Black Wind by Clive Cussler
"I understand that support for the measure extends well beyond the DLP, I'm afraid," Monaco continued. "The economic gains from reunification are catching a lot of blokes' attention. I heard the president of South Korea's Hyko Tractor Industries remark at a trade seminar in Osaka how he could reduce labor costs and compete internationally if he had access to the North's labor force."
Monaco strode through the rough grass for a minute before locating his ball, then lofted a 5-iron shot that bounced up onto the green, rolling shy of the pin by thirty feet.
"That's assuming a reunification would maintain free markets," Hamilton replied. "It's still clear that the North would have the most to gain from a reunification of both countries, and even more so if American forces are not in play."
"I'll see if my people can find any connections," Monaco offered as they approached the green. "But, for now, I'm just glad we're working this side of the Sea of Japan."
Hamilton nodded in appreciation as he attempted a chip shot to the hole. His club scuffed the ground before striking the ball, which caused it to plop short of the pin by fifteen feet. He waited as Monaco putted out in two strokes for par, then bent over the ball with a putter for his own attempt at par. But as he swung through the ball, a sudden thump emanated from his head, followed by a loud crack in the distance. Hamilton's eyes rolled back and a shower of blood and tissue sprayed out from his left temple and onto the pants and shoes of Monaco. As the British diplomat looked on in horror, Hamilton fell to his knees in a pool of blood, his hands still tightly clutching the putter. He tried to speak but only a gurgle rolled from his lips before he toppled stiffly onto the manicured grass surface. A fraction of a second later, the dead man's bloodstained golf ball found the rim of the hole and dropped into the cup with a clink.
Six hundred yards away, a short, stout Asian man dressed in blue stood up in the bunker of the eighteenth hole. The sun glared off his bald head and brightened a lifeless pair of coal black eyes that were made more menacing by a long, thin Fu Manchu mustache. His squat, powerful build was more aptly suited to wrestling than golf, but his fluid movements revealed a flexibility to his strength. With the bored demeanor of a child putting away his toys, the man carefully disassembled an M-40 sniper rifle and placed the gun parts in a concealed compartment inside his golf bag. Pulling out a sand wedge, he forcefully lofted an overpowered shot out of the bunker in a spray of sand. He then calmly three-putted to finish his round, then strolled slowly to his car and stowed his clubs in the trunk. Exiting the parking lot, he patiently gave way as a flood of police cars and ambulances came streaking up to the clubhouse with sirens blaring, then he eased his car into the adjacent road where he quickly became lost in the local traffic.
A pair of technicians wearing protective gear steered the Deep Endeavor's Zodiac to the western shore of Yunaska, where they selected a young male sea lion from the assortment of dead mammals strewn about the beach. The animal was carefully wrapped in a synthetic sheet, then placed into a heavy body bag for transport back to the ship. The NUMA research vessel stood off nearby with spotlights beaming on the water, guiding the rubber boat back in short order. A section of the galley was cleared away and the sealed cadaver was stored in a cold freezer for the remainder of the voyage, just next to a crate of frozen sherbet.
Once all was secured, Captain Burch pushed the research vessel hard toward the island of Unalaska, with its port city of the same name, situated more than two hundred miles away. Running at top speed all through the night, Burch was able to bring the Deep Endeavor into the commercial fishing port just before ten the next morning. A weathered ambulance waited at the dock to transfer Sarah, Irv, and
Sandy to the town's small airfield, where a chartered plane was waiting to whisk them to Anchorage. Dirk insisted on pushing Sarah to the ambulance in her wheelchair and gave her a long kiss on the cheek as she was loaded in.
"We've got a date in Seattle, right? I still owe you a crab dinner," Dirk said with an engaging smile.
"I wouldn't miss it," Sarah replied sheepishly. "Sandy and I will be down just as soon we're okay to leave Anchorage."
After seeing the CDC team off, Dirk and Burch met with the village public safety officer and gave him a full report of the incident. Dirk provided a detailed description of the mystery fishing trawler and convinced the VPSO to furnish him with a listing of registered fishing vessels from the state licensing authority. The VPSO also agreed to check with the local commercial fishing entities for information but didn't hold out much hope. Japanese and even Russian fishing boats were known to ply the territorial waters illegally on occasion in search of fertile fishing grounds and had the habit of disappearing whenever the authorities tried to pursue them.
