Black Wind

At twenty-three minutes and forty-six seconds, Jack Dahlgren looked up from the Odyssey's ticking launch clock to the Icarus, which seemed to be fixed hovering above the pilothouse. He knew there was no chance that they could have been spotted by the high-flying gondola, but he still wondered if Pitt or Giordino might somehow find a way to stop the launch. He strained to turn toward Dirk beside him, expecting his friend to be looking at the blimp with hopeful optimism. Instead, Dirk was oblivious to the airship, his full attention focused on defiantly trying to break the bounds of his ropes. Jack started to offer some words of encouragement but his lips froze when he saw a movement inside the hangar. He blinked and took another hard look. Sure enough, he could see it was a man sprinting through the hangar directly toward them.

“Dirk, there's somebody coming our way. Is that who I think it is?”

Dirk glanced toward the hangar while continuing to strain at his bound hands and feet. He squinted at the lone figure bursting out of the hangar and tearing across the platform carrying what looked like a long stick in his hand. The figure was tall and lean with dark hair and Dirk suddenly stopped struggling at the ropes when he recognized the gait.

“I don't ever recall seeing my father move that fast before,” he said to Dahlgren, a broad grin spreading across his face.

As the head of NUMA drew closer, they could see that it was a fire ax, not a stick, that he toted in his right hand as he ran. Sprinting up to the tower, the elder Pitt smiled in relief at seeing that the two men were uninjured.

“I thought I told you boys never to accept a ride with strangers,” he gasped, patting his son on the shoulder as he examined the rope restraints.

“Sorry, Dad, but they offered us the moon and the stars,” Dirk gri

“I've got a taxi waiting. Let's just get out of here before they ignite this thing.”

Eyeing the center of the rope, he took a full swing and laid the blade through the rope that secured Dirk's elbows. With another swing, he cut the wrist binds, the blade of the ax ringing loudly as it cut through to the tower beam. As Dirk worked to untie his ankles, Pitt repeated his Paul Bunyan routine on Dahlgren's ropes. The two men quickly scrambled to their feet as Pitt tossed the ax aside.

“Dad, the Sea Launch platform team is locked up inside the hangar. We need to get them out.”

Pitt nodded. “I thought I heard some banging around in there. Lead on.”

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, sca

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.