Black wind

padlock. Locked inside, thirty Sea Launch crewmen were crammed into a black, windowless box with no means of escape.
    Once the door was secured, Tongju walked over to the hangar wall, where Dirk and Dahlgren stood staring at a pair of gun muzzles aimed at their ribs. Tongju gazed at Dirk with a mixed look of respect and disdain.
    “You have an annoying proclivity for survival, Mr. Pitt, which is exceeded only by your irritating penchant for intrusion.”
    “I’m just a bad penny,” Dirk replied.
    “Since you have taken such a keen interest in our operation, perhaps you would enjoy a front-row viewing of the launch?” Tongju said, nodding toward three of the guards.
    Before Dirk could reply, the guards were prodding rifles into their backs, steering them in the direction of the open hangar doors. One of the guards reached up onto Dahlgren’s work platform and snatched the coil of rope that lay next to the canvas roll. Tongju hung back a moment, ordering his remaining assault team to the tender, before following behind. As they walked, the two prisoners glanced at each other in mental search of an escape plan, but their options were slim. Dirk knew that Tongju would not hesitate to kill them instantly, and relish the opportunity.
    Tongju caught up with them as they marched out of the hangar and into the bright sunshine that washed down on the open deck.
    “You know, of course, that military units are on their way to the platform at this very moment,” Dirk said to the assassin, silently hoping his words were true. “The launch will be stopped and you and your men will be captured, or perhaps killed.”
    Tongju looked up at the launch clock, then turned to Dirk and smiled, his yellow-stained teeth glistening in the sunlight.
    “They will not arrive in time. And if they do, there will be no consequence. The soft American military will not attack the platform for fear of killing the innocent workers aboard. There is no way to stop the countdown now. The launch will proceed, Mr. Pitt, and bring an end to the meddlesome activities of both you and your countrymen.”
    “You’ll never escape alive.”
    “Nor you, I’m afraid.”
    Dirk and Dahlgren fell silent as they trudged across the open platform, feeling like two men marching to the gallows. As they approached the launch tower, all of the men could not help but look up at the shimmering white rocket that towered over them. The captives were led to the very base of the standing rocket, which clung to the
    tower several feet above them. Dirk and Dahlgren were shoved against a tower bracing and ordered to stand still as the guard with the rope began cutting it into several lengths with a serrated knife.
    Tongju stood and casually unholstered his Glock, aiming it at Dirk’s throat, as a guard hog-tied his wrists and elbows behind his back and around a tower support beam. The guard then tied his ankles together and wrapped them to the beam before moving over to Dahlgren and roping him to the tower in the same fashion.
    “Enjoy the launch, gentlemen,” Tongju hissed, then turned and walked away.
    “We shall, knowing that vermin like you won’t have long to breathe,” Dirk cursed.
    He and Dahlgren watched silently as Tongju and his men jogged across the platform toward the forward support column and disappeared down the stairwell. A few minutes later, they observed the tender speeding away toward the Koguryo, which was now positioned nearly two miles from the Odyssey. From their captive position, they had a clear view of the launch clock as it ticked down to 00:26:00, twenty-six minutes. Dirk looked up and morbidly studied the Zenit’s huge thrusters that hung several feet above their heads. At the first seconds of launch, 1.6 million pounds of thrust would be expelled onto them like a firestorm, incinerating their bodies to ashes. At least it would be a quick death, he thought.
    “I guess that’s the last time I let you talk me into crashing a party uninvited,” Dahlgren said, breaking the tension.
    “Sorry, I guess we were a little underdressed,” Dirk replied without humor. He tugged and twisted at the binding ropes, searching for an avenue of escape, but there was little room to even wiggle his hands.
    “Any chance you can slip your ropes?” he asked hopefully of Dahlgren.
    “Afraid not. This guy definitely earned his merit badge in knot tying,” Dahlgren said, pulling at his restraints.
    A loud clanging across the platform seized their