Black Wind

A wave jostled the tender, and Tongju braced himself against a side railing as he jerked the stock of the AK-74 assault rifle to his shoulder. He barely noticed the small green object that fluttered down and struck the deck beside him as he took aim at Pitt's head poking out the cockpit window. His finger was just tightening on the trigger when a loud poof erupted at his feet.

The cigar's glowing ember ignited the gasoline vapors rising off the deck before the stogie even struck the surface. The airship's rain of gasoline had sprayed everywhere and in seconds the whole stern of the boat was a wall of flame. A commando standing beside Tongju had been drenched in fuel and the flames shot up his legs and torso in a rush. The panicked man dropped his weapon and danced frantically about the deck, his arms flailing wildly to douse his burning clothes. Screaming in pain, he finally ran to the railing and flung himself over the side, the ocean waters quickly extinguishing the human torch in a whiff of smoke. Kim watched from the helm as the man leaped off the boat but made no move to turn the boat around and rescue the scorched commando.

Tongju, too, was temporarily engulfed in flames, angrily lowering his rifle without firing and leaping under the portico, where he was able to stamp out the flames burning his shoes and pants. Kim gazed from the blazing stern to Tongju with a look of alarm in his eyes.

“Keep going,” Tongju shouted, “the flames will burn themselves out.”

The wind and sea spray from the charging boat had, in fact, extinguished some of the peripheral flames, but pools of burning gasoline still sloshed across the deck and deep black plumes of smoke revealed that more than just the fuel was on fire.

“But the fuel barrels!” Kim cried, watching as the flames licked at the drums of gasoline.

Tongju had forgotten about the full barrels of gasoline tied to the rear deck amid the blazing fire. The flames were initially concentrated to the rear of the barrels, but the sloshing gas on the deck brought the fire up to the base of the drums. Scanning the helm console, Tongju spotted a small fire extinguisher mounted to the bulkhead. With a quick lunge, he scooped up the extinguisher, pulled its lock-pin, and sprinted onto the rear deck to protect the fuel drums. But he was too late.

A seal cap on one of the drums had not been tightened all the way, allowing a thin wisp of vapor to escape. The constant jarring from the pounding boat had generated more vapor pressure inside the drum, which expanded further by the heat of the nearby fire. When the flames finally drew near enough to ignite the vapor, the fuel drum exploded like a powder keg. In quick succession, the other three fuel drums ignited with devastating effect.

As the blimp peeled away from the boat, Pitt and the others watched in awe as the first fuel drum exploded right into Tongju. A chunk of flying shrapnel from the drum burst through his body, tearing an oblong hole the size of a Softball through his chest. A stunned look crossed the assassin's face as he sunk to his knees. In the last seconds of life, he peered skyward toward the blimp and scowled defiantly before he was swallowed up in an inferno of flames.

The subsequent explosions leveled the entire superstructure of the boat in a maelstrom of flying timbers and debris. A huge fireball rolled into the sky as the stern of the boat rose into the air briefly, its still-driving propellers churning at the sky. The explosion blasted a gaping hole through the hull, which quickly sucked the boat under the waves in a boil of froth and smoke, taking the bodies of Tongju, Kim, and the third commando to the seafloor.

Giordino had sharply turned the Icarus away from the exploding boat, but flying debris still splattered against the airship, shearing an additional array of holes into the fabric skin. More than a hundred rips, tears, and bullet holes peppered the surface, creating avenues for helium to escape. The bruised and damaged airship refused to go down, however, and clung to the sky like a battered fighter.

The men in the gondola surveyed the surreal scene around them. In the sky above, a heavy white plume of smoke still hung in the air, marking the Zenit rocket's explosive demise. Across the water, a Navy frigate and destroyer could be seen bearing down on the Koguyro as a swarm of fighter jets circled overhead. And beneath them, a scattering of burning timbers smoldered in the water, denoting the grave of Tongju and the sunken tender.

“Guess we showed your pal a hot time,” Giordino said to Dirk as he stuck his head into the cockpit.

“I have a feeling he'll be burning in hell for quite some time to come.”

“We gave him a nice head start,” Pitt said. “You and Jack okay back there?”

“Just a few scratches. We both managed to dance around the flying lead.”

“But look what they did to my airship,” Giordino-muttered with feigned hurt, waving a hand about the shot-up gondola.

“At least all of our vital signs are good. Despite the gunshots to the envelope, our helium pressure is holding up, and we've got fifty gallons of fuel to get us back to shore,” Pitt replied, eyeing the console gauges before shutting down the damaged engine. “Take us home, Mad Al.”

“As you wish,” Giordino replied, easing the nose of the Icarus toward the east. Slowly steering the battered airship back to the mainland on its one good engine, he turned to Pitt and said, “Now, about those cigars ...”

IT took only the mere sight of the U.S. Navy frigate and destroyer for the captainless crew of the Koguryo to throw in the towel. As more and more fighter planes appeared in the sky overhead, it became obvious to all aboard that trying to flee would result in their destruction. And with the damaged hull, they were not about to outrun anybody. As the Navy ships approached, the Koguryds executive officer wisely radioed their surrender. In minutes, a small boarding party arrived from the destroyer USS Benfold and took custody of the ship. A repair team was then sent aboard to assist in stabilizing the damaged hull, and then the Japanese-flagged ship was sailed to San Diego at a slow crawl.

