Black wind

help?”
    Dirk’s muted shout went unanswered as the junk approached. He repeated the call, careful not to draw attention from the catamaran, which had completed a downstream turn and was now headed upriver. Swimming closer to the moving junk, Dirk thought he detected a shadowy movement on the stern, but, again, there was no response to his call for help. He tried a third time, failing to notice as he spoke that the muffled drone of the junk’s motor audibly raised a note.
    The junk’s golden teak hull began gliding past Dirk and Summer, an ornately carved dragon on the prow eyeing them maliciously in the water less than ten feet from the starboard beam. Like a phantom in the night, the junk slipped by strangely impervious to the voices calling from the water. As the stern and rudderpost floated past, Dirk abandoned hope of rescue from the junk and angrily wondered whether the pilot was asleep, drunk, or both.
    Peering toward the slowly approaching catamaran, he was startled by a sudden splash in the water near his head. It was an orange plastic float tied to a coil of rope, trailing back to the stern of the junk.
    “Grab hold and hang on tight,” he instructed his sister, making sure Summer had a strong grip on the line before grasping it himself. As the line quickly drew taut, the force of the junk sailing faster than the river momentarily jerked them underwater. With a face full of water, they were dragged along the river’s surface like a fallen water-skier who forgot to let go of the towline. Dirk slowly began pulling himself up the line hand over hand as his legs flailed out behind him. Reaching the high, blunt stern of the junk, he shimmied up the rope almost vertically until reaching the stern railing. A pair of hands emerged from the darkness, grabbing about his lapels and forcefully yanking him over the railing and onto the deck.
    “Thanks,” Dirk muttered, paying little heed to a tall figure in the shadows. “My sister is still on the line,” he gasped, standing and grabbing the line at the stern rail and pulling at it. The tall man stepped up behind him and clasped the line, throwing his weight into it with Dirk. Together, they hoisted Summer up the railing like a gigged flounder until she flopped over the railing and onto the deck in a soggy heap. A high-pitched bark erupted from across the deck and, in an instant, a small black-and-tan dachshund raced over to Summer and began licking her face.
    “Dark night for a swim, don’t you think?” the stranger said in English.
    “You’re American,” Dirk stated with surprise.
    “Ever since being born in the Land of Lincoln,” came the reply.
    Dirk studied the man beside him for the first time. He stood six-foot-three, nearly matching his own height, though he carried a good twenty pounds more heft. A wave of unruly white hair and a matching goatee indicated that he was at least forty years his senior. The man’s blue-green eyes, which seemed to twinkle with mischief under the hanging lights, touched a nerve with him. He felt as if he was looking at an older version of his own father, he finally decided.
    “We’re in great danger,” Summer injected, rising to her feet. She scooped up the small dog as she stood and rubbed its ears briskly, which produced a sharp wag of its tail. “Our research vessel was sunk by these murderers and they mean to kill us,” she said, nodding downriver toward the catamaran that was circling slowly in their direction.
    “I heard the machine-gun fire,” the man replied.
    “They intend to make another deadly attack. We need to alert the authorities,” she pleaded.
    “Thousands of additional lives are at risk,” Dirk added somberly.
    The white-haired man perused the odd pair up and down. Summer, soaked but elegant still in her ripped silk cocktail dress, appeared an unusual companion for Dirk, who was battered and bruised in a shredded blue jumpsuit. Neither attempted to conceal the handcuff shackles that dangled from their wrists.
    A slight grin fell across the man’s lips. “I guess I’ll buy it. We better hide you belowdecks until we get past that cat. You can stay in Mauser’s cabin.”
    “Mauser? How many people are aboard?” Dirk asked.
    “Just me and that fellow who’s kissing your sister,” he replied. Dirk turned to see the small dachshund happily licking the water off Summer’s face.
    The junk’s owner quickly led them through a bulkhead door and down a flight of steps that led to a