the opposite direction to counterbalance the movement. Under normal conditions, the rocket might have been able to stabilize itself with a few minor adjustments. But on this flight, the Zenit's fuel tanks were only half full. The partially empty fuel tanks allowed the liquid propellant to slosh back and forth during the thrust inclinations, creating a whole new set of balancing dynamics. The overtaxed stabilization control system tried vainly to smooth the flight but, ultimately, exacerbated the situation and the rocket began to waffle.
On video screens and satellite feeds, out an airship cockpit window, and from a barren rocky island in the Pacific Ocean, a thousand eyes stared transfixed at the streaming white rocket as it began a slow and morbid gyration across the sky. What started as a slight wobble at liftoff grew into a continuous waggle during ascent until the entire rocket was shaking uncontrollably toward the clouds like an anorexic belly dancer. Had Sea Launch been managing the flight, an automated safety control would have detonated the rocket as it veered out of parameter. But the abort command had been deleted from the flight software by Kang's crew and the Zenit was left to struggle upward in a tortuous dance of death.
To the unbelieving sight of those who watched, the huge rocket swung wildly in the sky before tearing itself apart from the inside out and literally snapping in two. The lower Stage immediately disintegrated in a massive fireball as the fuel tanks were simultaneously ignited, swallowing everything in its radius with a cauldron of flame. Chunks and pieces of rocket machinery not dissolved by the explosion rained down over a swath of empty sea, while the high-altitude mushroom cloud from the explosion hung in the blue sky as if painted there.
The nose cone and upper stage of the Zenit oddly sailed free of the carnage and continued speeding across the sky like a streaking bullet, fueled only by momentum. In a graceful parabolic arc, the smoke-trailed payload gradually lost energy and nosed down toward the Pacific, smacking the surface with a watery geyser of debris miles downrange from the initial explosion. As the sudden sound of silence drifted over the water, the stunned observers stared miraculously at the white rainbow of smoke that trailed the death flight and arched quietly from horizon to horizon.
ON A rocky beach of Santa Barbara Island, an elephant seal awoke from a leisurely nap and cocked an ear toward the inland. The odd sound of cheering wafted down the hillside from thirty or so men congregated on a small bluff. The seal looked quizzically up at the disheveled group of men, then stretched back out and resumed his nap.
For the first time in their lives, the Sea Launch platform crew of technicians and engineers were happy to witness a launch failure. Men cheered and whistled while others poked their fists in the air in celebratory victory. As the launch vehicle blew up above their heads, even Christiano grinned a sigh of relief as Platform Launch Manager Ohlrogge slapped him on the back.
“Somebody was smiling down on us for once,” Ohlrogge said.
“Thank God. Whatever those bastards were trying to launch could not have been good.”
“One of my flight engineers noted a roll oscillation right from launch. Must have been a nozzle adjustment malfunction, or a stabilization issue with the platform.”
Christiano thought of Pitt and his comment before departing the Odyssey. “Maybe that fellow from NUMA worked some magic.”
“If so, we owe him big.”
“Yes, and somebody owes me, too,” Christiano replied.
Ohlrogge looked at the captain quizzically.
“That was a ninety-million-dollar launch vehicle that just went up in flames. There will be hell to pay when we pass that bill to the insurer,” the captain said, finally letting loose a laugh.
Kang flinched as he watched the satellite feed of the Zenit disintegrate before his eyes. As the camera caught pieces of falling debris, he silently reached for the remote control and turned off the monitor.
“Though the strike has failed, the specter of the attack will still represent a serious provocation to the American public,” Kwan assured his boss. “Anger will be high and the fallout against Japan significant.”
“Yes, our staged media security leaks should ensure that,” Kang said, suppressing his anger at the failure. “But the disappearance of the Koguryo and launch team remains at hand. Their capture would corrupt much of our hard work to date.”
“Tongju will fulfill his duties. He always has,” Kwan replied.
Kang stared at the darkened television monitor for a moment, then slowly nodded.
The mood in the Koguryo launch control center quickly turned from joy to shock to sullen disappointment. In an instant, the mission requirements of the launch team fell away and the assembled technicians and engineers sat silently at their computer stations, staring at the displays that no longer provided any launch data. No one seemed to know what to do next and whispered quietly with one another.
Tongju threw a long, frigid glare toward Ling, then left the control center without saying a word. As he made his way toward the bridge, he called Kim on a portable radio and spoke briefly in a low voice. On the bridge, he found Captain Lee staring out the starboard bridge window at the smoke-trailed rain of debris that scarred the blue sky with white strips of vapor.
“She shook herself apart,” he said with wonder, then looked into the blank eyes of Tongju.
“A problem with the platform,” Tongju replied. “We must evacuate the area immediately. Can we get moving at once?”
“We are standing by for departure. We just need to hoist in the tender, then we can be under way.”
“There is no time,” he hissed suddenly. “The American Coast Guard and Navy may already be looking for us. Proceed under full power at once, and I will personally cut the tender loose.”
Lee looked at Tongju warily, then nodded.
“As you wish. Our course is already laid in. We shall make for Mexican waters, then divert under cover of darkness for the rendezvous position.”
Tongju took a step to exit the bridge, then stopped suddenly. Out of the forward window, he gazed at the smoke-enshrouded Sea Launch platform. Approaching the platform from the northwest was the silver blimp, now cruising several hundred feet above the water. Tongju waved an arm in the direction of the Icarus.
“Alert your surface-to-air missile team. Take out that airship immediately,” he spat, then vanished out the door.
As the Roguryo's twin four-bladed propellers began churning the water beneath the ship's hull, Tongju hustled his way back to the portable stairwell that ran down the vessel's port flank. At the base of the stairwell bobbed the white tender, a mooring line tied across to the railing. He noted bubbles of smoke rising from the boat's stern, alerting him that the engine was running at idle. Quickly untying the line, he coiled it in his hand and waited until the next passing wave pushed the tender up against the side of the ship. With barely a step, he hopped aboard the bow of the boat and shuffled toward the cabin, tossing the coiled line into an empty bucket on deck. Inside the cabin, he found Kim and two of his commandos standing beside the wheel. “Everything aboard?” Tongju asked.
Kim nodded. “During the excitement of the launch, we moved our arms and provisions on board, and even hoisted extra fuel aboard, without any interference.” Kim tilted his head toward the rear open deck where four fifty- five-gallon drums of gasoline were tied off against the gunwale.
“Let us drift off the stern for a moment, then we shall make our run to Ensenada. When will the charges detonate?” Kim glanced at his watch. “In twenty-five minutes.” “Plenty of time for the missile crew to destroy the airship.” The Koguryo quickly churned away from the small boat as the tender continued to idle in the low swells. When the former cable ship had cleared a quarter mile of open water, Kim moved the throttles to slow and crept forward with the bow pointed southeast. In no time, he figured, they would look like another ordinary fishing charter heading home to San Diego.
Long after the Zenit had climbed into the sky and detonated, a thick cloud of white smoke still hung over the Odyssey like a fog bank Ever so gently, the light sea breeze began poking holes through the exhaust, revealing sporadic patches of the launch platform through the haze.
“Looks like a bowl of clam chowder down there,” Giordino said as he banked the Icarus over the platform. While Giordino and Dahlgren visually surveyed the platform for any signs of Pitt, Dirk activated the LASH system and scanned for optical anomalies that might signify a human being.
“Don't quote me but I think that baby is sinking,” Dahlgren said as they glided around the aft end of the platform and could make out an exposed section down to the water. The men in the gondola could clearly see that the aft support columns appeared shorter than the bow columns.