Arriving at San Diego early the next morning, a media frenzy erupted. As word broke of the attempted rocket attack on Los Angeles, scores of small boats packed with reporters and cameramen buzzed around the harbor trying to get a close-up glimpse of the terrorist ship and crew. For their part, the crew and technicians aboard the Koguryo looked down at the swarming media with befuddled amusement. Their greeting at the San Diego Naval Station was less inviting as teams of government security and intelligence officers whisked the crew into heavily guarded buses, where they were hurriedly driven away to a secure facility for detailed interrogation.

Back at the dock, investigators combed every inch of the ship, removing the launch control data and securing the surface-to-surface and surface-to-air missile systems. Marine engineers studied the hull damage, proving with certainty that it had been created by internally detonated explosive charges. It would take several days before intelligence analysts would discover that all the software data related to the mission flight profile and rocket payload had been systematically destroyed prior to the ship's capture.

Interrogation of the ship's crew proved equally frustrating. The majority of the crew and launch team had believed they were actually launching a commercial satellite and had no clue how close they were to the continental United States. Those who knew otherwise refused to talk. Investigators were quickly able to finger Ling and the two Ukrainian engineers as kingpins for the mission, despite their vehement denials.

Publicly, the launch created a furor, which magnified as word leaked that the payload carried smallpox virus. The Japanese Red Army was behind the attack, newspapers and television reports screamed, fueled in part by the staged media leaks perpetrated by Kang operators. The government silently made no denials while piecing together their own evidence, further inciting the public rage against Japan. The attempted attack, though unsuccessful, seemed to have achieved Kang's desired outcome. The single-minded media applied their full reporting resources to the incident. Constant news coverage focused strictly on the investigation and speculation about possible retaliation measures to take against the shadowy Japanese terrorist group. Lost in the news was the issue of Korea and the pending vote in the National Assembly over the removal of U.S. troops from the South Korean Peninsula.

As the media ran dry of new facts about the failed rocket launch, they turned their attention toward hero-making. The Sea Launch platform crew was nearly mugged by reporters when they stepped off the Deep Endeavor in Long Beach. Many of the tired crewmen were given just a few hours' rest, then helicoptered back to the Odyssey to patch up the holes Pitt had carved in the support structure and sail the listing platform back to port. Those escaping work duty were badgered for in-depth interviews about their capture and imprisonment aboard the platform, as well as their later rescue by Pitt and Giordino in the blimp. The men from NUMA were lionized as heroes and every news media organization was on the hunt for them. But they were nowhere to be found.

After setting the perforated blimp down on an unused runway at LAX, the men beat it down to Long Beach, where they met the docking Deep Endeavor. Slipping quietly aboard after the Sea Launch crew departed, they were warmly greeted by a relieved Summer and the ship's crew. Dahlgren was happy to see the mangled Badger sitting upright on the fantail deck.

“Kermit, we've got another search ahead of us,” Pitt said to Burch. “How soon can we be under way?”

“Just as soon as Dirk and Summer step ashore. Sorry, son,” he said, turning to the younger Pitt, “but I'm afraid Rudi called. He's been trying to track all four of you guys down for the last two hours. Says the top brass wants to talk to you and Summer. They need your insight on the bad guys, and right away.”

“Some guys get all the luck,” Giordino said, grinning at Dirk's misfortune.

“Seems like we never get much time with you,” Summer frowned at her father.

“We'll get the next dive in together,” Pitt said, throwing an arm around each of his kids' shoulders. “I promise.”

“I'll be counting on it,” Summer replied, giving her father a kiss to the cheek.

“Me too,” Dirk said. “And thanks for the blimp ride, Mad Al. Next time, I'm going Greyhound.”

“The highbrow type, eh?” Giordino replied, shaking his head.

Dirk and Summer said a quick good-bye to Dahlgren and the other men on the bridge, then hopped off the Deep Endeavor as the vessel backed away from the dock. A feeling of satisfaction should have beat through them, but, with Dirk, an underlying anger still brewed. The deadly virus strike had been prevented, the Koguryo was captured, and even Tongju was dead. More selfishly, Sarah was safe as well. But on the other side of the world, Kang still breathed. As they moved down the pier, Dirk felt Summer hesitating beside him and he turned and stopped so she could wave a friendly farewell to the ship. He stared and waved as well, but his mind was churning elsewhere. Together, they stood and watched a long while as the turquoise NUMA ship chugged out the harbor and eased slowly toward the western horizon.

Well before the Homeland Security investigation team thought to round up all available search and salvage vessels and comb for the sunken rocket debris, the Deep Endeavor had already slipped her towed sonar array fish over the side and was scanning the depths for the remains of the payload. Captain Burch had anticipated a salvage operation and knew precisely where to start searching. While standing on the deck of the Deep Endeavor watching the Zenit disintegrate across the sky, he had carefully tracked the trajectory of the debris and marked on a nautical chart an impact zone where he thought the nose cone struck the water.

“If the payload remained intact, it should be somewhere within that box,” he told Pitt as they chugged back to sea, pointing to a nine-square-mile grid penciled on the chart. “Though we're probably dealing with a scattered debris field.”

"Whatever is left has only been sitting on the bottom a few hours,

so we'll have a fresh profile at least," Pitt replied, studying the chart. Burch guided the Deep Endeavor to a corner of the grid, where they began running north south survey lanes. Just two hours into the search, Pitt identified the first scattering of debris visible against the rolling bottom. Pointing to the sonar monitor, he fingered a cluster of sharp-edged objects protruding in succession.

“We've got a string of man-made objects running in a rough line to the east,” he said.

“Either a local garbage scow spilled her goods or we've got a pile of rusting rocket parts,” Giordino agreed, eyeing the data.

