"Copy that. Standing by for recovery."

Their ascent time, aided by controlled positive buoyancy, was slightly quicker than their descent, and in ten minutes they could make out the glowing bright lights of the Sea Rover's moon pool. The faint outline of the ship appeared as the submersible drew closer and Dirk tweaked the Starfish's thrusters with what little remaining power he had to guide them to the center of the glowing ring of beacons. Dirk and Summer both let out a silent sigh of relief as they popped through the hole in the ship's bottom and bobbed to the surface of the pool. Morgan, Ryan, and a half-dozen crew members ringed the moon pool and watched intently as the Starfish was plucked from the water by a hoist and lowered gently to the deck. Dirk powered down the submersible as Summer opened the rear hatch and the two climbed out for a grateful breath of fresh air.

"We were afraid you got lost down there," Morgan smiled, then looked quizzically at the compressor handle that was still lodged in the grip of the left mechanical arm.

"That's our walking stick," Summer explained. "We took a walk where we ought not to have gone and had a little trouble getting back out."

"Well," Morgan asked, unable to refrain from the other concern on his mind, "what did you find?"

"Two cartons of eggs waiting to be delivered," Dirk said with a grin.

The Sea Rover's crew worked feverishly to repair the Starfish's mechanical arm and replenish the submersible's drained batteries while Dirk, Summer, and Morgan formulated a salvage strategy. Reviewing the video footage recorded by Snoopy, they calculated the exact position in the sub's hangar where the bomb crates were situated. Studying the video closely, they determined that the hangar's bulkhead walls were constructed in ten-foot sections.

"We should be able to cut through the original seams and lift out a ten-foot piece of bulkhead alongside the pontoons," Dirk said, tapping a frozen video image with a pencil. "The Starfish is eight feet wide, so that should give us enough room to maneuver close and remove the bombs with the mechanical arms."

"We're fortunate in that the currents around the wreck are only about 1 to 2 knots, so we'll be able to work unimpeded by the seas. It will still take us a couple of dives, though," Summer added.

"Ryan can alternate dives with you two," Morgan said. "Why don't you grab a few hours' rest while we turn the submersible around and prepare for some cutting?"

"You don't have to ask me twice," Summer yawned in reply.

Her sleep was short-lived, however, when Dirk woke her three hours later and they prepared for another dive. With a fresh set of batteries, the Starfish was released again and they made their slow descent to the submarine. The submersible hovered off the side of the hangar facing the blast hole, then slowly moved sideways toward the conning tower. At six-foot intervals, measured by the width between the two semiextended mechanical arms, Dirk would push the submersible forward and scratch a measuring mark on the encrusted surface with the left claw. At the tenth interval, or sixty feet from the torpedo gash, he scratched a rough X on the side of the hangar.

"This is where we cut," he said to Summer. "Let's see if we can find the seams."

Dragging one of the claws along the surface of the hangar, Dirk thrust the submersible sideways, leaving a long scratch along the wall. Moving back and closely examining the scarred section, which bled a dirty rust and gold, they quickly found an exposed vertical crease, representing the seam where two plates of the watertight hangar were welded together. As expected, another vertical seam was found ten feet away. While the Starfish hovered, Summer scraped away at the seams, using the claw like a knife, exposing the weld lines. When she was finished, a square outline in the shape of a garage door had been etched on the hangar.

"So much for the easy part," Dirk said. "You ready to cut?"

"Pop these on and let's get started," Summer replied, handing him a pair of welder's protective glasses while donning a pair herself. Taking control of both mechanical arms, she reached into a basket mounted on the front skid pad and with the right claw retrieved an electrode holder, connected via a reinforced line to a 230-amp DC power source inside the submersible. With the left claw, she attached an iron oxide nonexothermic cutting rod into the electrode holder and flicked on the power. Unlike a typical underwater cutting rod, which required a supply of oxygen to fuel the burn, the iron oxide rods simply required a power source to generate a superheated cutting arc. The less complicated design was more practical for welding at remote underwater depths. The electrical surge popped through to the end of the rod, igniting a brilliant arc of yellow light that flared from the tip, burning at several thousand degrees.

"Let's start at the top right corner and work down," Summer directed. Dirk maneuvered the submersible to the corner seam and held it stationary while Summer extended the right mechanical arm toward the hangar wall until the high-temperature flame flared against the surface. With the Starfish suspended against a light current, Summer applied the heat from the arc to cut through the sixty-year-old plating weld. Progress was measured in inches, as the swaying of the submersible undermined the cutting efficiency. But, gradually, a surgical line appeared on the hangar wall, which lengthened as Dirk slid the Starfish down the seam. After fifteen minutes, the electrode rod burned down to the stub. Summer shut off the electrical power and replaced the electrode, then powered it up again and continued cutting. The tedious process continued until a fine cut was made around the entire perimeter seam of the hangar wall. With just a few inches to go, Summer worked the free mechanical claw into an open gap and grabbed onto the panel. She then cut the last of the seam, then yanked with the secured claw. The cut section broke free and fell back onto the main deck of the submarine with a swirling cloud of sediment.

Dirk backed the Starfish away and waited for the water to clear before moving up to their newly created entry-way. As he maneuvered back in, he could see that they had measured perfectly. The pair of aircraft pontoons sat directly in front of the opening, the wooden crates sitting just below. He crept the submersible in as close as he could get, bumping the hangar ceiling a time or two before setting it down on the deck near a large protruding iron loop. Through the circular eyelet ran several cables, which secured the nearest pontoon to the deck while the submarine was in motion.

"Let's torch those cables, then figure out a way to slide that pontoon out of the way," he suggested.

Summer reignited the underwater torch and quickly cut through the first of three steel-braided cables. The corroded lines disintegrated quickly under the flame of the cutting rod and she soon ate through the second cable. She was surprised when the pontoon lurched slightly as the second cable fell away. When the third cable cut free, she was shocked to see the pontoon rise gracefully off the deck and float to the top of the twelve-foot hangar ceiling.

"It's still holding air," she blurted.

"Compliments to the engineers who built her. That will make our job a little easier," Dirk replied as he maneuvered the Starfish alongside the wooden crates. Summer grabbed control of both mechanical arms and gently danced their claws over one of the containers. Manipulating the metal fingers, she grasped the top lid on either side and lifted the arms up. The once durable hardwood lid rose like a damp pancake before it split in two as Summer tried to place it off to one side.

"So much for the boxed set," Dirk said drily.

Inside, however, they could see the bonanza. Six silver-porcelain aerial bombs sat secure and intact, aligned in a neat row. Dirk and Summer looked at each other with a profound sense of relief.

"Guess it's our lucky day after all," Summer said triumphantly. "They're still here, safe and sound."

Dirk carefully inched the Starfish closer to the crate as Summer prepared for the harrowing prospect of removing the fragile bombs from their disintegrating case.

"Be gentle, sis. Remember, they're made of glass," he cautioned.

Summer hardly needed the warning as she manipulated the mechanical arms with great caution. Working with the nearest bomb, she gently slid the canister away from the others, then gingerly worked the claws underneath either end. Moving with patient deliberation, she lifted the bomb up and away, then set it into a padded mesh box that had been hastily attached to the front of the submersible. Confident that the canister was stable, she moved the arms back and retrieved the next bomb in the crate. Lifting and laying it next to the first snugly in the box, she grasped its tail fin with one claw, then snatched the fin of the first bomb with the other claw and locked both arms in place.

"Bombardier to pilot. Ready for takeoff," she said. Fearful of damaging dangerous cargo, two bombs would be all that the Starfish would safely transport at a time.

The submersible made a slow ascent to the surface, where the bombs were carefully unloaded and stored in a makeshift container that the ship's carpenter had hurriedly constructed.

"Two down, ten to go," Dirk reported to Morgan and Ryan. "Both crates are readily accessible with the mechanical arms, so, if the second batch is intact, we should be able to recover all twelve canisters."

"The weather is holding," Morgan replied. "If we work through the night at the same pace, we should have the recovery operation complete by morning."

"I'm all for that," he replied with a grin. "With all these dives, I'm beginning to feel like a yo-yo."

Less than a mile away, Tongju peered at the NUMA vessel through a pair of high-powered marine binoculars. For nearly forty minutes, Kang's personal executioner studied the Sea Rover, making careful mental notes on passageways, stairwells, hatches, and other elements of the ship that he could detect in the distance. At last satisfied with his observations, the bald assassin entered the Baekje's bridge and walked into a small side anteroom. A pug-faced man with short-cropped hair sat in a wooden chair intently studying a set of ship plans. He stiffened slightly as Tongju entered the room.

"Sir, the assault team has studied the plans to the NUMA research vessel that was relayed by the Kang Shipping corporate office. We have formulated an assault and seizure strategy and are prepared to commence at your direction." Ki-Ri Kim spoke in a clipped, blunt tone that could be expected from a former special operations commando of the Korean People's Army.

"From the bits of underwater communication that we have been able to intercept, it appears that they have located the weapons and are in the process of retrieving them from the seabed," Tongju said in a quiet voice. "I have notified the captain that we will be launching the operation tonight."

A broad grin fell over the commando's face before he uttered the single word "Excellent."

"As we formulated," Tongju continued, "I will lead Team A to capture the starboard and bow sections and you will lead Team B to take the port and stern sections. Have the men assembled for a final briefing at 01:00. We will commence the strike at 02:00."

"My men will be ready. They are curious to know, however, if we will be expecting any resistance?"

Tongju snarled a confident reply. "None whatsoever."

Shortly after midnight, the Starfish bobbed to the surface of the moon pool, its bright orange frame reflecting golden rays through the water from the blazing underwater lights. Dirk and Summer stood watching on the deck as the submersible was hoisted from the water and parked gently on a platform. A pair of technicians working the graveyard shift rolled a portable hoist to the submersible's front skids and began the delicate process of removing the two porcelain bombs wedged into the mesh basket.

Dirk walked around and helped open the Starfish's rear entry hatch and lent a hand as Ryan and an engineer named Mike Farley corkscrewed their way out of the cramped compartment.

"Nice work, Tim. That makes a total of eight. I take it you accessed the second case without any problems?" Dirk asked.

"Piece of cake. We cut the cables on the second pontoon and she floated out of the way like the first. Mike deserves the credit, though. He operates those mechanical arms like a surgeon."

A likable, soft-spoken man who smiled constantly, Farley grinned modestly. "The second crate fell apart like it was made of mashed potatoes. But all six bombs were lying there intact. We snatched the first two, and the remaining four are readily accessible. Be mindful of the current, though, it seems to have picked up since our last dive."

"Thanks, Mike, will do."

Dirk proceeded to help the technician crew change out the batteries on the Starfish, then methodically worked through the predive checklist, ensuring that all onboard systems were operating properly. Shortly after 1 A. M., he and Summer squeezed back into the submersible and were released into the moon pool for another dive to the I-411. They relaxed in their slow descent, saying little to each other. The around-the-clock, repetitive dives were beginning to take their toll, casting a veil of fatigue over them. But Dirk was enlivened by the fact they were recovering the bombs intact and would soon find out what biological agent they contained.

Summer let out a wide yawn. "Wish I was back in my bunk snoozing like the rest of the crew," she murmured. "We'll have the last two dives complete before everyone even wakes up."

"Look on the bright side," Dirk smiled. "We'll be first in line for breakfast."

Chapter 26

They came out of the darkness like muted demons, gliding across the water in silence. Black-clad men in black rubber boats dashing across a blackened sea. Tongju led the assault from the first boat, accompanied by five gritty-looking and heavily armed commandos, while Kim followed behind in a second boat with a similar contingency. Together they raced toward the Sea Rover in rubber Zodiacs propelled by high-power electric motors, beefed-up versions of the trolling motors used by lake fishermen to cruise quietly. Only, these boats were capable of running at 30 knots, emitting just a barely detectable hum. Running in the dead of night, the only audible evidence of their presence were the waves smacking against their semirigid hulls.

On board the Sea Rover, the helmsman on watch glanced at a sweeping radarscope on the bridge, observing the large smudge of a ship off the starboard bow. The large cable ship that had stood a mile off the Sea Rover since they arrived on-site was still sitting parked in the same position. He watched as a pair of faint white smudges appeared against the screen's green background periodically, positioned somewhere between the two ships. Too faint for a vessel this far from shore, he reckoned. More likely some cresting waves registering on the equipment.

The two rubberized cresting waves throttled back as they approached within a hundred meters of the NUMA ship, creeping the remaining distance at a slow crawl. Tongju brought his boat alongside the starboard flank of the Sea Rover and waited momentarily while Kim's craft skirted around the ship's stern and eased up on the port side. In unseen unison, a pair of rubber-coated grappling hooks sailed up from the sea on either side of the ship, catching secure grips around the Sea Rover's lower-deck railing. Narrow rope ladders trailing off the grappling hooks provided the means of entry. In orderly unison, the commandos quickly scrambled up the swaying lines.

On the port deck, a sleepless marine biologist was taking in the night sky when he heard something strike the ship. A pronged hook materialized around the railing just a few feet away. Curious, he bent over the side to look down the trailing rope just as a black-capped head emerged from the other side. In mutual surprise, the two men banged heads together with a crack. The startled scientist fell back, groping for words to cry out, but, in an instant, the commando was on deck, brandishing an assault rifle. The rifle stock caught the unfortunate biologist across the jawbone and the man crumpled in an unconscious heap.

The two commando teams assembled independently, then moved forward along the deck, intent on subduing the bridge and radio room first before any calls for help could be sent. Silently creeping through the sleeping ship, their 2 A. M. raid found the vessel ghostly quiet.

On the bridge, the Sea Rover's helmsman and second officer were sipping coffee while discussing college football. Without warning, Tongju and two of his men burst through the starboard wing door, aiming their weapons at the men's faces.

"Down on the deck!" Tongju yelled in clear English. The second officer quickly dropped to his knees, but the helmsman panicked. Dropping his coffee, he bolted for the port wing in a futile attempt at escape. Before Tongju or his men could cut the man down, one of Kim's commandos appeared in the doorway, striking the man in the chest with his assault rifle, then kicking him in the groin for good measure. The helmsman withered to the deck, groaning in agony.

Scanning the bridge, Tongju saw that the adjacent communications bay was empty and nodded at one of the commandos to stand guard over the equipment. He then walked toward the door to the captain's cabin situated off the back of the bridge. With a silent nod, he ordered one of his men to charge in.

Morgan was asleep in his bunk when the commando burst into his cabin, flicked on the light, and leveled his AK-74 assault rifle at the captain's head. The salty captain awoke immediately and sprang out of bed clad in T-shirt and boxers, bullying toward the man with the gun.

"What's this all about?" he barked, storming his way toward the bridge. The startled commando hesitated in the doorway as the burly captain bore toward him. With a nearly invisible flick of his arm, Morgan knocked the muzzle of the firearm away from his chest and toward the ceiling, then, with his free right hand, shoved the commando out the door with the strength of a barreling freight train. The shocked commando went sprawling across the bridge, falling on his backside and sliding with a thud into the forward bulkhead.

The commando was still sliding across the deck when Tongju leveled his Glock 22 semiautomatic pistol and fired a single shot at Morgan. The .40 caliber slug ripped into and through Morgan's left thigh, throwing a spray of blood onto the wall behind him. Morgan cursed as he grabbed his leg before crumpling to the deck.

"This is a United States government vessel," he hissed defiantly.

"It is my ship now," Tongju replied coolly, "and any more insolence from you, Captain, and I shall place the next bullet into your skull." To emphasize his words, he stepped forward and flung his right leg toward the kneeling captain, the heel of his black boot striking Morgan high on the cheekbone and sending him sprawling flat to the deck. The proud captain slowly gathered himself back to his knees and stared quietly at his captor, eyes burning with hatred.

Unable to warn his fellow shipmates, Morgan could only watch helplessly as the small team of intruders took over his ship. Little resistance was met elsewhere on the vessel as the commandos rounded up the sleeping crew at gunpoint. Only in the engine room did a brawny machinist's mate surprise one of the commandos, crushing a pipe wrench through his skull. The machinist was quickly subdued by gunshots from another assailant, but the wounds would not prove lethal. Sporadic gunfire began to resonate throughout the ship as the commando teams worked through the Sea Rover. In less than twenty minutes, the assault team had achieved their objective and taken control of the 350-foot research vessel.

