Black Wind by Clive Cussler
before suddenly cutting the engines. As the boat slowed to a stop against the current and began drifting back downriver, three Zodiac black rubber boats were quickly lowered over the side. With quiet efficiency, eight SEALs quietly climbed into each boat and paddled away from the support craft, Dirk joining the men in the second rubber boat. Nearly invisible against the darkened night, the three boats moved easily downriver with the current before silently turning into the inlet to Kang's property.
A cloudy sky softly reflected the lights of Kang's compound as the three rubber boats turned the last corner of the winding inlet and entered the expansive cove beneath the residence. Dirk gripped a paddle tightly and rowed in silent unison with the heavily armed SEAL team members beside him in the boat. The lingering effects of jet lag and exhaustion from the aborted Sea Launch strike were quickly shaken off at the sight of Kang's stone fortress.
Halfway across the cove, the boats split up, two heading left to land on the sandy beach near the boat dock while the third moved toward the right. The third boat's wet suit-clad occupants would swim ashore first, creeping in along the rocky landing on the opposite side of the dock. Dirk rowed in one of the boats that headed to the beach, wondering if the advance SEAL team had missed neutralizing any of the surveillance video cameras Kang had mounted around the inlet.
As they paddled closer to shore, Dirk noticed the same configuration of boats tied up at the dock as when he escaped with Summer. Kang's big Benetti yacht and the blue high-speed catamaran were tied up in a row, while the small speedboat was centered in between. The yacht and catamaran quickly became the focus of all the men in Dirk's rubber boat. Their mission was to secure Kang's docked vessels while the other SEAL teams rushed the compound. Surveying the dock and surrounding area, Dirk smiled to himself at the sight of the missing skiff.
The two rubber boats hung offshore for several minutes as the submerged SEALs crept ashore on the far side. From his vantage point in the cove, Dirk watched as a handful of black shapes moved silently out of the water and along the rocky shoreline. A pair of dark shapes crept up to the security booth and quickly subdued the on-duty guard, whose nose was buried in a newspaper.
At the bow of Dirk's boat, Commander Paul Gutierrez quietly raised his hand and the ops team dipped their paddles in the water, rapidly driving the rubber boat ashore after a few dozen hard strokes. The boat's hull barely scraped the sand when its occupants burst out and sprinted down the shoreline toward the dock. All remained quiet about the compound as the following boat's team simultaneously raced up to the cliff entrance under cover of the advance squad.
Dirk followed his team of eight men as they hustled onto the dock ramp, then split in two. Four men peeled off and leaped aboard the catamaran while Commander Gutierrez and three men continued down the dock toward the Benetti. Dirk kept running past the catamaran, opting to join the men headed for the larger yacht. But twenty yards from the yacht, he suddenly froze in his tracks as a yellow flash of light burst from the stern deck. The clatter from an AK-74 shattered the night air a microsecond later, followed by a sickening series of dull thumps as the bullets slammed into the bodies of the two men in front of him. Ducking behind a barrel, Dirk yanked the SIG Sauer 9mm pistol from a side holster and quickly squeezed ten shots toward the source of the gunfire. A few yards ahead of him, Gutierrez had also returned fire, sweeping the yacht's rear deck with a Heckler & Koch MP5K submachine gun. Their combined bursts silenced the unseen gunman amid a spray of flying splinters and shattered glass.
The sudden bursts of gunfire seemed to awaken the whole island as small arms fire erupted throughout the compound. A pair of pistol-wielding gunmen popped out of a cabin door on the catamaran with guns blazing but were quickly mowed down by the SEAL team already positioned aboard. A guard in the main security house noticed the
murdered beach guard over a video camera and quickly alerted the residence security forces. The approaching SEALs found themselves walking into the fire from a half-dozen armed guards.
Back on the dock, Dirk leaned over the two men sprawled on the ground in front of him. To his shock, he found the first man was dead, a series of bullet punctures noticeable across his neck and clavicle. The second man was wriggling about, gasping in pain. He had been saved by his Kevlar combat vest, the burst having caught him across the stomach, his unprotected hips and thighs catching the worst of the fire.
