also ferried over to help relieve Tongju's assault commandos.

Tongju returned to the pilothouse and peered out the heavy-paned windows at the rolling sea two hundred feet beneath him. The swaying of the platform was slight as the motion rolled up from the distant pontoons beneath the surface. Gazing to his right, he saw the Koguryo begin to peel away from the Odyssey, its ferrying services complete for the time being.

“Increase speed to maximum,” his said to the helmsman.

The nervous Filipino adjusted the propulsion controls on both pontoons and then watched as the digital speed indicator slowly counted upward.

“Twelve knots, sir. Maximum cruising speed,” the seaman replied, his eyes twitching back and forth.

Tongju nodded in satisfaction, then reached for an overhead radio transmitter and called Captain Lee on the Koguryo.

“We are progressing on schedule. Please notify Inchon that we are in control of the launch vessel and intend to initiate launch countdown in approximately thirty hours. Out.”

The apprehensive helmsman stared straight ahead, avoiding the gaze of Tongju. Whatever fearful thoughts tumbled around his head about Tongju's intent were minuscule compared to the commando leader's true objective.

IT took the launch vehicle engineers just under twenty-four hours to convert the rocket's payload into a weapon of mass horror. Like surgeons conducting a transplant operation, the engineering team carefully removed several sections of the outer payload fairing and delved into the inner workings of the mock satellite. Fake components, built to resemble communication transponders, were removed and replaced with small electric pumps, which would drive the aerosol system. Lines and fittings were attached to the phony solar panels, which would open in flight to spread the rejuvenated virus, disseminating it as a fine mist across the California sky.

Working in protective clean room bunny suits, the technicians performed a final test on the dispensing system, ensuring it was fully functional for the short rocket flight. The final step of the operation was then reached: inserting the chimera virus into the payload vehicle. The canisters from Inchon containing the freeze-dried germs were carefully mounted to the satellite frame and steel braided lines from the hydrogenation tanks were connected to the aerosol system. When activated, a software-controlled program would vacuum-mix the powdered substance with purified water, then transfer the live fluid through the vaporizer and out into the atmosphere.

With the deadly cocktail loaded aboard, the payload fairing was reassembled around the satellite. Propellant explosives were inserted at key points inside the fairing to blast the payload doors away at the appointed moment during flight. When the final section of the nose cone housing was sealed into place, the tired engineering team congratulated one another briefly and then staggered toward the crew's quarters. A few precious hours of sleep was all they could ask for before it would be time to start the final launch countdown.

Without publicly raising the color-coded Threat Advisory System, the Department of Homeland Security quietly issued an elevated marine port and airport security alert. Stepped-up screening and random searches were performed on all aircraft and vessels originating from an Asian locale, with special inspections for biological and chemical agents. At Vice President Sandecker's insistence, the Coast Guard was ordered to stop, board, and search all Japanese- or Korean-flagged inbound ships with a fully armed security contingent. All available Coast Guard cutters were put to sea along the West Coast, concentrated around the commercial hubs of Seattle, San Francisco, and Los Angeles.

In San Francisco, Rudi Gunn coordinated NUMA's interdiction support with the local Coast Guard commandant. When the research vessel Blue Gllartived from Monterey, Gunn immediately assigned her picket duty ten miles off the Golden Gate Bridge. He then jumped up to Seattle, where he directed local NUMA resources in support of coastal screening, and enlisted the aid of the Canadian Coast Guard in Vancouver to search all British Columbia-bound ships.

Dirk and Summer flew to San Diego, where they were welcomed by the city's trademark seventy-two-degree balmy weather. Taking a short cab ride from San Diego International Airport's Lindbergh Field to Shelter Island, it took them only a few minutes to locate the Deep Endeavor tied up at the end of a large municipal dock. As they approached the ship, Dirk noticed that an odd-shaped submersible painted a metallic burnt orange sat on the vessel's stern deck.

“Well, if it isn't the Prisoners of Zenda,” Jack Dahlgren called from the bridge wing upon spotting the twosome boarding the ship. Dirk's close friend hopped down a stairwell and met them at the head of the gangway.

“Heard you two enjoyed a seaside tour of the Korean Peninsula,” Dahlgren laughed as he shook Dirk's hand firmly, then gave Summer a hug.

“Yes, but we somehow missed the Mkhelin-mt&A attractions,” Summer grinned back.

“Now, wait, that DMZ tour was pretty stimulating,” Dirk said, feigning seriousness. Turning to Dahlgren, he asked, “You and the crew ready to do a little search-and-seizure work?”