Tim Ryan and Mike Farley were in the undersea operations control room monitoring the current dive of the Starfish when a pair of commandos burst in on them. Ryan could only mutter a "What the hell?" over the underwater communications system before he was yanked away from the control station at gunpoint with Farley in tow.

Like sheep led to the slaughterhouse, the shipboard crew was herded in groups of three and four to the rear deck of the Sea Rover. Astern of the moon pool was a recessed cargo hold where the submersible and other equipment was stored when not in use. Under Kim's direction, the hold's heavy steel hatch cover was winched off with one of the Sea Rover's cranes. The frightened captives were then forced down a steel ladder into the dark, cavernous bay.

Tongju approached Kim on the rear deck with a bound and limping Morgan in tow, another commando prodding the captain forward with the barrel of his assault rifle.

"Report?" Tongju asked bluntly.

"All objectives achieved," Kim reported proudly. "One casualty in the engine room, Ta-kong, but all ship's compartments are now secure. We've transferred all the captives to the stern hold. Jin-chul reports that eight units of ordnance have been located intact in the ship's auxiliary laboratory," he added, nodding toward a wiry commando standing next to a prefabricated structure across the deck. "The submersible is currently deployed in recovery of additional ordnance."

"Very well," Tongju replied with a rare smile that revealed a set of heavily yellowed teeth. "Contact the Baekje. Tell her to tie up alongside and prepare for transfer of the ordnance."

"You won't get far," Morgan growled, spitting out a mouthful of blood as he spoke.

"But, Captain," Tongju replied with an evil smirk, "we already have."

A thousand feet beneath the Sea Rover, Summer was carefully placing the tenth aerial bomb into the makeshift holding tray alongside the ninth canister she had plucked from the bottom just moments before. She again secured both bombs with the mechanical arms, then turned to Dirk when she was finished.

"Ten down, two to go. You may take us home now, Jeeves."

"Yes, m'lady," he replied in a Cockney accent, then he actuated the submersible's thrusters and backed out of the tight confines of the hangar. As they cleared the deck of the I-411, Summer radioed up to the Sea Rover's control room.

"Sea Rover, this is Starfish. Have secured the next batch and are preparing to ascend with the goods, over."

The call was returned with silence. She tried calling several more times as they started their ascent but again received no response from the surface.

"Ryan must be asleep at the wheel," Dirk said.

"Can't blame him," Summer replied while suppressing a yawn. "It is two-thirty in the morning."

"I just hope the guy on the crane is awake," he smirked.

As they neared the surface, they spotted the familiar glow of the moon pool lights and maneuvered the Starfish into the center of the ring, where they bobbed gently to the surface. Dirk and Summer paid scant attention to the shadowy figures on the deck as the clank of the main hoist was dropped and attached to the submersible and they began to power down its electronic equipment. It was only when they were jerked roughly out of the water and swung wildly to the stern deck, nearly colliding with the port bulkhead, that they realized something was amiss.

"Who the hell's working the crane?" Summer cursed as they were set down harshly on the deck. "Don't they know we've got two bombs aboard?"

"It sure ain't the Welcome Wagon," Dirk said drily as he stared out of the bubble window.

Directly in front of them, an Asian man in a black paramilitary outfit stood holding an automatic pistol to the stomach of Captain Morgan. Dirk looked beyond the man's long Fu Manchu mustache and crooked yellow teeth splayed in an evil grin and focused on the eyes. They were cold, black eyes that portrayed a menacing air of utter indifference. They were, Dirk knew, the eyes of an experienced killer.

Summer gasped at the sight of Morgan. A makeshift bandage was wrapped about his left thigh but failed to cover the rivulets of dried blood that were splattered down his leg. His cheekbone was bruised and swollen to the size of a grapefruit, and his eye had already begun to blacken. More dried blood ran from his mouth and onto his shirt. Yet the crusty captain stood unflinching, his lack of fear so prominent that Summer failed to notice he was still wearing a pair of boxer shorts.

A pair of commandos suddenly jumped in front of the Starfish's acrylic bubble, waving their AK-74s about wildly in a show for Dirk and Summer to exit the submersible. The gun muzzles were quickly poked in their faces as they climbed out of the submersible and were marched over to Morgan and Tongju.

"Mr. Pitt," Tongju said in a low voice. "Good of you to join us."

"I don't believe I've had the pleasure of your acquaintance," Dirk replied sarcastically.

"A humble servant of the Japanese Red Army whose name is unimportant," Tongju replied with feigned graciousness, bowing his head slightly.

"I didn't realize there were still any of you fruitcakes left outside of jail."

Tongju just held his grin, not moving a facial muscle. "You and your sister have fifteen minutes to replenish the submersible's batteries and prepare to retrieve the final two ordnance," he said calmly.

"They are both damaged and in pieces," Dirk lied, his mind racing to compute a plan of action.

Tongju calmly raised the Glock pistol aimed at Morgan's side and held the muzzle to the captain's right temple. "You have fourteen minutes, at which time I shall kill your captain. Then I will kill your sister. And then I will kill you," he said coldly, his lips parting in a self-satisfying grin.

Dirk could feel the blood racing through his veins as he glared at the madman in anger. Then the delicate touch of Summer's hand on his shoulder dispelled any thoughts of rash action.

"Come on, Dirk, we haven't much time," she said, guiding him to a wheeled cart that had been rolled out with replacement batteries for the submersible. Morgan looked at Dirk and nodded in concurrence. Fighting the feeling of total helplessness, he reluctantly began transferring the batteries to the Starfish, all the while keeping one eye glued to the commando leader.

As they prepped the submersible for a last dive, the final remnants of the ship's crew were marched by and forced into the rear hold at gunpoint. Summer grimly noted the frightened look on two lab analysts as they were prodded roughly down the hatchway.

Working quickly, Dirk and Summer replaced the submersible's power supply in just over twelve minutes. There would be no time for the standard postoperation and predive system checks normally performed before the submersible was returned to the water. They would have to hope the Starfish was operational for one more dive.

Tongju walked over in a measured clip and glared up at the two Americans, who both towered over him.

"You will promptly retrieve the remaining ordnance and return to the vessel without any nonsense. You have ninety minutes to complete your dive successfully or there will be severe consequences."

"If I were you, I think I'd be worrying about the consequences from our military forces for pirating a government ship," Summer spat angrily.

"There will be no consequences," Tongju replied, smiling thinly, "for a ship that no longer exists."

Before Summer could respond, Tongju spun on his heels and walked away, replaced by two commandos who stepped forward with their assault rifles drawn and aimed.

"Come on, sister," Dirk muttered. "There's no use arguing with a psychopath."

Dirk and Summer threaded themselves back into the Starfish, then were roughly jostled into the air by the crane operator. As they were prepared to be let go, Dirk watched through the acrylic bubble as Morgan was roughly manhandled to the stern hold and forcefully pitched down into the container. A commando on a stern deck crane hoisted up the massive steel hatch and positioned it over the rear hold before lowering it in place. Secured over the hold, the hatch imprisoned the entire ship's crew in darkness below.

With a violent splash, the Starfish was crudely dropped into the moon pool a second later and released from the ship's cable.

"He means to sink the Sea Rover," Dirk said to Summer as they began their slow descent to the bottom.

"With the entire crew locked in the hold?" she asked, shaking her head in disbelief.

"I think so," he said somberly. "Unfortunately, there's not much we can do in the way of calling for help."

"Our underwater communication system won't do any good, and any surface calls we might try wouldn't have the range to reach anybody in this region except a few Chinese fishermen."

"Or the cable ship that is evidently supporting these characters," he added, shaking his head.

"Our intelligence heads apparently underestimated this Japanese Red Army," Summer said. "Those guys didn't look like a rogue band of ideological extremists with dynamite strapped to their backs."

"No, it's apparent they are well-trained military professionals. Whoever's running their operation is obviously skilled and well funded."

"I wonder what they intend to do with the bombs?"

"An attack in Japan would figure. But there's obviously more to this Japanese Red Army than meets the eye, so I wouldn't want to wager on what their intent is."

"I guess we can't worry about that for now. We've got to figure out a way to save the crew."

"I counted eight commandos, and there was no doubt a few more on the bridge and elsewhere on the ship. Too many to overpower with a couple of screwdrivers," Dirk said, examining the contents of a small toolbox mounted behind his seat.

"We'll need to quietly get some of the crewmen out of the hold to help us. If we had enough people, maybe we could overpower them."

"I don't relish the thought of going unarmed against an AK-74, but there might be a chance in numbers. Getting the lid off that storage hold is the problem. I'd need a couple of uninterrupted minutes on the stern crane, but I don't think our friends in black would be too obliging."

"There must be another way out of that hold," Summer wondered.

"No, unfortunately, there isn't. I'm sure it matches the Deep Endeavor, where it was designed strictly as a storage hold and is blocked off from any entry amidships by the moon pool."

"I thought Ryan had run a power cable down there once from someplace other than the open hatch cover."

Dirk thought hard for a moment, trying to jog his memory. After a long minute, a light finally clicked on.

"You're right. There's a small venting hatch that opens on the bulkhead just aft of the moon pool. It's really more of an air vent, designed to release the buildup of noxious gases if chemicals are stored in the hold. I'm pretty sure a man could squeeze through it. The problem for Morgan and the crew is that it's sealed and locked from the outside."

"We've got to figure out a way to unlock it," Summer willed.

Together, they worked through several contingency plans, finally settling on an order of attack based on their opportunities once aboard the Sea Rover. It would take timing, skill, and a dose of daring to pull off. But mostly it would take luck.

Chapter 27

Dirk and Summer fell silent as their minds conjured up gruesome images of the Sea Rover sinking with all hands, their friends, and coworkers trapped in the airtight hold. Then the specter of the I-411 suddenly rose up in the blackness before them and they washed the images from their minds. With the clock ticking, they went about their business of retrieving the final two canisters of death.

Dirk maneuvered the submersible into the hangar as before, setting the Starfish down within easy reach of the remaining ordnance. As Summer began manipulating the mechanical arms by sight through the acrylic bubble, Dirk observed the video camera feed on the monitor, which recorded every moment of the recovery. He watched while Summer gently lifted the first canister and was placing it in the recovery basket when he suddenly powered up Snoopy and grabbed the remote vehicle's controls. In an instant, he nudged the ROV out of its cradle just a few inches, then spun the tiny machine around until its nose was pressed against the submersible's skid plates and applied full thrusting power. The tiny ROV went nowhere, but its water jets stirred up a thick cloud of muck and sediment in front of the Starfish. In a flash, the water visibility went to zero amid a cloud of brown.

"What are you doing?" Summer demanded, freezing the mechanical arm controls.

"You'll see," he said, although there was nothing to see at all. After reaching over and fidgeting with Summer's controls for a moment, he then powered down the ROV's thruster. It took two minutes for the seawater to clear enough that Summer could proceed with seizing the final canister.

"You want to try that trick again?" she asked after depositing the bomb into the basket.

"Why not?" he replied, hitting the ROV thruster again and stirring up another muddy cloud for the camera.

Once the water cleared and both canisters were pinned into the basket, Dirk edged the submersible away from the submarine and they began their slow ascent. Halfway to the surface, they traded positions, squirming over one another so that Summer controlled the submersible's movements while Dirk manned the controls of both mechanical arms.

"Okay, take us on up," Dirk instructed. "As soon as they drop us onto the deck, I'll need you to create a diversion." While he spoke, he worked the left mechanical arm away from its locked position on the weapons basket and flexed it straight out to its full extension so that it poked out from the Starfish like a lance.

Summer trusted her brother's instincts implicitly, and had little time to argue anyway. The ringed lights of the moon pool soon came into view. Summer steered the Starfish to the center of the opening, then they broke surface with a rush of bubbles and foaming seawater. A metallic clank was heard as the lifting hook was attached to the submersible and the diminutive vessel was yanked from the water. Summer peered out at Tongju and a half-dozen other commandos as the submersible swung through the air. Her brother, she noted, was intently watching their forward progress while gently adjusting the mechanical arm's position. When they were crudely dropped to the deck by the inexperienced crane operator, she saw Dirk jam the arm controls all the way forward. The metal claw bounced forward along the deck as they stopped, coming to a halt near the rear bulkhead. Four feet off to the side was the small, sealed venting hatch that led to the storage hold.

"Our boy on the crane came through," Dirk muttered. "We're in the ballpark."

"I guess it's showtime," Summer replied with a nervous look.

Moving quickly, she stripped out of her NUMA jumpsuit, revealing a lean body that was clad in a skimpy two-piece bathing suit covered by a large T-shirt. Reaching under the shirt, she unhooked her bathing top and let it fall to the floor, then grabbed the loose base of her T-shirt and tied a knot with the material just above her navel. The tightened shirt clearly revealed the shapely contour of her full breasts and midriff. Dirk helped open the escape hatch, then quickly returned to the manipulator arm controls as Summer burst out of the submersible.

Tongju was busy talking to the crane operator with his back toward the submersible when Summer crawled out. Seeing him turned away, she hurriedly approached the nearest commando, who stood glaring at her exposed features with a leer. His leer turned to shock as Summer shouted at the top of her lungs, "Get your hands off me, creep!"

Her words were followed by an open-hand slap to the man's face that nearly sent him sprawling. If her bikini and tight shirt hadn't already attracted everyone's attention, then her decking one of their fellow commandos suddenly brought every eye on the ship upon her.

Every eye except Dirk's. Capitalizing on the commotion, he powered the mechanical arm to its full lateral reach, just barely stretching its extended claw to the bulkhead vent hatch. Grabbing the lockdown handle with the claw, he nudged it to the unlocked position and pulled on it just a hair, to ensure the hatch would open. Quickly letting go, he eased the arm back alongside the Starfish, then powered it down. Scampering out the submersible's entry hatch, he stood casually in back of the submersible as if he'd been there all along.

"What is this all about?" Tongju hissed as he approached Summer, his Glock pistol drawn and aimed at her midsection.

"This pervert tried to assault me," Summer screeched, jerking a thumb toward the slack-jawed commando. Tongju let fly a stream of obscenities until the confounded gunman shrank like a wilting violet. The commando leader then turned back to Summer and Dirk, who now stood behind his sister.

"You two, back in the submersible," he commanded in English, the muzzle of his Glock pointing the way.

"Jeez, a guy can't even stretch his legs around here," Dirk complained as if it were his biggest concern at the moment. As they made their way back into the submersible, they noticed for the first time that the Japanese cable-laying ship was heaving to alongside the Sea Rover. Though little longer than the NUMA vessel, the Japanese ship had a much higher superstructure and seemed to tower over the Sea Rover. The Baekje was hardly alongside a minute before a huge crane on her stern deck swung over the Sea Rover's side rail trailing a cable with an empty pallet that spun lazily in the breeze. From inside the submersible, they watched as the pallet was dropped to the deck beside them. A trio of black-clad commandos then rolled several storage containers out of the Sea Rover's auxiliary laboratory and secured them to the pallet. Each container, they knew, held one of the biological bombs encased in a cushioned sheath.

The Baekje's crane operator quickly transferred the pallet back and forth several times in the predawn darkness until all of the bomb containers were aboard the Japanese ship. The empty pallet then became a bus, ferrying the commandos to the ship a handful at a time. From belowdecks, a black-clad gunman appeared and conversed briefly with Tongju. Dirk noticed Tongju break into a thin smile, then pointed toward the submersible and barked out an order. The cable hook was released from the pallet and attached to the Starfish.

"Guess we're changing rides," Dirk commented when the cable was pulled taut.

This time the submersible was hoisted smoothly into the air. Dirk rapidly jabbed the mechanical arm out and rapped three times on the rear bulkhead with the claw before being pulled up and off the deck. He and Summer watched the Sea Rover fall away beneath them as they were carried over the water and deposited on a high stern deck of the Baekje. Climbing out of the submersible, they were welcomed by a pair of armed thugs, who prodded them toward the ship's railing with their guns.

