River of Ruin m-5

by Jack Du Brul

  “Lauren, are you all right?”

  She rewarded Mercer with a thumbs-up. “I’m just trying not to think about what comes next.”

  They had thirty-eight minutes before the bomb went off. While the ship continued to feel the effect of water flooding through the Pedro Miguel Lock, their ride stabilized as they drove farther from the facility. The engines strained and her deck shook.

  “Roddy, can you still read me?” Mercer called into the radio.

  “I’m here,” the Panamanian panted.

  “What’s happening at your end?”

  “We’re all off the ship and are running like hell. I can see a current in the canal as water from Lake Gatun flows by. If that broken lock isn’t sealed, you know that Miraflores is going to flood.”

  “If my calculations are right, the first bomb ship will take down enough earth to stem the tide when she blows.”

  “Calculations? What calculations?”

  “Okay, I’m guessing,” Mercer admitted. “But I think it’ll work. The explosion on the Robert T. Change should create enough of an avalanche to seal the cut. We’ll lose water between her and the lock, but not what’s stored in Gatun.”

  “I hope to God you’re right.”

  “Me too. Call me when you’re clear.”

  The ships on Miraflores Lake parted as the Englander Rose raced by, her horn blaring like an insane motorist speeding the wrong way up a one-way street. It was hard to tell if any of them had grounded, but every time they left one in their wake, Mercer felt a measure of relief.

  Coming abreast of the Rylander Sea, Mercer told Foch to have his men suspend their disarming work. He was unwilling to take the risk of a slip immolating the thousands of people standing at the rail of the beautiful cruise ship. Had the Rose’s radios not been smashed by her crew, he would have called the luxury liner’s captain and told him to get his passengers below. All he could do was step to the wing bridge with Lauren and wave weakly at the throng shouting and waving back at them.

  “If they only knew,” she remarked.

  “Let’s make sure they never do.” He clicked on his radio and dialed in the USS McCampbell. “Heaven, this is Angel Two, over.”

  “Go ahead, Two.”

  “How do we look for the next set of locks?”

  “Targeted and awaiting your order. The lane to your left will be clear by the time you reach it.”

  Mercer shouted to Harry, “You want them blown apart the same way as before?”

  Harry said no. “Hit them before we get there, say five hundred yards. That’ll give the water some time to settle down as it flows through.”

  Mercer relayed the information to the guided-missile destroyer.

  When the Rylander Sea was a hundred yards behind them, Foch ordered his demolition men back to work. The Rose was passing an eight-hundred-foot tanker that could be loaded with fifty thousand tons of oil or gasoline, but they couldn’t lose any more time. If they went up now and the tanker went with them, at least some on the cruise ship would be spared.

  The entrance to the Miraflores Locks was a third of a mile ahead. The bomb’s timer touched zero in twenty-one minutes. Harry White had shaved an amazing amount of time by ignoring the speed rules and willing his ship on with sweet cajoling and blistering strings of profanity.

  Coming up on their port side was the concrete crest of a power-generating dam that also helped control flooding. In the minutes since the upper lock had been broached, the lake level had risen enough for the dam to overtop and water to begin pouring over the floodgates. Though he couldn’t see it, Mercer knew the structure’s downstream face would resemble Niagara Falls.

  He shifted his gaze a little to the right, trying to see details on the long seawall dividing the two sets of locks. With the driving rain hampering his view it was hard to be certain if the moving shapes were workers or armed Chinese trying to prevent the ship from repeating its earlier trick. It would be just their luck, he thought darkly, to be stopped by some soldier armed with a rocket launcher-

  “Incoming!” he screamed as a streaking trail of smoke seemed to grow from the tip of the seawall, a twisting, probing tentacle that raced for the Englander Rose.

  Hatcherly Consolidated Terminal Balboa, Panama

  The news reached Liu Yousheng in fits and starts and the more he learned, the more confused and bizarre the reports became. He’d arrived at the Hatcherly container port at eight in the morning, his usual time, and spent two hours in his office pretending that this wasn’t the most important day of his life. He had found himself reading and rereading the same document pages several times and even then he gained only the barest impression of what they’d said.

