Black wind

injuries.

“We’re going to get out of this,” Morgan lectured confidently. “These goons just want the items we’ve been salvaging off the Japanese submarine. Chances are, they’ll let us out of here just as soon as they’ve smuggled the materials off to their ship,” he said, internally doubting his own words. “But, just in case, we’ll figure out a way to pop the lid on our own. We’ve certainly got plenty of manpower to do it with. Mcintosh, swing that light around again, let’s see what we’ve got to work with around here.”
    Mcintosh and Ryan picked up the portable ROV and walked it toward the center of the hold, then slowly turned it in a 360-degree circle the bright beams spraying an arc of light over the people and objects in its path. As a storeroom for the Starfish, the hold resembled a large electronic parts bin. Coils of cabling hung from the bulkheads, while spare electronic components were stored in multiple cabinets mounted on the aft wall. Racks of test equipment lined one side of the hold, while at the forward end of the bay a sixteen-foot Zodiac inflatable boat sat on a wooden cradle. Off to one corner, a half-dozen fifty-five-gallon drums of gasoline were wedged alongside two spare outboard motors. Ryan held the light shining on the drums for several minutes, illuminating a series of iron rungs that ran up the bulkhead and under an overhang in back of the drums.
    “Captain, there’s a venting hatch located up those rungs that opens up onto the aft moon pool deck,” Ryan said. “It locks from the deck side, but there’s a chance it may have been left open.”
    “One of you men there,” Morgan barked at a trio of scientists huddled near the drums. “Climb up that ladder and see if the hatch is unlocked.”
    A barefoot oceanographer clad in blue pajamas jumped at the captain’s request and scampered up the metal rungs, disappearing into a narrow vent shaft that was carved through the overhang. A few moments later, he climbed back into view, his feet now sensitive to the crude ladder steps.
    “It’s locked solid, Captain,” he said with disappointment.
    Mcintosh suddenly piped up from the center of the hold.
    “Cap’n, I think we can construct a couple of spars from the wooden supports underneath that Zodiac,” he said, pointing an arm toward the rubber boat. “With six or eight men on each, we ought to be able to prod up a corner of the main hatch.”
    “Poke it off with a couple of big chopsticks, eh? That, indeed, might work. Go to it, Mcintosh. You men over there, help get that Zodiac off its stand,” he growled at a party assembled near the boat.
    Limping over, he grabbed hold of the boat’s bow and helped muscle it off the wooden stands and onto the deck. Several men assisted
    Mcintosh in dissecting the support cradle and laying out its separate pieces while the ship’s carpenter assessed how to reassemble the material into several spars.
    While they worked, they could hear the muffled voices of the commandos on deck and the whirring and clanking of the Baekje’s crane as it loaded and hoisted away the I-411’s ordnance. At one point, the faint echo of machine-gun fire was heard emanating from a distant part of the ship. A short time later, Morgan detected the sound of the Starfish being hoisted out of the moon pool and dropped to the deck, followed by the shrieking cry of a woman’s voice he knew to be Summer’s. The activity above them grew quieter after some banging on the bulkhead above their heads. Eventually, the humming of the cranes and the sporadic voices fell silent. As it became evident that the commandos had left the ship, Morgan quietly wondered about the fate of Dirk and Summer. His thoughts were suddenly jarred by the rumble of the Baekje’s engines vibrating through the hold as the cable ship pulled away from Sea Rover.
    “How are we coming along, Mcintosh?” he asked loudly to mask the sound of abandonment, although he could clearly see the progress in front of him.
    “We’ve two spars together and are close to completing a third,” the chief engineer grunted. At his feet were three uneven-looking wooden poles, roughly ten feet in length. Each was constructed of three separate pieces of timber, crudely indented at either end with a hammer and screwdriver and fitted together in a notched tongue-and-groove fashion. Metal sheeting cannibalized from a test rack was hammered around the joints for stability and finished off in a wrapped