Black Wind (Dirk Pitt 18)

"Lieutenant, I've radioed command headquarters. Dispatch is going to contact the Sea Launch port office to determine what's up with their platform," the Narwhal's red-haired communications officer stated from the corner.

Smith nodded in reply, then spoke to a boyish-looking helmsman manning the wheel. "Steady as she goes," he said firmly.

The two dots they chased on the horizon gradually grew larger until the distinct shapes of an oil platform and a utility ship drew into focus. The support ship was no longer aside the platform and Smith could see that it was in fact moving away from the stationary platform. Smith took a quick glance over his shoulder and saw that the Deep Endeavor had completed her freighter inspection. The turquoise vessel was moving away from the freighter and appeared to be following his path in the distance.

"Sir, would you like to approach the platform or the ship?" the helmsman asked as they drew nearer.

"Bring us alongside the platform for starters, then we'll go take a look at the ship," Smith replied.

The small patrol boat slowed as it eased near the platform, which now rode fourteen meters lower in the water under its ballasted state. Smith looked in awe at the huge Zenit rocket standing at its launch tower near the stern edge of the platform. Peering through binoculars, he studied the platform deck but saw no signs of life. Surveying the forward section of the platform, he caught sight of the launch countdown clock, which now read 01:32:00, one hour and thirty-two minutes.

"What the hell?" Smith muttered as he watched the digital numbers tick lower. Grabbing the marine radio transmitter, he called to Odyssey.

"Sea Launch platform, this is Coast Guard cutter Narwhal. Over." After a pause, he tried again. But he was met only with silence.

"Sea Launch director of information, how may I help you?" a soft, feminine voice answered over the phone line.

"This is the Eleventh District U.S. Coast Guard, Marine Safety Group, Los Angeles, central dispatch. We're requesting mission and location status of Sea Launch vessels Odyssey and Sea Launch Commander, please."

"One moment," the information director hesitated, shuffling through some papers on her desk.

"Here we are," she continued. "The launch platform Odyssey is en route to her designated launch site in the western Pacific, near the equator. Her last reported position, as of eight a.m. this morning, was at approximately 18 degrees North Latitude, 132 degrees West Longitude, or roughly seventeen hundred miles east-southeast of Honolulu Hawaii. The assembly and command ship Sea Launch Commander is presently at port in Long Beach undergoing minor repairs. She is expected to depart port tomorrow morning to rendezvous with the Odyssey at the equator, where the Koreasat 2 launch is scheduled in eight days."

"Neither vessel is currently located at sea off the coast of Southern California?"

"Why no, of course not."

"Thank you for the information, ma'am."

"You're welcome," the director replied before hanging up, wondering why the Coast Guard would think the platform was anywhere near the coast of California.

Smith was too anxious to dally for a response from the Los Angeles Coast Guard Group and brought his vessel closer to the platform. The Coast Guard lieutenant was annoyed at the lack of response from the Odyssey, which had ignored his repetitive radio calls. He finally turned his attention toward the support ship, which had now crept a quarter mile away from the platform. Repeated radio calls to the ship went unanswered as well.

"Sir, she's flying a Japanese flag," the helmsman noted as the Narwhal moved toward the vessel.

"No excuse for ignoring a marine radio call. Let's move alongside the vessel and I'll try to talk to them over the PA system," Smith ordered.

As Narwhal moved out of the shadow of the platform, pandemonium struck at once. Coast Guard dispatch broke over the Narwhal's radio with word that the Odyssey was reported a thousand miles away from California and that her support ship was sitting docked in Long Beach. Aboard the Koguryo, a handful of crewmen pushed aside a lower deck siding, revealing a row of large cylindrical tubes pointing

seaward. Though in disbelief, Smith's instincts took over, correctly assessing the situation and barking orders before he even realized the words were flowing from his lips.

"Hard to port! Apply full power! Prepare for evasive maneuvers!" But it was too late. The helmsman was just able to swing the Narwhal broadside to the Koguryo when a plume of white smoke sudde

nly billowed from the larger ship's lower deck. The smoke seemed to build at its source before a bright flash burst forth. Then, out of the smoke, a Chinese CSS-N-4 Sardine surface-to-surface missile erupted from its launch tube, bursting horizontally away from the ship. Watching mesmerized from the bridge, Smith had the distinct sensation of being shot between the eyes with an arrow as he observed the missile charge directly toward him across the water. The nose tip of the missile seemed to smile at him in the fractional second before it smashed into the bridge just a few feet away.

Carrying 365 pounds of high explosives, the Chinese missile had enough demolition power to sink a cruiser. Striking at short range, the cutter had no chance. The nineteen-foot missile ripped-into the Narwhal and exploded in a massive fireball, blasting the Coast Guard ship and its crew into fiery bits that scattered across the water. A small black mushroom cloud rose like a macabre tombstone above the devastation as the flames died quietly on the water's surface. The incinerated white hull, the only material remains of the ship left intact, clung to the sea's surface in a futile battle to stay afloat. Around her, flaming chunks of debris blazed in the water before slowly sinking to the seabed. The smoldering hull clung to the surface for nearly fifteen minutes before the fight left her and the last remains of the Narwhal slipped under the surface with a gasping sizzle and a wisp of steam.

My God, they've fired a missile at the Narwhall" Captain Burch cried out as he watched the Coast Guard ship disappear in a cloud of smoke and fire two miles ahead of the Deep Endeavor. Del-gado immediately attempted to raise the Narwhalon the marine radio as the others peered out the bridge window. Summer grabbed a pair of high-power binoculars but there was little to be seen of the Narwhal, its shattered remains obscured by a thick veil of smoke. Looking past the smoke, she scanned the platform and the adjacent support ship, which she studied for a long while.

"There's no response," Delgado said quietly after repeated attempts to contact the Coast Guard vessel were met with silence.

"There may be survivors in the water," Aimes stuttered, stunned at the sudden demise of a boat and crew he knew well.

"I can't dare move any closer," Captain Burch replied with angst. "We're completely unarmed, and they may well be aiming their next missile at us as we speak." Burch then turned and ordered his helmsman to stop engines and hold their present position.

Delgado spoke to Aimes. "The captain is right. We'll call for help but we can't endanger our crew. We don't even know who or what we are up against."

"It's Kang's men," Summer said, handing the binoculars to her brother.