  The tension taxed his legendary concentration, making him irritable with his secretaries and the two junior executives who’d come to him with problems. None of them knew what had so distracted their boss, but all understood not to ask.

  At ten, he couldn’t take it anymore. He grabbed his raincoat and told the secretary that he would be out for several hours. He ignored his car and chauffeur and chose to stride through the rain to the enclosed dry dock on the far side of the terminal. He cut a severe figure in his dark coat that even the enormity of what he’d built in Panama couldn’t dwarf. The cranes and stacks of containers looked like they scraped the roiling storm clouds; the gantry lights cast shadows as strong as the sun. The huge ships tied to the quay were like steel mountains that he had brought to the jungle. The expanse of asphalt was like an artist’s canvas that he alone could paint upon. The men, local and Chinese alike, were his too, and they felt his presence as he stalked across train tracks and around rows of shipping crates. A few of the longshoremen called respectful greetings and a forklift operator offered him a ride.

  Today he would cement his domain by risking it all. When it was over, he would not only control the container port, but all of Panama, including the mighty canal. At the same time he was giving his homeland the leverage it needed to finally rein in the rogue province of Taiwan. It was a momentous day and he didn’t blame himself for allowing no other thoughts but this to concern him.

  The loose ends-Maria Barber, Philip Mercer, and the soldiers helping him-had been relegated to the back of his mind. They were distractions really, nothing more than nuisances he would deal with over the next few days. President Quintero would be grateful to help him hunt them down for another percentage or two of the Inca treasure his men were sure to find.

  His cell phone rang as he reached the huge building that hid the Korvald. He let the phone ring a second time so he could step out of the driving rain. The ship loomed over him, its funnel no more than fifteen feet from the arched roof. The rain beat against the metal building and made the drafty interior vibrate.

  He shook water off his coat and unfolded his phone. “Yes.”

  “Mr. Liu, this is Captain Chen. I’m at the Pedro Miguel Lock. Something is wrong.”

  Liu’s voice cracked. “What?”

  “The captain of the Englander Rose-”

  “Use the code name, damnit!”

  “Ah, Gemini Two. He reported that he heard gunshots and then he went off the air.”

  “Gunshots? Where?”

  “On his ship, sir.” The military commander paused, unsure how to proceed, for he could feel Liu’s anger over the phone. “And now it appears the ship is sitting just above the lock.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I don’t know, sir. Ah, hold on, please. I’m getting another report.”

  Much to Liu’s irritation the connection was cut. What was that all about? He looked up to the rafters and noted that one of the big overhead cranes was in position to remove the DF-31 missiles from the Korvald. The rockets were going to be loaded directly on the eight erector/launcher trucks that lined the dock on one side of the refrigerator ship, their bright paintwork an odd juxtaposition to their deadly purpose.

  The phone rang again and he answered before the chime stopped. “Talk.�
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  “The captain of Gemini One is reporting a problem on the Mario diCastorelli. He says that it just grounded in the Gaillard Cut, but not in its exact target spot and that the submarine was crushed when she hit.”

  “An accident?”

  “He couldn’t tell. He’s evacuating his own ship using its lifeboats.”

  “Is he in position to detonate the Change?” Liu asked sharply, ignoring his own rule about code names.

  “Pretty close, sir. His men will make their way to shore and run for Gamboa and the boat that will carry them to the Atlantic side of the canal.”

  “What’s happening on Gemini Two?”

  “Nothing. It’s just sitting there. I’m about to order some men onto a pilot boat to see what the problem is. I’ll call you back when I have a report.”

  “Good.” Liu snapped off his phone and walked calmly toward the gangplank. He relaxed his shoulders and returned his face to neutral. He wanted nothing to disrupt his plans and he realized how the Korvald’s captain, Wong Hui, seemed to want a reason to bolt with the eight rockets still in the ship’s hold.

