Alvarez split his men into two groups and set off down the trail with the lead force, Pitt and Dirk following. They moved cautiously, fearing an ambush, but the remaining guards were nowhere to be seen. The trail widened as they approached the millhouse, a high-roofed, open building. Alvarez sent three men to scout the side entrance, but they never made it.
Gunmen opened fire from every door and window in the structure. Bolcke’s remaining security forces, a dozen strong, had gathered in the millhouse to mount a final defense and counterassault. Their sudden barrage inflicted casualties on nearly half of Alvarez’s men.
Alvarez himself was hit in the leg, and Pitt dragged him to cover. The operations leader quickly called in his reserve force, which had followed on the flank. Under a blanket of return fire, he retrieved his wounded men to the cover of the jungle, but the battle regressed into a stalemate. Alvarez radioed the Coletta for assistance but heard only static in reply. “There’s no response,” he said to Pitt. “Without additional support, we’ll have to pull back.”
“Not without the prisoners.” Pitt grabbed an assault rifle from a wounded commando who had fallen unconscious. “Keep them occupied. We’ll try to get around to the housing complex.” He motioned to Dirk.
The two men took off through the jungle, skirting wide left around the millhouse. Pitt led them on a partial loop, then cut back toward the tall structure. Peering from behind a gnarled cedar, they eyed the end of the millhouse and the prisoners’ housing just beyond.
The housing stood in the center of a wide clearing, fully exposed to the gunmen in the millhouse. Pitt could see several prisoners peering through the housing’s lone gate, trying to watch the gun battle.
He noticed an ore cart parked on the grass midway between their position and the gate. “I’m going to make a run for that cart. If I can get there undetected, I should be able to make it to the gate.”
Dirk gauged the distance between them and the millhouse. “Tough range to cover you from here. I’ll go with you.”
Before Pitt could protest, Dirk sprinted for the cart. Pitt followed on his heels, though his weakened legs couldn’t keep pace for long.
They were seen by a gunman on the second floor of the millhouse. Bullets tore into the ground alongside the ore cart as Dirk ducked behind it. A couple steps behind, Pitt had to dive for cover, rolling hard into his son as the bullets struck close by.
Dirk stuck out the SIG Sauer and fired twice, but that only attracted more gunmen from the millhouse. The cart clanked as it absorbed cross fire from several shooters.
“Not the stealth approach I hoped for,” Pitt said.
“They must have gunmen all over that building.” Dirk peeked over the top of the cart, fired another two shots, and ducked back down. “There’s a guy on the second floor with an RPG.”
Pitt stuck his assault rifle around the side of the cart and sprayed a short burst at an open window. The bullets chewed up its frame and shattered the glass. As he pulled his gun away, Pitt saw a guard emerge from the shadows with a bulbous green device on his shoulder. He knew that a successful shot from the RPG would vaporize them both.
He swung his rifle atop the cart and was preparing to fire again when an explosion rang out like a thunderclap. Shooting ceased as all eyes watched a black cloud rise from beyond the prisoners’ housing complex.
Pitt looked at his watch and grinned. Zhou had come through after all. “You’re ten minutes late,” Pitt muttered.
A second later, the entire millhouse erupted in a fireball. A half dozen additional explosions rang out, leveling the separation-and-extraction buildings that were spread throughout the compound. The entire jungle belched smoke and flames as Bolcke’s hidden facility was methodically destroyed. Zhou had spared only the prisoners’ housing, Bolcke’s own residence, and a staff hall where a dozen research workers were huddling during the fight.
Chunks of the millhouse roof rained down around Pitt and his son as they crowded behind the ore cart. The blast unleashed the ball mill, sending the giant cylinder tumbling out a side wall and rolling into the jungle. Most of the guards inside were killed instantly, but a few were hurled out the windows and landed on the grass unscathed. Canal Authority commandos cut them down on the spot.
Pitt and his son moved quickly to the prisoners’ housing. Pitt shot the lock off with his rifle and kicked open the gate. The crowd of captives inside surged forward.
“Boy, are we glad to see you,” Plugrad said, pushing through to pat Pitt on the shoulder.