"I'm okay," the tough SEAL grunted as Dirk tried to assess his wounds. "Finish the mission."
As he spoke, the powerful motors of the Benetti yacht gurgled to life. Dirk looked up to see more gunfire erupt from the boat's dock-side gunwale as a pair of crewmen worked down the length of the vessel, one cutting the mooring lines while the other sprayed covering fire across the deck.
"We'll get them," Dirk said to the prone man, patting his shoulder. Reluctantly leaving the injured soldier, he stood up and sprinted toward the yacht. The yacht's motors began to rumble loudly as the throttles were shoved to full. A foaming torrent boiled off the transom as the boat's propellers cut into the water.
A few feet ahead of Pitt, Gutierrez let off a quick burst of fire aimed at the starboard passageway, then stood and barked, "Let's get aboard!"
Dirk bolted past Gutierrez and the other SEAL at a dead run as the two commandos scrambled to chase after the departing yacht. The crack of an automatic pistol belched somewhere above Dirk three times and he could hear the whine as the bullets flew just over his head. A loud thud resonated from the dock behind him and a voice shouted out "I'm hit" just as Dirk leaped off the dock.
The fleeing yacht was only a few feet removed from the dock when Dirk jumped and he easily grasped the side railing midair and pulled
himself aboard in a single fluid move, dropping to the deck and lying still on the darkened stern. A second later, a thump banged against the side as another body jumped onto the side of the moving boat. Dirk saw the outline of a black-camouflaged man quickly slide over the railing and onto the deck a few feet behind him.
"It's Pitt here," he whispered back to the shadow, not wishing to get shot by mistake. "Who's there?"
"Gutierrez," came the gravelly voice of the SEAL commander. "We need to get to the wheelhouse and stop this craft."
Gutierrez started to get up and creep forward when Dirk stuck out his hand in a halting motion. Both men froze as Dirk trained his eyes and ears on the port side of the deck. On the far side, he could see that a stairwell led down from an open observation deck above their heads. As the yacht headed into the cove, the lights from the dock flared over the boat's stern and Dirk detected a slight movement in the shadows of the stairwell. Slowly unholstering his 9mm, he took a bead on the shadowy spot and waited. When the shadow suddenly appeared to descend a step, Dirk squeezed the SIG Sauer's trigger twice.
A metallic clunk rang across the deck from a fallen handgun and the long shadow slumped down the stairwell into the visible mass of a crumpled man dressed in black fatigues.
"Nice shooting," Gutierrez grumbled. "Now, let's move."
As the commando crept forward, Dirk followed close behind, nearly losing his footing and slipping to the deck at one point. Glancing down, he noticed the deck was covered in a pool of blood from the gunman Gutierrez had shot from the dock. The dead man's body lay facedown next to a teak bar, a bent cigarette still clenched between his lips.
Roaring away from the brightly lit dock, the yacht was now enshrouded in total darkness as it sped across the cove at top speed. Nearly all of the boat's lights had been extinguished, save for a few dim interior floor lights The two men felt their way along to the main
rear cabin that housed the dining salon and skirted around to the starboard-deck passageway. Gutierrez suddenly raised a hand and stopped, taking a step back toward the salon.
"There's next to no cover along the side passageways. It would be better if we split up. Take the port passage and try to move forward. I'll work up the starboard side here," Gutierrez directed, knowing another gun
Dirk nodded. "See you on the bridge," he whispered, then darted across the stern deck. With his senses tuned high, he edged around the portside corner and stepped onto the teak passageway leading forward. Distant gunfire from the shore rattled over the yacht's pulsating engines, but Dirk was focused on the sounds aboard the boat. Padding silently, he crept forward until the passageway ended at a stairwell. The bridge was almost in reach now, just up a level and another thirty feet. As he peered up the stairs, the loud bark of automatic gunfire suddenly cracked through the air. His heart skipped a beat, but then he realized it was on the other side of the yacht.
Gutierrez had been waiting for the burst. Slinking forward on the starboard side, he kept low to the ground in anticipation of an unseen gunman. Reaching the opposite stairwell, he climbed it like a cat, poised on the balls of his feet for a sudden barrage. He didn't have to go far to find it. The SEAL had barely set foot on the landing when a spray of gunfire whistled over his head. Hiding off the bridge wing, a black-clad gunman fired with an AK-74.
