Black Wind - Cussler Clive (читать книги онлайн без сокращений TXT) 📗
Webster, Peterson, and Burroughs returned to the NUMA headquarters building at exactly six o'clock and found a subdued scene when they arrived at Gunn's office. The results of the SEAL team's reconnaissance mission had just been received, and Gunn, Dirk, and Summer sat morosely discussing the report.
“Disappointing news, I'm afraid,” Gunn said. “The cable ship wasn't there.”
“How could it come and go without being seen?” Webster wondered. “We've got Interpol and customs authorities on the lookout for that vessel all throughout Asia Pacific.”
“Perhaps a few of them are on Kang's payroll,” Summer said.
Webster brushed aside the suggestion. “We're certain the reconnaissance team didn't misidentify anything?”
“There apparently was nothing in the enclosed dock to see. A video feed of the surveillance is being sent by satellite right now. We can take a look for ourselves on the admiral's viewing monitor,” Gunn replied.
For the second time that day, he led a procession to the admiral's former office. As he approached the corner suite, he was surprised to hear a familiar laugh emanating from the office as a hazy cloud of smoke drifted out the open door.
Entering the threshold, Gunn was shocked to find Al Giordino sitting on the couch. With a wild wave of his dark curly hair askew, the newly appointed NUMA director of underwater technology sat reclining with his legs up on the coffee table, a stubby cigar dangling from his lips. He was dressed in a worn NUMA jumpsuit and looked like he just stepped off a boat.
“Rudi, my boy, here flogging the crew a little late tonight, aren't we?” Giordino asked before blowing a puff of smoke from the cigar skyward.
“Somebody's got to mind the store while you're out basking on a warm tropical beach.”
Dirk and Summer grinned as they entered the room and spotted Giordino, who was like a favorite uncle to them. They didn't immediately see their father, who stood at the opposite end of the office gazing at the lights across the Potomac. His six-foot-three frame stood tall against the window, having lost little of its younger muscular leanness. A touch of gray at the temples and a few slight wrinkles around the eyes hinted at his age. The weathered, tan face of Dirk Pitt, the legendary special projects director and now head of NUMA, broke into a broad grin at the sight of his children.
“Dirk, Summer,” he said, his sparkling green eyes glowing with warmth as he threw his arms around his two kids.
“Dad, we thought you and Al were still in the Philippines,” Summer said after giving her father a hug and a peck on the cheek.
“Are you kidding?” Giordino piped in. “The old man practically swam across the Pacific to get back here when he heard you were missing.”
The elder Pitt smiled. “I was just jealous of you two taking a tour of Northeast Asia without me,” he grinned.
“We made some notes of places to avoid,” Dirk laughed in reply.
Pitt visibly warmed in the presence of his two kids. The veteran marine engineer brimmed with a radiant serenity at the world that had recently changed around him. His personal life had been completely jarred by the sudden appearance of his two grown children just a few years earlier whom he never knew existed. But they quickly became a close part of his life, joining him in his underwater work, as well as sharing personal time with him and his new wife. The sudden dose of responsibility had nudged him to take stock of his life and he had finally married his longtime love, Colorado congresswoman Loren Smith. But the changes continued, as even his professional life saw an upheaval. With Admiral Sandecker unexpectedly taking the vice presidency, Pitt was suddenly thrust into the top spot at NUMA. While special projects director, he experienced several lifetimes' worth of adventure and challenges that took him to the four corners of the globe. The hazards had taken a toll on him, both physically and mentally, and now he was glad to ease back on the more vigorous demands of the job. As NUMA's chief director, his administrative and political duties often exceeded his interests, but he still ensured that he and Al spent plenty of time in the field, testing new equipment, exploring prospective marine sanctuaries, or just pushing the limits of the deep. Deep inside, the flame still burned brightly when it came to exploring the unknown or solving an ancient mystery and his old-fashioned sense of propriety never waned. The kidnapping of his children and the sinking of the Sea Rover triggered an anger inside that brought back the old resolve he'd felt time and again to make right in the world.
“Dad, what's the situation with the toxic Japanese cargo ship in the Philippines?” Dirk asked. “I understand that it was leaky chemical munitions causing the reef kill.”
“That's right, a mixture of mustard and lewisite in this case. More biochemical hazards left over from World War Two. We actually have the leak contained. Nobody was volunteering to conduct a costly excavation and removal of the munitions, so we did the next best thing. Bury them.”
“Lucky for us that underwater sandbank was right there,” Giordino explained. “We just fired up a water pump and filled the cargo hold with sand, then sealed it back up. As long as nobody goes digging around down there, there should be no more toxic leakage and the damaged reef should rejuvenate itself in a few years.”
An administrative aid poked her head through the door and spoke to Gunn. “Sir, the video feed from the Pentagon is available for viewing now,” she said, then disappeared out the door like a rabbit down a hole.
Gunn seized the moment to introduce the Homeland Security and FBI men to Pitt and Giordino, then herded everyone toward a large, flat-panel monitor that was hidden behind a sliding panel. Typing in a few quick commands on a keyboard, the screen suddenly illuminated with the image of a large, enclosed dockyard. The camera's eye panned around the facility, showing a series of empty docks. After less than a minute's running time, the video ended and the screen went blank.
“That's Kang's facility, no doubt about it. But there's no sign of the Baekje” Dirk said.
“The Navy report stated that a small tug and a speedboat were the only vessels observed on Kang's property,” Gunn said. “Like Elvis, the Baekje has apparently left the building.”
Webster cleared his throat. “I have confirmed with Interpol and the Korean National Police that Inchon port traffic has been monitored around the clock since the crew of the Sea Rover were rescued and the alert bulletin issued. No vessel matching the Baekje's description has been seen entering or departing the port since.”
“Someone's on the take,” Giordino sneered.
Webster returned the comment with an indignant look. “A remote possibility but not likely. Despite its heavy traffic, Inchon is not a particularly large port. Somebody should have reported seeing her depart.”
“She may have made a stealthy getaway right after Dirk and Summer left the ship,” Gunn conjectured, “which was before the Interpol alert was issued.”
“Or there's another possibility,” Pitt suggested. “The ship may have been camouflaged or reconfigured to resemble another vessel. She may have sailed out of port in broad daylight looking like an ordinary tramp freighter.”
“Or the Love Boat” Giordino added.
“Whatever her disposition, the fact remains that without the ship we have insufficient evidence to make a move against Kang with the Korean authorities,” Webster said.
“What about Dirk and Summer?” Pitt replied with rising anger. “Do you think they showed up on Korean soil aboard the Queen Mary?”
“The proof against Kang has to be ironclad,” Webster replied with a stressed look. “There's a serious political problem with South Korea right now. Our people in the State Department have their knees shaking, and even the Pentagon is nervous as hell. The prospect of losing our military presence in Korea is very real and nobody wants to jeopardize a precarious situation at this critical juncture in time.”