"Yep. A Coast Guard team joined us an hour ago so we're ready to shove off at any time.

“Good. Let's get after it, then.”

Dahlgren escorted Dirk and Summer up to the bridge, where they were greeted by Leo Delgado and Captain Burch, then introduced to a uniformed Coast Guard sea marshal named Aimes.

“What's our intercept procedure, Lieutenant?” Dirk asked, noting the insignia on Aimes's uniform.

“Call me Bill,” replied Aimes. A studious man with cropped blond hair, Aimes took his duty seriously but hated unnecessary formality “We'll be assisting the regional Coast Guard vessels as a backup, when and if commercial traffic gets particularly heavy. Otherwise, we'll be assigned to ad hoc survey and reconnaissance. Under legislative rule, we can intercept and board all inbound commercial vessels up to twelve miles offshore. As NUMA's Coast Guard representative, I will lead all boardings and searches with my team but will be assisted by several of your crewmen who have undergone a brief training session.”

“What are the chances we could actually locate a weapons cache or bomb hidden on a large containership?” Summer wondered.

“Better than you might think,” Aimes replied. “As you know, we work closely with the Customs Department under the direction of the Homeland Security Department. Our customs agents are located at foreign ports around the globe and are on site to inspect and seal all cargo containers before the goods are allowed to ship. Upon arriving in U.S. ports, containers are verified by customs agents as having not been opened or tampered with before acceptance into this country. The Coast Guard provides an advance check of the ship and containers before they have a chance to reach port.”

“There's plenty of places on a ship outside of the cargo containers where somebody could hide a bomb,” Dahlgren stated.

“That's a more difficult problem, but it's where the dogs come into play,” Aimes replied, nodding his head toward the far end of the bridge. Dirk noticed for the first time that a pair of yellow Labrador retrievers were tied to a bulkhead stanchion and lay asleep on the deck. Summer had already made her way over to the dogs and begun scratching them contentedly behind the ears.

“The dogs are trained to sniff out a variety of explosive compounds commonly used in bomb manufacture. Best of all, they can run through a ship in quick order. If a biological bomb is being smuggled in on a containership, there's a good chance those boys could sniff out the explosives component of it.”

“That's what we're looking for,” Dirk said. “So, we'll be working off of San Diego?”

“No,” Aimes replied, shaking his head. “There's only minimal commercial traffic that moves through San Diego and the regional Coast Guard vessels are more than adequate to handle the volume. We've been ordered to patrol a quadrant southwest of the Port of Los Angeles in support of the L.A.-Long Beach Coast Guard Marine Safety Group. Once on site, we'll coordinate local positioning and boarding through Icarus!”

“Icarus?” Dahlgren asked.

“Our all-seeing eye in the sky on the project,” Dirk said with a knowing smile.

As the Deep Endeavor chugged toward the Pacific, cruising past Coronado Island and a Navy aircraft carrier inbound from the Indian Ocean, Dirk and Summer went aft and studied the strange submersible that faintly resembled a steroid-augmented earthworm. The bullet-shaped vessel was dotted with a series of bladed propulsion units mounted irregularly about the main body like glued-on heat pumps. Strutted beneath the front of its bullet nose stood a giant coring device that stood ten feet long, protruding upward like a unicorn's horn. Bathed in its garish orange red metallic hue, the submersible reminded them of a giant insect from a fifties horror film.

“What's the story on this contraption?” Summer asked of Dahlgren.

“Your father didn't tell you about the Badger? It's a prototype that he authorized. That's why we were here in San Diego. Some of our engineers have been working on a joint venture with Scripps Institute to develop this hot rod. It's a deep-water corer designed to gather sediment samples from the seabed. The scientific community is anxious to gather sediment and organism samples around volcanic hydrothermal vents, many of which are located ten thousand feet or deeper.”

“What's with all the propulsion units?” Dirk asked. “To get to the bottom in a hurry. She's a real speed buggy. Rather than waiting for gravity to pull her to the seafloor, she has a hydrogen fuel cell power plant that allows her to submerge at speed to the bottom. She allows you to descend, take a core sample, and then pop back to the surface without twiddling your thumbs all day. Less time spent diving and surfacing means more core samples for the geologists to pick through.”

“And the boys at Scripps were actually willing to trust you behind the wheel?” Summer asked with a laugh.

“They didn't ask how many speeding tickets I have on land so I didn't feel compelled to tell them,” Dahlgren replied with mock innocence.

“Little do they know,” Dirk grinned, “that they just loaned their new Harley-Davidson to Evel Knievel.”