Burch wasted little time in the port city before turning the Deep Endeavor south, and sailing toward Seattle. Like everyone else, the crew of the ship had plenty of questions about the events of the preceding day but few answers.
Sarah, Irv, and Sandy endured a noisy and bumpy flight to Anchorage on one of the local twin-engine island-hoppers, arriving at the city's international airport late in the evening. Two exuberant college interns from the regional CDC office met them at the airport and transferred them to Alaska Regional Hospital, where they underwent a battery of toxicology tests and examinations. By this time, the threesome had regained their strength and were showing no outward signs
of illness. Oddly, the medical staff was unable to diagnose any abnormal toxicity levels or other ailment with any of the three. After an overnight stay for observation, Sarah, Irv, and Sandy were released from the hospital with a clean bill of health as if nothing at all had happened to them.
Six days later, the Deep Endeavor cruised quietly into Puget Sound, turning east into the Shilshole Bay just north of Seattle. The research vessel tied up momentarily at the Ballard Locks, where controlled floodgates raised the ship and released it into the fresh water of the ship canal. The Deep Endeavor continued on into Lake Union before slowing along the north shore. Burch inched the vessel up to a private dock jutting from a small modern-looking glass building that housed the NUMA northwest field office. A gathering of the crew's wives and children lined the dock, waving enthusiastically as the ship approached.
"Looks like you've got your own welcoming committee, Dirk," Burch remarked, pointing to two figures waving at the end of the pier. Dirk looked out the bridge window and recognized Sarah and Sandy among the happy throng greeting the turquoise ship. Sarah looked radiant in a pair of blue capri pants and a maize satin blouse, which complemented her trim figure.
"You two look like the model of health," Dirk said as he warmly greeted the pair.
"No small part in thanks to you," Sandy gushed. "Just one night in Alaska Regional Hospital and we were on our way good as new."
"How's Irv?"
"He's fine," Sarah replied. "He's staying in Anchorage for a few more weeks to coordinate the completion of our sea lion study with the Alaska Department of Fish and Game. They agreed to provide field support to help finish our research investigation."
"I'm so glad everybody is well. So what was the medical diagnosis in Anchorage?" Dirk asked.
Sandy and Sarah glanced at each other briefly with a searching look, then shrugged and shook their heads in unison.
"They didn't find anything," Sarah finally said. "It's something of a mystery. We all showed signs of an inflamed respiratory track, but that was about it. Blood and urine samples came back clean. If we did inhale a toxin, it was purged from our systems by the time we reached Anchorage."
"That's why we're here to pick up the sea lion. Hopefully, there will be some indicators still evident in the animal's tissue," Sandy said.
"So, you're not here to see me?" Dirk intoned sadly with an exaggerated frown on his face.
"Sorry, Dirk," Sarah laughed. "Why don't you come meet us at the lab later this afternoon after we do our analysis? We can go grab a late lunch."
"I would like to know the results," he agre
Once the mammal was hauled away, Dirk and Dahlgren helped secure the ship, transferring ashore the sensitive high-tech survey gear that was stored in an adjacent warehouse. With their docking shores complete, the crew of the Deep Endeavor gradually dispersed to enjoy a few days of R&R before the next project set sail.
Dahlgren approached Dirk with a rucksack tossed over one shoulder and the pair of crutches under one arm. Only a slight limp was noticeable from his calf wound when he walked.
"Dirk, I'm off to rustle up a date with a sexy teller I met at the bank before we shipped out. Should I see if she has a cute friend?"
"No, thanks. Think I'll get cleaned up and go see what Sarah and Sandy discovered from our sea lion Popsicle."
"You always did have a thing for the brainy types," Dahlgren chuckled.
"What's with the crutches? You've been off those things for three days now."
"Never underestimate a woman's sense of sympathy," Dahlgren grinned, placing one crutch under an arm and pretending to limp in agony.
"If I were you, I wouldn't underestimate a woman's ability to detect bad acting," Dirk replied with a laugh. "Happy hunting."