“Kermit, why don't we break off the lane and run a tack to the east. Let's see if we can follow the debris trail and see where it leads.”

Burch ordered the ship about and they followed the trail of wreckage for several minutes as it intensified in quantity before slowly petering out. None of the debris appeared larger than a few feet long, however.

“That's one heckuva jigsaw puzzle someone's gonna have to piece together,” Burch said as the last of the wreckage fell away from the screen. “Shall we resume the survey lane?” he asked Pitt.

Pitt thought for a moment. “No. Let's hold our course. There's got to be more substantial remains.”

Pitt's years of underwater exploration had refined his senses to almost psychic ability. Like an underwater bloodhound, he could nearly sniff out the lost and hidden. There was a lot more of the Zenit still out there and he could feel it.

As the sonar monitor reeled off nothing but flat bottom, the men on the bridge began to have their doubts. But a quarter mile later, a few small pieces of ragged-edged debris crept onto the screen. Suddenly, the silhouette of a large rectangular object filled the monitor lying perpendicular to the other debris. As it rolled off the screen, a new image crawled into view. It was the shadow of a large, high cylinder.

“Boss, I think you've just found the whole enchilada,” Giordino grinned.

Studying the image with a nod, Pitt replied, “Let's go have a taste.”

Minutes later, the Deep Endeavor fixed its position by engaging its side thrusters and lowered a small remote-operated vehicle over the stern railing. A large winch unrolled the ROV's power cable as the machine sunk to the seafloor nine hundred feet beneath the surface. In a dimly lit electronics bay beneath the wheelhouse, Pitt sat in an oversized captain's chair where he controlled the unmanned submersible thrusters with a pair of joysticks. A rack of video monitors lined the wall in front of him, displaying multiple images of the sandy bottom fed from a half-dozen digital cameras mounted on the ROV.

Adjusting the thrusters so that the ROV hovered a few feet above the bottom, Pitt gently guided the submersible toward a pair of dark objects nearby. Protruding from the sandy bottom, the cameras revealed, were two jagged pieces of white metal several feet long, which were clearly chunks of skin from the Zenit rocket. Pitt kept the ROV moving past the debris until the initial sonar targets materialized in the inky water, two unmistakable sections of the launch vehicle rising high off the bottom. As the ROV moved closer, Pitt and Giordino could see the first section was nearly fifteen feet long, and almost as high, but flattened on one side. The rocket section had tumbled before impact, smacking the water lengthwise in a jarring blow that had given it the rectangle shape identified by the sonar. Guiding the ROV to one end, the cameras showed a large thruster nozzle protruding from a mass of pipes and chambers that constituted a rocket engine.

“An upper stage engine?” Giordino asked, eyeing the image.

“Probably the Zenit's third stage motor, the uppermost propulsion unit designed to drive the payload section into final orbit.”

The unfueled section appeared to have broken cleanly from the lower Stage 2 component during the explosion. But the payload section that rode above it had separated also and was no longer attached.

A few yards away, a large white object stretched into the murky range of the camera lens.

“Enough with the preliminaries. Let's go take a look at that big boy,” Giordino said, pointing to the edge of one of the video monitors.

Pitt guided the ROV toward the object, which quickly filled the video screens with white. It was clearly another section of the Zenit rocket, even more intact than the Stage 3 section. Pitt estimated it was about twenty feet long, and noticed that it appeared to have a slightly larger diameter. The nearest end was a mangled mass of carnage. Twisted and jagged edges of the white metal skin jutted inward as if mashed by a giant sledgehammer. Pitt maneuvered the ROV to peer inside but there was little to be seen besides mashed metal.

“This has to be the payload. It must have struck the water on its end,” Pitt remarked.

“Maybe there's something exposed on the other side,” Giordino said.

Pitt quickly guided the ROV along the length of the horizontal rocket section until reaching the opposite end, then glided the submersible around in a wide U-turn. Shining the ROV's illuminating lights into the exposed end, Pitt and Giordino craned at the monitor to get a closer look. The first thing that Pitt noticed was an inward-flared ring around the interior edge. It was apparent that the smaller-diameter Stage 3 rocket section had been mated to the section at this end. Inching the ROV closer, they could see that a vertical piece of fairing had been stripped off the rocket along the exposed top side. Raising the ROV until it hovered just above the prone rocket, Pitt guided the submersible along its upper side, following the open seam with the cameras pointed inside. After viewing a maze of tubes and wiring, Pitt stopped the ROV as the video image suddenly displayed a flat board that glistened under the submersible's high-power lights. A wide grin quickly spread across Pitt's face.

“I do believe that there's a solar panel shining back at us,” he said.

“Well done, Dr. von Braun,” Giordino replied, nodding.

As the ROV inched forward, they could clearly see the folded wings of the solar panels and the cylindrical body of the mock satellite through the open seam. Though the nose cone had been mashed at impact, the satellite payload inside had survived intact, and, with it, the deadly cargo of virus.

After carefully studying the integrity of the entire payload section with the remote video, Pitt returned the ROV to the Deep Endeavor and directed the vessel into salvage mode. Though Deep Endeavor was primarily an exploration vessel, she was equipped to handle light salvage with the help of her onboard submersibles. Despite the loss of the Badger, Pitt and Giordino employed a backup submersible to affix a sling support around the payload and slowly bring the rocket section to the surface with the aid of large lift bags. Under cover of darkness and away from the prying eyes of the occasional media boat, the pay-load was hoisted out of the water and onto the deck of the Deep Endeavor. Pitt and Giordino looked on as the rocket piece was secured and covered under a shroud of canvas.