Gutierrez barely escaped the initial fusillade. The gunman's burst was thrown high when the yacht suddenly slowed and swerved into the narrow cove inlet. Diving back for the stairwell, Gutierrez slid down the first few steps before twisting around and aiming his MP5K. The SEAL waited calmly for several seconds until the gunman's muzzle flashed again. The incoming burst chewed up the deck just inches from his head, peppering his face with teakwood splinters. Calmly adjusting his aim, Gutierrez let off a solid burst from the Heckler &
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Koch into the darkness. A brief muffled cry rang out, then another flash of fire spewed from the concealed shooter's gun. Only this time, the spray of yellow fire arced skyward, then ceased altogether as the mortally wounded gunman fell dead to the deck.
On the other side of the yacht, Dirk heard the gunfire fall silent and wondered whether Gutierrez had survived the firefight. Moving up the port stairwell, he climbed two steps then froze at the sound of a faint click behind him. Tilting his head back, he detected that the sound came from a side cabin door at the base of the stairs. Descending silently, Dirk crept back down the stairs until he stood in front of the doorway. Gripping the SIG Sauer firmly in his right hand, he reached for the brass door handle with his left hand and gentry turned it to its stops. Holding the latch open for a second, he took a deep breath, then shoved the door open and lunged in.
He had expected the door to fly fully open, but, instead, it abruptly stopped from the mass of a human being. Slightly thrown off balance by the sudden jar, Dirk found himself bouncing off a muscular guard standing with a surprised look inside the doorway. Facing just inches away, Dirk noted a deep L-shaped scar on the man's chin and a bent angular nose that had once been broken. In his hands he held an AK-74 rifle, which he was attempting to reload. The rifle's barrel was pointed at the floor as the man fumbled with the clip, but he immediately swung the stock up toward Dirk's right side. Lurching back a step in order to bring the SIG Sauer to bear, Dirk was struck by the rifle before he could aim and his shot fired harmlessly into the wall. But rather than stiffly absorbing the blow, Dirk rolled to his right as the rifle struck, at the same time swinging his left arm around. As he pivoted with the force, he balled his left fist and threw a sharp uppercut which landed fimly on the jaw of the man's face. The blow sent the gunman staggering backward, where he tripped and fell over a basket of laundered clothes.
For the first time, Dirk noticed that the cabin was a small laundry room. A tiny washing machine and dryer sat against the far wall while
an open ironing board stood next to the doorway. Regaining his balance, he quickly leveled the SIG Sauer at the guard's chest and squeezed the trigger.
There was no loud bark from the muzzle nor a kick to his wrist. Instead, just a metallic click as the gun's firing pin beat down on an empty chamber. Dirk grimaced as he realized that he had emptied the pistol's thirteen-round magazine. Smiling in the face of the empty handgun, Kang's guard rolled to his knees. In his right hand, he still held the full ammo clip, which he expertly jammed into the stock of the assault rifle. Dirk knew there was no way he could reload the SIG Sauer in time, but his body was already reacting with an alternate plan. Barely seen out of the corner of his eye, the shiny object that his hand was already reaching for was a last-gamble defense.
The chrome iron sitting atop the ironing board was not hot, nor even plugged in. But it made for a sharp and nasty projectile. With a toss that would have made John Elway proud, Dirk grabbed the iron and fired it at the gunman like a bullet. The gunman, intent on training his loaded rifle at Dirk, didn't even bother to duck. The flat side of the iron struck his head like an anvil, smacking his skull with an audible crack. The assault rifle fell to the floor first, followed by the gunman, his eyes rolled far back in his head.
Beneath his feet, Dirk felt the boat's motors suddenly rumble louder again. The yacht had cleared the inlet and was accelerating into the Han River. It would easily outrun the special forces support vessel stationed off the inlet. If it was to be stopped, he and Gutierrez would have to act quick. But how many more gunmen were aboard? And, more important, where was Gutierrez?
utierrez kneeled at the top of the starboard stairwell peering down the passage, searching for shadows. The black silhouette of the gunman he had dropped lay motionless on the deck beside the bridge. He could detect no movement around the area, and no one was firing at him, at least for the moment. No sense in waiting for reinforcements to appear, he decided. Vaulting from the stairwell, he dashed across the open passageway to the bridge wing and leaped over the dead gunman, then burst through the open bridge door.