Dirk borrowed the keys to a turquoise NUMA Jeep Cherokee and drove a short distance to his rented town house overlooking Lake Washington. Although he called Washington, D.C." his home, he enjoyed the temporary assignment in the Northwest. The lush wooded surroundings, the cold, clear waters, and the youthful and vibrant residents who thrived in the sometimes bleak and damp weather made for a refreshing environment.
Dirk showered and threw on a pair of dark slacks and a thin pullover sweater, then downed a peanut butter sandwich and an Olympia beer while listening to a litany of messages on his answering machine. Satisfied that the earth had not come to a stop in his absence, he hopped into the Jeep and headed north on 1-5. Exiting east past the lush Jackson Park Golf Course, Dirk turned north and soon entered the park like grounds of Fircrest Campus. Fircrest was an old military complex that had been turned over to the state of Washington and now housed offices and operations for a variety of state government agencies. Dirk spotted a complex of square white buildings surrounded by mature trees and parked in an adjacent lot fronted by a large sign, stating: Washington state public health laboratories.
A perky receptionist phoned up to the small CDC office shared by the state lab and a few moments later Sarah and Sandy appeared in the lobby. A portion of the cheeriness they showed earlier in the day had clearly left their faces.
"Dirk, it's good of you to come. There's a quiet Italian restaurant
down the street where we can talk. The Pasta Alfredo is great, too," Sarah suggested.
"Sure thing. Ladies first," Dirk replied as he held the front door open for the two scientists.
After the threesome shoehorned into a red vinyl booth at the nearby neighborhood restaurant, Sarah explained their findings.
"An examination of the sea lion revealed the classic signs of respiratory seizure as the cause of death. An initial blood test failed to reveal any concentrated levels of toxicity, however."
"Similar to the test results for you three in Anchorage," Dirk added between bites of bread.
"Exactly. Our vitals showed fine, though we still experienced weakness, headaches, and signs of respiratory irritation by the time we reached Anchorage," Sandy added.
"So we went back and carefully reexamined the animal's blood and tissue and finally detected trace elements of the toxin," Sarah continued. "Though not one hundred percent certain, we are fairly confident the sea lion was killed by hydrogen cyanide poisoning."
"Cyanide?" Dirk asked with an arched eyebrow.
"Yes," Sandy replied. "It makes sense. Cyanide is actually expelled rapidly from the human body. In the case of Sarah, Irv, and me, our bodies had naturally purged most, if not all, of the cyanide toxins before we stepped in the door of the Anchorage hospital. Hence, no trace remained when our blood samples were taken."
"I've contacted the Alaska State Coroner's Office and informed them of our findings. They have not completed the autopsy report on the two Coast Guardsmen yet, but they will know what to look for. I am convinced that is what killed them," Sarah said with a tinge of sadness.
"I always thought cyanide had to be ingested in order to be lethal," Dirk remarked.
"That's what's commonly known, but it's not the only deadly form of the poison. Everyone knows of cyanide tablets carried by wartime spies, the deadly Jim Jones cyanide-laced Kool-Aid that killed hundreds in Jonestown, Guyana, and the Tylenol poisonings, which used cyanide. But cyanide gas has also been used as a killing agent. The French tried variations of cyanide gas against the Germans in the trenches during World War One. And though the Germans never used it on the battlefield, they did use a form of cyanide in the concentration camp gas chambers during the Second World War."
"The infamous Zyklon B," Dirk recalled.
"Yes, a beefed-up fumigant originally developed to kill rodents," Sarah continued. "And, more recently, Saddam Hussein was suspected of using a form of cyanide gas in attacks on Kurdish villages in his own country, although it was never verified."
"Since we packed in our own food and water supplies," Sandy piped in, "the airborne poisoning makes sense. It would also explain the deaths of the sea lions."
"Is it possible for the cyanide to have originated from a natural source?" Dirk inquired.
"Cyanide is found in a variety of plants and edibles, from lima beans to choke cherries But it's as an industrial solvent where it is most prevalent," Sarah explained. "Tons of the stuff are manufactured each year for electroplating, gold and silver extraction, and fumigants. Most people probably come in contact with some form of cyanide every day. But to answer your question, it's unlikely to exist in a gaseous state from a natural source sufficient to reach any sort of lethality. Sandy, what did you find in the historical profile of cyanide deaths in the U.S.?"