“That'll give the intelligence boys something to chew on for a while,” Giordino said.

“It will certainly prove that the attack was not attempted by an amateur group of terrorists. Once the lethality of the payload is revealed to the public, the ignoble Mr. Kang will wish he was never born.”

Giordino waved an arm toward a fuzzy glow of light on the eastern horizon. “All things considered, I'd say the good people of Los Angeles owe us a beer for protecting their fair city ... and maybe the keys to the Playboy Mansion.”

“They have Dirk and Summer to thank.”

“Too bad they weren't here to see this baby come up.”

“I still haven't heard from the kids since we dropped them at the dock.”

“They're probably doing the same thing their old man would have done,” Giordino grinned. “Slipped the intelligence interview and headed down to Manhattan Beach for some surfing.”

Pitt laughed briefly then looked out at the dark sea as his thoughts wandered. No, he knew, now wasn't the time for that.

Forty-two thousand feet above the Pacific, Dirk sat in the cramped seat of a government jet trying to get some sleep. But the adrenaline still surged through his body, keeping him awake as the plane nosed closer to South Korea. It was just hours before that he and Summer had been summoned off the Deep Endeavor to brief FBI and Defense Department intelligence officials on their meeting with Kang and to provide details about the industrialist's fortified residence.

They learned that Sandecker had finally persuaded the president, and the White House had issued orders to get Kang, swiftly and silently and without informing the South Korean government. An assault plan had been formulated, targeting several of Kang's facilities, including the shipyard at Inchon. The mysterious leader had not been seen in public for days so his private residence was moved to the top of the list of incursion targets. Because few Westerners had ever been invited to the residence, Dirk and Summer's insights were critical.

“We'll be happy to provide you with a full layout of the site, identify entry points and passageways, even give you the security force positions and monitoring technology,” Dirk offered to the delight of the intelligence agents. “But I expect one thing in return,” he added, “and that's a ticket to the show.”

Dirk smiled to himself as he watched the color drain from their faces. After some grumbling counter arguments and a few calls to Washington, he won out. There would be value, they knew, in having him on the ground with the assault force. For her part, Summer thought he was crazy.

“You actually want to go back to that chamber of horrors?” she asked incredulously when the agents had left the room.

“You bet,” he replied. “I want a front-row seat when they slip the noose around Kang's neck.”

“Once was enough for me. Please be careful, Dirk. Leave the assault work to the professionals. I nearly lost both you and Dad today,” she said with sisterly concern.

“Not to worry. I'll keep quietly to the rear with my head down,” he promised.

Two hours of intense briefings later, he was whisked to LAX and bound again for Korea. Shortly after the jet's wheels touched down at Osan Air Base after the long flight across the Pacific, he was at it again, this time briefing the Special Operations Forces that would be carrying out the assault. Dirk was particularly thorough, providing every detail and scrap of information about Kang's residence that he could remember. He then sat back and listened intently as the tactical assault plans were presented in precise detail. Two Army Special Ops teams were tasked with infiltrating Kang's marine dock and nearby telecommunications center in Inchon while a Navy SEAL team would broach his residence. The operations would be conducted simultaneously, with backup teams standing by to strike additional Kang properties, should the enigmatic leader not be found at the initial targets.

After the briefing, a no-nonsense Navy captain responsible for coordinating the SEAL assault approached Dirk.

“You've got five hours to relax before we assemble. You'll go in as part of Commander Gutierrez's team. I'll see that Paul has you outfitted ahead of time. Sorry, but we can't issue you a firearm. Orders.”

“I understand. I'm just grateful to join the ride.”

Grabbing a quick meal and nap at a temporary officers' quarters, Dirk assembled with the SEAL team, where he was issued a set of black camouflage fatigues, an armored vest, and a pair of night vision goggles. After a final briefing, the men boarded a pair of enclosed trucks and were driven to a small dock south of Inchon. Under cover of darkness, the twenty-four-man SEAL team boarded a nondescript support boat and quickly shoved off, proceeding north into the Yellow Sea toward Kyodongdo Island. The team of highly trained commandos anxiously rechecked their weapons under the enclosed main cabin's dim lights as the boat sped across the open sea. Commander Paul Gutierrez, a short but husky man who wore a thin mustache, approached Dirk when they neared the mouth of the Hun River.

“You'll be going in with my squad in boat number two,” he said. “Just stick close by when we hit the ground and follow my lead. With any luck, we'll be in and out without firing a shot. But, just in case,” he paused and handed Dirk a small satchel.

Dirk unzipped the bag and pulled out a SIG Sauer P226 9mm automatic pistol with spare ammunition clips.

“Much obliged. I was hoping I wouldn't have to walk into a potential firefight unarmed,” Dirk replied.

“The Kevlar vest will keep you safe, but this will add some insurance. Just don't tell anyone where you found it,” he nodded with a wink, then turned and ambled off to the wheelhouse to check their progress.

A half hour later, the support boat sped past the cove entrance that led to Kang's residence and continued upriver another two miles before suddenly cutting the engines. As the boat slowed to a stop against the current and began drifting back downriver, three Zodiac black rubber boats were quickly lowered over the side. With quiet efficiency, eight SEALs quietly climbed into each boat and paddled away from the support craft, Dirk joining the men in the second rubber boat. Nearly invisible against the darkened night, the three boats moved easily downriver with the current before silently turning into the inlet to Kang's property.

