Dirk Pitt 22 - Poseidon's Arrow

by Clive Cussler

  Their descent had taken only half a minute, but because of their exertions both men were out of air. Pablo had fought to maintain his breath since hitting the water and now he began to struggle. His heart raced and his head ached. The fear of drowning flooded his thoughts, and he panicked.

  Hanging just inches away, Pitt could see Pablo’s eyes bulge and his face shudder.

  Desperation took hold, and Pablo gave in to his instincts. Letting go of the rail, he kicked and clawed, trying to swim to the surface.

  He had no chance.

  Instead he whisked past Pitt, disappearing into the depths of the well.

  Pablo’s surrender only served to give Pitt more resolve. He focused on maintaining his grip on the rail and tried not to think about the pounding in his brain or the overwhelming urge to inhale. He knew the locks could be filled or drained quickly. And the water level had already dropped by more than twenty feet since they had fallen into the chamber. Pitt told himself the draining would have to end soon.

  As his fingers went numb, he detected a deep rumble beneath him. For a moment, he felt the draining water pull even harder. It was the valves inside the drainage wells turning to close. Then he heard a bang, and the water ceased its deadly pull.

  Unbelieving at first, Pitt pulled on the rail and found himself ascending. He let go and kicked hard, exhaling, long and slow, his reserve of air as he rose. It was still thirty feet to the surface, but he reached it quickly, gasping in the humid air that greeted him.

  As he regained his senses, he heard shouts from the dock high above and an engine revving nearby. The lock gates had opened, and Bolcke was engaging the boat to leave the chamber. Two canal workers tossing down the mooring lines spotted Pitt in the water and called to one of the guards.

  Bolcke spotted Pitt, too, and gunned the engine, ignoring the tossed lines. The crew boat leaped forward toward the open gates, spilling the stern line in the water.

  Pitt reacted at once, swimming a few short strokes and grabbing the floating line. It went taut, yanking him through the water, as the guard arrived and shouted at Bolcke to stop. Bolcke ignored the request, pushing down on the throttle.

  Pitt felt like his arms were being yanked out of their sockets, but he hung on as the boat zipped ahead.

  Clearing the lock, Bolcke looked back and cursed at seeing Pitt in tow. Leaving the boat’s controls, he stepped to the stern line and released the secured end from its deck cleat.

  The line bounded over the stern, freeing the boat and Bolcke from the relentless man who refused to let go.

  77

  RUDI, YOU BETTER GET DOWN HERE RIGHT AWAY.”

  “Okay, Hiram, on my way.” Gunn hung up the phone and bolted from his office. Rather than wait for an elevator, he ran down a stairwell and emerged in the NUMA computer center seconds later.

  Yaeger sat in his command chair in front of the massive video screen. It showed a freighter moving slowly into a narrow compartment.

  “What do you have?” Gunn looked at the screen.

  “Panama Canal. This is the Pedro Miguel Locks, viewed through one of the Canal Authority’s live video feeds. I’ve been monitoring their cameras while waiting to hear from Dirk and Summer about the raid.”

  “Yes, I’ve been waiting for their call.”

  “Check this out. I recorded it just a few minutes ago.”

  Yaeger keyed up earlier footage of the same view, which showed a small boat come into one of the chambers. A few minutes later, an inflatable boat entered the parallel chamber and landed by the control house.

  Gunn stared at the figures who stepped out of the boat. “That looks like Ann and Dirk.”

  “So that is Ann,” Yaeger said. “I wasn’t sure what she looked like. But I pegged Dirk.”

  They watched the rest of the events unfold, including Pitt’s battle with Pablo and his watery ride out of the lock. The two could only stare in disbelief.

  “Could that be Bolcke in the boat?” Yaeger asked.

  “Yes,” Gunn said. “He must still have the plans or Pitt wouldn’t be after him.”

  “What do we do?”

  Gunn shook his head with a dazed look.

  “Sandecker,” he said finally. “We better call Sandecker.”

  78

  THE LINE WENT SLACK IN PITT’S HAND AFTER HIS short aquatic sled ride. Catching his breath, he watched Bolcke speed across the lake.

