Black wind

Biazon thought, to escape the ordinary.
    The launch pilot guided the worn wooden boat alongside a stepladder suspended over the side of the ship and Biazon wasted no time in leaping aboard. Speaking briefly to the pilot in Tagalog, he turned and scampered up the ladder and sprang onto the deck, nearly colliding with a tall brawny man who stood at the rail. With thinning blond
    hair and sturdy build, there was a Viking-like air about the man who was dressed in an immaculate white warm-weather captain’s uniform.
    “Dr. Biazon? Welcome aboard the Mariana Explorer. I’m Captain Bill Stenseth,” the man smiled warmly through gray eyes.
    “Thank you for receiving me on such short notice, Captain,” Biazon replied, regaining his stance and composure. “When a local fisherman informed me that a NUMA research vessel was seen in the region, I thought you might be able to offer some assistance.”
    “Let’s head to the bridge and out of the heat,” Stenseth directed, “and you can fill us in on the environmental calamity you mentioned over the radio.”
    “I hope that I am not interfering with your research work,” Biazon said as the two men climbed a flight of stairs.
    “Not at all. We’ve just completed a seismic mapping project off Mindanao and are taking a break to test some equipment before heading up to Manila. Besides,” Stenseth said with a grin, “when my boss says, “Stop the boat,” I stop the boat.”
    “Your boss?” Biazon inquired with a confused look.
    “Yes,” Stenseth replied as they reached the bridge wing and he pulled open the side door. “He’s traveling on board with us.”
    Biazon stepped through the door and into the bridge, shivering involuntarily as a blast of refrigerated air struck his perspiration-soaked body. At the rear of the bridge, he noticed a tall, distinguished-looking man in shorts and a polo shirt bent over a chart table studying a map.
    “Dr. Biazon, may I present the director of NUMA, Dirk Pitt,” Stenseth introduced. “Dirk, this is Dr. Raul Biazon, hazardous wastes manager with the Philippines Environmental Management Bureau.”
    Biazon was shocked to find the head of a large government agency working at sea so far from Washington. But one look at Pitt and Biazon knew he wasn’t the typical government administrator. Standing nearly a foot taller than his own five-foot-four frame, the NUMA chief carried a tan, lean, muscular body that showed few indications of having spent much time behind a desk. Though Biazon wouldn’t know, the senior Pitt was nearly the spitting image of his son who carried the same name. The face was weathered and the ebony hair showed tinges of gray at the temples, but the opaline green eyes sparkled with life. They were eyes that had absorbed much in their day, Biazon gauged, reflecting an assorted mix of intelligence, mirth, and tenacity.
    “Welcome aboard,” Pitt greeted warmly, shaking Biazon’s hand with a firm grip. “My underwater technology director, Al Giordino,” he added, jabbing a thumb over his shoulder toward the far corner of the wheelhouse. Curled up asleep on a bench seat was a short, thick man with dark curly hair. A light snore drifted from the man’s lips with each breath of air that exhaled from his barrel-shaped chest. His powerful build reminded Biazon of a rhinoceros.
    “Al, come join the party,” Pitt yelled across the bridge.
    Giordino pried his eyes open, then popped instantly awake. He quickly stood and joined the other men at the table, showing no signs of slumber.
    “As I told the captain, I appreciate your offer of assistance,” Biazon said.
    “The Philippine government has always been supportive of our research work in your country’s waters,” Pitt replied. “When we received your radio call to help identify a toxic marine affliction, we were glad to help. Perhaps you can tell us a little more about the specifics of the outbreak.”
    “A few weeks ago, our office was contacted by a resort hotel on anglao Island. The hotel’s management was upset because a large quantity of dead fish were washing up on the guest beach.”
    “I could see where that would tend to dampen the holiday makers’ spirits,” Giordino grinned.
    “Indeed,” Biazon replied sternly. “We began monitoring the shoreline and have witnessed the fish kill growing at an alarming rate. Dead marine life is washing ashore along a ten-kilometer stretch of beach now, and growing day by day. The resort owners are all up