A cloudy sky softly reflected the lights of Kang's compound as the three rubber boats turned the last corner of the winding inlet and entered the expansive cove beneath the residence. Dirk gripped a paddle tightly and rowed in silent unison with the heavily armed SEAL team members beside him in the boat. The lingering effects of jet lag and exhaustion from the aborted Sea Launch strike were quickly shaken off at the sight of Kang's stone fortress.

Halfway across the cove, the boats split up, two heading left to land on the sandy beach near the boat dock while the third moved toward the right. The third boat's wet suit-clad occupants would swim ashore first, creeping in along the rocky landing on the opposite side of the dock. Dirk rowed in one of the boats that headed to the beach, wondering if the advance SEAL team had missed neutralizing any of the surveillance video cameras Kang had mounted around the inlet.

As they paddled closer to shore, Dirk noticed the same configuration of boats tied up at the dock as when he escaped with Summer. Kang's big Benetti yacht and the blue high-speed catamaran were tied up in a row, while the small speedboat was centered in between. The yacht and catamaran quickly became the focus of all the men in Dirk's rubber boat. Their mission was to secure Kang's docked vessels while the other SEAL teams rushed the compound. Surveying the dock and surrounding area, Dirk smiled to himself at the sight of the missing skiff.

The two rubber boats hung offshore for several minutes as the submerged SEALs crept ashore on the far side. From his vantage point in the cove, Dirk watched as a handful of black shapes moved silently out of the water and along the rocky shoreline. A pair of dark shapes crept up to the security booth and quickly subdued the on-duty guard, whose nose was buried in a newspaper.

At the bow of Dirk's boat, Commander Paul Gutierrez quietly raised his hand and the ops team dipped their paddles in the water, rapidly driving the rubber boat ashore after a few dozen hard strokes. The boat's hull barely scraped the sand when its occupants burst out and sprinted down the shoreline toward the dock. All remained quiet about the compound as the following boat's team simultaneously raced up to the cliff entrance under cover of the advance squad.

Dirk followed his team of eight men as they hustled onto the dock ramp, then split in two. Four men peeled off and leaped aboard the catamaran while Commander Gutierrez and three men continued down the dock toward the Benetti. Dirk kept running past the catamaran, opting to join the men headed for the larger yacht. But twenty yards from the yacht, he suddenly froze in his tracks as a yellow flash of light burst from the stern deck. The clatter from an AK-74 shattered the night air a microsecond later, followed by a sickening series of dull thumps as the bullets slammed into the bodies of the two men in front of him. Ducking behind a barrel, Dirk yanked the SIG Sauer 9mm pistol from a side holster and quickly squeezed ten shots toward the source of the gunfire. A few yards ahead of him, Gutierrez had also returned fire, sweeping the yacht's rear deck with a Heckler & Koch MP5K submachine gun. Their combined bursts silenced the unseen gunman amid a spray of flying splinters and shattered glass.

The sudden bursts of gunfire seemed to awaken the whole island as small arms fire erupted throughout the compound. A pair of pistol-wielding gunmen popped out of a cabin door on the catamaran with guns blazing but were quickly mowed down by the SEAL team already positioned aboard. A guard in the main security house noticed the murdered beach guard over a video camera and quickly alerted the residence security forces. The approaching SEALs found themselves walking into the fire from a half-dozen armed guards.

Back on the dock, Dirk leaned over the two men sprawled on the ground in front of him. To his shock, he found the first man was dead, a series of bullet punctures noticeable across his neck and clavicle. The second man was wriggling about, gasping in pain. He had been saved by his Kevlar combat vest, the burst having caught him across the stomach, his unprotected hips and thighs catching the worst of the fire.

“I'm okay,” the tough SEAL grunted as Dirk tried to assess his wounds. “Finish the mission.”

As he spoke, the powerful motors of the Benetti yacht gurgled to life. Dirk looked up to see more gunfire erupt from the boat's dock-side gunwale as a pair of crewmen worked down the length of the vessel, one cutting the mooring lines while the other sprayed covering fire across the deck.

“We'll get them,” Dirk said to the prone man, patting his shoulder. Reluctantly leaving the injured soldier, he stood up and sprinted toward the yacht. The yacht's motors began to rumble loudly as the throttles were shoved to full. A foaming torrent boiled off the transom as the boat's propellers cut into the water.

A few feet ahead of Pitt, Gutierrez let off a quick burst of fire aimed at the starboard passageway, then stood and barked, “Let's get aboard!”

Dirk bolted past Gutierrez and the other SEAL at a dead run as the two commandos scrambled to chase after the departing yacht. The crack of an automatic pistol belched somewhere above Dirk three times and he could hear the whine as the bullets flew just over his head. A loud thud resonated from the dock behind him and a voice shouted out “I'm hit” just as Dirk leaped off the dock.

The fleeing yacht was only a few feet removed from the dock when Dirk jumped and he easily grasped the side railing midair and pulled himself aboard in a single fluid move, dropping to the deck and lying still on the darkened stern. A second later, a thump banged against the side as another body jumped onto the side of the moving boat. Dirk saw the outline of a black-camouflaged man quickly slide over the railing and onto the deck a few feet behind him.

“It's Pitt here,” he whispered back to the shadow, not wishing to get shot by mistake. “Who's there?”

“Gutierrez,” came the gravelly voice of the SEAL commander. “We need to get to the wheelhouse and stop this craft.”

