Black Wind (27 page)

31

T
HE FIERY BANTAM MARCHED
through the executive corridors of NUMA's headquarters as if he owned the building, which, in fact, he essentially did. Admiral James Sandecker was a revered figure throughout the halls, offices, and laboratories of NUMA, the legacy of his founding the agency with a handful of scientists and engineers several decades before. Though diminutive in size, his blazing blue eyes and bright red hair with matching goatee simply advertised the burning intensity with which he operated twenty-four hours a day.

“Hello, Darla, you're looking stunning today,” he said graciously to the forty-something secretary typing on a computer. “Is Rudi in the executive conference room?”

“Good to see you again, Admiral,” the woman beamed as her eyes roved to a pair of Secret Service agents struggling to keep up with the fast-moving chief. “Yes, Mr. Gunn is waiting for you inside. Please go right in.”

Though still regarded as the Admiral by his NUMA comrades, the rest of the world knew him as Vice President Sandecker. Despite a lifelong aversion to the subversive world of Washington politics, Sandecker was persuaded by President Ward to fill the shoes of the vice presidency when the elected veep unexpectedly died in office. Sandecker knew the president to be a man of honor and integrity who would not force his second-in-command to remain a wallflower. The fiery admiral immediately broke the mold of past vice presidents. Far from being a figurehead and emissary for state funerals, Sandecker held a strong position in the administration. He vigorously spearheaded defense and security reforms, increased the funding and focus of government-sponsored scientific research, and led the point for environmental conservancy initiatives and all matters relating to the seas. At his bullying, the administration successfully strong-armed a worldwide ban on whaling by all industrialized nations, as well as implementing a host of tough penalties and sanctions on ocean polluters.

Sandecker burst through the door to the conference room, immediately hushing the group of NUMA officials deliberating the loss of the
Sea Rover
.

“Thanks for coming over, Admiral,” Gunn said, jumping up and showing his boss to the head of the table.

“What's the latest information?” Sandecker asked, dispensing with the usual around-the-table pleasantries.

“We've confirmed that the
Sea Rover
has, in fact, been sunk after being attacked in the East China Sea by a small armed force that infiltrated the vessel. Miraculously, the crew escaped from a locked storage hold minutes before the ship went under. They were able to make it into the lifeboats, where they were later spotted by an Air Force search-and-rescue plane. A nearby freighter was alerted, and they have since been picked up. The freighter and crew are en route to Nagasaki as we speak. All but two of the crew have been accounted for.”

“She was boarded by force?”

“A stealth commando team of unidentified nationality got aboard her at night and took over the ship without a struggle.”

“That's Bob Morgan's ship, isn't it?”

“Yes. The old goat apparently put up a fight and took a gunshot wound to the leg during the struggle. I spoke with Ryan, his exec, who told me that he's expected to pull through in good shape. According to Ryan, the boarders claimed to be with the Japanese Red Army. They made their escape in a cable-laying ship bearing the Japanese flag.”

“Odd choice of attack ship,” Sandecker mused. “I take it they absconded with the biological bombs that had been recovered from the
I-411
?”

“Ryan confirmed as much. They had nearly completed the recovery operation at the time of the attack. The
Starfish
was missing when the crew escaped from the hold, and Ryan believes it was hoisted onto the attack ship, perhaps with the submersible's missing pilots.”

“I'll call the State Department and request an immediate dragnet from the Japanese naval resources.” Sandecker pulled an enormous Dominican Republic cigar out of his breast pocket and lit the green stogie, sending a thick plume of smoke toward the ceiling. “Shouldn't be too difficult to peg a cable ship when she slips into port.”

“I've alerted Homeland Security, who is working along those same lines. They don't seem to believe the Japanese Red Army has the skill or technology to create a domestic threat with the weapons but are now looking at possible ties to Al Qaeda and a few other terrorist organizations.”

“I wouldn't bet against it,” Sandecker replied drily as he rolled the cigar between his thumb and forefinger. “I'll brief the president this afternoon. Someone is going to damn well pay for destroying an American government vessel,” he snarled, his eyes ablaze.