Maguire and the other men rushed up and shook his hand. Pitt worked his way through the crowd, anxiously counting each man while searching for his friend. Reaching the last man standing, Pitt found himself a head short. Giordino’s.
With an uneasy feeling, Pitt stepped through the mess and the living quarters. Both were empty. Turning back toward the gate, he noticed a hammock strung between two grills in the open kitchen. The still figure of Giordino lay on it. Pitt moved closer, staring at his friend with apprehension. Then a familiar snore gurgled from Giordino’s throat.
Pitt grinned from ear to ear. “Rise and shine, big boy.”
Giordino cocked open a sleepy eye. “You got back pretty quick.”
“I knew you’d miss me.”
Giordino yawned and sat up. “Quite the fireworks show. Did you get Bolcke?”
“No, he slipped out when the fun started.” He handed Giordino a nearby crutch that had been crudely carved from a stick of zebrawood. “How are you feeling?”
“Like a contender for the national hopscotch championships.” Giordino hopped up on one foot and planted the crutch under his arm. His wounded leg was bandaged so thickly, it resembled a tree stump. Pitt helped him hobble to the gate, where the other captives were milling about, afraid to leave.
A commando came running past the smoldering millhouse and approached Pitt. “Alvarez sent me. Are these all the captives?”
“Yes, every man is accounted for.”
“Where did those explosions come from?”
“Planted here ahead of time. They really saved our bacon.”
“They sure did,” the man said. “Alvarez says to get everyone to the dock.” He turned and started jogging back the way he came. “We’ve got a lot of wounded to attend to.”
Pitt began herding the captives out of the compound when Giordino grabbed his arm and pointed to the sky.
“Someone leaving without us?”
Pitt looked up to see a wisp of black smoke rising from the dock area—the sooty exhaust from a large diesel engine.
“It’s the Adelaide,” Pitt said with resolve. Their fight wasn’t over yet.
70
AL, KEEP THE MEN MOVING,” PITT SHOUTED, already on the run. “Dirk, come with me.”
In the rush to free the captives, Alvarez had failed to send anyone aboard to secure the Adelaide. Hiding on the bridge, Gomez had fired up the ship’s engines at the beginning of the assault. After seeing Bolcke escape and the subsequent explosions in the jungle, he had no reason to linger.
Pitt and Dirk emerged from the jungle to find the Adelaide still at the dock. The stern mooring line had been released, and Pitt glimpsed Gomez yank the line onto the deck, then disappear into the ship’s superstructure. Ahead of the ship, a crewman on the dock moved to release the bowline.
Pitt and his son kept on running. The forward gangway was still in place, so they still had a chance to get aboard, if not hold its bowline. That possibility evaporated when the crewman slipped the line off its bollard, then gazed toward the mouth of the inlet. A small outboard motor could be heard over the drone of the Adelaide’s warming engines. As Pitt and Dirk hustled along the length of the big ship, they saw the source.
It was Summer, piloting boat 3. With her were four or five bedraggled men, lying in the bottom of the boat.
<
br /> The crewman on the dock watched a moment, then kicked the bowline into the water. As the boat neared the dock, he calmly removed a holstered pistol and took aim at Summer.
A rapid peal of gunshots rang out as a half dozen bullets tore into the crewman’s back. At least two shots had come from Dirk’s SIG Sauer, the rest from Pitt’s assault rifle. The crewman spun and squeezed off a stray shot at his attackers, then collapsed dead.
A second later, a screech and a loud crash filled the air.
“She’s under way!” Dirk shouted.
Gomez had engaged the engines and was pulling away from the dock. The noise had come from the gangway, which skidded off the edge of the dock and slammed against the hull, dangling from its deck mountings.
Summer drove the inflatable alongside the dock as the ship pulled away. “A containership came in and rammed the Coletta,” she yelled to Pitt and Dirk. She had sped over in the inflatable and fished out the survivors as the containership sailed away. “I’m pretty sure they picked up Bolcke. It might have been the Salzburg.”
