“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 pre dive 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.”
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