  He’d been pulled just a short distance into Miraflores Lake. At the shoreline a few yards away was a landing with a moored boat. Pitt swam toward the boat and reached it in short order. It was a small auxiliary tugboat used by the Canal Authority to supplement the operating tugs used to maneuver large ships.

  Pitt pulled himself aboard and quietly untied the mooring lines, then made his way to the wheelhouse. He started the engine and pulled away from shore, oblivious to the standby crew who were busy assisting with the lock operations. As he turned into the lake, he pushed the tug to top speed as it passed a large object floating in the water. It was the body of Pablo, crushed and mangled from his death ride through the drainage culverts.

  The tug was no match for Bolcke’s crew boat, but it didn’t have to be. Miraflores Lake was small, just over a mile long. Bolcke couldn’t escape from view, and if he wished to flee on the crew boat, he would have to pass through another series of locks. Following a half mile behind, Pitt soon realized that wasn’t Bolcke’s plan.

  The crew boat pulled alongside a large freighter idling on the lake and waited for its accommodation ladder to be lowered. Two armed men with Asian features descended the ladder and pulled the boat alongside. Bolcke handed one of the men the bin containing the Sea Arrow’s plans, then stepped off the boat.

  Approaching from its stern, Pitt saw that the black-hulled freighter was named the Santa Rita, ported out of Guam. The men were halfway up the ladder when Pitt barreled alongside in the tug.

  Spotting Pitt in the wheelhouse, Bolcke stared at him as if he were a ghost. He spoke quickly to the gunmen.

  The man carrying the bin raced to the top of the ladder, but the second gunman stopped and aimed his weapon. He studied the tugboat with a cautious eye and fired a warning burst ahead of it. Then he swung the gun toward Pitt in the wheelhouse. Pitt heeded the message, turning away from the side of the freighter and motoring on ahead.

  Zhou approached the deck rail as Bolcke climbed aboard. “Welcome,” Zhou said with faint emotion.

  Bolcke stood wild-eyed, catching his breath after climbing the steps. “My ship was rammed and sunk, my facility attacked and destroyed. We have lost the motor, and my assistant Pablo was killed. But I escaped with the supercavitation plans. They are worth more than the motor.”

  Zhou stared at the Austrian, relieved that he was not a suspect in the destruction of his complex. But the loss of the Sea Arrow’s motor was a failure, even with receipt of the plans. “This changes our agreement.”

  “Of course. But we can discuss it later. We need to clear the Miraflores Locks at once.”

  Zhou nodded. “We are next in line to make the transit. Who was that in the tugboat?”

  Bolcke looked at the tugboat receding in the distance. “Just a nuisance. He can’t stop us now.”

  79

  THE NUISANCE NAMED PITT HAD PLOWED AHEAD of the Santa Rita, searching for a way to stop the ship and recover the plans. Alone in the tugboat, he had few options. He studied the lake ahead, seeing that at its far end the slim waterway split. A southerly fork led to a narrow dam and spillway that controlled the water level of the lake. To the north was the twin set of locks also named Miraflores. One of the chambers had just opened its gates, releasing a large white cruise ship.

  The locks, he knew, would be a dead end. Bolcke no doubt had the same paid influence at Miraflores as he did at Pedro Miguel. Any plea to halt the freighter’s passage through the locks would result in Pitt being arrested, just like Dirk and Ann, until the Santa Rita was safely at sea. He had to find another way.

  Chu
gging along the shoreline, he noted an old barge filled with mud that was moored near the dam. He continued on, circling in front of the locks and passing near the cruise ship, which he noted had a familiar look. He dropped back to confirm the name beneath her slightly damaged stern deck, then smiled as a plan came to mind.

  “Splendid,” he muttered to himself. “Simply splendid.”

  80

  CAPTAIN, YOU HAVE A RADIO CALL FROM THE CANAL tug off our port beam.”

  Captain Franco stepped across the cruise ship’s bridge and grabbed a handset from the deck officer.

  “This is Sea Splendour, Captain Franco speaking.”

  “Good morning, Captain. This is Dirk Pitt.” He stuck his head out of the tug’s wheelhouse and waved toward the cruise ship.

  “My friend Pitt!” the captain said. “It is a small world. What are you doing here? Working for the Canal Authority?”