A flood of thoughts filled Pitt’s mind. If Summer was right, the Sea Arrow’s plans and motor would be aboard. And possibly Ann as well. The ship would have to be stopped before it could escape the canal.
He spoke quickly to his kids as he watched the moving Adelaide. “Dirk, run down to the end of the dock. Summer, keep the engine running, I’m coming aboard.”
He strapped the assault rifle over his back and dove off the dock. He hit the water a few feet from the inflatable but stroked toward the ship. He couldn’t match speed with the fleeing vessel, but he had a second target in mind: the ship’s bowline, dangling through its scupper and dragging through the water. He snagged the thick line, then slid along its length until he reached a heavy looped end. A smaller messenger line was attached to it, and he tossed that line to one of the men in the inflatable.
“Stay with the ship,” he yelled to Summer, grabbing the side of the inflatable as she wielded it around and chased after the vessel.
A weakened Madrid leaned over the side and helped Pitt aboard. Together, they reeled in the heavy bowline. Pitt had his daughter push ahead of the ship, dragging the line like an anchor. On shore, Dirk had sprinted to the end of the dock, where a final mooring bitt was mounted. As the inflatable struggled closer, Gomez guessed what they were attempting and turned the Adelaide as far across the inlet as he could.
Dirk could see the ship pulling away and urged Summer to hurry. Pitt’s and Madrid’s arms ached from pulling the heavy line as Summer buried the throttle and took a bead on her brother. Dirk got on his belly and leaned over the side of the dock as the inflatable pulled alongside and Summer cut the motor. Pitt heaved the loop at the end of the line up and Dirk grabbed it just as the line went taut. Muscling it with all his might, he rolled the loop to his side, barely slipping it over the end of the bitt.
“Get clear in case it snaps,” Pitt yelled.
Dirk got to his feet and sprinted down the dock as Summer turned the inflatable around and followed. Suddenly the inflatable veered toward the Adelaide, and Dirk quickly saw why. Summer brought the boat alongside the dangling gangway and Pitt jumped up and grabbed it. Climbing hand over hand, he pulled himself up and boarded the ship.
The bowline was pulled taut, grabbing the ship by its nose and holding it in place. With its propeller still churning, the stern began swinging to starboard, threatening to lodge the ship crossways in the inlet. On the dock, the mooring bitt’s mounts strained under the pressure, fighting to hold the ship in place.
As the tug-of-war played out, Summer brought the inflatable alongside a dock ladder, where Dirk helped Madrid and the other injured men ashore. When Jorge, the last man, was transferred to the dock, Dirk jumped into the inflatable. “Run me over. I’ll back him up,” he shouted.
Summer gunned the throttle and shot to the side of the Adelaide, allowing Dirk to jump onto the dangling gangway.
“Be careful,” she shouted.
Dirk nodded. “Just get away from that line.”
Summer hurried back to the dock as a twang arose from the straining rope. Gomez had turned the rudder over and was applying full power against the line. Something had to give and finally it did.
The bowline’s threaded loop snapped at the mooring bitt, sending the line whipsawing toward the Adelaide. Clinging to the gangway, Dirk ducked as the line slapped against the hull, nearly taking his head off. As the loose line began to fall over him, he scrambled up the gangway and pulled himself onto the deck.
Free of its leash, the ship surged forward, angling out of the narrow inlet. Dirk scanned the deck for his father, but aside from the bodies of the two gunmen on the bow, the ship appeared empty. He eyed the bridge atop the rear superstructure and took off at a run across the long, open deck. He made it to a side door and was on the first steps of the companionway when gunfire erupted overhead.
Repeated bursts of gunfire sounded for nearly half a minute as Dirk raced up the stairs. When he reached the fourth level, the shooting fell silent, and he proceeded cautiously from there up to the bridge deck. He clutched the SIG Sauer at the ready as he crept onto the bridge.
He’d taken only a few steps past the door when a warm muzzle was jammed into the back of his neck. He froze in his tracks, but the barrel was quickly removed.
“I don’t remember giving you permission to come aboard.”
Dirk turned his head to find it was his father holding the gun, relief plastered on his face.