"I've had about enough of the assault rifle hospitality," Dirk muttered.

"I bet they feel naked when they don't have a gun in their hands," Summer replied.

From their vantage point, they watched as the remaining commandos were ferried over on the pallet, Tongju riding with the last batch.

"Dirk, is it my eyes or is the Sea Rover sitting lower in the water?" Summer asked with alarm in her voice.

"You're right," he agreed, studying the ship. "They must have opened the sea cocks. She's listing a little to starboard as well."

The pallet carrying Tongju swung to the deck and the commando leader jumped off, landing lightly on his feet. He immediately approached the two captives.

"I suggest you say good-bye to your ship," he said without feeling.

"The crew is trapped in the hold, you murderous swine!" Summer cried out.

Charged by emotion, she took a lunging step toward Tongju in anger. The trained killer reacted instinctively, launching a vicious right kick to Summer's midsection, sending her sprawling backward. But his trained reflexes were not swift enough to ward off the unexpected quickness of Dirk, who sprang forward and threw a solid left hook just as Tongju regained his footing. The crushing blow landed on Tongju's right temple, sending him dropping to one knee, where he teetered on the verge of blacking out. The nearby gunmen immediately jumped on Dirk, one of them ramming an assault rifle into his stomach as two others held back his arms.

Tongju gradually regained his senses and rose to his feet, then stepped purposely over to Dirk. Thrusting his face close to Dirk's chin, he spoke in a calm voice dripping with menace.

"I shall enjoy watching you die in the manner of your shipmates," he said, then brusquely turned and walked away.

The remaining commandos roughly herded Dirk and Summer down a side stairwell and along a narrow corridor before shoving them into a small cabin berth. The cabin door was slammed shut behind them and locked from the outside, where two men remained on guard.

Dirk and Summer quickly shook off the pain from their blows. Staggering past two twin beds wedged into the tiny cabin, they pressed their faces against a small porthole on the outside bulkhead.

"She's lower in the water," Summer observed with dread in her voice.

Through the porthole, they could see the Sea Rover still floating alongside the Baekje, the seawater creeping inexorably closer to the tops of her gunwales. No sign of life appeared on the decks, and the big research vessel had all the appearance of a listing ghost ship. Dirk and Summer searched for signs of movement aft of the moon pool but saw nothing.

"They've either relocked the vent hatch or Morgan can't get to it," Dirk cursed.

"Or he doesn't know it exists," Summer whispered.

Beneath their feet, they heard then felt an increased rumbling as the Baekje's engines were engaged and the big cable ship slowly pulled away from the sinking NUMA vessel. The predawn light had yet to edge over the black night sky and it took just a few minutes before the sight of the Sea Rover fell away into a fuzzy grouping of twinkling lights.

Dirk and Summer strained to watch the NUMA ship as the Baekje increased speed and distance. The twinkling lights eventually dissolved beneath the horizon until they could see nothing more of their ship and comrades.

Chapter 28

"Sir, we seem to have lost all contact with the Sea Rover."

Rudi Gunn looked up slowly from his desk. His bespectacled blue eyes bore into the NUMA field support analyst standing nervously before him.

"How long ago?" Gunn probed.

"Our communications link fell nonresponsive a little over three hours ago. We continued to receive a digital GPS position update, which showed they were still fixed on site in the East China Sea. That signal was lost approximately twenty minutes ago."

"Did they issue a distress call?"

"No, sir, none that we received." Despite ten years of service with the agency, the analyst displayed obvious discomfort at being the bearer of bad news to senior management.

"What about the Navy vessel? They were assigned an escort."

"Sir, the Navy rescinded their frigate escort before Sea Rover left port in Osaka due to an exercise commitment with the Taiwanese Navy."

"That's just great," Gunn exclaimed in frustration.

"Sir, we've requested satellite imagery from the National Reconnaissance Office. We should have something within the hour."

"I want search and rescue craft in the air now," Gunn barked. "Contact the Air Force and Navy. See who's got the closest resources and get them moving. Quick!"

"Yes, sir," the young man replied, nearly jumping out of Gunn's office.

Gunn mulled over the situation. NUMA research ships had the latest in satellite communications equipment. They wouldn't just disappear without warning. And the Sea Rover had one of the most experienced and competent crews in the NUMA fleet. Dirk must be right, he feared. There must be a powerful operation that was pursuing the biological bombs on board the I-411.

With a foreboding sense of dread, Gunn picked up his telephone and buzzed his secretary.

"Darla, get me the vice president."

Captain Robert Morgan was not a man to go down easy. Shaking off his shattered femur and broken cheekbone as if they were a sprain and a scratch, he quickly took order of his shaken crew after being unceremoniously tossed into the confined storage hold. Seconds after his arrival, the heavy steel hatch cover was slammed down above them, the crash of the massive lid thrusting the compartment into complete darkness. Frightened whispers echoed off the steel walls while the dank air hung thick with the odor of diesel fuel.

"Don't panic," Morgan bellowed in response to the murmurs. "Ryan, are you in here?"

"Over here," Ryan's voice rang back from a corner.

"There should be a spare lightweight ROV secured in the rear. Find some batteries and see if you can't get the lights rigged," he ordered.

A dim light suddenly glowed in the back of the hold, the narrow beam of a portable flashlight clasped in the paw of the Sea Rover's chief engineer.

"We'll get it done, Cap'n," growled the Irish-tinged voice of the engineer, a red-haired salt named McIntosh.

Ryan and McIntosh located the spare ROV in a storage cradle, and further rummaging under the faint light produced a stockpile of battery packs. Ryan proceeded to cut one end of the ROV's power cable and spliced several internal lines to the battery pack terminals. Once he configured a complete circuit, the ROV's bright xenon lights burst on in a blinding shower of blue-white luminescence. Several crew members standing near the ROV's lights squinted their eyes shut tight at the sudden surge of light in the blackened hold. Under the bath of light, Morgan was able to examine his shipboard crew and the onboard team of scientists, which he noted were huddled in small groups throughout the hold. A mix of confusion and fear was reflected in the faces of most of the men and women.

"Nice work, Ryan. McIntosh, move those lights across the hold, please. Now, then, is anybody hurt?" the captain said, ignoring his own severe injuries.

A quick tally revealed a score of cuts, bumps, and bruises. But aside from the wounded machinist and a broken leg suffered by a geologist when he fell into the hold, there were no other serious injuries.

"We're going to get out of this," Morgan lectured confidently. "These goons just want the items we've been salvaging off the Japanese submarine. Chances are, they'll let us out of here just as soon as they've smuggled the materials off to their ship," he said, internally doubting his own words. "But, just in case, we'll figure out a way to pop the lid on our own. We've certainly got plenty of manpower to do it with. McIntosh, swing that light around again, let's see what we've got to work with around here."

McIntosh and Ryan picked up the portable ROV and walked it toward the center of the hold, then slowly turned it in a 360-degree circle, the bright beams spraying an arc of light over the people and objects in its path. As a storeroom for the Starfish, the hold resembled a large electronic parts bin. Coils of cabling hung from the bulkheads, while spare electronic components were stored in multiple cabinets mounted on the aft wall. Racks of test equipment lined one side of the hold, while at the forward end of the bay a sixteen-foot Zodiac inflatable boat sat on a wooden cradle. Off to one corner, a half-dozen fifty-five-gallon drums of gasoline were wedged alongside two spare outboard motors. Ryan held the light shining on the drums for several minutes, illuminating a series of iron rungs that ran up the bulkhead and under an overhang in back of the drums.

"Captain, there's a venting hatch located up those rungs that opens up onto the aft moon pool deck," Ryan said. "It locks from the deck side, but there's a chance it may have been left open."

"One of you men there," Morgan barked at a trio of scientists huddled near the drums. "Climb up that ladder and see if the hatch is unlocked."

A barefoot oceanographer clad in blue pajamas jumped at the captain's request and scampered up the metal rungs, disappearing into a narrow vent shaft that was carved through the overhang. A few moments later, he climbed back into view, his feet now sensitive to the crude ladder steps.

"It's locked solid, Captain," he said with disappointment.

McIntosh suddenly piped up from the center of the hold.

"Cap'n, I think we can construct a couple of spars from the wooden supports underneath that Zodiac," he said, pointing an arm toward the rubber boat. "With six or eight men on each, we ought to be able to prod up a corner of the main hatch."

"Poke it off with a couple of big chopsticks, eh? That, indeed, might work. Go to it, McIntosh. You men over there, help get that Zodiac off its stand," he growled at a party assembled near the boat.

Limping over, he grabbed hold of the boat's bow and helped muscle it off the wooden stands and onto the deck. Several men assisted McIntosh in dissecting the support cradle and laying out its separate pieces while the ship's carpenter assessed how to reassemble the material into several spars.

While they worked, they could hear the muffled voices of the commandos on deck and the whirring and clanking of the Baekje's crane as it loaded and hoisted away the I-411's ordnance. At one point, the faint echo of machine-gun fire was heard emanating from a distant part of the ship. A short time later, Morgan detected the sound of the Starfish being hoisted out of the moon pool and dropped to the deck, followed by the shrieking cry of a woman's voice he knew to be Summer's. The activity above them grew quieter after some banging on the bulkhead above their heads. Eventually, the humming of the cranes and the sporadic voices fell silent. As it became evident that the commandos had left the ship, Morgan quietly wondered about the fate of Dirk and Summer. His thoughts were suddenly jarred by the rumble of the Baekje's engines vibrating through the hold as the cable ship pulled away from Sea Rover.

"How are we coming along, McIntosh?" he asked loudly to mask the sound of abandonment, although he could clearly see the progress in front of him.

"We've two spars together and are close to completing a third," the chief engineer grunted. At his feet were three uneven-looking wooden poles, roughly ten feet in length. Each was constructed of three separate pieces of timber, crudely indented at either end with a hammer and screwdriver and fitted together in a notched tongue-and-groove fashion. Metal sheeting cannibalized from a test rack was hammered around the joints for stability and finished off in a wrapped layer of the handyman's favored duct tape.

As McIntosh sifted through the remaining pieces of scrap wood, a sudden rushing noise drifted up from the bowels of the ship. In a few minutes, the sound doubled in intensity, resembling the rumbling waters of a turbulent stream. McIntosh stood slowly and addressed the captain in a somber, matter-of-fact voice.

"Sir, they've opened the sea cocks. They mean to sink her."

Several unseen voices gasped in horror at McIntosh's words and numerous cries of "No!" echoed through the hold. Morgan ignored them all.

"Looks like we'll have to make do with three spars," the captain replied calmly. "I need seven men on each pole. Let's get them up now."

A rush of men moved forward and grabbed the spars as the first drops of seawater began trickling into the hold through a half-dozen small bilge drains mounted flush on the hold's deck. Within minutes, they were sloshing around in ankle-deep water as the men positioned the ends of the spars against the forward corner of the hatch, next to the entry ladder. On the top step, a man stood with a two-foot-high triangular block of timber, his job to insert it under the open hatch lid and keep it wedged open.

"Ready ... lift!" Morgan shouted.

In unison, the three teams of men pressed the tips of their spars against the hatch cover eight feet over their heads and pushed up with all their might. To everyone's surprise, the hatch cover burst open several feet, letting in a spray of muted light from the deck lights, before its weight shifted and the heavy cover slammed back down.

The forlorn man at the top of the ladder froze an instant before trying to insert the block wedge and was too late. The hatch crashed down about his head as he tried to shove the wedge into the open gap, the lip nearly taking off the fingers of his right hand. The shaken man took a deep breath, then nodded at Morgan that he was okay to try again.

"All right, let's give it another try," Morgan commanded as water now swirled about his knees, the salt water stinging his open leg wound. "One ... two ... three!"

A loud crack ripped through the hold as the top joint on one of the spars broke clean in two, the loose section falling into the water with a splash. McIntosh waded over and examined the damaged end piece, finding the grooved joint had broken completely off.

"Not good, sir," he reported. "Will take some time to repair."

"Do what you can," Morgan barked. "Let's continue with two spars ... Heave!"

The remaining men shoved at their spars but it was a lost cause. There was no way of getting enough manpower behind the two spars to apply enough leverage. Additional men crowded in to try and help, but there was simply not enough room to put more hands on the timbers and push. Twice the men strained with the additional force and were able to pry the hatch open a few inches, but it was not nearly enough to block it so that a man could escape. The surging seawater was now up to Morgan's waist and he could see in the faces of the crew that the terror of drowning was about to incite panic in the hold.

"One more try, men," he urged on while somewhere in the back of his own mind he morbidly calculated the estimated duration it took for a man to drown.

With adrenaline pumping, the men jammed the two spars against the hatch cover one last time with all their might. This time, they seemed to find their strength and the lid began to creak up. But just as they pressed their leverage, another crack echoed through the hold. A second spar splintered at the joint and the hatch cover clanged back shut.

Somewhere in a darkened corner a voice blurted out, "That's it, we're finished."

It was enough for a trembling cook standing near the gasoline drums to lose his nerve.

"I can't swim, I can't swim!" he cried out as the water level inched up his chest.

In a frightened panic, he grabbed onto the iron rungs that ran to the vent hatch and scurried up into the shaft. Reaching the top rung in darkness, his frenzied terror continued and he began pounding on the small round hatch cover with his fists, crying to be let out. In a state of complete shock, he suddenly felt the hatch give way under his hands and drift open. With his heart pounding in disbelief, he squirmed through the hatch and stood on the deck beside the moon pool dumbfounded. It took nearly a full minute before his racing pulse began to slow and he regained composure over his senses. Realizing that he wasn't going to die just yet, he scrambled back into the hatch and down the ladder a few steps, then shouted into the hold at the top of his lungs.

"The hatch is open! The hatch is open! This way, everybody!"

Like an army of angry fire ants, the panicked crew swarmed to the ladder, crushing one another to escape. By now, most of the crew were treading water or clinging to the bulkheads, while a few drifted about the hold clinging to the now-floating rubber Zodiac. The small ROV also drifted freely, casting its bright lights in a surreal glow about the hold.

"Ladies first," Morgan shouted, deferring to the traditional rule of the sea.

Ryan, who stood near the ladder on his toes chin high to the water, tried to restore order amid the chaos.

"You heard the captain. Ladies only. Back off, you," he growled at a pair of male biologists clamoring to get up the ladder. As the female crew members rapidly scurried up the vent and out the hatch, Ryan succeeded in maintaining some semblance of order with the dozens waiting their turn. Across the hold, Morgan could see that the water level was rising too fast. There was no way everyone was going to get out in time, assuming the ship didn't suddenly sink from under their feet to begin with.

"Ryan, get up that ladder. See if you can get the main hatch off," Morgan ordered.

Ryan didn't take time to answer, following a ship's nurse up the ladder as fast as his legs would carry him. Squirming through the hatch and falling to the deck, he was shocked at what his eyes beheld. In the early dawn light, he could see that the Sea Rover was sinking fast by the stern. Seawater was already washing over the sternpost, while the bow poked up toward the sky at better than a twenty-degree angle. Scrambling to his feet, he saw a young assistant communications officer helping others move to a higher level on the ship.

"Melissa, get to the radio room and issue a Mayday," he shouted, running past her.

He climbed a short stairwell to the rear hatch, his eye catching the sparkle of a light in the far distance to the north, the cable ship heading off over the horizon. Jumping up onto the hatch, he allowed himself a second to let out a brief sigh of relief. The rising waters off the stern had not yet lapped over the edge of the hatch nor inundated the aft crane. In their haste, the commandos had even left the crane's hook-and-boom assembly attached to the hatch.

Sprinting to the crane, he hopped into the cab and fired up its diesel engines, immediately shoving the hand controls to raise the boom. With unbearable slowness, the boom gradually rose into the air, lifting the massive hatch cover up with it. Ryan wasted no time rotating the boom a few feet to starboard before jumping out of the cab, leaving the hatch cover dangling in the air.