The inhabitants of the conference room nodded in collective agreement. Though a large organization, there was a close-knit sense of family within the agency and an act of terror against fellow colleagues halfway around the world was still felt strongly by those at home.

“We share your sentiments, Admiral,” Gunn replied quietly.

“By the way, the two crewmen that are missing?” Sandecker asked.

Gunn swallowed hard. “Summer and Dirk Pitt. Presumed abducted with the
Starfish
.”

Sandecker stiffened in shock. “Good Lord, not them. Does their father know?”

“Yes. He's in the Philippines with Al Giordino trying to contain an underwater environmental hazard. I spoke with him by satellite phone and he understands that we are doing everything we can right now.”

Sandecker leaned back in his leather chair and gazed at the cloud of blue cigar smoke drifting above his head. God have mercy on the fool that would harm that man's offspring, he thought.

*  *  *

S
EVEN THOUSAND
miles away, the blue catamaran ripped across the west coastal waters of Korea like a top fuel dragster running the traps. Summer and Dirk were nudged and rocked in their luxury confinement as the speedy yacht tore through the swells at almost 40 knots. A pair of Korean fishermen in a rickety sampan cursed vehemently as the cat stormed perilously close by, the powerful boat's wake washing waves over the sides of the tiny fishing boat.

After two hours of hard running, the catamaran turned inland and slowed its speed as it threaded its way through the sprinkling of small islands that dotted the mouth of the Han River. The pilot maneuvered the boat upriver another hour until spotting the semihidden channel that curled into Kang's Kyodongdo Island lair. Passing through the inlet that he knew was monitored by hidden video cameras, the pilot guided the catamaran across the cove to the floating dock at the base of the sheer-walled compound. Inching to a stop, the blue catamaran was tied up astern of Kang's gleaming white Benetti yacht.

Dirk and Summer remained locked in their cabin as Tongju strode off the craft and rode the elevator up the cliff to Kang's private enclave. Kang sat in his cherrywood-paneled executive office with Kwan, studying the financial statements of a radio component manufacturer that he intended to acquire via hostile takeover. He looked up slowly when Tongju entered and bowed.

“Captain Lee of the
Baekje
has sent word that your mission was a success,” Kang stated through tight lips, offering no hint of satisfaction.

Tongju nodded slightly. “We acquired the ordnance after it was salvaged by the American vessel. Ten of the devices were still intact and have been determined to be usable,” he continued, neglecting to mention that Dirk had sabotaged the other two canisters.

“More than a sufficient quantity to proceed with the operation,” Kang replied.

“The weapon scientists aboard the
Baekje
were most pleased. The devices were immediately transferred to the biological research laboratory upon our arrival at Inchon. The lab chief assured me that the necessary refinement and containment will be complete within forty-eight hours.”

“At which time I trust the
Baekje
's reconfiguration will be complete?”

Tongju nodded in reply. “She will be ready to set sail on time.”

“Schedule is critical,” Kang continued. “The mission must be achieved ahead of the National Assembly referendum vote.”

“As long as there is no delay with the ordnance, we will be ready,” Tongju assured him. “The shipyard workers had already made impressive progress by the time we departed the dock facility.”

“We cannot tolerate another miscalculation,” Kang said coldly.

Tongju squinted slightly, unsure of his boss's meaning. Ignoring the comment, he continued speaking.

“I have brought two of the captives from the American vessel with me. The pilots who operated their submersible. One of them is the man responsible for the death of our two agents in America. I thought perhaps you might wish to entertain him personally,” he said, placing a sinister emphasis on the word
entertain
.

“Ah, yes, the two missing crew members from the NUMA ship.”

“Missing crew members?”

Kwan stepped forward and thrust a news story gleaned from the Internet into Tongju's hands.

“It is all over the news,” Kwan said. “Research vessel sunk in East China Sea; all but two saved,” he quoted from a headline in Chosun Ilbo, Korea's largest newspaper.

Tongju's face went pale but he didn't move a muscle. “That is impossible. We sank the vessel with the crew sealed in a storage hold. They could not have all escaped.”

“Escape they did,” Kang said. “A passing freighter picked up the crew and took them to Japan. Did you not watch the ship go under?”

Tongju shook his head. “We were anxious to return with the salvaged material at the earliest possible moment,” he said quietly.

