“So much for the easy part,” Dirk said. “You ready to cut?” “Pop these on and let's get started,” Summer replied, handing him a pair of welder's protective glasses while donning a pair herself. Taking control of both mechanical arms, she reached into a basket mounted on the front skid pad and with the right claw retrieved an electrode holder, connected via a reinforced line to a 230-amp DC power source inside the submersible. With the left claw, she attached an iron oxide non exothermic cutting rod into the electrode holder and flicked on the power. Unlike a typical underwater cutting rod, which required a supply of oxygen to fuel the burn, the iron oxide rods simply required a power source to generate a superheated cutting arc. The less complicated design was more practical for welding at remote underwater depths. The electrical surge popped through to the end of the rod, igniting a brilliant arc of yellow light that flared from the tip, burning at several thousand degrees.
“Let's start at the top right corner and work down,” Summer directed. Dirk maneuvered the submersible to the corner seam and held it stationary while Summer extended the right mechanical arm toward the hangar wall until the high-temperature flame flared against the surface. With the Starfish suspended against a light current, Summer applied the heat from the arc to cut through the sixty-year-old plating weld. Progress was measured in inches, as the swaying of the submersible undermined the cutting efficiency. But, gradually, a surgical line appeared on the hangar wall, which lengthened as Dirk slid the Starfish down the seam. After fifteen minutes, the electrode rod burned down to the stub. Summer shut off the electrical power and replaced the electrode, then powered it up again and continued cutting. The tedious process continued until a fine cut was made around the entire perimeter seam of the hangar wall. With just a few inches to go, Summer worked the free mechanical claw into an open gap and grabbed onto the panel. She then cut the last of the seam, then yanked with the secured claw. The cut section broke free and fell back onto the main deck of the submarine with a swirling cloud of sediment.
Dirk backed the Starfish away and waited for the water to clear before moving up to their newly created entryway. As he maneuvered back in, he could see that they had measured perfectly. The pair of aircraft pontoons sat directly in front of the opening, the wooden crates sitting just below. He crept the submersible in as close as he could get, bumping the hangar ceiling a time or two before setting it down on the deck near a large protruding iron loop. Through the circular eyelet ran several cables, which secured the nearest pontoon to the deck while the submarine was in motion.
“Let's torch those cables, then figure out a way to slide that pontoon out of the way,” he suggested.
Summer reignited the underwater torch and quickly cut through the first of three steel-braided cables. The corroded lines disintegrated quickly under the flame of the cutting rod and she soon ate through the second cable. She was surprised when the pontoon lurched slightly as the second cable fell away. When the third cable cut free, she was shocked to see the pontoon rise gracefully off the deck and float to the top of the twelve-foot hangar ceiling.
“It's still holding air,” she blurted.
“Compliments to the engineers who built her. That will make our job a little easier,” Dirk replied as he maneuvered the Starfish alongside the wooden crates. Summer grabbed control of both mechanical arms and gently danced their claws over one of the containers. Manipulating the metal fingers, she grasped the top lid on either side and lifted the arms up. The once durable hardwood lid rose like a damp pancake before it split in two as Summer tried to place it off to one side.
“So much for the boxed set,” Dirk said drily.
Inside, however, they could see the bonanza. Six silver-porcelain aerial bombs sat secure and intact, aligned in a neat row. Dirk and Summer looked at each other with a profound sense of relief.
“Guess it's our lucky day after all,” Summer said triumphantly. “They're still here, safe and sound.”
Dirk carefully inched the Starfish closer to the crate as Summer prepared for the harrowing prospect of removing the fragile bombs from their disintegrating case.
“Be gentle, sis. Remember, they're made of glass,” he cautioned.
Summer hardly needed the warning as she manipulated the mechanical arms with great caution. Working with the nearest bomb, she gently slid the canister away from the others, then gingerly worked the claws underneath either end. Moving with patient deliberation, she lifted the bomb up and away, then set it into a padded mesh box that had been hastily attached to the front of the submersible. Confident that the canister was stable, she moved the arms back and retrieved the next bomb in the crate. Lifting and laying it next to the first snugly in the box, she grasped its tail fin with one claw, then snatched the fin of the first bomb with the other claw and locked both arms in place.
“Bombardier to pilot. Ready for takeoff,” she said. Fearful of damaging dangerous cargo, two bombs would be all that the Starfish would safely transport at a time.
The submersible made a slow ascent to the surface, where the bombs were carefully unloaded and stored in a makeshift container that the ship's carpenter had hurriedly constructed.
“Two down, ten to go,” Dirk reported to Morgan and Ryan. “Both crates are readily accessible with the mechanical arms, so, if the second batch is intact, we should be able to recover all twelve canisters.”
“The weather is holding,” Morgan replied. “If we work through the night at the same pace, we should have the recovery operation complete by morning.”
“I'm all for that,” he replied with a grin. “With all these dives, I'm beginning to feel like a yo-yo.”
Less than a mile away, Tongju peered at the NUMA vessel through a pair of high-powered marine binoculars. For nearly forty minutes, Kang's personal executioner studied the Sea Rover, making careful mental notes on passageways, stairwells, hatches, and other elements of the ship that he could detect in the distance. At last satisfied with his observations, the bald assassin entered the Baekje's bridge and walked into a small side anteroom. A pug-faced man with short-cropped hair sat in a wooden chair intently studying a set of ship plans. He stiffened slightly as Tongju entered the room.
“Sir, the assault team has studied the plans to the NUMA research vessel that was relayed by the Kang Shipping corporate office. We have formulated an assault and seizure strategy and are prepared to commence at your direction.” Ki-Ri Kim spoke in a clipped, blunt tone that could be expected from a former special operations commando of the Korean People's Army.
“From the bits of underwater communication that we have been able to intercept, it appears that they have located the weapons and are in the process of retrieving them from the seabed,“ Tongju said in a quiet voice. ”I have notified the captain that we will be launching the operation tonight.”
A broad grin fell over the commando's face before he uttered the single word “Excellent.”
“As we formulated,” Tongju continued, “I will lead Team A to capture the starboard and bow sections and you will lead Team B to take the port and stern sections. Have the men assembled for a final briefing at 01:00. We will commence the strike at 02:00.”
'“My men will be ready. They are curious to know, however, if we will be expecting any resistance?”
Tongju snarled a confident reply. “None whatsoever.”
Shortly after midnight, the Starfish bobbed to the surface of the moon pool, its bright orange frame reflecting golden rays through the water from the blazing underwater lights. Dirk and Summer stood watching on the deck as the submersible was hoisted from the water and parked gently on a platform. A pair of technicians working the graveyard shift rolled a portable hoist to the submersible's front skids and began the delicate process of removing the two porcelain bombs wedged into the mesh basket.