Rushing to the edge of the hold, he found more than thirty men bobbing in the water fighting for their lives. The water level had already risen to within a foot of the hatch. Another two minutes, he figured, and the men would have all drowned. Reaching his arms in, he began tugging and grabbing at the men one by one, yanking them up and out of the hold. With those on deck helping, Ryan had every man out within a matter of seconds. He ensured that he personally eased the final man out of the water, Captain Morgan.

"Nice work, Tim," the captain winced as he wobbled to his feet.

"Sorry that I didn't personally check the vent hatch in the first place, sir. We could have gotten everyone out sooner had we known it was actually unlocked."

"But it wasn't. Don't you get it? It was Dirk who unlocked it. He knocked on the door for us but we forgot to answer."

A look of enlightenment crossed Ryan's face. "Thank God for him and Summer, the poor devils. But I'm afraid we're not out of the woods yet, sir. She's going down fast."

"Spread the word to abandon ship. Let's get some lifeboats in the water, pronto," Morgan replied, stumbling up the inclining deck toward the bow. "I'll see about sending a distress."

As if on cue, Melissa the communications officer came scrambling across the deck half out of breath.

"Sir," she gasped, "they've shot up the communications system ... and satellite equipment. There's no way to send a Mayday."

"All right," Morgan replied without surprise. "We'll deploy our emergency beacons and wait for someone to come looking for us. Report to your lifeboat. Let's get everybody off this ship now."

While heading to assist with the lifeboats, Ryan now noticed that the Starfish was missing. Slipping into the auxiliary lab, he found that the recovered bomb canisters had been neatly removed, dissolving any doubts about the reason for the assault.

After their ordeal in the storage hold, an unusual calmness fell over the crew as they abandoned ship. Quietly and in composed order, the men and women quickly made their way to their respective lifeboat stations, glad to have a second chance at life despite the fact their ship was sinking beneath their feet. The advancing water was proceeding rapidly up the deck and two lifeboats closest to the stern were already flooded before they could be released from their davits. The assigned crew was quickly dispersed to other boats, which were being launched to the water in a torrid frenzy.

Morgan hobbled up the sloping deck, which was now inclined at a thirty-degree angle, till reaching the captain's boat, which sat loaded and waiting. Morgan stopped and surveyed the ship's decks a last time, like a gambler who had bet, and lost, the farm. The ship was creaking and groaning as the weight of the salt water filling its lower compartments tugged at the vessel's structural integrity. An aura of sadness enveloped the research ship, as if it knew that it was too soon for it to be cast to the waves.

At last confident that all the crew were safely away, Morgan threw a sharp salute to his vessel, then stepped into the lifeboat, the last man off. The boat was quickly winched down to the rolling sea and motored away from the stricken ship. The sun had just crept over the horizon and cast a golden beam on the research ship as it struggled for its last moments. Morgan's lifeboat was just a few yards away from the Sea Rover when her bow suddenly rose sharply toward the sky, then the turquoise ship slipped gracefully into the sea stern first amid a boiling hiss of bubbles.

As the ship slipped from view, its traumatized crew was overcome by a solitary sensation: silence.

Chapter 29

"Something's rotten in Denmark."

Summer ignored her brother's words and held a small bowl of fish stew up to her nose. After uninterrupted confinement for most of the day, the heavy door of their cabin had burst open and a galley cook wearing a white apron entered with a tray containing the stew, some rice, and a pot of tea. An armed guard watched menacingly from the hallway as the food was set down and the nervous cook quickly left without saying a word. Summer was famished and eagerly surveyed the food as the door was bolted back shut from the outside.

Taking a deep whiff of the fish stew, she wrinkled her nose.

"I think there's a few things rotten around here as well," she said.

Moving on to the rice, she drove a pair of chopsticks into the bowl and began munching on the steamed grains. At last bringing relief to her hunger pangs, she turned her attention back to Dirk, who sat gazing out the porthole window.

"Aside from our crummy lower-berth cabin, what's bugging you now?" she asked.

"Don't quote me on this, but I don't think we're headed to Japan."

"How can you tell?" Summer asked, scooping a mound of rice into her mouth.

"I've been observing the sun and the shadows cast off the ship. We should be heading north-northeast if we were traveling to Japan, but it appears to me that our course heading is more to the northwest."

"That's a fine line to distinguish with the naked eye."

"Agreed. But I just call 'em as I see 'em. If we pull into Nagasaki, then just send me back to celestial navigation school."

"That would mean we're heading toward the Yellow Sea," she replied, picturing an imaginary map of the region in her head. "Do you think we're sailing to China?"

"Could be. There's certainly no love lost between China and Japan. Perhaps the Japanese Red Army has a base of operations in China. That might explain the lack of success the authorities have had in tracking down any suspects in Japan."

"Possibly. But they'd have to be operating with state knowledge or sponsorship, and I would hope they'd think twice before sinking an American research vessel."

"True. Then again, there is another possibility."

Summer nodded, waiting for Dirk to continue.

"The two Japanese hoods who shot up my Chrysler. A forensics doctor at the county morgue thought that the men looked Korean."

Summer finished eating the rice and set down the bowl and chopsticks.

"Korea?" she asked, her brow furrowing.

"Korea."

Ed Coyle's eyes had long since grown weary of scanning the flat gray sea for something out of the ordinary. He nearly didn't trust his eyes when something finally tugged at the corner of his vision. Focusing toward the horizon, he just barely made out a small light in the sky dragging a wispy white tail. It was exactly what the copilot of the Lockheed HC-130 Hercules search-and-rescue plane had been hoping to see.

"Charlie, I've got a flare at two o'clock," Coyle said into his microphoned headset with the smooth voice of an ESPN sportscaster. Instinctively, he pointed a gloved hand at a spot on the windshield where he'd seen the white burst.

"I got her," Major Charles Wight replied with a slight drawl while peering out the cockpit. A lanky Texan with a cucumber-cool demeanor, the HC-130's pilot gently banked the aircraft toward the fading smoke stream and slightly reduced airspeed.

Six hours after departing Kadena Air Base in Okinawa, the search-and-rescue pilots had started wondering whether their mission was a wild-goose chase. Now they crept to the edge of their seats, wondering what they would find in the waters beneath them. A grouping of white dots slowly appeared on the distant horizon, gradually growing larger as the aircraft approached.

"Looks like we've got us some lifeboats," Wight stated as the specks grew into distinguishable shapes.

"Seven of them," Coyle confirmed, counting the small boats stretched in a line. Morgan had rounded up all the lifeboats and lashed them together, bow to stern, in order to keep the survivors together. As the Hercules flew in low over them, the crew of the Sea Rover waved wildly in response and let out a collective cheer.

"Roughly sixty heads," Coyle estimated as Wight brought the plane around in a slow circle. "They look to be in pretty good shape."

"Let's hold the PJs, drop an emergency medical pack, and see if we can initiate a sea pickup."

The PJs were three medically trained pararescue jumpers in the back of the plane ready to parachute out of the HC-130 at a moment's notice. Since the crew of the Sea Rover appeared in no imminent danger, Wight opted to withhold their deployment for the time being. A loadman at the back of the Hercules instead lowered a big hydraulic door beneath the tail and, at Coyle's command, shoved out several emergency medical and ration packs, which drifted down to the sea suspended from small parachutes.

An airborne communications specialist had meanwhile issued a distress call over the marine frequency. Within seconds, several nearby ships answered the call, the closest being a containership bound for Hong Kong from Osaka. Wight and Coyle continued to circle the lifeboats for another two hours until the containership arrived on the scene and began taking aboard survivors off the first lifeboat. Satisfied they were now safe, the rescue plane took a final low pass over the castaways, Wight waggling the wingtips as he passed. Though the pilots could not hear it, the tired and haggard survivors let out a robust cheer of thanks that echoed across the water.

"Lucky devils," Coyle commented with satisfaction.

Wight nodded in silent agreement, then banked the Hercules southeast toward its home base on Okinawa.

The large freighter had let go a welcoming blast of its Kahlenberg air horn as it glided toward the lifeboats. A whaleboat was lowered to guide the shipwreck victims around to a lowered stairwell near the stern, where most of the Sea Rover's crew climbed up to the high deck. Morgan and a few other injured crewmen were transferred to the whaleboat and hoisted up to the containership's main deck. After a brief welcome and inquiry by the ship's Malaysian captain, Morgan was rushed down to the medical bay for treatment of his wounds.

Ryan caught up with him after the ship's doctor had tended to the NUMA captain's leg and confined him to a bunk next to the crewman with the broken leg.

"How's the prognosis, sir?"

"The knee's a mess but I'll live."

"They do amazing things with artificial joints these days," Ryan encouraged.

"Apparently, I'll be finding that out in an intimate way. Beats a peg leg, I guess. What's the state of the crew?"

"In good spirits now. With the exception of Dirk and Summer, the Sea Rover's crew is all aboard and accounted for. I borrowed Captain Malaka's satellite phone and called Washington. I was able to speak directly with Rudi Gunn and informed him of our situation after briefing him on the loss of the ship. I let him know that our recovered cargo, along with Dirk, Summer, and the submersible, is believed aboard the Japanese cable ship. He asked me to express his thanks to you for saving the crew and promised that the highest levels of the government will be activated to apprehend those responsible."

Morgan stared blankly at a white wall, his mind tumbling over the events of the past few hours. Who were these pirates that had attacked and sunk his ship? What was their intent with the biological weapons? And what had become of Dirk and Summer? Not generating any answers, he simply shook his head slowly.

"I just hope it won't be too late."

Chapter 30

After sailing north for a day and a half, the Baekje gradually arched its bow around toward an easterly heading. Landfall was spotted at dusk, and the ship waited until dark before creeping into a large harbor amid a hazy fog. Dirk and Summer surmised that they had, in fact, sailed to Korea and correctly guessed that they were in the South's large port city of Inchon, based on the number of internationally flagged freighters and containerships they passed entering the port.

The cable-laying ship moved slowly past the wide-spaced commercial docks that busily loaded and unloaded huge containerships around the clock. Turning north, the Baekje crept past an oil refinery terminal, snaking around a rusty tanker ship before entering a dark and less developed corner of the harbor. Drifting past a decrepit-looking shipyard housing scores of decomposing hulks, the ship slowed as it approached a small side channel that ran to the northwest. A guard hut with a small speedboat alongside stood at the entrance to the channel, beneath a rusting sign that proclaimed, in Korean: KANG MARINE SERVICES - PRIVATE.

The Baekje's captain maneuvered the ship gently into the channel and proceeded several hundred yards at a slow creep before rounding a sharp bend. The channel fed into a small lagoon, which was dwarfed by a massive pair of covered docks that sat at the opposite end. As if pulling a car into the garage, the Baekje's captain inched the ship into one of the cavernous hangars that towered a solid fifty feet above the ship's forecastle. The ship was tied off under a field of bright halogen lamps that hung from the ceiling, while a large hydraulic door quietly slid shut behind them, completely concealing the vessel from outside eyes.

A crane immediately swung over and a half-dozen crewmen began unloading the ordnance containers, which were lowered to the dock under Tongju's supervision. Once the bomb canisters were stacked on the deck in an orderly pyramid, a large white panel truck backed down the dock to the cargo. Another group of men, wearing powder blue lab coats, carefully loaded the weapons into the back of the truck, then drove away from the ship. As it turned a corner at the end of the dock, Tongju could see the familiar blue lightning bolt emblazoned on the side of the truck, beneath the words KANG SATELLITE TELECOMMUNICATIONS CORP.

Kim approached as Tongju watched the truck exit the hangar through a guarded doorway.

"Mr. Kang will be quite pleased when he learns that we have recovered all of the ordnance," Kim stated.

"Yes, though two of the twelve are worthless. The submersible pilots cracked open the last two shells and released the armament into the water. An accident, they claim, due to a loss of visibility in the water."

"An inconsequential loss. The overall mission was quite successful."

"True, but there is still a difficult operation ahead of us. I am taking the prisoners to Kang in order for him to interrogate them. I trust that you will administer to the ship preparations satisfactorily," he stated rather than asked.

"The reconfiguration of the vessel, as well as the replenishment of fuel and provisions, will begin immediately. I will ensure that the ship is ready to depart the minute our cargo is reloaded."

"Very well. The sooner we get to sea, the better our chances of success."

"We have surprise on our side. There is no way we can fail," Kim said confidently.

But Tongju knew otherwise. Taking a long puff on a lit cigarette, he considered the element of surprise. It could indeed mean the difference between life and death.

"Let us just hope that our deception endures," he finally replied thoughtfully.

Belowdecks, Dirk and Summer were roughly roused from their cabin cell, a thick-necked guard first handcuffing their wrists behind their backs before shoving them out of the room. They were marched at gunpoint to a gangway leading off the ship, where Tongju stood watching with a sneer on his face.

"It was a lovely cruise. You never did show us where the shuffleboard court was located, however," Dirk said to the assassin.

"Now, be honest," Summer piped in. "The food didn't exactly warrant a five-star rating."

"The American sense of humor is hardly amusing," Tongju grunted, his cold eyes showing that he was not the least bit entertained.

"By the way, what exactly is the Japanese Red Army doing in Inchon, Korea?" Dirk asked bluntly.

A barely perceptible arch crossed Tongju's brow.

"Most observant, Mr. Pitt." Then, ignoring his captives further, he turned to Thick Neck, who cradled an AK-74 leveled at the pair.

"Take them to the high-speed launch and lock them in the forward berth under guard," he barked, then turned on his heels and marched to the bridge.

Dirk and Summer were marshaled down the gangplank and across the dock to a smaller side slip, where a sleek-looking motor yacht was tied up. It was a thirty-one-meter South Pacific marine high-speed catamaran, painted a teal blue. Designed and built for passenger ferry service, it had been refitted as a fast oceangoing personal luxury yacht. Equipped with four-thousand-horsepower diesel engines, the luxury cat could cruise along at speeds over 35 knots.

"Now, this is more my style," Summer commented as they were prodded aboard and locked in a small but plushly appointed center berth.

"No windows this time. Guess Mr. Hospitality didn't like your Inchon crack," Summer added as she curled her way into a small salon chair, her hands still cuffed behind her back.

"Me and my big mouth," Dirk replied. "At least we now have a rough idea of where we are."

"Yes ... right in the middle of deep kimchi. Well, if we got to go, at least we get to go first class," she said, admiring the walnut paneling and expensive artwork adorning the walls. "These guys certainly have some deep pockets for a second-rate terrorist organization."

"Apparently, they have some friends at Kang Enterprises."

"The shipping company?"

"A large conglomerate. We've seen their commercial freighters around for years. They're also involved in some other high-tech businesses as well, though I'm only familiar with their shipping division. I met a guy in a bar once who worked as an oiler on one of their ships. He told me about their enclosed repair and storage facility in Inchon. Never seen anything like it. There's supposedly a dry dock at one end, and the place is chock-full of state-of-the-art equipment. The cable ship had the Kang trademark blue lightning bolt on the funnel. This has to be the place."

"Glad to see all that time you spent as a barfly is finally paying off," Summer quipped.

"Research. Strictly research," he smiled.

Summer suddenly turned serious. "Why would a South Korean business be mixed up with the JRA? And what do they want with us?"

Her words were interrupted by the throaty roar of the catamaran's diesel engines as they were fired up astern of their cabin.

"I guess we'll soon find out."

Tongju crossed over and boarded the catamaran as the ropes were cast off, the fast boat burbling along the dockage at a crawl. The huge hangar door slid to the side again, allowing the catamaran to exit the enclosed building. As they slipped through the doorway, Tongju glanced back at the big cable ship towering over them.

An army of workmen was already crawling about the Baekje like a swarm of bees. A heavy-duty crane was removing the giant cable-laying wheel from the stern deck, while teams of painters resprayed the topside decks. Elsewhere, construction crews were cutting the superstructure in some areas while adding compartments and bulkheads in other places. A work detail hung over the fantail, rebeading and painting the ship's name, while another team painted the funnel a golden yellow. In just a matter of hours, the entire ship would be transformed to another vessel that even the trained eye would have trouble detecting. It would be as if the cable ship Baekje never existed.

Chapter 31

The 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.

Seven 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.

Chapter 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.