He half-expected a horde of armed guards waiting to greet him with a cluster of hot muzzles pointing his way, but it was not the case. Just three men stood on the expansive bridge, their eyes turned to him with contempt. A burly, salt-faced man who was obviously the captain stood at the helm, guiding the yacht toward the center of the Han River. Near the port wing door stood a surly guard fingering an assault rifle, who glared at the SEAL with anticipation. And at the rear of the
bridge, sitting in a raised leather captain's chair with a look of disdain on his face, was none other than Kang himself. The mogul, whom Gutierrez recognized from a briefing photo, was dressed in a burgundy silk robe, having slept on his yacht in preparation for a last-minute getaway.
As the four sets of eyes locked on one another, Gutierrez's reflexes were already in motion. The trained SEAL quickly aimed his weapon at the guard and squeezed the trigger, a full second before the other man reacted. In a quick burst, three rounds spat from his gun, striking the guard in a clean cluster across his chest. A stunned look spread over the guard's face as he was thrown back against the bulkhead, but his finger instinctively tightened in the trigger guard. A wild spray of fire burst from his assault rifle, ripping across the deck and toward Gutierrez. The SEAL stood helpless as a seam of lead flew in his direction before the gunman sagged to the floor dead.
It took a split second for Gutierrez to take stock. He had been hit by one round, which nipped him in the thigh. He felt a warm rivulet of blood from the wound run down his leg and collect in his boot. Another round nearly struck him in the abdomen but was deflected by his own machine gun. The bullet had smashed into the MP5K's breech, he realized, and rendered the firearm useless.
The other men on the bridge noticed it as well. The burly captain, standing just a few feet from Gutierrez, let go of the ship's wheel and plunged at the wounded SEAL. Unsteady from the wound to his left leg, Gutierrez stood inert as the captain barreled into him. The captain used his bulk to throw a bear hug around the SEAL and then slam him into the helm. Gutierrez could feel the breath forced from his lungs and felt as if his ribs were going to snap as the captain tried to squeeze the life out of him. But in Gutierrez's right hand, he still held the compact MP5 machine
eyes as the oxygen in his blood ebbed. Sharp pains flared from the wound in his leg while hammering pangs throbbed against his temples. Again, he thrust the gun's stock against the man's head and, again, the grip seemed only to tighten. Desperation started to seep into the SEAL's mind as he approached the verge of passing out and he wildly thrust the gun at the man's head again and again. Gutierrez sensed his body falling and presumed he was blacking out. But he was suddenly jarred conscious by a collision to his body.
The repeated blows had finally knocked the stubborn captain cold and the two of them fell hard to the deck, Gutierrez still embraced in the captain's bear hug. The SEAL gasped for breath as the man's iron grip fell slack and he crawled to his knees inhaling deeply.
"An impressive display. But, regrettably, it shall be your last." The voice of Kang spat with the flavor of venom. While grappling with the yacht's captain, Kang had approached and leveled a Glock automatic pistol at Gutierrez's head. The SEAL searched for a defense but there was none. The guard's AK-74 was wedged in the dead man's hands across the bridge and his own weapon lay empty and useless in his right hand. On his knees, weakened from gunshots and the struggle with the captain, there was nothing he could do. With a resolute look of defiance, he stared up at Kang and the Glock pistol aimed inches from his face.
The single gunshot burst through the bridge like a crack of thunder. Gutierrez felt nothing and was surprised by the sudden stunned look in Kang's eyes. Then he realized that the Korean's hand, the one holding the pistol, had disappeared along with the gun amid a shower of crimson blood. Two more cracks filled the air and a splattering of blood flew out of Kang's left knee and right thigh. With a garbled cry of agony, Kang fell to the deck, grasping the remains of his bleeding hand and writhing in misery. As he fell, Gutierrez looked across the bridge to where the gunshots had originated.