  Captain Wong, Sergeant Huai and Mr. Sun met him as he climbed up the steep set of stairs and stepped onto the old ship’s deck. “Gentlemen,” Liu greeted warmly. “I trust we are set to go this morning.”

  Wong made a point to study his watch. “At eleven o’clock, Mr. Liu.”

  Liu tried to disarm the man. He smiled. “I can see why General Yu chose you for this job, Captain. Your dedication is laudable.”

  “It is, yes,” Wong said without expression. “We have almost an hour to wait. Join me in my cabin for tea.”

  “Is that really necessary?” Liu wanted those rockets on the dock as soon as possible. With those in his hands, General Yu couldn’t claim ignorance of what was happening if something catastrophic really was happening at Pedro Miguel.

  This time, a hint of merriment touched the dour captain’s eyes. “Of course it isn’t. We can wait right here until the appointed hour.”

  Bowing slightly in the face of such obstinacy, Liu made a gesture for Wong to lead the way. They waited in silence for a steward to bring the service and pour the tea. Liu felt the double pressure of Wong’s stubbornness, which bordered on insubordination, and the dissecting glances that Mr. Sun shot his way, as if he knew something was amiss. Only Sergeant Huai, a veteran of countless battles and a master of patiently waiting between them, seemed immune to the tension. He drank the tea and kept his eyes from meeting anyone else’s without seeming obsequious or arrogant.

  Liu’s cell phone cried from inside his coat pocket. Rather than draw even more attention by excusing himself, he took the call and made sure his responses were guarded. “Liu Yousheng.”

  “Sir, it’s Cheng.”

  “Yes, of course. How may I help you?”

  “Sir, the pilot boat was destroyed. I think by rockets from Gemini Two, but I can’t be sure. Now the ship is turning back for the lock. I think they mean to go back down.”

  “Well, that is interesting news,” Liu replied mildly while his stomach erupted so fiercely that acid seared the base of his tongue. He fought not to wince and covered the pain by shifting in his seat. “Anything else?”

  Either Cheng caught on to the fact Liu couldn’t speak openly or was too frightened to notice. He continued his report despite his superior’s easy tone. “The ship is about to reenter the lock. The bottom gates are closed so maybe they mean to ram it.”

  “Let them try.” Liu’s laugh was genuine, for he knew nothing short of a battleship at full speed could break through the two sets of massive gates.

  “Sir!” Cheng shouted. “More explosions! It’s not coming from the Englander Rose. We’re under attack. Artillery of some kind. They’re targeting the doors.” There was a pause. Liu could hear detonations over the crackling cellular connection. “They’re gone. The doors are gone. The ship just raced by me going so fast I couldn’t see who was on the bridge. They’re on Miraflores Lake.”

  Liu stood. He could no longer keep up a facade in front of Captain Wong. He nodded to the men and stepped from the cabin, moving far enough down the hallway so he couldn’t be overheard. His voice became an angry hiss. “What are you saying?”

  “A barrage of some kind blew apart the lower lock doors. Water is pouring through and the Englander Rose went with it. It just passed a freighter on Miraflores and looks like it’s heading for the next set of locks.”

  “Listen to me very carefully. That ship must not get off the lake. If you can stop it and get aboard I’ve got the code that will let you reset the timer on the explosives. We can still get the ship to the cut and finish what we started.”

  “Yes, sir. I have a force at the Miraflores Locks and I can get the rest of my men down there before the ship reaches it. We’ll stop them.”

  “Make sure you do, Cheng.” Liu put his phone away and stood looking at his feet, his face creased in thought. The dice were still rolling and a chance remained to effect their outcome.

  A voice from behind snapped him from his reverie, a voice that wasn’t supposed to be anywhere near Panama, let alone on the Korvald.

  “It seems you’re having a problem.” General Yu stood near the first officer’s cabin, where he’d been listening. There was a smirk on his pug face, delighting in seeing the younger executive about to have his world torn away from him. “It appears that we gambled and you lost.”

  Mercer dove into the bridge. “Incoming!” he shouted again.