Chapter 33

"What do you mean the ship has yet to materialize?" Gunn rasped in dismay.

The section chief of the FBI's International Terrorism Operations, a compact man named Tyler, opened a file on his desk and perused the contents as he spoke.

"We've had no information on the whereabouts of the cable ship Baekje. The Japanese National Police Agency has been monitoring shipping traffic in every port in the country, physically checking every ship that remotely resembles the description offered by your NUMA crew. They've come up empty so far."

"Have you checked ports outside of Japan?"

"An international notice has been posted with Interpol, and it is my understanding that the CIA has been asked to provide inputs at the request of the vice president. At this time, no confirming information has been received. There's a million places she could be hiding, Rudi, or she could have been scuttled herself."

"What about satellite imagery of the site where Sea Rover was sunk?"

"Bad timing there, unfortunately. With the recent flare-up of political tensions in Iran, the National Reconnaissance Office has repositioned several of its high-resolution imaging resources to the Middle East. The East China Sea is one of many dead spots right now that is only covered by periodic scans from nongeosynchronous satellites. Which all means that the Baekje could move five hundred miles between covering passes. I'm waiting for the historical images from the last few days but have been told not to be too hopeful."

Gunn's anger softened as he realized that the slightly balding G-man in the starched white shirt was a competent professional doing the best with the resources he had available. "Any headway on the ship's history?" he asked.

"Your man Hiram Yaeger gave us a good head start on that one. Yaeger was the one who tentatively identified the ship as the Baekje, based on a worldwide review of ship registries through his NUMA computer bank. Apparently, there are less than forty known cable-laying ships of the size and configuration reported by your NUMA rescued crew. We narrowed the list down to twelve that were owned or leased in the Asia Pacific region and the Baekje came up missing in action." The FBI man paused as he leafed through the folder before extracting a white sheet that carried the blurred markings of a fax copy across its header.

"Here we are, details of the vessel. Cable-laying ship Baekje, 445 feet long, gross tonnage of 9,500. Built by the Hyundai Mipo Dockyard Company, Ltd., Ulsan, South Korea, in 1998. Owned and operated by Kang Shipping Enterprises, Inchon, South Korea, from 1998 to 2000. Since 2000, ship has been under lease to the Nippon Telegraph and Telephone Corporation, Tokyo, Japan, for cable-laying services in and around the Sea of Japan."

Setting the folder down, he stared straight into the eyes of Gunn.

"NTT's operating lease expired six months ago, at which time the Baekje sat unutilized in a Yokohama dock. Two months ago, representatives from NTT renegotiated a one-year lease of the ship and took possession of the vessel with their own crew. Port records show she was unaccounted for during a five-week period, then appeared briefly back in Yokohama approximately three weeks ago. She was believed sighted in Osaka, where she apparently tailed the Sea Rover to the East China Sea."

"Was the ship seized from NTT?"

"No. NTT officials were shocked to learn that their name was on a revised lease agreement for the vessel since their fiber-optic cable route had been completed. The NTT corporate representatives that leased the ship were, in fact, impostors who buffaloed the Kang Shipping agents. The Kang people produced the paperwork, everything looked legitimate to them, though one representative thought it odd at the time that the NTT people were providing their own crew, which they had not done in the past. The Kang Shipping people are apparently scrambling to file an insurance claim on the vessel now."

"Sounds like there must have been some inside information somewhere. Any known links between the Japanese Red Army and Nippon Telegraph and Telephone?"

"None that we've established yet, but we're looking into it. NTT's executives are cooperating fully and seem eager to clear their name from a possible connection. Official corporate sponsorship looks unlikely, so the Japanese authorities are focusing on a possible employee faction somewhere within the company."

Gunn shook his head discouragingly. "So we've got a four-hundred-foot ship that has vanished into thin air, a U. S. government vessel that has been sunk, and an empty list of suspects. Two of my people have been kidnapped, possibly murdered, and we have no idea where to even look for them."

"We're frustrated, too, Rudi, but we'll get them eventually. Sometimes, these things just take time."

Time, Gunn thought. Just how much time did Dirk and Summer still have, if any at all?

The hot shower felt delicious. Summer let the steaming water pelt her body for more than twenty minutes before finally willing herself to turn off the shower control knobs and reach for a towel. It had been nearly four days since her last bout with cleanliness, she mentally calculated, rerunning over in her mind the events of the last few days. Stepping from the marble-tiled shower, she dried herself with a fluffy towel, then wrapped the fabric around her body, tucking the loose end under an armpit. Before her stretched an immense marble counter with double sinks and gleaming gold fixtures set beneath an expansive beveled mirror that stretched to the high ceiling. You had to give these unsmiling thugs some credit, she thought. Someone around here has taste.

After an uncomfortable night's sleep in the motor yacht, where she and her brother took turns sleeping on the twin bed with their hands cuffed behind their back, a trio of armed guards marched them ashore in the morning. Peering at the massive residence perched on the stone bluff above them, Dirk remarked, "Kind of reminds you of the Berghof, doesn't it?" The stone structure with the commanding view over the Han River did bear a passing resemblance to Hitler's vacation lair in the German Alps. The image was made all the more complete with the surrounding array of blackshirted henchmen.

Prodded to the rock-enveloped elevator, they rode up to an interior corridor level beneath the main quarters and were escorted to a pair of guestrooms. In rough English, a guard barked, "Prepare for dining with Mr. Kang, two hour."

While Summer showered, Dirk surveyed his plushly decorated adjoining room for a potential means of escape. The windowless rooms were dug into the face of the cliff, the only entry or exit being the corridor hall, where two armed guards stood in front of each room's open door. If they were going to make an escape, it probably wasn't going to happen here, he figured.

As Summer dried her wet hair, she briefly became lost in the luxury and allowed herself to enjoy the surroundings. She sniffed at an array of exotic lotions and perfumes aligned on the marble counter, settling on an aloe vera body lotion and a lilac-scented fragrance. A rack of silk clothing stood in the corner, a conspicuous offering for female guests. Running her fingers through the brightly colored collection of petite-sized robes and dresses, she spotted a flaming red pullover dress with matching short jacket that looked like it might fit. Squirming into the silk dress, she eyed herself in the mirror and admired the results. A little tight in the bust, but a fair representation of a china doll, albeit tall and red-haired, she thought, smiling at the reflected image. Finding an assortment of shoes at the foot of the rack, she rummaged through a dozen pairs before finding a black set of low-heeled flats that fit. Wedging the shoes on, she cursed as a thumbnail cracked while tugging at a heel. Instinctively, she rummaged through the bathroom counter, bypassing combs and brushes before discovering one of a woman's essentials: an emery board. Not a cheap cardboard version, the metal file sported a small flat porcelain handle. Admiring the tiny tool, she absently stuck it in a side pocket after smoothing her thumbnail. An instant later, a pounding at the room door indicated her interval of private luxury was over.

Exiting the room into the corridor at gunpoint, Summer found Dirk standing casually with two rifle muzzles pointed at his back. He looked at his sister in the stunning silk dress and let fly a wolf whistle.

"I'm afraid we've only got a few rats to guide your chariot tonight, Cinderella," he joked, jerking his thumb in the direction of the two guards behind him.

"I see you've decided to stick with the Mr. Goodwrench look," she countered, observing that he wore the same grease-and-sweat-stained NUMA jumpsuit he'd worn since they were abducted.

"Afraid my available wardrobe was a little on the short side," he said, pulling the cuffs of his jumpsuit up to mid-calf range for emphasis. "Never did care much for the Alfalfa sartorial look."

The four guards grew annoyed with their chattering and forcefully guided them to the elevator, where they rode silently up one floor. The doors opened on Kang's impressive dining room, with the broad vista shimmering through the picture windows. Kang sat at the head of the dining table, quietly reviewing the contents of a leather-bound folder, while Tongju stood erect off his left shoulder. The Korean magnate looked the part of an industrial captain, attired in a custom-fitted navy blue suit from an expensive Hong Kong tailor, with complementary maroon silk tie. His steely slate eyes darted toward the elevator briefly, then returned to the documents before him, his face a mask of cold austerity.

Dirk and Summer were escorted to the table, where their eyes briefly drank in the scenic riverscape view through the window before settling on their captor host. They both mentally noted how the cove below was fed by a narrow winding inlet that led to the wide river in the distance. Standing before the table, Summer felt a chill run up her spine as Tongju shot her a lascivious look, while Kang peered up coldly. Her minor gaiety at being clean and finely dressed withered away in the palpable presence of evil. She suddenly felt foolish in the silken outfit and subconsciously clasped her hands in front of her waist in nervous fear. But her anxiety diminished after she glanced over at Dirk.

If her brother felt any fear, he didn't show it. Dirk stood tall with his chin thrust out defiantly, yet carried a bored-with-it-all look on his face. He seemed to enjoy peering down with derision at Tongju, who stood nearly ten inches shorter. The assassin paid no heed and instead spoke directly to his boss.

"The submersible operators from the NUMA vessel," he said with a touch of disdain.

"Dae-jong Kang," Dirk retorted, ignoring Tongju, "CEO of Kang Enterprises."

Kang nodded slightly, then motioned for Dirk and Summer to sit down. The guards eased back to a side wall, where they kept a vigilant watch over the two captives, while Tongju slid into a chair opposite Dirk.

"Mr. Pitt here was responsible for the death of our two men in America," Tongju said, his eyes narrowing on Dirk.

Dirk nodded in mute satisfaction. It was as he suspected, the clear connection between the salvage efforts on both Japanese submarines, as well as the murder attempt on Vashon Island.

"A small world," Kang replied.

"Too small for mass murderers like you," Summer hissed in a low voice, her anger taking rise.

Kang ignored the comment. "A pity. The men in Seattle were among Tongju's top agents."

"A tragic accident, really," Dirk replied. "You must learn to recruit employees with better driving skills," he added, his cold glance at Tongju met by an equally frigid stare back.

"Fortuitous indeed, as we otherwise may have lost your generous assistance in salvaging the I-411," Kang said. "I am most curious as to what led you to the submarines."

"Luck, mostly. I discovered that an earlier Japanese submarine had launched a few cyanide shells at the Oregon coast and wondered if someone had recovered some similar shells and used them in the Aleutians. It wasn't until I dove on the I-403 and discovered the remains of the aerial biological bombs that it became evident that there was something more afoot."

"A shame that the bombs were damaged during the vessel's sinking," Kang said. "They would have been much easier to recover than those from the I-411."

"But you did recover one bomb canister intact, which you discharged in the Aleutian Islands."

Kang showed a hint of surprise at Dirk's remark. "Of course," he replied. "Rather interesting how the Japanese combined a chemical and biological agent in one weapon. Our test release revealed that the efficacy of the biological agent was hampered by the dual release, although the chemical component was more potent than we anticipated."

"Potent enough to kill two U. S. Coast Guardsmen," Summer commented.

Kang shrugged. "How did you come to have such a focus with the death of two sailors in the Aleutians? Were you there?"

Summer shook her head in silence. Then Dirk spoke up.

"I was piloting the helicopter that your 'fishing trawler' shot down."

Kang and Tongju looked at each other with suspicious eyes. "You are rather a resilient man, Mr. Pitt," Kang finally stated.

Before he could respond, a side door swayed open and two men in white waiter's jackets glided over to the table hoisting large silver trays above their shoulders. A colorful array of seafood dishes was spread before each place setting, followed by a glass of Veuve Clicquot champagne. Dirk and Summer, having not eaten a full meal in days, calmly attacked the food as the probing conversation continued.

"Your government ... is rather displeased with the Japanese, I suspect," Kang prodded.

"Your shady activities under the guise of the Japanese Red Army was a clever ruse but uncovered for what it was by my government. Your two flunky hit men were easily traced to Korea," Dirk lied, grinning at Tongju. "I suspect the authorities will be banging on your door any minute now, Kang."

A brief look of agitation on Kang's brow suddenly softened. "A commendable effort. But the truth is that the two men had no idea themselves who their employer was. No, I think it is apparent that you know nothing of our intent."

"The long-standing animosity of Korea toward Japan for their many years of brutal colonization is well known," Dirk said, continuing the pretext. "It would be no surprise to expect the warped minds possessing these type of weapons to use them on a historical adversary, which in your case is the Japanese."

A thin smile crossed Kang's lips and he sat back in his chair with satisfaction, less from the meal than from Dirk's words.

"A nice bluff, Mr. Pitt. The fact that your NUMA vessel was neither armed nor escorted during the salvage operation tells me that your country did not think much of your discovery on the I-403. And your presumptive guess as to the operative use of the biological weapons is quite off the mark."

"What exactly is your ... intended use of the weapons?" Summer stammered.

"Perhaps your own country," Kang teased as the color drained from Summer's face. "Or perhaps not. That is neither here nor there."

"The smallpox vaccine is readily available in the United States in quantities sufficient to vaccinate the entire population," Dirk countered. "Tens of thousands of health workers have already been inoculated. A release of the smallpox virus might create a minor panic, at best. Certainly, there's not much risk of creating an epidemic."

"Certainly a release of Variola major, or common smallpox, would register only a small nuisance. But your vaccinations would be useless against a chimera."

"A 'chimera'? Of Greek lore? A monster - part lion, part goat, and part serpent?"

"Indeed. Another monster, if you will, would be a hybrid mix of virulent agents combined into a single organism that maintains the lethal components of each element. A biological weapon against which your vaccinations would be laughably impotent."

"But, in God's name, why?" Summer cried.

Kang calmly finished his meal and set his napkin on the table, folding it into neat thirds before speaking.

"You see, my country has been divided against itself since your incursion in the fifties. What you Americans fail to understand is that all Koreans dream of the day when our peninsula is united as one nation. Constant interference from outside meddlers will keep us from achieving that dream. Just as the presence of foreign military forces on our soil creates an impediment to the day when unification becomes a reality."

"The American military presence in South Korea ensures that the dream of unification will not be realized at the point of a North Korean bayonet," Dirk replied.

"South Korea no longer has the stomach for a fight, and the military power of North Korea offers the leadership and stabilizing force necessary to restore order during reunification."

"I don't believe it," Summer muttered to Dirk. "We're having lunch with a cross between Typhoid Mary and Joseph Stalin."

Kang, not understanding the remark, continued speaking. "The young people of South Korea today have had their fill of your military occupation and abuses to the citizenry. They are not fearful of unification and will help pave the way for a speedy resolution."

"In other words, once the U. S. military is removed the forces of North Korea will march south and unify the country by force."

"Absent the U. S. defensive forces, military estimates suggest that eighty percent of the South Korean Peninsula can be overrun within seventy-two hours. Casualties will be necessary, but the country will be unified under Workers' Party rule before the United States, Japan, or any other outside interfering force has the opportunity to react."

Dirk and Summer sat in stunned silence. Their fears of a terrorist plot using the Japanese smallpox had been well founded, but they had no suspicion of the magnitude at stake: no less than the overthrow of the Republic of Korea in conjunction with the wholesale death of millions of Americans.

"I think you may be underestimating the resolve of the United States, particularly in the face of a terrorist attack. Our president has shown no hesitation in applying swift and fearsome retribution," Dirk said.

"Perhaps. But retribution against whom? The pattern of events all still points to a Japanese source ..."

"The Japanese Red Army again," Dirk interjected.

"The Japanese Red Army. You see, there simply are no other likelihoods. Your military, intelligence, and political resources will be focused entirely on Japan while, at the same time, we will be mandating through our government the removal of all U. S. military personnel from the Korean Peninsula within thirty days. Your country's knee-jerk media will be in a frenzy over the epidemic casualties and so focused on finding a culprit in Japan that the American military expulsion from Korea will be a minor news item until well after the fact."

"The intelligence community will ultimately see past the Red Army facade and trace the actions back to you and your communist pals up north."

"Perhaps. But how long will that take? How long has it been for your government to solve the 2001 anthrax killings in your own capital? When and if that day should come, emotions will no longer be running high. It will all be a 'moot point,' as you say."

"Killing millions of people and calling it 'moot'?" Summer injected. "You are sick."

"How many of my countrymen did you kill in the fifties?" Kang retorted with a flash of anger in his eyes.

