Black Wind

Dahlgren studied the structure methodically. “Looks like we'll have to go through the hangar to get there.”

Without another word, the two men took off at a fast jog, wary of being observed as they dashed to the end of the five-story-high hangar. Reaching the deck side with its open barn doors, Dirk carefully peered around the edge to look inside. The long narrow hangar looked like a huge empty cavern without the Zenit lying prone inside. With Dahlgren on his heels, Dirk slipped around the door and into the hangar, moving quietly behind a large generator mounted next to the wall. Voices suddenly echoed across the empty chamber and the men froze in their tracks.

Midway down the length of the hangar, a door flew open on the opposite side and the voices fell quiet. Three gaunt-looking men in Sea Launch jumpsuits staggered through the door and into the hangar followed by two armed commandos. Dirk recognized the black commando outfits and the AK-74 assault rifles as those he'd seen on the men who attacked the Deep Endeavor. He and Dahlgren watched as the three men were marched to a fabricated storage room situated near the far end of the hangar. Two additional commandos stood guard over the storage bay and helped to herd the Sea Launch workers inside before closing and locking the door behind them.

“If we can get to the Sea Launch crew, they'll know how to stop the launch,” Dirk said in a low voice.

“Right. We ought to be able to take care of Mutt and Jeff, once their friends leave,” Dahlgren replied, motioning toward the two storage bay guards.

Creeping to a vantage spot near the transporter erector they waited and watched as the first two commandos chatted with the guards for a moment, then left through the side door. Ducking and weaving through an array of electronic test racks and tool bins that lined the sides of the hangar, Dirk and Dahlgren quietly crept closer to the guarded storage bay. Along the way, they passed a rack of tools marked hydraulic engineer. Hesitating for a second, Dirk grabbed a long-handled wooden block mallet while Dahlgren grabbed an oversized box wrench for insurance. Scrambling past the end of the transporter erector they silently darted behind a work platform that sat a hundred feet from the storage room.

“What now, maestro?” Dahlgren whispered, seeing that there was nothing but open deck between them and the storage bay.

Dirk crouched against a wheel of the work platform and looked across toward the guards. The two armed commandos were engaged in an animated conversation with each other, paying little attention to the rest of the hangar. He then took a studious look at the platform they had ducked behind. It was a motorized work platform that rose up and down to allow access to the topsides of the thirteen-foot-diameter rocket. Dirk patted his hand on the wheel beside him and threw a crooked grin toward Dahlgren.

“Jack,” he whispered, “I believe you shall drive in the front door while I waltz in the back door.”

Seconds later, Dirk quietly made his way down the side of the hangar, careful to move only when the guards showed their backs in his direction. After several short ru

Dahlgren, meanwhile, was left with the more daring part of the offensive. Climbing onto the motorized work platform, Dahlgren grabbed hold of the cabled control box, then lay flat on the platform. A canvas tarp was partially rolled up on one side, which he used to cover himself with. Peering through a crack at the guards, he gently tapped at the raise button on the controls when the guards were turned the other way. With barely a whir, the platform rose a half foot. Out of audio range, the two guards were oblivious. Dahlgren waited again until the guards were looking away, then hit the control button again, this time holding it down firmly. The work platform rose quietly like an elevator, its electric motor barely humming. Dahlgren held his breath and waited until the scaffold reached a height of fifteen feet before releasing the button to stop. Peeking down at the guards, Dahlgren could see that the movement had gone undetected. “Now for the fun part,” he muttered to himself. Hitting the drive controls, the entire work platform lurched forward on its four wheels, rolling ahead at a slow crawl. Dahlgren adjusted the drive mechanism to aim the platform directly toward the storage building and two guards, then hunkered down under the canvas tarp and lay still.

The towering platform crept halfway across the hangar like a robot before one of the guards detected its movement. From under the tarp, Dahlgren heard an excited rush of gibberish in an Asian tongue, but, thankfully, no sound of gunfire followed. A loud cry of “Saw!” screeched through the air, and was repeated a few seconds later as the confused guards called for the contraption to halt. Dahlgren ignored the cry and kept rolling across the floor. Peeking through a crack in the canvas, he saw the roofline of the storage shed approaching and knew he was close to the guards. He waited until the platform rolled to within five feet of the storage building, then pressed the stop button. The confused guards fell silent as the raised platform quietly rolled to a standstill.

The tension in the air was palpable and Dahlgren milked it for full effect. Beneath him, the two guards stared nervously at the mysterious platform, their fingers sweaty on the triggers of their guns. From their vantage, the bewildering platform had rolled across the floor empty but for a tarp and a loose spool of rope. Perhaps it was just a simple mechanical failure that caused it to roll forward. Cautiously, they stepped closer to inspect the platform. Concealed in the tarp, Dahlgren held his breath and then hit the control button.

Like a mechanical ghost, the platform suddenly began lowering itself. The two guards jumped back as the accordion-support structure slowly collapsed and the wooden scaffold dropped toward the ground. Then, at a height of six feet, the platform abruptly stopped. The platform stood a good six inches taller than either man and they both stood back several feet, trying to eye who or what was driving the thing. Finally, one of the guards approached on his tiptoes and began thrusting the muzzle of his assault rifle into the roll of canvas while his partner stood back peering around the hangar suspiciously.

Dahlgren knew that he would have only one chance to disable the guard and discreetly extended his right arm above his head to prepare for the blow. Through the ruffled canvas, he could feel the prodding of the guard move closer until the thrusting muzzle finally struck home against his thigh. The startled guard hesitated for a second before pulling the gun back to fire. But it was all the time that Dahlgren needed to swing the heavy box wrench out from under the canvas and down hard in a pendulum motion toward the man's head. The hard metal face of the wrench struck the guard square on the jaw with a muffled thump, by some miracle not crushing the bone. But the blow was powerful enough to send the man straight to sleep and the unconscious guard crumpled raggedly to the floor without firing a shot.

Dahlgren's strike had yanked back the screening cover of the canvas as the second guard swung around to find his partner lying senseless on the floor. Dahlgren stared back helplessly at the guard, holding the bloody wrench clasped in his hand. Without hesitation, the guard raised his AK-74 at Dahlgren and squeezed the trigger. But a simultaneous blur from behind flew through the air and collided with the back of the man's head, sending him tumbling to the ground as the burst of fire sprayed from his gun. The jolt was just enough to alter his aim and the bullets struck harmlessly beneath Dahlgren's raised perch. As the guard fell to the ground, Dahlgren could see the tall figure of Dirk standing twenty feet behind, a determined expression on his face. In a desperate move to save his friend's life, Dirk had tossed the mallet like a long-handled ax, the hammer spi