  “Not exactly. There’s a critical situation at hand, and I need your help.”

  “Of course. I owe my ship and my career to you. What do you require?” He spoke for a few minutes, then hung up the phone with a sullen look. He stepped over to his assigned canal pilot, who stood at the helm, monitoring their track.

  “Roberto,” the captain said with a forced smile, “you look hungry. Why don’t you go down to the galley for a quick meal? We’ll call you to the bridge when we approach the locks at Pedro Miguel.”

  The grizzled pilot, who was fighting a rum hangover, perked up at the offer. “Thank you, Captain. The channel is wide through the lake, so you’ll have no problems.” He departed the bridge.

  The first officer looked at Franco. “This is most unusual, Captain. What are you doing?”

  Franco stepped to the helm and stared out the window with a vacant gaze. “Completing the career that should have ended in Valparaiso,” he said quietly, then ordered the ship to turn about.

  Pitt maneuvered the tug away from the cruise ship and drove hard toward the shoreline. His target was the rusty barge used in the canal’s ongoing dredging operations. Nearly full of thick mud, it rode low in the water, awaiting a tow to be dumped in the Pacific.

  Pitt pulled inshore of the barge, tied the tug to its rail, and sprinted across her deck walkway. Near the bow, he found the barge’s mooring line, a thick rope that he wrestled to free from a massive cleat. Dropping the line over the side, Pitt raced back to the tug and put it to work.

  He turned parallel to the side of the barge and nudged the barge into deeper water. It drifted close to the main channel, so Pitt backed away and took up a new position on its flat stern, shoving the barge toward the locks.

  A few hundred yards away, the Chinese ship Santa Rita had inched in front of the locks, waiting for a gate to open. Glancing over his shoulder, Pitt saw the Sea Splendour sweep up behind him, having used its bow thrusters to quickly turn around.

  When Pitt had first spotted the Sea Splendour, the cruise ship he had saved in Chile, he thought he might use her to block the entrance to the locks. But the Santa Rita was already positioned there, leaving no room for the cruise ship to intrude. His backup plan was much more audacious, if not foolhardy. If he couldn’t block the Santa Rita from entering the locks, then he’d prevent her from leaving them. From the confines of Miraflores Lake, there was only one way to do that.

  Shoving the barge ahead, he guided it toward the locks, then veered south, following the fork in the waterway. Rather than aiming for the locks, the tug and barge were now headed for the adjacent dam. Pitt noticed the shadow of the massive cruise ship as it thundered alongside him.

  “Sea Splendour ready when you are,” the radio crackled.

  “Roger, Sea Splendour. I’ll guide you in.”

  He eased the tug away from the barge and then directed the cruise ship into his place. Matching speed, the cruise ship, its high bow brushing against the barge’s stern, maintained headway.

  “Looking good, Splendour,” Pitt said. “Give it all you’ve got.”

  Nudging against the barge, the cruise ship briefly applied full power. It was a short burst, but enough to send the barge racing through the water.

  Pitt tried to keep pace in the tug, watching the dam loom closer until it was barely a hundred yards away. “Reverse engines,” Pitt radioed. “Thanks, Sea Splendour, I’ll take it from here.”

  “Good luck to you, Mr. Pitt,” Franco said.

  Pressing the tug to full power, he caught up to the barge’s stern as the cruise ship dug in to reverse course.

  The loaded barge was like a runaway freight train, with the tug simply maintaining its momentum. Pitt bumped its stern quarter, keeping it aligned as it raced toward the middle of the concrete dam. The barge closed quickly, charging dead center into the spillway.

  Pitt braced himself for the impact, which came harder than he anticipated. The flat prow of the barge slammed into the spillway with a metallic thud—and stopped cold. The tug bounced off the barge’s stern, and Pitt went flying over the helm. Staggering back to the wheel, he turned the tug away, and considered his failed attempt to burst open a dam that had stood since 1914. He had succeeded in only wedging a barge into its century-old spillway.

  Then a deep rumble sounded from below. Several feet beneath the waterline, the barge had fractured the dam facing. The fracture grew as the pressure of the lake’s water forced its way into the fissure. With a sudden buckle and roar, a fifty-foot section of the dam wall disintegrated, leading the way for the collapse of the entire dam.