"We left plenty of our own blood on your soil," Summer replied, glaring back at Kang.

Dirk peered across the table at Tongju, whose dark eyes were narrowly focused on Summer. The assassin was not accustomed to people speaking belligerently to Kang, and most certainly not a woman. While his face remained expressionless, a piqued intolerance oozed from his gaze.

"Aren't you overlooking your own business interests?" Dirk said to Kang, deflecting the tone. "Your industrial profits won't continue to accrue if the almighty state Workers' Party suddenly takes the reins."

Kang smiled weakly. "You Americans, always the capitalists at heart. As it is, I have already arranged the sale of half my holdings to a French conglomerate, with payment in Swiss francs. And when my homeland is reunited, who better to help manage the state control of South Korea's industrial resources than myself?" he said arrogantly.

"A tidy arrangement," Dirk replied. "A pity there won't be a nation around that will be interested in purchasing the ill-gotten goods of a totalitarian regime."

"You forget China, Mr. Pitt. A huge market in and of itself, as well as a friendly conduit for funneling goods to the world markets. There will, of course, be a business interruption during the transfer of power, but output will quickly recover. There is always a demand for inexpensive, quality products."

"Sure," Dirk said sarcastically. "Name me one quality consumer product that ever came out of a communist country. Face it, Kang, you're on the losing end of a new global authority. There's no longer room for warped despots who screw their own countrymen for personal wealth, military might, or grand delusions of greatness. You and your buddies in the north might have a few laughs along the way, but, at the end of the day, you'll all be steamrolled by a concept foreign to you called 'freedom.' "

Kang sat stiffly for a moment, a long look of annoyance settling over his face. "Thank you for the civics lesson. It has been a most enlightening meal. Good-bye, Miss Pitt, good-bye, Mr. Pitt," he said coldly.

With a glance to the side wall by Kang, the guards were instantly upon them, pulling the two to their feet. Dirk had thoughts of grabbing a dinner knife off the table and having a go at the guards but was dissuaded when he saw Tongju pointing a Glock pistol at his chest.

"Take them to the river cave," Kang barked.

"Thanks for the warm hospitality," Dirk muttered at Kang. "I look forward to returning the privilege."

Kang said nothing, nodding at the guards instead, who forcibly pushed the pair toward the elevator. Dirk and Summer glanced at each other with a knowing look. Their time was short now. If they were to make it out of Kang's grasp alive, they would have to act soon.

The immediate problem was Tongju and his Glock 22. Any resistance would be futile while the assassin kept his gun aimed at them, as there was little doubt he would use it without hesitation. Tongju followed the four guards as they herded Dirk and Summer to the elevator, his pistol still drawn. As the doors slid open, two pairs of hands shoved them forcefully to the rear of the elevator. Tongju barked something in Korean, and then, to Dirk's relief, remained standing in the dining hall with one of the guards, a menacing look of satisfaction on his face as the elevator doors slid shut.

The elevator was cramped with five bodies in it, which would work to their advantage. Dirk glanced at Summer and nodded ever so slightly, his sister acknowledging the silent message with a quick wink. She immediately grabbed her stomach and groaned, leaning forward as if she were about to vomit. The nearest guard, a chunky man with a shaved head, took the bait and bent down slightly toward Summer. Like a cat mistakenly pouncing onto a hot stove, she suddenly sprang her body upright, jerking her knee into the man's groin with all the might she could muster. The man's eyes nearly burst out of their sockets as her knee hit home and he doubled over in agony, a shriek of pain quivering from his lips.

Summer's move was all Dirk needed to neutralize guard number two. As all three guards' attention turned initially to Summer, he launched an uppercut that connected squarely on the man's jaw, nearly lifting him out of his shoes. Dirk watched from inches away as the man's eyes rolled to the back of his head and he slumped to the floor unconscious.

Guard number three took a small step back as the fighting broke out and attempted to raise the muzzle of his rifle at Dirk. Summer reacted by grabbing the shoulders of the man she'd kneed and shoving his hunched-over body toward the standing guard. The still-groaning bald man swayed heavily into his taller accomplice with just enough force to offset the other man's balance. It was enough time to allow Dirk to step over the fallen guard and let go a left cross that landed a glancing blow on the gunman's temple. The dazed guard tried to counter with a braced karate kick, but Dirk's right fist was already there, mashing solidly into the man's larynx. The guard's face turned blue as he fought to take in air and he dropped to his knees, grabbing his throat with both hands. Dirk grabbed the man's assault rifle and swung it around viciously, striking the stock against the face of the guard struggling with Summer. The blow threw the man against the back of the elevator, where he slid to the floor unconscious.

"Nice work, Smokin' Joe," Summer praised.

"Let's not wait for round two," Dirk gasped as the elevator descent slowed beneath their feet. He checked that the safety on the assault rifle was turned off, then prepared to leap out of the elevator as the doors opened. Only there was no where to go.

As the doors slid open, the muzzles of three AK-74s were thrust in, the compensators at the end of the gun barrels poking into their faces. A security guard sitting at a bank of television monitors had witnessed the fracas in the elevator over closed-circuit video and quickly dispatched a cadre of guards in the vicinity.

"Saw!" the guards yelled in Korean, their meaning perfectly clear. Dirk and Summer froze in their tracks, wondering what degree of hair triggers existed on the assault rifles pointed their way. Dirk gently dropped his rifle to the ground, detecting a stirring in the elevator behind him. Too late, he turned to see the third guard staggering from the elevator while swinging the butt of his rifle toward his head. He tried to duck but the gun handle was too far along its way toward the top of his skull, where it collided with a thump.

For an instant, he saw a blinding light and shining stars, and, through the fog, an odd glimpse of Summer's feet. But that soon gave way to a fading darkness that turned to black as the curtain closed and he crumpled to the ground in a limp heap.

Chapter 34

A throbbing jolt of pain shooting down from the top of his skull to the tip of his toes was the first evidence sent to his brain that he was still alive. As consciousness slowly seeped back to Dirk, his mind performed a physical inventory, denoting via neural signals which parts of the body were deviating from their normal state. Pain signals from his wrists, arms, and shoulders began registering as if they were pulling at a great weight, but were easily outclassed by the agonizing pangs from his head. More confusing to his senses was the feeling from his feet and legs that he was standing in a bucket of water. As the shroud of fog gradually lifted, he opened his eyes to a wet, dark, and gloomy cave.

"Welcome back to the land of the living," Summer's voice echoed through the gloomy cavern.

"You didn't happen to get the license number of the truck that hit me?" he said groggily.

"Yes, but I'm pretty sure he wasn't carrying insurance."

"Where the hell are we?" Dirk asked, his mind beginning to register the concepts of time and space.

"A side cavern, just off Kang's floating dock. That cool water nibbling at your navel is the River Han."

The bucket of water he thought he was standing in was in fact a cavern full of rising river water. His vision now cleared, Dirk could see through the murky light that Summer was spread-eagled and handcuffed to two large barge anchors. Large weights rather than actual anchors, they were nothing more than a three-foot-square block of concrete. The white blocks were slickened with a decade's coating of pale green algae, with a rusty iron mooring ring protruding from the top. Dirk saw that there were nearly a dozen of the weights aligned in a row across the floor of the cavern. He and Summer stood adjacent to each other, their arms stretched wide with each wrist handcuffed to adjoining blocks.

Dirk's eyes wandered about the dim cavern. In the fading dusk light that filtered through the mouth of the cave, he could see the distinct line on the wall that he was looking for. It was the high-water mark, which he noted uncomfortably ran two feet above their heads.

"Death by slow drowning," he said.

"Our Fu Manchu friend, Tongju, was most insistent," Summer replied grimly. "He even prevented one of the guards from shooting you so that we could wallow down here together."

"I must remember to send him a thank-you card." Dirk looked down and saw that the water was now sloshing around his rib cage.

"Water's rising pretty fast."

"We're near the mouth of the Han River, so there's plenty of tidal surge at work." Summer gazed fearfully at her brother. "I'd estimate that the water level has risen over a foot in the last hour." Seeing the despair in his sister's eyes, Dirk's mind engaged in high gear to determine a means of escape. "We have another hour and a half, tops," he calculated.

"I just remembered something," Summer said, crinkling her brow. "I've got a small nail file in my side pocket. Might be like trying to kill a pterodactyl with a flyswatter, but it might help."

"Sure, toss it over," Dirk replied.

"This one mooring ring looks pretty mangy," she said, tugging at her left wrist. "If I could just get one hand free."

"Maybe I can help." Dirk slid his legs toward Summer, leaning his torso at an angle along the concrete blocks for support. Raising one leg, he slid his foot along until the sole of his shoe met up with the face of the protruding iron. Applying as much pressure as he could, he pressed his weight hard against the top of the metal ring.

Nothing happened.

Shifting his foot so that his heel was against the ring, he pushed once more. This time, the ring bent a fraction toward Summer. Jamming his weight repeatedly against the stanchion, he gradually forced the ring to bend over nearly ninety degrees.

"Okay, I'll need your help in pushing it back upright," he said. "Let's try it on the count of three."

Slipping his foot to the backside of the ring, he counted to three, then pulled his leg toward him. Summer pushed with her manacled hand and they gradually shoved the ring back to its original vertical position.

"Well, that was fun," Dirk said while resting his leg. "Let's try it again."

For twenty minutes, they toggled the ring back and forth, the movement gradually becoming easier as the tensile strength of the old iron weakened. With a last strong kick by Dirk, the ring finally snapped off its concrete base, freeing Summer's left arm. She immediately twisted her hand around and dug into the small side pocket of her silk jacket and produced the porcelain-handled nail file.

"I've got the file. Should I try on the handcuff itself or the mooring ring?" she asked.

"Go for the ring. Even though it's thicker, it will be much softer to cut through than the hardened stainless steel handcuffs."

Using the small file like a hacksaw, Summer began grinding away at the base of the mooring ring. Working the file with any degree of accuracy beneath the murky river water and fading cavern light would have been a Herculean task for most, but Summer's extensive diving experience gave her a leg up. Years of exploring and excavating historic shipwrecks in foul visibility had heightened her sense of touch to the extent that she could nearly tell more about a wreck from her hands than by her eyes.

With some measure of hope, she felt the file cut rapidly through the outer layer of the rusty ring. Her confidence waned when the blade met up with the hardened inner core of the iron ring and progress slowed to a snail's pace. The rising water was now level with her chest and the pending urgency unleashed a surge of adrenaline. Summer worked the blade back and forth as fast as she could muster underwater, gaining ground millimeter by millimeter. Taking quick breaks from sawing, she placed her hands on the iron ring and pushed and pulled it to weaken the metal. Alternating sawing and prodding with an intermittent gulp or two of river water, she at last broke through the ring and freed herself.

"Got it," she exclaimed with victory.

"Mind if I borrow that file?" Dirk asked calmly, but Summer had already kicked and swum her way over and begun cutting into the ring grasping his right hand. As she worked the file, she mentally noted that it had taken her roughly thirty minutes to cut through the first ring and that the water level was now nearly to their shoulders. The water was rising faster than she anticipated and would be well above Dirk's head in less than an hour. Despite aching fingers and limbs, she rubbed the file ferociously against the iron.

Dirk, waiting patiently as Summer filed away, began whistling the old 1880s tune "While Strolling Through the Park One Day."

"That's not helping," Summer gasped, then smiled to herself at the silly tune. "Now I won't be able to get that ridiculous song out of my head."

Sure enough, he quit whistling, but the tune kept replaying over and over in her head. She was surprised to find it became a good sawing mantra that provided a rhythm to her hand movements.

While strolling through the park one day ...

With each syllable, she applied a cutting stroke to the iron, creating an efficient sawing cadence.

... in the merry merry month of May.

I was taken by surprise by a pair of roguish eyes.

In a moment my poor heart was stole away.

The water level had now crept up over her chin and she found herself taking in gasps of air, then submerging briefly to keep the file clawing in one spot. Dirk was beginning to strain to keep his face out of the water while applying alternating tugs and shoves on the ring as Summer sawed tirelessly on. A muffled metallic ting finally echoed beneath them as the ring broke loose under their combined pressure.

"Three down, one to go," Summer gasped, taking in a lungful of air after being submerged for several seconds.

"Let me give you a breather," Dirk said, grabbing the file from Summer with his free hand. The release of his right hand gave him a few extra inches of breathing room, but it was not enough to file the last mooring ring without submerging. Taking a deep breath, he ducked under the surface and began filing rapidly on the ring that held down his left wrist. After thirty seconds, he bobbed to the surface, sucked in some fresh air, and plunged back under. Summer stretched her cramped fingers, then swam to Dirk's left side and waited for him to surface. Like a pair of tag team wrestlers trying to floor Hulk Hogan, they passed the file back and forth and ducked underwater, attacking the iron ring with muscle and fervor.

As the minutes wore on, the water level in the cavern crept higher and higher. Each time Dirk surfaced for a gasp of air, he felt himself stretching farther and farther to raise his mouth and nose above water. The handcuff shackle on his left wrist dug into his flesh as he instinctively yanked hard to escape the clutch of the massive barge weight.

"Save your strength for getting out of here," he told his sister as the inevitable truth drew closer that they were running out of time. Summer said nothing as she grabbed the file out of his hand and plunged back beneath the surface. Dirk half-floated with his head tilted back, his face just barely out of the water, drawing a few deep breaths. He could feel the water wash over his face in ripples and stretched for one last deep breath before pulling himself under. Grasping Summer's wrist, he pulled the file out of her hand and began a last furious rush at cutting through the iron. Feeling the gouge with his thumb, he could tell that they had cut only a third of the way through. There was just too far to go.

The seconds felt like hours as Dirk made a final effort to break free. He could feel his heart beating like a bass drum as it struggled to pump oxygen into his depleted blood. In the murkiness, he could feel that Summer was no longer by his side. Perhaps she had finally taken his advice and sought escape. Or perhaps she just couldn't bear to be with him during his final gasp of life.

He paused from filing for a second to try pushing his weight against the ring. He could generate little leverage, however, and the iron ring held firm. Again, to the file he went, making furious strokes with the flimsy metal blade. His ears began pounding with each beat of his heart. How long had he been holding his breath now? A minute, two minutes? It was difficult to remember.

Light-headedness fell over him as spots began to creep into his vision. He exhaled what remaining air was left in his lungs and fought the temptation to open his mouth and gulp in. His heart pounded stronger and it became a mental fight against succumbing to panic. A light current seemed to push him away from the mooring ring, but his hand muscle grasped the file tightly in a death grip. A white veil was being drawn across his vision and a distant voice inside was telling him to let go. As he fought a last battle with the voice, his ringing ears detected a deep thump and then a strange vibration rippled up his arm and through his body just before his mind tumbled into a dark and empty void.

Chapter 35

Summer knew that they were at least twenty minutes from filing through the iron ring and that there would have to be another way to free her brother. Abandoning Dirk, she dove to the cavern floor, searching and groping for another tool or device, anything that would help break the manacle. But the flat, sandy bottom yielded nothing, just the row of mooring weights, one after the other. Kicking ahead with one hand guiding along the blocks of concrete, she touched a large chunk of concrete that had broken off one of the weights when it had been dropped too close to another. Gliding beyond the debris, she reached the last block, where she felt something flat and squishy like soggy leather fall away in her hand. A harder piece beneath it was narrow and curved, which she identified as the sole of a boot. A stick leaned against it, which she started to grab, then let go in horror. It was no stick, she could tell, but the femur bone of a skeleton that was still wearing the boot. Another victim of Kang's savagery, the corpse had long ago been left chained to the anchor. Recoiling, she turned to swim back toward Dirk and bumped her head square into the fallen chunk of concrete. The broken piece was roughly square shaped, weighing about ninety pounds. She surveyed the block with her hands to get around it, then hesitated. It might be the answer, she decided, and was the best she could do under the circumstances.