“It is being reported that the ship suffered an accidental fire on board. Apparently, the Americans are afraid of publicizing yet another terrorist incident,” Kwan said.

“As well as revealing the true nature of their presence in the East China Sea,” Kang added. “Perhaps the lack of media reporting will temper their investigation into the incident.”

“I am confident that we maintained our false identity. My assault team was of mixed ethnicity and only English or Japanese was spoken while on the American ship,” Tongju replied.

“Perhaps your failure to dispose of the crew was not a bad thing,” Kang stated with a slight glare. “It will further embarrass the Japanese and keep the American intelligence effort focused on Japan. They will, of course, be searching for the
Baekje
. The sooner she can be put back to sea, the better.”

“I will provide a continuous update from the shipyard,” Tongju replied. “And the two Americans?”

Kang perused a leather-bound schedule book. “I am traveling to Seoul for an engagement with the minister of unification this evening and shall return tomorrow. Keep them alive until then.”

“I shall give them a last supper,” Tongju replied without humor.

Kang ignored the comment and stuck his nose back into a stack of financial documents. Taking the clue, the assassin turned and departed Kang's office without making a sound.

32

A
HALF MILE FROM THE
Inchon enclosed dock where
Baekje
was undergoing its cosmetic refit, two men in a dingy pickup truck slowly circled a nondescript shipyard building. Empty pallets and rusting flatbed carriers littered the grounds around the windowless structure, which was marked by a faded kang shipping company sign perched over the main entrance. Dressed in worn coveralls and grease-stained baseball caps, the two men were part of a heavily armed undercover security team numbering two dozen strong who patrolled the supersecret facility around the clock. The dilapidated exterior of the building hid a high-tech engineering development center filled with the latest supercomputing technology. The main and upper floors were dedicated to developing satellite payloads for Kang's satellite communications business. A small team of crack engineers worked to incorporate concealed eavesdropping and reconnaissance capabilities into conventional telecommunication satellites that were sold for export and launched by other regional governments or commercial companies. Hidden in the basement, and heavily guarded, was a small microbiology laboratory whose very existence was known by only a handful of Kang employees. The small cadre of scientists who worked in the lab had mostly been smuggled in from North Korea. With their families still living in the northern provinces, and forceful patriotic mandates placed upon them, the microbiologists and immunologists had little choice in accepting the nature of their work with hazardous biological agents.

The
I-411
's deadly bombs had been quietly transferred into the lab, where an ordnance expert had assisted the biologists in separating the powdery smallpox virus from the sixty-year-old compartmentalized aerial bombs. The viruses had been freeze-dried by the Japanese, allowing the pathogens to remain inert for storage and handling. The smallpox-laden bombs were designed to maintain their deadly efficacy for the duration of the submarine's voyage until hydrogenated upon deployment. Over sixty years later, their porcelain casings had repelled all destructive effects from decades of submersion. The aged bomb payloads were still every bit as potent as when they were loaded.

Placing samples of the cream-colored powder into a biosafe container, the biologists carefully initiated a controlled reconstitution of the viruses using a sterile water-based diluent. Under a microscopic eye, the dormant, block-shaped microorganisms could be seen waking from their long slumber and bouncing off each other like bumper cars as they resumed their lethal state. Despite the long period of dormancy, only a small percentage of the viruses failed to rejuvenate.

The research lab was run by a highly paid Ukrainian microbiologist named Sarghov. A former scientist with Biopreparat, the old Soviet Union civilian agency that fronted the republic's military biological weapons program, Sarghov had taken his knowledge of bioweapon genetic manipulation and sold his skills in the marketplace to the highest bidder. Though he never desired to leave his homeland, his stock as a budding scientific leader in the agency was tarnished when he was caught in bed with the wife of a politburo member. Fearing for his life, he made his way through Ukraine to Romania, where he hopped a Kang freighter in the Black Sea. A hefty bribe to the ship's captain led him to higher contacts in the company, where his scientific skills were recognized and soon put to illicit use.