Gutierrez started to get up and creep forward when Dirk stuck out his hand in a halting motion. Both men froze as Dirk trained his eyes and ears on the port side of the deck. On the far side, he could see that a stairwell led down from an open observation deck above their heads. As the yacht headed into the cove, the lights from the dock flared over the boat's stern and Dirk detected a slight movement in the shadows of the stairwell. Slowly unholstering his 9mm, he took a bead on the shadowy spot and waited. When the shadow suddenly appeared to descend a step, Dirk squeezed the SIG Sauer's trigger twice.

A metallic clunk rang across the deck from a fallen handgun and the long shadow slumped down the stairwell into the visible mass of a crumpled man dressed in black fatigues.

“Nice shooting,” Gutierrez grumbled. “Now, let's move.”

As the commando crept forward, Dirk followed close behind, nearly losing his footing and slipping to the deck at one point. Glancing down, he noticed the deck was covered in a pool of blood from the gunman Gutierrez had shot from the dock. The dead man's body lay facedown next to a teak bar, a bent cigarette still clenched between his lips.

Roaring away from the brightly lit dock, the yacht was now enshrouded in total darkness as it sped across the cove at top speed. Nearly all of the boat's lights had been extinguished, save for a few dim interior floor lights The two men felt their way along to the main rear cabin that housed the dining salon and skirted around to the starboard-deck passageway. Gutierrez suddenly raised a hand and stopped, taking a step back toward the salon.

“There's next to no cover along the side passageways. It would be better if we split up. Take the port passage and try to move forward. I'll work up the starboard side here,” Gutierrez directed, knowing another gunman was likely waiting around the corner. “We better work fast, before we end up sailing to the wrong side of the DMZ.”

Dirk nodded. “See you on the bridge,” he whispered, then darted across the stern deck. With his senses tuned high, he edged around the portside corner and stepped onto the teak passageway leading forward. Distant gunfire from the shore rattled over the yacht's pulsating engines, but Dirk was focused on the sounds aboard the boat. Padding silently, he crept forward until the passageway ended at a stairwell. The bridge was almost in reach now, just up a level and another thirty feet. As he peered up the stairs, the loud bark of automatic gunfire suddenly cracked through the air. His heart skipped a beat, but then he realized it was on the other side of the yacht.

Gutierrez had been waiting for the burst. Slinking forward on the starboard side, he kept low to the ground in anticipation of an unseen gunman. Reaching the opposite stairwell, he climbed it like a cat, poised on the balls of his feet for a sudden barrage. He didn't have to go far to find it. The SEAL had barely set foot on the landing when a spray of gunfire whistled over his head. Hiding off the bridge wing, a black-clad gunman fired with an AK-74.

Gutierrez barely escaped the initial fusillade. The gunman's burst was thrown high when the yacht suddenly slowed and swerved into the narrow cove inlet. Diving back for the stairwell, Gutierrez slid down the first few steps before twisting around and aiming his MP5K. The SEAL waited calmly for several seconds until the gunman's muzzle flashed again. The incoming burst chewed up the deck just inches from his head, peppering his face with teakwood splinters. Calmly adjusting his aim, Gutierrez let off a solid burst from the Heckler &

lack Wind Koch into the darkness. A brief muffled cry rang out, then another flash of fire spewed from the concealed shooter's gun. Only this time, the spray of yellow fire arced skyward, then ceased altogether as the mortally wounded gunman fell dead to the deck.

On the other side of the yacht, Dirk heard the gunfire fall silent and wondered whether Gutierrez had survived the firefight. Moving up the port stairwell, he climbed two steps then froze at the sound of a faint click behind him. Tilting his head back, he detected that the sound came from a side cabin door at the base of the stairs. Descending silently, Dirk crept back down the stairs until he stood in front of the doorway. Gripping the SIG Sauer firmly in his right hand, he reached for the brass door handle with his left hand and gentry turned it to its stops. Holding the latch open for a second, he took a deep breath, then shoved the door open and lunged in.

He had expected the door to fly fully open, but, instead, it abruptly stopped from the mass of a human being. Slightly thrown off balance by the sudden jar, Dirk found himself bouncing off a muscular guard standing with a surprised look inside the doorway. Facing just inches away, Dirk noted a deep L-shaped scar on the man's chin and a bent angular nose that had once been broken. In his hands he held an AK-74 rifle, which he was attempting to reload. The rifle's barrel was pointed at the floor as the man fumbled with the clip, but he immediately swung the stock up toward Dirk's right side. Lurching back a step in order to bring the SIG Sauer to bear, Dirk was struck by the rifle before he could aim and his shot fired harmlessly into the wall. But rather than stiffly absorbing the blow, Dirk rolled to his right as the rifle struck, at the same time swinging his left arm around. As he pivoted with the force, he balled his left fist and threw a sharp uppercut which landed fimly on the jaw of the man's face. The blow sent the gunman staggering backward, where he tripped and fell over a basket of laundered clothes.

For the first time, Dirk noticed that the cabin was a small laundry room. A tiny washing machine and dryer sat against the far wall while an open ironing board stood next to the doorway. Regaining his balance, he quickly leveled the SIG Sauer at the guard's chest and squeezed the trigger.

There was no loud bark from the muzzle nor a kick to his wrist. Instead, just a metallic click as the gun's firing pin beat down on an empty chamber. Dirk grimaced as he realized that he had emptied the pistol's thirteen-round magazine. Smiling in the face of the empty handgun, Kang's guard rolled to his knees. In his right hand, he still held the full ammo clip, which he expertly jammed into the stock of the assault rifle. Dirk knew there was no way he could reload the SIG Sauer in time, but his body was already reacting with an alternate plan. Barely seen out of the corner of his eye, the shiny object that his hand was already reaching for was a last-gamble defense.