Kicking up for a quick breath of air, she dove back down and muscled the block off the floor and up to her chest. On dry land, she would have struggled mightily to lift the heavy weight, but underwater the block was more yielding. Moving quickly, she shuffled down the row of weights to her brother, fighting to keep the chunk balanced. Feeling rather than seeing Dirk, she turned and backed into her brother, pushing his body away from the block that held his left wrist. She noted apprehensively that his body gave way rather limply, unlike his normal stonelike stature.

Lining herself up with the mooring weight as best she could, she took a step and lunged forward, throwing herself and the broken chunk of concrete at the iron ring. In a slow-motion haze, Summer floated through the water with a slight ripple before the effects of gravity took over. But her timing was perfect. In the fraction of a second before her forward momentum was replaced by sinking gravity, the concrete chunk hit home on the iron ring. An audible clang, muffled by the water, told Summer that she was on target as she let go of the block. The rusty mooring ring, weakened just enough by the frantic filing, succumbed to the weight of the blow and snapped neatly off the anchor.

Summer immediately grabbed Dirk's arm and felt down to the wrist, which now dangled loosely. In a burst, she pushed her brother to the surface, took a deep breath of air herself, then towed his limp body to a small rock ledge, pulling him up and out of the water. She knelt by his side to administer CPR when his body suddenly stirred, his head turning to one side. With a groan, he ex-punged a small flood of water from his mouth and replaced it with a heaving lungful of air. Rising unsteadily to his elbows, he turned to Summer and gasped, "I feel like I drank half the river. Remind me to stick to bottled water next time."

The words barely gurgled out of his mouth when he leaned over and retched a second time, then sat up and rubbed his left wrist. Eyeing his sister, he was pleased to see she appeared unharmed and in good spirits.

"Thanks for pulling me out," he said. "How did you finally get the ring off?"

"I found a loose chunk of concrete and flung it against the stanchion. Thankfully, I didn't take your hand off in the process."

"Much obliged for that," he muttered, shaking his head.

After catching their breath, they rested for nearly an hour, slowly regaining their strength as Dirk purged the remaining water from his lungs, inhaled moments before Summer broke the iron grip that had nearly drowned him. What little sunlight that earlier wafted through the mouth of the cavern had long since vanished with nightfall, leaving them prone in the cave in near-total blackness.

"Do you know the way out of here?" Dirk asked once he felt fit to move.

"The mouth of the cave is less than fifty meters away," Summer said, "just a short distance to the east is Kang's dock."

"How'd we get in here in the first place?" he asked.

"A small skiff. I forgot that you slept through the scenic portion of the cruise."

"Sorry I missed it," Dirk replied, rubbing a small gash on the top of his head. "We'll to have to borrow a boat from Kang if we want to get off this rock. There was a small speedboat tied up behind his floating palace when we came in and docked. Maybe it's still there."

"If we can untie it from the dock and drift it out into the cove undetected before starting it up, it may buy us some more time." Summer shivered as she spoke, her body feeling the effects of the cool river dousing.

"Back in the water, I'm afraid. You know the way out, so lead on."

Summer ripped the side seam of the silk dress up to her hip to allow more freedom for swimming, then slipped back into the cool murky water. Dirk followed as they swam and groped their way along the narrow winding cavern, moving toward a pale gray circular patch of light that faintly shimmered against the surrounding darkness. The murmur of distant voices gave them a momentary pause as they approached the cave's exit. Swimming around a tight bend, the oval mouth of the cavern opened up before them, the night sky twinkling with starlight while the glittering reflection of Kang's dockside floodlights danced about the water's surface. Dirk and Summer swam silently out of the cavern entrance to a small rock outcropping a few yards away. The algae-slickened boulders afforded a safely concealed vantage point from which they could observe the dock and adjacent grounds.

For several minutes, they hung quietly against the rocks, studying the moored boats and shoreline for signs of movement. There were three boats tied up to the floating dock that ran parallel to the shore. Just as Dirk recalled, a small green patrol speedboat was wedged between Kang's large Italian luxury yacht and the high-speed catamaran on which they had arrived. No signs of life were visible on any of the three boats, which were all tied up in a row bow to stern. Dirk knew that a small live-aboard crew would be present on the larger vessel.

A lone sentry finally emerged in the distance, walking slowly along the shoreline. As he passed under a flood-light, Dirk could clearly see the glint of an assault rifle slung under the man's shoulder. Casually, the guard strode out onto the dock and alongside the three boats, pausing for several minutes near the large yacht. Growing bored, he strode back down the dock and onto shore, advancing along a stone walkway toward the estate elevator, where he deposited himself in a small security station at the base of the cliff.

"That's our man," Dirk whispered. "As long as he stays in that hut, his view of the speedboat is overshadowed by the larger boats."

"Now's the time to steal it, before he makes the next round."

Dirk nodded and the two of them pushed away from the rocks and began swimming silently toward the dock. He kept an eye on the guardhouse while mentally computing how long it might take to hot-wire the speedboat's ignition in the dark if the keys weren't conveniently left in the boat.

They swam well away from the dock, so as not to arouse suspicion until they were directly offshore of the speedboat, then slowly worked their way in toward it. With handcuffs still clasped to their wrists, their swimming motions felt clumsy, but they quietly kept their hands under the water as they stroked.

Furtively approaching the dock, they were blocked from view of the guardhouse until they reached the stern of the boat, where they again had a view of the shore. The guard was still in the security hut, where he could be seen sitting on a stool reading a magazine.

Using hand motions, Dirk directed Summer to remove the boat's stern line while he would swim forward and take care of the bowline. Moving along the boat's hull, he felt the looming presence of Kang's yacht towering over him as he crossed the smaller boat's bow. Stretching to grab the mooring line in order to pull himself to the dock, he suddenly heard a sharp click directly above him and he froze still in the water. A spark of yellow light erupted briefly, and, in the glow, he could see the ruddy face of a guard lighting a cigarette on the fantail of Kang's yacht no more than ten feet away.

Dirk didn't move a muscle, steadying himself with one hand clasped on the speedboat's prow, careful not to disturb the quietly lapping water. He watched patiently as the red ember of the cigarette rhythmically flared like a crimson beacon as the guard inhaled on the tobacco. Dirk found himself holding his breath, not for himself but for Summer, whom he hoped would avoid detection at the stern of the boat. The guard fully enjoyed his smoke, pulling at it for ten minutes before flinging the butt over the railing. The burning stub landed in the water just three feet from Dirk's head, extinguishing with a hiss.

Waiting until he heard the padded sound of footsteps move away from the railing, Dirk ducked underwater and swam toward the rear of the speedboat. Surfacing just astern of the boat's propeller, he found Summer waiting with an impatient look on her face. Dirk shook his head at her, then quietly pulled himself up the rear transom of the speedboat and peered toward the pilot seat. In the darkness, he could just barely make out the dashboard ignition, which winked back at him void of a key. He slunk back into the water and looked at Summer, then reached for the loose mooring line in her hands. She was surprised when he ducked underwater for a minute, then surfaced empty-handed, expecting that he was going to retie the line to the dock, instead of him pointing offshore. Summer followed his finger and began swimming silently away from the boat. When they were safely out of earshot, they stopped and rested.

"What was that all about?" Summer asked with a tinge of annoyance.

Dirk described the guard positioned on the stern of Kang's yacht. "There wasn't much chance without the starter key. As close as the boats are together, he'd have seen or heard me trying to rummage around hot-wiring the ignition. Chances are, there's a guard or two on the catamaran as well. I think we're going to have to settle for the skiff."

The small skiff that Kang's thugs had used to ferry Dirk and Summer into the cavern was pulled up onto the shore, adjacent to the dock.

"That's awfully close to the guardhouse," Summer noted.

Dirk looked ashore, spotting the guard still sitting in the guardhouse, about twenty meters from the skiff. "Stealth it will be," he said confidently.

Kicking back toward shore, they swam widely around the docked boats and approached the rocky beach from the east side. When their feet touched bottom, Dirk had Summer wait in the water while he crept slowly to the shoreline.

Inching his way out of the water, he crawled snakelike on his belly toward the boat, which was wedged between two rocks about twenty feet from the water. Using the boat as a shield between him and the guardhouse, he burrowed alongside the wooden skiff until he could peer over the side. A spool of line, coiled on the front bench and tied to a small bow cleat, caught his eye. Reaching over the gunwale, he unfastened the line and pulled the coil to his chest, then burrowed backward over the loose pebble beach to the boat's stern, which faced the water. Running his hand along the top of the transom, he felt a bolt-hole for attaching an outboard motor and ran one end of the line through, tying it securely.

Scurrying on his belly back into the water, he played out the line until he reached the end of its fifty-foot length. Summer swam over and they huddled together, hunched over in four feet of water with just their heads poking above the surface.

"We'll reel it in like a marlin," Dirk whispered. "If anybody gets wise, we can duck back behind those rocks by the cavern," he said, tilting his head toward the protruding boulders nearby. Placing Summer's hands on the line, he leaned back in the water and gradually began applying tension to the line. Summer tightened her grip and then threw her weight onto the line as it drew taut.

The small boat jumped easily from its perch, emitting a jarring grind as its hull scraped across its rocky berth. They quickly eased off the line and stared toward the guardhouse. Inside, the guard still had his nose stuck in the magazine, impervious to the noise made by the boat. They quietly took up the slack and continued to reel the boat toward them a foot at a time, stopping periodically to ensure they had not attracted any attention. Summer held her breath as the boat approached the water's edge, letting out a long sigh when they tugged it fully into the water, the scraping sound at last ceasing.

"Let's tow her out a little farther," Dirk whispered, winding the towline over his shoulder and kicking toward the center of the cove. When they were a hundred meters from the shoreline, he tossed the line into the boat and pulled himself over the side, then grabbed Summer's hand and pulled her aboard.

"Not exactly a Fountain offshore powerboat but I guess she'll do," he said, surveying the interior of the small boat. Spying a pair of oars under the bench seat, he popped the shafts into the side oarlocks and dipped the blades into the water. Facing the stern of the skiff, with Kang's compound illuminated in the background, he pulled heavily on the oars, propelling the small boat swiftly into the center of the cove.

"It's about a mile to the main river channel," Summer estimated. "Maybe we can find a friendly South Korean naval or Coast Guard vessel on the river."

"I'd settle for a passing freighter."

"Sure," Summer replied. "Just as long as it doesn't have a Kang Enterprises lightning bolt on the funnel."

Glancing toward the shoreline, Dirk suddenly detected a movement in the distance and squinted to better see across the water. As his eyes focused, he grimaced slightly.

"I'm afraid it's not going to be a freighter offering us the first lift," he said as his knuckles tightened their grip on the oars.

The dockside guard had grown bored with his magazine and decided to patrol the moored boats once again. A fellow guard stationed on Kang's yacht was from a neighboring province and he loved to harass the man about the lack of attractive women in his home region. Walking toward the dock, he at first failed to take notice of the empty beach, but then tripped as he stepped onto the dock ramp. Grabbing the side rail to steady himself, his eyes fell to the ground nearby, detecting the scarred indentation of a boat that had been dragged across the pebbly beach. Only, the boat was gone.

The embarrassed guard quickly radioed his discovery to the central security post and, in an instant, two heavily armed guards came running from the shadows. After a brief but heated exchange, several flashlights were produced, their yellow beams rapidly waved in a chaotic frenzy about the water, rocks, and sky in a frantic search for the missing skiff. But it was the guard on the stern of Kang's yacht who located the two escapees. Shining a powerful marine spotlight across the water of the cove, he pinpointed the small white boat lurching across the waves.

"Not a good time to be in the limelight," Summer cursed as the rays of the distant searchlight fell over them. The clattering burst of an assault rifle rattled across the water, accompanied by the whistling of bullets that raced harmlessly over their heads.

"Get down low in the boat," Dirk commanded his sister as he pulled harder on the oars. "We're out of accurate firing range but they could still get off a lucky shot."

The small skiff was just midway across the cove and Dirk and Summer would be sitting ducks for a gunman in Kang's speedboat, which could be on them in a matter of seconds. Dirk silently hoped and prayed that nobody would notice the boat's stern line as they rushed to chase after them.

On shore, one of the guards had already jumped into the green speedboat and started the motor. Tongju, awakened by the gunfire, burst out of his cabin on the catamaran and began barking inquiries at one of the guards.

"Take the speedboat. Kill them if you have to," he hissed.

The two other guards scrambled into the speedboat, one of them casting off the bowline as he jumped aboard. In the rushed moment, none of the men noticed that the stern line was dropped over the outboard side. The pilot saw only that the lines to the dock cleat were free. As the boat drifted clear of the dock, he jammed it into gear and pushed the throttle all the way to its stops.

The green boat surged forward for a split second, then mysteriously stopped dead in its tracks. The engine continued to scream with a whine, churning at high rpm, but the boat sat drifting lazily. The confused pilot pulled back on the throttle, unsure of what was causing the lack of forward motion.

"Idiot!" Tongju screamed from the deck of the catamaran with uncharacteristic emotion. "Your stern line is caught in the propeller. Put someone over the side to cut it free."

Dirk's handiwork had paid off. Diving under the speedboat, he had tightly wrapped the stern line around the propeller and its exposed shaft, clogging its ability to spin freely. The heavy hand of the pilot on the throttle had only served to wind the line tighter, spinning it up and into the driveshaft coupling in a laborious mess. It would take a diver twenty minutes to cut and yank free the mass of coiled rope embedded in the driveline.

Realizing the speedboat's predicament, Tongju burst into the cabin of the catamaran's pilot.

"Start the engines. Get us under way immediately," he barked.

The groggy pilot, clad in a pair of red silk pajamas, nodded sharply and made his way quickly to the wheelhouse.

Three-quarters of a mile away, Dirk grunted as he pulled another stroke of the oars, his heart pounding fiercely. His shoulder and arm muscles began to burn from the strenuous effort to propel the skiff faster, and even his thigh muscles ached from pushing against the oars. His tired body was telling him to slow the pace but his mental will pushed to keep rowing with all his strength. They had gained a few precious minutes by sabotaging the speedboat, but Kang's men still had two more boats at their disposal.

In the distance, they could hear the deep muffled exhaust of the catamaran as its engines were started and revved. As Dirk rowed in a controlled rhythm, Summer helped guide him through the inlet they approached at the far end of the cove. Kang's compound and boats suddenly drifted from view as they began threading their way through the S-curved inlet.

"We've got maybe five minutes," he exhaled between strokes. "You up for another swim?"

"I can't exactly glide through the water like Esther Williams with these," she said, holding up the two handcuffs that dangled from her wrists, "but I can certainly do without another dose of Kang's hospitality." She knew better than to ask whether Dirk was up for a strenuous swim. Despite his exhausted state, she knew her brother was like a fish in the water. Growing up in Hawaii, they swam in the warm surf constantly. Dirk excelled at marathon swimming and routinely swam five-mile ocean legs for pleasure.

"If we can make it to the main channel, we may have a chance," he said.

The inlet grew dark as they made their way past the first bend and the lights of Kang's compound became shielded by the surrounding hills. The otherwise still night was broken only by the faraway sound of the catamaran's four diesel engines, which they could detect were now throttled up. Like a machine himself, Dirk rhythmically tugged at the oars, smoothly dipping the blades in and out of the water in a long, efficient stroke. Summer acted as coxswain, offering subtle course changes to guide them through the channel in the shortest route possible while offering periodic words of encouragement.

"We're coming up on the second bend," she said. "Pull to your right and we should clear the inlet in another thirty meters."

Dirk continued his even stroke, easing off the left oar with every third pull to nose the bow into and through the bend. The beating drone of the catamaran's engines grew louder behind them as the speedy boat ripped across the cove. Though his limbs ached, Dirk seemed to grow stronger with the approach of their adversary, propelling the small boat even faster through the flat water.

The ebony darkness softened around them as they rounded the last bend of the inlet and rowed into the expansive breadth of the Han River. Patches of starry lights twinkled across the horizon, shining from small villages scattered along the river and hillsides. The faint lights were the only clue to the river's width, which stretched nearly five miles across to the opposite shore. In the late hour of the night, traffic on the river was almost nonexistent. Several miles downstream sat a handful of small commercial freighters, moored for the night while waiting to traverse the Han to Seoul at first daylight. A brightly illuminated dredge ship was slowly making its way upstream nearly across from Dirk and Summer but was still some four miles away. Upriver, a small vessel with an array of multicolored lights appeared to be moving down the center of the river at a slow pace.