The Deep Endea vor steamed up the California coast for three hours before turning out to sea just before darkness. Dirk stood on the bridge watching the ship's progress on a colored navigation map displayed on an overhead monitor. As the coastline fell away behind them, he observed the island of San Clemente scroll up on the map to the west of their aligned path. He studied the map for a moment, then turned to Aimes, who stood nearby examining a radarscope.

“I thought your interdictions were restricted to no more than twelve miles from the coast? We're headed by San Clemente Island, which is over fifty miles from the mainland.”

“For normal coastal duty, we recognize the twelve-mile limit from the mainland. The Channel Islands are technically a part of California, however, so, legally, we can operate from the islands as an origination point. For this mission, we have been given temporary authorization to expand our normal interdiction zone, with the Channel Islands as a baseline. We'll set up position about ten miles west of Santa Catalina as our base monitoring position.”

Two hours later, they cruised beyond the large island of Catalina and the engines slowed as they neared their station point. At a slow crawl, the Deep Endeavor began patrolling a large north-to-south loop west of the island, using the ship's radar as surveillance eyes. A sprinkling of pleasure craft and fishing boats was all the radar detected, along with a Coast Guard cutter on patrol nearby to the north.

“We are positioned well south of the main shipping lane to L.A. and not likely to catch much night traffic in this quadrant,” Aimes said. “We'll get tossed into the fray in the morning when Icarus shows up for work. In the meantime, I suggest we take shifts and get some sleep.”

Dirk took the hint and walked out onto the bridge wing, inhaling a deep breath of sea air. The night was still and damp and the seas almost as flat as a pancake. As he stood in the darkness, his mind tumbled over his meeting with Kang and the less-than-implicit threat that the mogul had delivered to Summer and him. Another week and the South Korean Assembly vote would be history and the legal authorities could pursue Kang with full fury. That's all they needed. A week without incident. As he stared at the sea, a chilled gust of wind suddenly whisked his face, then fell away again just as suddenly, leaving a tranquil and seeming calm.

By 9 p.m." the Odyssey had backtracked some three hundred miles and was now approaching the designated launch position calibrated in Inchon. Tongju, catching up on some lost sleep in Captain Hennessey's cabin, was startled awake by a rapid pounding at the door. An armed commando entered the room and bowed as Tongju sat up and began pulling on his boots.

“So sorry to intrude,” the commando said apologetically. “It's Captain Lee. He has requested that you return to the Koguryo at once. There is some sort of dispute with the Russian launch engineers.”

Tongju nodded, then shook off the cobwebs and made his way to the pilothouse, where he verified that the platform was still cruising north-northeast at 12 knots. Radioing for the Koguryo's tender, he made his way down the long flight of stairs on the forward piling and hopped into the idling boat that awaited him. A short ride took him to the nearby support ship, where Captain Lee was waiting for him.

“Come with me to the Launch Control Center. It's those damn Ukrainians,“ the captain cursed. ”They can't agree on where to position the platform for launch. I think they're going to kill one another.“ The two men made their way down a flight of stairs and along an interior passageway to the expansive Launch Control Center. As Lee opened a side entry door, a loud staccato of foreign swearing burst upon their ears. At the center of the room, a group of launch engineers were huddled loosely around the two Ukrainian launch specialists, who stood toe-to-toe with their arms in the air arguing violently with each other. The crowd of engineers parted as Tongju and Lee approached, but the Ukrainians didn't skip a beat. Looking on in disgust, Tongju turned and grabbed a padded console chair, then lifted it over his head and hurled it at the two jabbering engineers. The gathered spectators gasped as the chair flew into the two men, smashing into their heads and chests before ricocheting to the floor with a crash. The stunned Ukrainians finally fell silent as they shook off the blow from the flying chair and turned toward the two men. ”What is the issue here?” Tongju growled.

One of the Ukrainians, a goateed man with shaggy brown hair, cleared his throat before speaking.

“It is the weather. The high-pressure front over the eastern Pacific, specifically off North America, has stalled due to the push from a low-pressure system in the south.” “And what does this mean?”

“The normally prevailing high-altitude easterly winds have, in fact, reversed and we are instead facing a strong headwind at the moment. This has thrown off our planned mission flight profile by a considerable margin.” Shuffling through a file of papers, he pulled out a sheaf of algorithmic paper containing numerous calculations and trajectory profiles handwritten in pencil.