“I wasn’t aware you were the captain of this tub,” Dirk said.
“Apparently, I am now.” Pitt pointed across the bridge.
There was nothing but carnage around them. The bridge windows were shot out and the radar and navigation monitors shattered. Smoke from the decimated electronics filled the air with an acrid odor. In the far corner lay the bloodied body of Gomez.
“Gave him a chance, but he refused to take it.”
Dirk nodded, then glanced out the broken forward window of the pilotless ship. The Adelaide had nearly cleared the inlet, but a wall of rocks and mangroves blocked its path.
“There’re rocks ahead!” he said, jumping to the helm.
“They’re not real,” Pitt replied. “Part of the fake scenery to disguise the inlet.”
A few seconds later, the ship charged into the decoys. There was no jarring collision. Instead the Adelaide sailed smoothly through. Out the side window, Dirk saw an overturned Styrofoam rock gently float away.
Clear of the inlet, the Adelaide charged into the open waters of Gatun Lake. A large crane ship was crossing the canal to the north, while a pair of tankers and a containership were headed around a bend to the south. Pitt stepped to the helm and dialed up the ship’s throttle controls to full.
“Not going back for the others?” Dirk asked.
Pitt gave a steely gaze toward the containership vanishing around the channel ahead.
“No,” he said. “We have a ship to catch.”
71
BOLCKE STOOD PEERING OUT THE REAR BRIDGE WINDOW. Billows of black smoke from the site of his hidden facility painted the horizon. It was destroyed, he knew, because of the escaped prisoner, the one who had tossed the smoke grenade onto his front steps.
But Pablo was right. The money he would receive from selling the Sea Arrow’s technology would leave plenty for a new rare earth extraction facility. He had already done work at a site on Madagascar; he could safely expand his operations there. But he would lose precious months of trading activity at a critical time in the minerals market. Once he was safely in Colombia, he vowed, he would have Pablo hunt down the prisoner and bring him his head on a platter.
He faced forward as the Salzburg entered a narrow stretch of Gatun Lake called Gamboa Reach. “How much farther to the lock?”
Pablo turned
from the helm. “It’s about twelve miles to Pedro Miguel.” He noted the angst on Bolcke’s face. “I’ve radioed ahead. The lock’s transit chief is expecting our passage. There will be no problems.”
The bridge radio blared with the voice of a tanker pilot castigating another ship for passing it on the lake. Bolcke and Pablo ignored the chatter as they eyed the Sea Arrow’s motor on the deck below, covered on the flatbed truck and concealed by stacked containers.
Two miles behind them, the tanker’s pilot still spouted venom at the large bulk carrier that had cut in front of him. “The maximum speed in this section of the canal is eight knots, jerk,” he radioed.
On the bridge of the Adelaide, Pitt couldn’t hear a word the man said, since the ship’s radio had been destroyed in his gun battle with Gomez. He didn’t even know his speed, as the navigation instruments were also demolished. But he had little doubt the ship was traveling well over eight knots.
Empty of all cargo and most of her fuel, the Adelaide sailed light on her feet. Pitt coaxed every ounce of speed he could from the ship, and soon had her approaching twenty knots. She left the tanker and its angry pilot in her wake as Pitt set his sights on the next vessel ahead. It was a large Dutch Panamax tanker, built to the original specs of the canal’s locks at nearly a thousand feet long.
The canal channel had narrowed even more as Pitt caught up to the Dutch ship and pulled up to its port flank to pass. The Adelaide had just edged alongside the tanker when a large blue containership appeared, sailing in the opposite direction.
Dirk gauged the distance needed to pass the tanker and shook his head. “No way we can get past her ahead of that containership.”
He expected his father to slow the ship and duck back behind the tanker until there was room to pass. Instead, Pitt stood calmly at the helm. He had no intention of slowing down.
Dirk grinned at his father and shook his head. “Those boys in that containership aren’t going to be happy.”
The pilot of the oncoming ship had already noticed the Adelaide in his lane and was making furious demands over the radio for the bulk carrier to back down. But the increasingly frantic calls went unanswered as the vessels converged.