  Pitt looked in awe as the barge slid forward and disappeared over the edge, crashing with an audible impact as it struck the waterway forty feet below. The tug felt an immediate draw from the escaping water, and Pitt had to quickly steer clear to elude the suction. The Sea Splendour had already backed well clear as Captain Franco hurried to take the cruise ship to the deepest part of the lake, near Pedro Miguel. Pitt turned his attention to the Santa Rita. The freighter was still stationed in front of the locks, awaiting its passage to the Pacific.

  As Pitt turned the tug away from the shattered dam, he saw the gates of the north chamber slowly swing open. He’d done what he could, he told himself. Now it was simply a matter of time and physics.

  81

  BOLCKE WAS THE FIRST TO REALIZE WHAT PITT WAS attempting. Watching the barge tumble through the break in the dam, he turned to Zhou on the bridge of the Santa Rita. “He’s trying to lower the water level to pin us in. We need to enter the locks right away.”

  Zhou said nothing. He had no control over the gates and was surprised when a moment later they opened as if by command. The Chinese freighter crept forward, entering the chamber as lines were affixed to the small locomotives on the dock.

  A frequent traveler through the locks, Bolcke noted right away that something was askew. The freighter’s main deck sat well below the topside of the dock. That shouldn’t have happened until the chamber was drained. Already the water level was several feet lower than normal.

  He rushed to the ship’s radio and screamed into the transmitter. “Transit Central, this is Santa Rita. Close the gates behind us at once. I repeat, close the gates behind us.”

  Inside the Miraflores Locks control house, Bolcke’s call was readily ignored. The staff was busy trying to determine what was happening at the spillway. Someone had seen the Sea Splendour and a tugboat in the area, but nobody had noticed anything until the barge went over the side. The lock’s security force was immediately mobilized, and boats were sent to investigate both sides of the dam.

  A black-and-white speedboat intercepted Pitt as he made his way to the locks.

  Before the security men could hail him, Pitt stopped the tug and shouted, “A small ship lost control and crashed through the dam. There were many people aboard. You need to look for survivors. I’m going to the lock for more help.”

  The security leader bought Pitt’s tale and ordered the speedboat to go investigate. Only later would he question the presence of Pitt on a Canal Authority tugboat.


  Pitt pushed the tug ahead, spotting a distant gray vessel waiting to enter the south chamber from the opposite end. He headed for the north chamber, following after the Santa Rita, noticing that the narrow lake was draining faster than he expected. A large inlet pipe, which fed the lake water into the chambers, was growing more and more visible above the surface.

  Pitt was thankful to find the gates to the Santa Rita’s chamber still open and he eased the prow of the tugboat inside. There it became even more evident how much water had receded. The Santa Rita sat low in the chamber, her main deck easily twenty feet below the dock.

  But it wasn’t quite enough. The Santa Rita was on a Pacific-bound transit and would be lowered twenty-seven feet before passing through the chamber. The water level would have to drop well below that to prevent her from continuing on.

  “Transit Central to Auxiliary Tug 16, please state your business,” a voice on the radio called.

  Pitt picked up the transmitter. “Transit Central, this is security. Checking for possible damage to the north chamber gates.”

  It didn’t take long for Bolcke to intercede. “Transit Central, that tug operator is an impostor. He is responsible for the damage to the dam. Apprehend him at once.”

  Pitt turned off the radio, knowing his play was over. All he could do now was to keep the tug blocking the gates open—to the extent it wouldn’t get him killed. Ahead, a handful of armed men appeared on the deck of Santa Rita and took up positions along the side and stern rails. Beyond Pitt’s field of vision, a contingent of Canal Authority security men exited the control house and ran toward the tug.

  A few hundred yards away, the last vestiges of the Miraflores Dam gave way, releasing an expanded flood downstream. Along the lake’s shoreline, the water had dramatically receded, leaving muddy flats nearly to the dredged shipping channel. The remaining water’s draw became stronger, and Pitt felt the tug drift back when he eased off the throttle. Slipping out the gates momentarily, he saw the outside culvert was now fully visible. The level had dropped almost a dozen feet since Pitt had entered the chamber and continued to drain out the open gates.