The chrome iron sitting atop the ironing board was not hot, nor even plugged in. But it made for a sharp and nasty projectile. With a toss that would have made John Elway proud, Dirk grabbed the iron and fired it at the gunman like a bullet. The gunman, intent on training his loaded rifle at Dirk, didn't even bother to duck. The flat side of the iron struck his head like an anvil, smacking his skull with an audible crack. The assault rifle fell to the floor first, followed by the gunman, his eyes rolled far back in his head.

Beneath his feet, Dirk felt the boat's motors suddenly rumble louder again. The yacht had cleared the inlet and was accelerating into the Han River. It would easily outrun the special forces support vessel stationed off the inlet. If it was to be stopped, he and Gutierrez would have to act quick. But how many more gunmen were aboard? And, more important, where was Gutierrez?

utierrez kneeled at the top of the starboard stairwell peering down the passage, searching for shadows. The black silhouette of the gunman he had dropped lay motionless on the deck beside the bridge. He could detect no movement around the area, and no one was firing at him, at least for the moment. No sense in waiting for reinforcements to appear, he decided. Vaulting from the stairwell, he dashed across the open passageway to the bridge wing and leaped over the dead gunman, then burst through the open bridge door.

He half-expected a horde of armed guards waiting to greet him with a cluster of hot muzzles pointing his way, but it was not the case. Just three men stood on the expansive bridge, their eyes turned to him with contempt. A burly, salt-faced man who was obviously the captain stood at the helm, guiding the yacht toward the center of the Han River. Near the port wing door stood a surly guard fingering an assault rifle, who glared at the SEAL with anticipation. And at the rear of the bridge, sitting in a raised leather captain's chair with a look of disdain on his face, was none other than Kang himself. The mogul, whom Gutierrez recognized from a briefing photo, was dressed in a burgundy silk robe, having slept on his yacht in preparation for a last-minute getaway.

As the four sets of eyes locked on one another, Gutierrez's reflexes were already in motion. The trained SEAL quickly aimed his weapon at the guard and squeezed the trigger, a full second before the other man reacted. In a quick burst, three rounds spat from his gun, striking the guard in a clean cluster across his chest. A stunned look spread over the guard's face as he was thrown back against the bulkhead, but his finger instinctively tightened in the trigger guard. A wild spray of fire burst from his assault rifle, ripping across the deck and toward Gutierrez. The SEAL stood helpless as a seam of lead flew in his direction before the gunman sagged to the floor dead.

It took a split second for Gutierrez to take stock. He had been hit by one round, which nipped him in the thigh. He felt a warm rivulet of blood from the wound run down his leg and collect in his boot. Another round nearly struck him in the abdomen but was deflected by his own machine gun. The bullet had smashed into the MP5K's breech, he realized, and rendered the firearm useless.

The other men on the bridge noticed it as well. The burly captain, standing just a few feet from Gutierrez, let go of the ship's wheel and plunged at the wounded SEAL. Unsteady from the wound to his left leg, Gutierrez stood inert as the captain barreled into him. The captain used his bulk to throw a bear hug around the SEAL and then slam him into the helm. Gutierrez could feel the breath forced from his lungs and felt as if his ribs were going to snap as the captain tried to squeeze the life out of him. But in Gutierrez's right hand, he still held the compact MP5 machine gun, which he swung upward and smashed against the back of the captain's skull. To his astonishment, nothing happened. The captain seemed to squeeze even tighter, and Gutierrez could see a kaleidoscope of stars starting to shimmer before his eyes as the oxygen in his blood ebbed. Sharp pains flared from the wound in his leg while hammering pangs throbbed against his temples. Again, he thrust the gun's stock against the man's head and, again, the grip seemed only to tighten. Desperation started to seep into the SEAL's mind as he approached the verge of passing out and he wildly thrust the gun at the man's head again and again. Gutierrez sensed his body falling and presumed he was blacking out. But he was suddenly jarred conscious by a collision to his body.

The repeated blows had finally knocked the stubborn captain cold and the two of them fell hard to the deck, Gutierrez still embraced in the captain's bear hug. The SEAL gasped for breath as the man's iron grip fell slack and he crawled to his knees inhaling deeply.

“An impressive display. But, regrettably, it shall be your last.” The voice of Kang spat with the flavor of venom. While grappling with the yacht's captain, Kang had approached and leveled a Glock automatic pistol at Gutierrez's head. The SEAL searched for a defense but there was none. The guard's AK-74 was wedged in the dead man's hands across the bridge and his own weapon lay empty and useless in his right hand. On his knees, weakened from gunshots and the struggle with the captain, there was nothing he could do. With a resolute look of defiance, he stared up at Kang and the Glock pistol aimed inches from his face.

The single gunshot burst through the bridge like a crack of thunder. Gutierrez felt nothing and was surprised by the sudden stunned look in Kang's eyes. Then he realized that the Korean's hand, the one holding the pistol, had disappeared along with the gun amid a shower of crimson blood. Two more cracks filled the air and a splattering of blood flew out of Kang's left knee and right thigh. With a garbled cry of agony, Kang fell to the deck, grasping the remains of his bleeding hand and writhing in misery. As he fell, Gutierrez looked across the bridge to where the gunshots had originated.

Standing across the deck in the port doorway, Dirk held an AK-74 at eye level, the smoking barrel still leveled at the prone figure of Kang. A relieved look spread across his face as he made eye contact with Gutierrez and realized the SEAL was still alive.