  The rocket, a Chinese version of the Russian man-portable RPG-7, was primarily an antitank weapon with a five-pound shaped warhead capable of penetrating up to a foot of armor. Although their accuracy beyond three hundred yards was poor, and only a lucky hit could possibly disable a ship the size of the Englander Rose, everyone knew the wheelhouse was the missile’s target and a hit would turn it into flaming ruins.

  They had all been under fire before, Harry during World War II and the others much more recently, and all knew to keep their mouths open to protect their inner ears from the overpressure of an explosion. Foch radioed a warning to his men in the hold and ducked behind the sturdy console to await the hit.

  The rocket-propelled grenade flew unerringly at the vessel, a smoking slash of light that cut across the distance in seconds. The shaped warhead hit in the juncture where the superstructure met the deck and blew a cone of fire deep into the ship, shredding bulkheads and deck plates and leaving a four-foot smoking crater. The bridge rumbled and a gust of hot smoke blew through the aft doorway. For a fraction of a second, the crew waited for the secondary explosion, for surely such a strike could detonate the tons of explosives in her hold.

  But then logic took over as they realized that they would never feel such a massive blast.

  Mercer’s ears rang and his voice sounded unnaturally loud when he called, “Everyone okay?”

  “We’re fine this time,” Rene said and ordered the Legionnaires to determine the extent of the damage and battle any fires the explosion might have ignited.

  “Harry?”

  “I’m good.” The old man got to his feet and immediately checked the ship’s gauges, grunting his relief that everything appeared in order.

  Mercer’s earpiece crackled. “Angel Two, this is Heaven. Sit rep?”

  “We’re still here.”

  “We can target the seawalls with a strike before blowing the gates. The drone reports concentrations of troops along both sides of the lock you’ll be going through.”

  “Hold on, Heaven.” Mercer went back outside and studied the barrier through his binoculars. Amid the uniformed troops, he saw dozens of workers being used as human shields by the Chinese. It seemed every soldier had at least two workers with him, men held by fright, not loyalty. Mercer couldn’t order their deaths. “Negative, Heaven. There are too many civilians out there. Lay a barrage along the wall to keep the rocket launchers pinned, but don’t hit the structure. Do you copy?”

  “Roger. Retarge
ting now.”

  The seawall dividing the two sets of locks was much longer than the one at Pedro Miguel, extending past the topmost lock by several thousand feet. Mercer tried to remain calm as he watched a team of soldiers at its tip readying another RPG. The range was sufficiently close to guarantee a hit on the Rose’s bridge. Through the powerful binoculars he could see the brightness in the gunner’s eyes as he swung the tubelike weapon to his shoulder.

  Mercer was about to shout another warning when the water just feet off the concrete wall exploded in what looked like a precisely timed series of charges. The VGAS cannon walked its shots from the end of the seawall all the way to the lock. Each round exploded an exact distance from its predecessor in a string of geysers like some sort of overwhelming fountain effect. Men dove for cover, fearing the next string would tear up the cement. Some leapt into the opposite lock, others cowered behind the mule engines and others just froze as they were showered with water.

  “Okay,” Harry called from the wheel. “It’s time to blow the doors.”

  The upper lock chamber was already flooded and its gates were open to the Rose while a ship was just being drawn into the lower one by the mules, although it appeared work had stopped.

  “Heaven, Angel Two. It’s open-sesame time.”

  “Could you repeat that, please?”

  “Hit the goddamned doors!”

  With the upper chamber fully flooded and the lower one drained to the level of the Pacific Ocean, only the doors separating the two locks had to be hit to allow the Rose to pass through. Because they closed at shallow angles, the cathedral-like primary and safety doors looked like a flattened two-striped chevron when viewed from above.

  Twenty seconds later, the area around them erupted. The shots were perfectly placed, penetrating the first layer of steel and exploding inside the hollow gates. The following rounds worked at the hinge points, tearing them from their concrete redoubts. After a dozen hits, the safety doors failed and the twenty feet of water between them and the main doors rushed into the lower chamber, rocking the freighter held fast by the mules.