“We're not asking for an interdiction boarding. Just request a remote visual survey and verification with Sea Launch authorities.”
Giordino spoke into the radio again, then turned to Pitt. “Narwhal agrees and is on her way.”
“Good,” Pitt replied, watching the platform fade away in the distance behind them. But he didn't feel good. A nagging sensation told him they had missed something on their flyover. Something important.
Kim stood with Tongju on the bridge of the Odyssey watching the blimp circle away to the north.
“They did not loiter for very long. Do you think they suspect anything?” Kim asked.
“I do not know,” Tongju replied, his eyes moving from the blimp to a chronometer mounted on the bulwark. “The launch will take place in just over two hours. There is no room for interference now. Return to the Koguryo, Ki-Ri, and stand by with Captain Lee. If there is any attempted outside hindrance, deal with it decisively. Do you understand?”
Kim looked his commander squarely in the eye and nodded. “I understand completely.”
Dirk and Captain Burch listened in on the Deep Endeavor's Coast Guard radio as Giordino asked the Narwhal to survey the Sea Launch platform and support ship. Minutes later, the Narwhal called up the NUMA vessel.
“Deep Endeavor, we have completed inspection of the containership Andaman Star and are proceeding to the offshore platform for a visual inspection. No incoming traffic in our quadrant is presently in range, so you may accompany us at your convenience if desired. Over.”
“Shall we take a look?” Captain Burch asked of Dirk.
“Why not? Business is slow. We can follow along once we're finished here.”
Burch glanced at the Japanese freighter, noting that Aimes and the search crew were beginning to assemble at the rail, their inspection nearly complete.
“Affirmative, Narwhal” Burch radioed to the Coast Guard vessel.
“We'll shadow you upon completion of our current inspection, in another five or ten minutes. Out.”
“Wonder what piqued the old man's interest,” Dirk asked rhetorically as he and Burch peered across the horizon trying to make out the image of the floating platform.
Three miles away, the Narwhalhzd stoked up its twin diesel motors and was skimming across the waves at its top speed of 25 knots. The eighty-seven-foot cutter was one of the newer Barracuda-class patrol boats employed by the Coast Guard, designed to work out of smaller ports and harbors. With their mission focused primarily on inspection and sea rescue, the boat's crew of ten was only lightly armed with a pair of 12.7mm machine guns mounted on the bow deck.
Lieutenant Bruce Carr Smith braced himself against a bulkhead in the cramped bridge as the white-and-orange-trimmed boat lurched over a swell, her bow slapping the sea with a spray of foam.
“Lieutenant, I've radioed command headquarters. Dispatch is going to contact the Sea Launch port office to determine what's up with their platform,” the Narwhal's red-haired communications officer stated from the corner.
Smith nodded in reply, then spoke to a boyish-looking helmsman manning the wheel. “Steady as she goes,” he said firmly.
The two dots they chased on the horizon gradually grew larger until the distinct shapes of an oil platform and a utility ship drew into focus. The support ship was no longer aside the platform and Smith could see that it was in fact moving away from the stationary platform. Smith took a quick glance over his shoulder and saw that the Deep Endeavor had completed her freighter inspection. The turquoise vessel was moving away from the freighter and appeared to be following his path in the distance.
“Sir, would you like to approach the platform or the ship?” the helmsman asked as they drew nearer.
“Bring us alongside the platform for starters, then we'll go take a look at the ship,” Smith replied.
The small patrol boat slowed as it eased near the platform, which now rode fourteen meters lower in the water under its ballasted state. Smith looked in awe at the huge Zenit rocket standing at its launch tower near the stern edge of the platform. Peering through binoculars, he studied the platform deck but saw no signs of life. Surveying the forward section of the platform, he caught sight of the launch countdown clock, which now read 01:32:00, one hour and thirty-two minutes.
“What the hell?” Smith muttered as he watched the digital numbers tick lower. Grabbing the marine radio transmitter, he called to Odyssey.
“Sea Launch platform, this is Coast Guard cutter Narwhal. Over.” After a pause, he tried again. But he was met only with silence.
“Sea Launch director of information, how may I help you?” a soft, feminine voice answered over the phone line.
“This is the Eleventh District U.S. Coast Guard, Marine Safety Group, Los Angeles, central dispatch. We're requesting mission and location status of Sea Launch vessels Odyssey and Sea Launch Commander, please.”
“One moment,” the information director hesitated, shuffling through some papers on her desk.
“Here we are,” she continued. “The launch platform Odyssey is en route to her designated launch site in the western Pacific, near the equator. Her last reported position, as of eight a.m. this morning, was at approximately 18 degrees North Latitude, 132 degrees West Longitude, or roughly seventeen hundred miles east-southeast of Honolulu Hawaii. The assembly and command ship Sea Launch Commander is presently at port in Long Beach undergoing minor repairs. She is expected to depart port tomorrow morning to rendezvous with the Odyssey at the equator, where the Koreasat 2 launch is scheduled in eight days.”
“Neither vessel is currently located at sea off the coast of Southern California?”
“Why no, of course not.”
“Thank you for the information, ma'am.”
“You're welcome,” the director replied before hanging up, wondering why the Coast Guard would think the platform was anywhere near the coast of California.
Smith was too anxious to dally for a response from the Los Angeles Coast Guard Group and brought his vessel closer to the platform. The Coast Guard lieutenant was annoyed at the lack of response from the Odyssey, which had ignored his repetitive radio calls. He finally turned his attention toward the support ship, which had now crept a quarter mile away from the platform. Repeated radio calls to the ship went unanswered as well.
“Sir, she's flying a Japanese flag,” the helmsman noted as the Narwhal moved toward the vessel.
“No excuse for ignoring a marine radio call. Let's move alongside the vessel and I'll try to talk to them over the PA system,” Smith ordered.
As Narwhal moved out of the shadow of the platform, pandemonium struck at once. Coast Guard dispatch broke over the Narwhal's radio with word that the Odyssey was reported a thousand miles away from California and that her support ship was sitting docked in Long Beach. Aboard the Koguryo, a handful of crewmen pushed aside a lower deck siding, revealing a row of large cylindrical tubes pointing seaward. Though in disbelief, Smith's instincts took over, correctly assessing the situation and barking orders before he even realized the words were flowing from his lips.
“Hard to port! Apply full power! Prepare for evasive maneuvers!” But it was too late. The helmsman was just able to swing the Narwhal broadside to the Koguryo when a plume of white smoke suddenly billowed from the larger ship's lower deck. The smoke seemed to build at its source before a bright flash burst forth. Then, out of the smoke, a Chinese CSS-N-4 Sardine surface-to-surface missile erupted from its launch tube, bursting horizontally away from the ship. Watching mesmerized from the bridge, Smith had the distinct sensation of being shot between the eyes with an arrow as he observed the missile charge directly toward him across the water. The nose tip of the missile seemed to smile at him in the fractional second before it smashed into the bridge just a few feet away.