Dirk walked across the bridge, noting the pilotless yacht was still barreling across the width of the Han River at nearly 40 knots. Off the starboard beam but falling rapidly behind was the SEAL support ship, fighting to keep up with the faster yacht. Across the river, but now directly ahead, was the brightly illuminated river dredge he had seen before, slowly scooping a channel lane near the opposite bank. Dirk stared at the dredge a moment, thinking of the dead SEAL on the dock and the Coast Guardsmen killed in Alaska. Then he turned back to the wriggling figure of Kang and stepped close to the mogul, who was bleeding heavily onto the deck.

“Your ride is over, Kang. Enjoy your stay in hell.”

Kang peered up at Dirk with an angry look and grunted an obscenity but Dirk turned and walked away before he could finish. Stepping to the helm, he reached down and yanked Gutierrez to his feet.

“Nice going, partner, but what took you so long?” Gutierrez rasped.

“Just had to get a few things ironed out,” Dirk replied as he half-dragged the SEAL to the side railing.

“We better stop this cruise ship now,” Gutierrez grunted. “I didn't expect to find the big cheese aboard. Intel will be anxious to get him under the hot spotlight.”

“I'm afraid Kang has an appointment with the grim reaper,” Dirk said, grabbing a life preserver off the bulkhead and throwing it over Gutierrez's head and shoulders.

“My orders are to take him alive,” Gutierrez protested. But before he could argue further, Dirk grabbed him firmly by the lapels and rolled the both of them over the side railing and into the water below. Dirk ensured he was positioned beneath Gutierrez and took the brunt of the blow as they struck and bounced across the water, nearly knocking the wind out of him from the high-speed impact. After a quick submersion, they bobbed to the surface as the yacht roared past them, Dirk holding the SEAL commander afloat.

The crew of the following support ship saw them go over the side and quickly broke off the chase to pull them out of the water. But Dirk's and Gutierrez's eyes were on the yacht as they floated in the water, watching Kang's vessel race across the river. The Benetti's course held firm as it crossed midriver and streaked toward the dredge and the opposite bank. As it drew closer to the opposite shore, it became apparent to everyone who watched that the vessel was headed directly for the dredge. The dredge's pilot, seeing the speeding yacht heading toward him, let loose with a long blast from his whistle but the rapidly approaching boat held steady.

With a thunderous shriek, the gleaming white yacht burst into the dredge ship like a charging bull, her bow plowing into the rusty steel vessel amidships. Striking at top speed, the yacht disintegrated into a cloud of white smoke, followed by a small fireball that floated into the air as the fuel tanks were crushed and ignited. Splinters of wood and debris rained across the dredge and around the river as the mashed remains of the vessel slid off the dredge and sank to the bottom. When the smoke and flames cleared, there was little evidence to indicate a 165-foot yacht had existed moments before.

Dirk and Gutierrez drifted in the river, watching the carnage with grim captivation as a rescue dinghy from the support ship puttered toward them.

“Might be hell to pay for not bringing him in alive,” Gutierrez said after the flames and smoke had dissipated.

Dirk shook his head bitterly. “So he could spend the rest of his days in a country club prison? No thanks.”

“You get no argument from me. I think we just bestowed a colossal favor upon humanity. But his death might bring repercussions. My superiors are not going to be happy if we create an international incident with Korea.”

“When the facts come out, there will be no tears shed for Kang and his enterprise of murderers. Besides, he was still alive when we left the yacht. It looked like a boating accident to me.”

Gutierrez thought for a moment. “ ”A boating accident,“ ” he repeated, trying to convince himself. “Sure, that might just fly.”

Dirk watched as the remaining smoke from the collision slowly dissipated over the river, then smiled a tired grin at Gutierrez as the rescue boat approached and fished them out of the river.

Referendum July 1, 2007 As Kang was obliterated, so fell his empire. The SEAL forces that swept through his residence captured his assistant Kwan alive, along with a cache of incriminating documents that he was desperately trying to destroy in his employer's private office. To the south at Inchon, additional Special Forces teams sped through Kang's shipyard and neighboring telecommunications facility. Heavy security resistance at the facility raised suspicions and a large intelligence team quickly descended on the building. The secret biological research lab in the basement was soon discovered, as were the staff's ties to North Korea. Faced with mounting evidence and the death of his master, Kwan quickly folded under the duress and fully confessed Kang's sins in a self-serving ploy to save his own neck.

Back in the United States, news of the “accidental death of Kang as he was fleeing authorities” brought a similar reaction from ling and his top engineers. Threatened by officials with attempted mass murder charges, they cooperated as well, offering the ill excuse that they were just following orders. Only the Ukrainian engineers refused to cooperate, which eventually ensured their lengthy stay in a federal penitentiary.

The government authorities, meanwhile, held their cards to the vest publicly until the final piece of damning evidence had been uncovered. The remains of the rocket payload that Pitt and Giordino had retrieved were transferred under secrecy to Vandenberg Air Force Base north of Los Angeles. In a tightly guarded hangar, a team of space engineers carefully disassembled the payload, uncovering the mock satellite that disguised the virus canisters and vapor-dispensing system. Army and CDC epidemiologists removed the canisters of the freeze-dried virus, finding, to their shock, that they contained the lethal chimera of smallpox and HIV organisms. Samples from the Inchon lab were quietly matched up and the horror confirmed. Despite an interest by the Army in maintaining samples, the recovered viruses were ordered destroyed in their entirety by the president. Fears lingered that additional samples escaped capture and destruction, but the chimera engineered by Kang's scientists was in fact fully eradicated.