With ample resources, Sarghov quietly compiled a high-tech DNA research laboratory stocked with the equipment and tools necessary for a skilled bioengineer to splice, dice, isolate, or recombine the genetic material of one microorganism to another. In the confines of Sarghov's secret laboratory, a smorgasbord of dangerous bacterial and viral agents was littered about the facility, the seeds he cultivated to create a garden of death. But he still felt impotent. His stock was a commoner's cache of easily acquired agents, such as the hepatitis B virus and tuberculosis mycobacterium. Potentially lethal agents in their own right, they were nothing like the deadly Ebola, smallpox, and Marburg viruses he had worked with during his days at the Russian facility in Obolensk. Sarghov's feverish attempts at creating a knockout killer agent with the resources at hand had failed. He felt like a boxer with one hand tied behind his back. What he needed and desired was a truly lethal pathogen, one from the A-list.

His gift to evil science came from an unexpected source. A North Korean agent in Tokyo had infiltrated a government records disposal center and intercepted a cache of classified Japanese documents. Expecting to find a bonanza of current Japanese security secrets, the agent's handlers in Pyongyang were angered to find that the records were old World War II classified documents. Included in the heist were reports relating to Imperial Army experiments with biological weapons, records that were to be destroyed for fear of embarrassing the government. A sharp intelligence analyst stumbled upon the Imperial Army's involvement with the final missions of the
I-403
and
I-411
, however, and Sarghov was soon on his way to his own supply of
Variola major
.

In the Frankenstein world of genetic engineering, biologists have found it a daunting task to create an entirely new organism from scratch. But manipulating existing microorganisms through deliberate mutation, then prompting their reproduction to useful quantities, has been an ongoing art since the seventies. Laboratory-formulated agricultural crops that are resistant to pestilence and drought have been a major societal benefit of such bioengineering, along with the more controversial creation of superdeveloped livestock. But the dark side of genetic surgery has always been the potential creation of a new strain of virus or bacteria with unknown, and possibly catastrophic, consequences.

For a man of his propensity, Sarghov was not content simply to regenerate the supply of smallpox. He had much more up his sleeve. With help from a Finnish research assistant, Sarghov acquired a sample of the HIV-1 virus, the most common source of acquired immune deficiency syndrome. Delving into the HIV-1 viral makeup, Sarghov synthesized a key genetic element of the horrifying AIDS virus. Taking his freshly reconstituted batch of smallpox virus, the scientist attempted to grow a new mutated bug, integrating the highly unstable HIV-1 virus. Boosted by the synthetic element that acted to stimulate recombination, mutant viruses were soon cultivated and then reproduced in mass. The result was a new microorganism that contained the attributes of both individual pathogens. Microbiologists sometimes refer to the process as a “chimera.” Sarghov's chimera combined the highly contagious lethality of smallpox with the immunitive destroying abilities of HIV-1 into one deadly supervirus.

Reproducing the mutant pathogen in large quantities from scratch was a time-consuming process despite the ferocity of the virus. Limited by Kang's schedule, Sarghov maximized the quantities as best he could, then freeze-dried the resulting mutant viruses much as the Japanese had years before. The crystallized supervirus was then mixed into the larger stores of freeze-dried smallpox virus from the aerial bombs, creating a diversified toxic compound. The entire batch was processed and refined a second time with boosters that would accelerate the rejuvenation process.

The now easily disseminated mixture was delicately packed into a series of lightweight tubular containers resembling the insert to a roll of paper towels, which were then stacked on a gurney and transported out of the lab. The packaged viral amalgamate was rolled upstairs to the satellite payload assembly bay, where a team of mechanical engineers took over, inserting the tubes into larger stainless steel cylinders that encapsulated a hydrogenation tank and fittings. The process was repeated under bright floodlights several times over until five of the large cylinders were assembled and placed into large shipping crates. A forklift arrived and loaded the crates onto the same white Kang panel truck that had delivered the ordnance, now making a return trip to the covered dock with a highly revitalized form of the weapon.

Sarghov grinned in delight, knowing a large payday was coming his way. His exhausted team of scientists had met the mark, verifying that the ancient smallpox virus still packed a lethal punch, then boosting its strength to murderous proportions. In less than forty-eight hours, Sarghov's biologists had processed the sixty-year-old virus into an entirely new killer, the likes of which the world had never seen before.