"Afraid I don't see any passing water taxis," Summer said, scanning the dark horizons.

As Dirk tried to row toward the center of the river, he could feel the current pushing them downstream. The river's flow was aided by an outgoing tide that pulled at the remains of the Han River as it dispersed into the dusky waters of the Yellow Sea. He eased off the oars for a moment to survey their options. The dredge ship looked appealing, but they would have to fight the cross-current to reach it, which would be near impossible once they took to the water. Peering downriver, he spotted a small cluster of yellow lights on the opposite shore twinkling fuzzily through the damp air.

"Let's try for the village there," he said, pointing an oar in the direction of the lights, which were about two miles downstream. "If we swim directly across the river, the current should carry us pretty close."

"Whatever entails the least swimming."

Unbeknownst to both was the fact that the Korean demarcation line ran through this section of the Han River delta. The twinkling lights downriver were not a village at all but a heavily garrisoned North Korean military patrol boat base.

Any further contingency planning was suddenly dashed by the abrupt roar of the high-speed catamaran as it burst out of the inlet. A pair of bright spotlights flared from beside the wheelhouse, sweeping back and forth rapidly across the water. It would be only seconds before one of the beams fell on the small white skiff heading across the river.

"Time to exit stage right," Dirk said, swinging the boat around so that the bow pointed downstream. Summer quickly slipped over the side followed by Dirk, who hesitated a moment, flinging a pair of life jackets out away from the boat before he rolled into the water.

"Let's angle across and slightly upriver to put as much distance as possible between us and the drifting boat," he said.

"Right. We'll surface for air at the count of thirty."

The clatter of machine-gun fire suddenly tore through the night air while a seamlike spray of bullets slapped into the water a few yards in front of them. One of the spotlights had found the skiff and a guard opened fire as the catamaran raced toward it.

In unison, Dirk and Summer ducked under the water, kicking down to a depth of four feet before angling into the current. The powerful flow of the river made them feel like they were swimming in place as they inched their way toward midriver. Gaining ground upriver was hopeless as the current overpowered them, but it pushed them downstream at a much slower pace than the drifting skiff.

The deep pulsations of the catamaran's diesel engines resonated through the water and they could feel the boat as it approached the skiff. Counting time with each breaststroke, Dirk hoped that Summer would not get separated from him in the darkness. Swimming at night in the black water, their only indication of direction was the tug of the river's current. As he approached the count of thirty, he eased slowly to the surface, breaking the water with barely a ripple.

Just ten feet away, Summer's face emerged from the water and Dirk could hear her breathing deeply. Glancing briefly at each other, then back toward the skiff, they quickly gulped a deep swallow of fresh air and resubmerged, kicking back into the river current for another count of thirty.

The quick glimpse Dirk made toward the skiff was a reassuring one. Kang's catamaran had barreled in on the skiff from upriver with guns blazing and was now creeping up close to assess the damage. No one on board had bothered to look across the river, assuming that Dirk and Summer were still in the boat. In their brief time in the water, they had already established a separation of nearly a hundred meters from the skiff.

As the catamaran approached the drifting boat, Tongju ordered his gunmen to cease firing. There was no sign of the two escapees, whom Tongju expected to find sprawled dead in the bottom of the bullet-ridden boat. Looking down from the upper deck of the catamaran, Tongju cursed to himself as they pulled alongside and shined a light into the skiff. The small boat was completely empty.

"Search the surrounding water and shoreline," he ordered crisply. The catamaran circled around the skiff while the spotlights were splayed across the water, all eyes peering intently into the darkness. Suddenly, a gunman on the bow of the catamaran yelled out.

"There, in the water ... two objects!" he cried, pointing an arm off the port bow.

Tongju nodded at the words. This time they are finished, he thought with ruthless satisfaction.

Chapter 36

After their fourth submerged interval, Dirk and Summer reunited on the surface and took a moment to rest. Fighting their way across the current, they had distanced themselves from the skiff by almost four hundred meters.

"We can swim on the surface for the time being," Dirk said between deep breaths. "Give us a chance to see what our friends are up to."

Summer followed her brother's lead and rolled onto her back, kicking into a backstroke that allowed them to watch the distant catamaran as they moved farther across the river. Kang's boat was idling near the skiff, its spotlights circling the immediate area around them. Shouting erupted from the catamaran and the boat suddenly raced downriver a short distance. Gunfire exploded again for a moment, then ceased as the boat stopped in the water.

Tongju had raced the catamaran toward the two objects spotted floating on the water and watched with disdain as his gunmen blasted away at the empty life vests that Dirk had tossed into the water. The boat idled around the life jackets for several minutes, waiting for the two escapees to surface in case they were hiding submerged nearby, before resuming the search. Dirk and Summer struggled toward midriver as they watched the catamaran begin making a wide-circle search around the skiff and life jackets. With each loop around the still-drifting skiff, the catamaran's pilot enlarged the circle in an ever-expanding spiral.

"Won't be too many more minutes before they work their way up and out our direction," Summer lamented.

Dirk scanned the watery horizon. They had worked their way about a mile into the river but were still barely a quarter of the way across the vast waterway. They could turn back and try for the nearest shoreline, but that would entail crossing the path of the advancing catamaran. Or they could continue with their original plan of traversing the river toward the lights on the opposite shore. But fatigue was beginning to creep up on them, hastened by their long immersion in the cool water. Another three-mile swim would be a tall order, made more difficult by the repeated submergings they would have to perform to avoid Kang's boat. Whether they could in fact survive the game of cat and mouse with Tongju and his gunmen would be uncertain at best.

But there was a third option. The small vessel with the colored lights that they had earlier noticed upriver was approaching on a nearby path about a half mile away. In the darkness, Dirk had trouble identifying the boat, but it appeared to be a wooden sailing vessel of some kind. A small red sail, revealed under the white mast light to be square shaped in dimension, was raised near the bow, but the boat didn't appear to be moving much faster than the current.

Dirk gauged the path of the boat and swam another hundred yards toward the center of the river, then stopped. Summer swam past before realizing her brother had halted.

"What gives? We need to keep going," she whispered after swimming back to him.

Dirk nodded downriver toward the catamaran. The sleek vessel had arced well out into the river as it circled downstream. He mentally calculated the trajectory of the yacht if it held its current circular course.

"They'll be within sight of us on the next upriver pass," he said quietly.

Summer could see he was right. The bright beams of the searchlights would shine upon their position on the next loop. They would have to remain submerged for several minutes to guarantee their concealment.

Dirk took a quick glance upriver. "Sister, I think it's time for Plan B."

"Plan B?" she asked.

"Yes, Plan B. Stick out your thumb and start hitchhiking."

The large wooden sailboat creaked lazily down the river, its foremast sail and a small auxiliary motor pushing it along just 3 knots faster than the current. As the vessel crept closer, Dirk could see that it was a three-masted Chinese junk of about twenty-five meters in length. Unlike most dilapidated sailing boats in this part of the world, the junk appeared to be maintained in pristine condition. A string of multicolored Chinese lanterns hung gaily from bow to stern, lending a partylike atmosphere to the boat. Constructed entirely of rich teakwood, the highly varnished surfaces seemed to glisten under the swaying overhead lamps. Somewhere belowdecks, a pair of stereo speakers blared out an orchestral tune, which Dirk recognized as a Gershwin melody. Yet despite the festive atmosphere, there was not a soul to be seen on deck.

"Ahoy! We're in the water. Can you help?"

Dirk's muted shout went unanswered as the junk approached. He repeated the call, careful not to draw attention from the catamaran, which had completed a downstream turn and was now headed upriver. Swimming closer to the moving junk, Dirk thought he detected a shadowy movement on the stern, but, again, there was no response to his call for help. He tried a third time, failing to notice as he spoke that the muffled drone of the junk's motor audibly raised a note.

The junk's golden teak hull began gliding past Dirk and Summer, an ornately carved dragon on the prow eyeing them maliciously in the water less than ten feet from the starboard beam. Like a phantom in the night, the junk slipped by strangely impervious to the voices calling from the water. As the stern and rudderpost floated past, Dirk abandoned hope of rescue from the junk and angrily wondered whether the pilot was asleep, drunk, or both.

Peering toward the slowly approaching catamaran, he was startled by a sudden splash in the water near his head. It was an orange plastic float tied to a coil of rope, trailing back to the stern of the junk.

"Grab hold and hang on tight," he instructed his sister, making sure Summer had a strong grip on the line before grasping it himself. As the line quickly drew taut, the force of the junk sailing faster than the river momentarily jerked them underwater. With a face full of water, they were dragged along the river's surface like a fallen water-skier who forgot to let go of the towline. Dirk slowly began pulling himself up the line hand over hand as his legs flailed out behind him. Reaching the high, blunt stern of the junk, he shimmied up the rope almost vertically until reaching the stern railing. A pair of hands emerged from the darkness, grabbing about his lapels and forcefully yanking him over the railing and onto the deck.

"Thanks," Dirk muttered, paying little heed to a tall figure in the shadows. "My sister is still on the line," he gasped, standing and grabbing the line at the stern rail and pulling at it. The tall man stepped up behind him and clasped the line, throwing his weight into it with Dirk. Together, they hoisted Summer up the railing like a gigged flounder until she flopped over the railing and onto the deck in a soggy heap. A high-pitched bark erupted from across the deck and, in an instant, a small black-and-tan dachshund raced over to Summer and began licking her face.

"Dark night for a swim, don't you think?" the stranger said in English.

"You're American," Dirk stated with surprise.

"Ever since being born in the Land of Lincoln," came the reply.

Dirk studied the man beside him for the first time. He stood six-foot-three, nearly matching his own height, though he carried a good twenty pounds more heft. A wave of unruly white hair and a matching goatee indicated that he was at least forty years his senior. The man's blue-green eyes, which seemed to twinkle with mischief under the hanging lights, touched a nerve with him. He felt as if he was looking at an older version of his own father, he finally decided.

"We're in great danger," Summer injected, rising to her feet. She scooped up the small dog as she stood and rubbed its ears briskly, which produced a sharp wag of its tail. "Our research vessel was sunk by these murderers and they mean to kill us," she said, nodding downriver toward the catamaran that was circling slowly in their direction.

"I heard the machine-gun fire," the man replied.

"They intend to make another deadly attack. We need to alert the authorities," she pleaded.

"Thousands of additional lives are at risk," Dirk added somberly.

The white-haired man perused the odd pair up and down. Summer, soaked but elegant still in her ripped silk cocktail dress, appeared an unusual companion for Dirk, who was battered and bruised in a shredded blue jumpsuit. Neither attempted to conceal the handcuff shackles that dangled from their wrists.

A slight grin fell across the man's lips. "I guess I'll buy it. We better hide you belowdecks until we get past that cat. You can stay in Mauser's cabin."

"Mauser? How many people are aboard?" Dirk asked.

"Just me and that fellow who's kissing your sister," he replied. Dirk turned to see the small dachshund happily licking the water off Summer's face.

The junk's owner quickly led them through a bulkhead door and down a flight of steps that led to a tastefully decorated stateroom.

"There's towels in the bath and dry clothes in the closet. And here, this will warm you up." He grabbed a bottle sitting on a side table and poured them each a glass of the clear fluid. Dirk downed a shot quickly, tasting a bitter flavor from the smooth liquor that clearly packed a high alcohol content.

"Soju," the man said. "A local rice brew. Help yourself while I try to get us past your friends in the cat."

"Thank you for helping us," Summer replied appreciatively. "By the way, my name is Summer Pitt, and this is my brother, Dirk."

"Pleased to meet you. My name is Clive Cussler."

Cussler returned to the junk's exposed wheel and slipped the engine into gear, tweaking the throttle slightly higher while nosing the bow farther toward midriver. It took only a few minutes before the catamaran approached from downstream, pulling alongside and washing the junk in a flood of spotlights. Cussler slipped on a conical straw peasant's hat and hunched his tall frame low at the wheel.

Through the glare of the lights, he could see several men pointing automatic weapons at him. As the catamaran crept to within inches of the port beam, an unseen man on the bridge barked a question across through the boat's PA system. Cussler replied by shaking his head. Another command echoed across from the catamaran as the spotlights bounced about the junk. Cussler again shook his head, wondering whether the waterlogged coil of rope and wet pairs of footprints across the deck would be detected. For several long minutes, the catamaran held steady at the junk's side as if waiting to board. Then, with a sudden blast of its engines, the catamaran roared away, resuming its river search closer to shore.

Cussler guided the junk down the last vestiges of the Han River until its waters were swallowed by the Yellow Sea. As the sea-lanes opened and the potential for nearby water traffic fell away, Cussler punched a handful of electronic controls at the helm. Hydraulic winches began to whir as lines were pulled and yards were raised, pulling the traditional red, square-shaped lugsails of a classic junk to the peak of the main- and mizzenmasts. Cussler manually tied off the out haul lines and then powered off the small diesel motor. The old junk now leaped through the waves under the graceful power of its sails.

"You've got a beautiful vessel," Dirk said, emerging from belowdecks dressed in jeans and a polo shirt. Summer followed him onto the deck, clad in an oversized pair of coveralls and a man's work shirt.

"The standard Chinese merchant ship that dates back almost two thousand years," Cussler replied. "This one was built in Shanghai in 1907 for a wealthy tea trader. She's made entirely from a hard teakwood called 'Takien Tong.' She's extremely durable and surprisingly seaworthy."

"Where did you find her?" Summer asked.

"A friend of mine found her abandoned in a Malaysian boatyard and decided to refurbish her. Took him six years to complete the job. After he grew bored with sailing, I traded him a few antique cars for her. Plan to cruise the Asian Pacific in her. Started in Japan and am going to work my way down to Wellington."

"You sail her by yourself?" Summer asked.

"She's been modified with a strong diesel engine and hydraulic lifts for the lugsails, which are linked to a computerized automatic pilot. She's a breeze to manage, and can, in fact, sail herself."

"Do you have a satellite phone aboard?" Dirk asked.

"Afraid not. A ship-to-shore radio is the best I can offer you. I didn't want any phone calls or Internet messages bothering me on this cruise."

"Understandable. Where are you headed, and, for that matter, where are we located now?" he asked.

Cussler pulled out a marine navigation chart and held it under the weak light of the helm console. "We're entering the Yellow Sea about forty miles northwest of Seoul. I take it you aren't interested in staying aboard till Wellington?" he grinned, running an index finger across the chart. "How about Inchon?" he continued, tapping the map. "I can drop you there in about eight hours. I believe there's a U. S. Air Force base located somewhere near there."

"That would be great. Anywhere we can find a phone and get ahold of someone at NUMA headquarters."

"NUMA," Cussler said, mulling over the word. "You're not from that NUMA ship that sank southwest of Japan?"

"The Sea Rover. Yes, we are. How did you know about that?" Summer asked.

"It was all over CNN. I saw them interview the captain. Told how the crew was rescued by a Japanese freighter following an explosion in the engine room."

Dirk and Summer stared at each other in disbelief.

"Captain Morgan and the crew are alive?" she finally blurted.

"Yes, that was the fellow's name. I thought he said the whole crew was rescued."

Summer retold the story of their attack on the ship and abduction by Kang's men and their uncertainty over the fate of their crew members.

"I suspect there's more than a few people out there looking for you," Cussler said. "You're safe for now. There's some sandwiches and beer in the galley. Why don't you two grab a bite and get some rest. I'll wake you when we reach Inchon."

"Thank you. I'll take you up on that," Summer replied, heading belowdecks.

Dirk lingered a moment, standing at the rail and watching the first glimmer of daybreak attempt to paint the eastern horizon. As he contemplated the events of the past three days, a hardened resolve surged through his exhausted body. By some miracle, the Sea Rover's crew had survived the sinking of the NUMA research ship. But Kang still had blood on his hands, and the stakes were now dramatically higher. If what Kang had told them was true, then millions of lives were at risk. The madman would have to be stopped, he knew, and quick.