"There's been a slew of them, but most are individual accidents or suspected homicides or suicides resulting from ingestion of solid cyanides." Sandy reached down and picked up a manila folder she had brought along and skimmed through one of the pages inside.
"The only significant mass death was related to the Tylenol poisonings, which killed seven people, again by ingestion. I found only two references for multiple deaths from suspected cyanide gas. A family of four died in the Oregon town of Warrenton back in 1942, and in 1964 three men were killed in Butte, Montana. The Montana case was listed as a mining accident due to extraction solvents. The Oregon case was listed as undetermined. And I found next to nothing for prior incidences in and around Alaska."
"Then a natural-occurring release doesn't sound very likely," Dirk remarked.
"So if it was a man-made airborne release, who did it and why?" Sandy asked while jabbing her fork into a bowl of angel-hair pasta.
"I think the 'who' was our friends on the fishing boat," he said drily.
"They weren't picked up by the authorities?" Sarah asked.
Dirk shook his head in disgust. "No, the trawler disappeared. By the time the local authorities arrived in the area, they were long gone. The official assessment is that they were presumed to be foreign poachers."
"I suppose it's possible. It sounds a little dangerous to me, but I guess they could release the gas from their boat upwind of a sea lion colony," Sarah replied, shaking her head.
"A fast way to do a lot of killing," Dirk added. "Though poachers armed with AK-47s does seem a little extreme. And I'm still wondering about the retail market for sea lions."
"It is perplexing. I haven't heard of anything like it before."
"I hope that you two don't suffer any ill effects from the exposure," Dirk said, looking at Sarah with concern.
"Thanks," Sarah replied. "It was a shock to our system, but we'll be fine. The long-term effect for minimal exposure has not been proven to be dangerous."
Dirk pushed away a c
"Excellent dining choice."
"We eat here all the time," Sarah said as she reached over and out-grabbed Dirk for the bill.
"I insist on returning the favor," Dirk said, looking at Sarah with a serious smile.
"Sandy and I have to travel to the CDC research lab in Spokane for a few days, but I'd love to take you up when we return," she replied, intentionally leaving Sandy out of the equation.
Dirk smiled in acknowledgment. "I can't wait."
The landing wheels of the Gulfstream V jet dropped slowly from the fuselage as the sleek aircraft aligned its nose at the runway. Its wings cut through the moist, hazy air like a scalpel, as the nineteen-passenger luxury business jet dropped gracefully out of the sky until its rubber tires touched the tarmac with a screech and a wisp of blue smoke. The pilot guided the plane to the corporate jet terminal of Tokyo's modern Narita International Airport before shutting down the high-pitched turbines. As a ground crew chocked the wheels of the jet, a gleaming black Lincoln limousine glided up, stopping precisely at the base of the plane's passenger stairwell.
Chris Gavin squinted in the bright sun as he stepped down from the jet and climbed into the waiting limo, followed by a legion of assistants and assorted vice presidents. As chief executive officer of SemCon Industries, Gavin commanded the largest semiconductor manufacturing company in the world. The flamboyant and free-spending corporate chief, who inherited the company from a visionary father, had alienated many of his countrymen in the United States by closing profitable factories and brusquely laying off thousands of workers at home in order to move production to newer and cheaper facilities offshore. Profits would be higher, he promised his shareholders, while taking personal delight in broadening his elaborate lifestyle to a worldwide setting.
Exiting the airport grounds located some sixty-six kilometers northeast of Tokyo, the limo driver entered the Higashi Kanto Expressway and headed toward Japan's capital city with his cargo of high-salaried executives. Twenty minutes later, the driver turned south, exiting the highway some twenty kilometers short of Tokyo. The limo soon entered the industrial section of Chiba, a large port city on the eastern edge of Tokyo Bay. The driver wound past a number of large drab manufacturing buildings before pulling up in front of a sleek glass building overlooking the bay. The modern structure looked more like an executive office building than the industrial fabrication plant it contained, with its shimmering face of gold reflective windows rising four stories high. Mounted on the roof in huge block letters was a blue semcon neon sign, which could be seen for miles away. A large crowd of factory workers, all clad in pale blue lab coats, waited anxiously on the grounds for the arrival of their CEO to officially open the new facility.