Almost as one, the three men dashed back across the open platform at full speed, knowing that every second counted. As they ran, Dirk looked at the launch clock above his head. Just twenty-one minutes and thirty-six seconds remained before the platform would be engulfed in a blasting inferno. As if that wasn't enough motivation to move faster, a sudden whirring noise erupted from inside the hangar. An electronic command had been issued from the Koguryo's launch control software and the hangar's large barn doors began sliding closed in preparation for the blastoff.
“The doors are closing,” Dahlgren huffed. “We've got to hurry.”
Like a trio of Olympic sprinters heading to the tape, the men bolted side by side toward the shrinking gap of the closing doors. Though he still had plenty of fire in his step, Pitt eased back as they approached the opening and let Dirk and Dahlgren jump through first. Following single file, he turned and slid sideways through the gap just before the doors sealed shut.
Midway down the hangar, they could hear the sound of muffled voices and a metallic banging as the men inside the metal shed fought to extricate themselves. Dirk, Dahlgren, and Pitt scurried to the shed and examined the chained and padlocked door as they caught their breath.
“That chain isn't going to give, but maybe we can pry the door off its hinges ... if we can find a crowbar around here,” Dahlgren said, scanning the area for a potential tool.
Pitt glanced at the motorized work platform Jack had ridden across the hangar and reached up and grabbed the control box, which dangled from the railing.
“I think we've got our crowbar right here,” he said, lowering the platform a few feet, then rolling the device up to the front of the shed. As Dirk and Dahlgren looked on, Pitt grabbed a loose end of the padlock chain and wrapped it tightly around the platform's railing, then yelled at the men inside the shed: “Stand back from the door.”
Waiting a second, he then hit the raise button and watched as the platform rose slowly, drawing the chain tight. The lifting mechanism groaned and strained for a moment as the wheels of the platform rocked across the floor. Then, with a loud crack, the shed's door ripped off its hinges and popped into the air, slamming against the platform with a shudder before dropping and dangling from the chain midair. Pitt quickly backed the platform out of the way as the Sea Launch crew surged out of the claustrophobic shed.
The crewmen had been given little to eat since the Odyssey was commandeered and they appeared weak and haggard from the stress of their captivity. Yet an underlying anger purveyed over the men, a group of seasoned professionals who didn't take kindly to having given up their rocket and platform.
“Is the captain and launch manager here?” Pitt shouted over the cries of thanks from the released crew.
A battered Captain Christiano elbowed his way through the throng, followed by a thin, distinguished-looking man with a goatee.
“I'm Christiano, captain of the Odyssey. This is Larry Ohlrogge, platform launch manager,” he added, nodding to the man beside him “Has the platform been secured from those scum?” he spat with contempt.
Pitt shook his head. “They've evacuated the platform in preparation for launching the rocket. We don't have much time.”
Ohlrogge noted the erector transporter had been returned to the hangar and that the hangar doors had been closed.
“We're talking minutes,” he said with alarm in his voice.
“About eighteen, to be precise. Captain, get your crew to the helipad now,” Pitt directed. “There's an airship waiting that can evacuate everyone from the platform if we move quick.”
Turning to Ohlrogge, Pitt added, “Is there any way we can stop the launch?”
“The launch sequence is completely automated and controlled by the assembly and command ship. Presumably, these terrorists have duplicated that functionality on their own vessel.”
“We can mechanically halt the fueling of the rocket,” Christiano noted.
“It is too late,” Ohlrogge said, shaking his head. “There is an override control in the bridge that would be our only hope at this late time,” he added grimly.
“The elevator at the rear of the hangar leads to the bridge deck. The helipad is just above,” Christiano said. “Then let's get moving,” Pitt replied.
Quickly, the group shuffled en masse to the rear of the hangar and crowded around a medium-sized elevator.
“There's not enough room for all,” Christiano stated, regaining his captain's form. “We'll need three trips. You eight men first, then this group, then you ten men over there,” he ordered, dividing the crowd into three groups.
“Jack, you go with the first group and help them onto the Icarus. Let Al know there's more on the way,” Pitt said. “Dirk, you bring up the last group, make sure everyone makes it out of here. Captain, we need to visit the bridge now,” he said, turning to Christiano.
Christiano, Ohlrogge, Dahlgren, and Pitt crowded into the elevator with eight other men and waited impatiently as the elevator zipped up to the bridge level above the hangar. Dahlgren quickly located a stairwell off to one side that led to the helipad and herded the crewmen up to the exposed deck.
As promised, the silver airship hung hovering several feet above the pad, Giordino at the controls smoking a fat cigar. He quickly rotated the swiveling propulsion ducts and brought the gondola down to the deck as Jack ran up.
“Hi, sailor. Give a few girls a ride?” Dahlgren asked, poking his head into the gondola doorway.
“Certainly,” Giordino replied. “How many do you have?”
“About thirty, give or take,” Dahlgren replied, looking suspiciously at the gondola's passenger compartment.
“Shove 'em in, we'll make them fit. But we better toss any unnecessary weight if we want to get off the ground. Just make it quick, as I have an aversion to getting baked alive.”
“You and me both, pardner,” Dahlgren replied, herding the first of the crewmen aboard.
In addition to the two-seat cockpit, the gondola's passenger compartment was configured to seat eight passengers in oversized leather airplane-type seats. Dahlgren studied the arrangement and grimaced at the prospect of squeezing all the men in and possibly grounding the blimp. As the crew climbed aboard, he checked the mountings of the seats and found that they had a quick-release mechanism for temporary removal. He quickly unlatched five of the seats and, with the help of a Russian engineer, tossed them out the door of the gondola.
“Everybody to the back of the bus,” he barked. “It's going to be standing room only.”
As the last man in his group wedged into the passenger compartment, Dahlgren turned to Al.
“How much time do we have?”
“About fifteen minutes, by my count.”
The next group of crewmen began spilling off the stairs and sprinting across the deck of the helipad. Dahlgren let out a slight sigh. There would be time, if not room, to get every man to the blimp before blastoff. But would it be enough time to stop the launch, he wondered, catching sight of the Zenit rocket standing fueled and ready across the platform.
Inside the Odyssey's bridge, Captain Christiano turned pale and shook his head silently as he surveyed the bullet-ridden computer stations and shattered glass that littered the floor. Walking to the navigation station, he curiously noticed a lonely computer mouse dangling by its cord, its companion keyboard nowhere to be seen. Ohlrogge observed that the computer drive itself was undamaged.
“I've got scores of laptop computers downstairs. We can plug one in and activate the platform controls,” he offered.
“They have no doubt secured the automated controls,” Christiano said with disgust, thrusting a thumb over his shoulder toward the window. Pitt followed his motion, observing the Koguryo sitting defiantly in the distance. Returning his gaze to the captain, Pitt caught sight of the Badger, still tied up in the water off the starboard support column far below.
“There is no time. It might take hours to work around,” Christiano continued, moving to the bridge's center console with a look of despair on his face.
“You said there was a manual override on the bridge?” Pitt asked.
Christiano anticipated the results before his eyes reached the console. They had simply known too much. How to navigate and ballast the platform, how to fuel the Zenit, how to control and launch the rocket from their