“Our base mission plan has been to fuel the Zenit rocket first stage at fifty percent of capacity, which will produce an estimated down-range flight trajectory of 350 kilometers. Approximately fifty kilometers of this distance is over the target region, where the payload system will be activated. Thus, our planned launch position was three hundred kilometers west of Los Angeles, assuming normal local weather patterns. Given the present weather scenario, we have two options: either wait for the low-pressure front to yield to the prevailing winds or reposition the launch platform closer to the target.”

“There's a third option,” the other Ukrainian grumbled irritably. “We can increase the fuel load in the Zenit to reach the target from the original launch position.” As he spoke, his counterpart stood shaking his head silently.

“What is the risk of that?” Tongju asked the doubter.

“Sergei is correct in that we can adjust the fuel load to reach the target from the original launch position. However, I have grave doubts about the accuracy that we would achieve. We do not know the wind conditions for the entire flight trajectory. Given the current unusual weather pattern, the wind conditions along the entire flight path might vary significantly from what we can measure directly above us. The launch vehicle could easily be diverted north or south of the intended target by a large deviation. We could also overshoot the target by tens of kilometers or, alternatively, undershoot the target by a similar degree. There is just too much potential variability in the flight path from this distance.”

“A minor risk, compounded by speculation,” countered Sergei.

“How long before normal weather patterns return to the area?” asked Tongju.

“The low-pressure front has already showed signs of weakening. We expect it to collapse over the next day and a half, with the dominant high-pressure system prevailing in approximately seventy-two hours.”

Tongju silently contemplated the arguments for a moment, then made his decision without debate.

“We have a timetable to meet. We can ill afford to sit and wait for the weather to change, nor can we risk diluting the target strike. We shall move the platform closer to the target and initiate countdown as soon as possible. How far must we move to mitigate the atmospheric uncertainty?”

“To minimize the impact of the adverse winds, we must shorten the trajectory. Based on our latest wind measurements, we must position ourselves here,” the goateed Ukrainian said, pointing to a map of the North American seaboard. “One hundred and five kilometers from the coast.”

Tongju studied the position silently for a minute, calculating the added distance to cover. The proposed position was dangerously near the coastline, he observed, noting a pair of offshore islands in close proximity. But they could reach the spot and still launch within Kang's desired time schedule. As all eyes in the room waited for his command, he finally turned and nodded toward Lee. “Alter course at once. We will position both vessels at the new position before dawn and initiate launch countdown at daybreak.”

You've got to be kidding me. A blimp?“ Giordino scratched his chin, then shook his head at Pitt. ”You dragged me all the way across country to go for a ride in a blimp?"

“I believe the preferred term is airship” Pitt said, throwing his partner a mock look of indignation.

“A gasbag, by any other name.”

Giordino had wondered what Pitt had up his sleeve after the two arrived at LAX on an overnight flight from Washington. Rather than heading south from the airport, toward the Port of Los Angeles and adjacent Coast Guard Marine Safety regional command, Pitt had turned their rental car north. Giordino promptly fell asleep in the passenger seat as the head of NUMA drove them out of the Los Angeles metro area. Awakening later to find the specter of strawberry fields rushing past the window, he rubbed his eyes as the car entered the tiny Oxnard Airport and Pitt parked the vehicle near a large blimp moored to a truck-mounted vertical boom.

Peering at the blimp, Giordino cracked, “I didn't think the Super Bowl was scheduled for another couple of months.”

The 222-foot long Airship Management Services Sentinel 1000 was, in fact, much larger than the usual advertising blimps seen hovering over football games and golf tournaments. An enlarged version of the company's popular Skyship 600 series of blimps, the Sentinel 1000 was designed to lift a useful load of nearly six thousand pounds by way of an envelope that held ten thousand cubic meters of gas. Unlike the rigidly framed dirigibles of the twenties and thirties that relied on highly flammable hydrogen for lift, the Sentinel 1000 was a true non-rigid blimp that utilized the safer element of helium to rise off the ground.

“Looks like a runt nephew of the Hindenburg” Giordino moaned, eyeing the silver-skinned airship warily.

“You happen to be looking at the latest in surveillance and tracking technology,” Pitt said. “She's fitted with a LASH optical system. NUMA is testing her out for possible survey use on coral reef and tide studies. The system has already been used successfully to track migrating whales.”

“What is a ”LASH system?"

“Stands for ”Littoral Airborne Sensor-Hyperspectral.“ It's an optical imaging system that uses a breakdown in the color band to detect and track targets that the eye cannot see. Homeland Security is considering using it for border security and the Navy for antisubmarine warfare.”

“If we can give it a test run over Malibu Beach, then I'm all for it.” A ground crewman wearing a NUMA identification badge climbed out of the gondola as Pitt and Giordino approached the airship.