Black wind

raise suspicions that the cause was anything but accidental.
    Stepping past the charred and indistinguishable juice container, the inspector paused outside the conduit room as he completed his fire assessment. “Electrical short due to faulty wiring or improper grounding,” he wrote in a small notebook, then stuck his pen in his shirt pocket and made his way off the ship past a gang of oncoming construction workmen.
    A slow gray drizzle was falling at McChord Air Force Base south of Tacoma when the C-141 lumbered in from its transpacific flight. The big jet’s tires screeched on the damp runway before the aircraft rolled to a stop in front of a transit terminal, where its engines were shut down and the large rear cargo door lowered to the tarmac.
    Holding true to his word, Dirk had slept nearly the entire flight and exited the ramp feeling refreshed but hungry. Summer followed behind in a groggier state, having slept unevenly in the noisy aircraft. An air transit lieutenant located the pair and escorted them to the base officers’ club for a quick hamburger before returning them to the flight line. Spotting a phone booth, Dirk eagerly dialed a local number.
    “Dirk, you’re all right!” Sarah answered with obvious relief.
    “Still kicking,” he chimed.
    “Captain Burch told me you were aboard the NUMA ship that sank in the East China Sea. I’ve been worried sick about you.”
    Dirk beamed to himself, then proceeded to tell her an abbreviated version of events since flying to Japan.
    “My gosh, the same people that released the cyanide in the Aleutians intend to launch a larger attack?”
    “It appears that way. We hope to find out more when we get back to
    D.C.”
    “Well, keep your friends at the CDC informed. We have a terrorism emergency response team in place to combat sudden chemical or biological outbreaks.”
    “You’ll be the first one I call. By the way, how’s the leg?” “Fine, though I’m still getting used to these blasted crutches. When are you going to autograph my cast?”
    Dirk suddenly noticed Summer waving him toward a small jet parked on the runway.
    “When I take you to dinner.”
    “I’m off to Los Angeles tomorrow for a weeklong conference on environmental toxins,” she said with disappointment. “It will have to be the following week.” “Consider it a date.”
    Dirk barely had time to sprint to the Gulfstream V jet that was warming its engines on the tarmac. Climbing aboard, he was chagrined to find Summer sitting at the center of attention, surrounded by a small group of Pentagon colonels and generals on the jet bound for Andrews Air Force Base.
    The large executive jet buzzed over the Jefferson Memorial at six the next morning en route to landing at the Air Force base located just southeast of the nation’s capital. A NUMA van was waiting for the pair and whisked them through the light early morning traffic to the headquarters building, where Rudi Gunn greeted them in his office.
    “Thank God you’re safe,” Gunn gushed. “We were turning Japan upside down looking for you and that cable ship.”
    “Nice idea but wrong country,” Summer said with a gibe. “There’s some folks here who’d like to hear about your ordeal first
    hand,” Gunn continued, hardly giving Dirk and Summer a chance to relax. “Let’s go to the admiral’s office.”
    They followed Gunn as he led them around the bay to a large corner office overlooking the Potomac River. Though Admiral Sandecker was no longer the director of NUMA, Gunn subconsciously refused to acknowledge the fact. The door to the office was open and they walked in.
    Two men were seated at a side couch discussing coastal port security, while Homeland Security Special Assistant Webster sat in a chair across from them, studiously reviewing a file folder.
    “Dirk, Summer, you remember Jim Webster from Homeland Security. This is Special Agent Peterson and Special Agent Burroughs, with the FBI’s Counterterrorism Division,” Gunn said, motioning a hand toward the two men on the couch. “They’ve met with Bob Morgan already and are very interested to know what happened to you after the Sea Rover was sunk.”
    Dirk and Summer settled into a pair of wingback chairs and proceeded to describe the entire course of events, from their imprisonment on board the Baekje to their escape on the Chinese junk. Summer was surprised to note that three hours rolled by on an antique ship’s clock mounted on the wall by the time