As water sloshed off the belt it pulled the container up to the side rail, where Pitt powered the conveyor off.
“Nice catch,” Dirk said, “though I wasn’t expecting a dip in the bargain.” He dropped to the deck as Ann touched her feet down beside him.
“You okay?” Pitt asked Ann.
“I thought my arm was going to leave its socket, but, yes, I’m all right.” She shook the water from her hair.
“Hand me the gun,” Pitt told his son.
Dirk pulled the SIG Sauer from his waist and handed it to his father. Pitt shook it to clear the water and held the muzzle to Ann’s handcuffs. The shot split the chain that linked the cuffs and freed Ann from the container.
“Would have tried that earlier, but you were too far underwater when we found you.”
“But then I would have missed the ride.” Ann smiled for the first time in days. She got to her feet and looked into the canal where the Salzburg had vanished. “The Sea Arrow’s motor was aboard.”
“They’re not going to get it now,” Pitt said.
“But they still have the plans,” she said. “I saw them in the boat with Pablo.”
Pitt nodded. He had seen Bolcke and Pablo flee in the boat while he tried to save Ann. “There’s only one place they can go.” Having examined a map of the canal on the Adelaide’s bridge, he knew the next lock was only a short distance away.
Dirk was already crossing the deck to an inflatable secured beneath a tarp. In minutes, he had it winched over the side and lowered into the water with Pitt and Ann aboard. Already drenched, he dove over the side of the Adelaide and swam to the side of the boat, where he was helped aboard. Pitt started its small outboard, and they were soon zipping up the canal.
The canal curved past Gold Hill, a small bluff that marked the continental divide and its deepest area of excavation. Just beyond it, the canal straightened, and the Pedro Miguel Locks appeared two miles away. Bolcke and Pablo had already reached the lock and sailed into the north chamber, whose gates had been opened in preparation for the Salzburg.
Pablo docked the boat against the center island, which bisected the lock’s two chambers. He assisted a pair of canal workers in attaching fore and aft mooring lines to the crew boat before he jumped off. With Bolcke still aboard, the workers walked the boat to the far end of the chamber and tied it off, forgoing the tiny locomotives used to maneuver larger vessels.
Pablo strode toward the control house, a multistory white structure in the middle of the island that managed the water flow for the chambers.
A gruff transit supervisor with a clipboard met Pablo. “That’s no four-hundred-foot bulk carrier.”
“We had an accident with the ship and need to make passage at once. Mr. Bolcke will pay triple your usual fee if you don’t book it.”
“Is that him in the boat?”
Pablo nodded.
“Haven’t seen him for a while.” He pulled a radio off his hip and called the control house. A minute later, the chamber’s massive gates began to close. Soon the waters in the chamber would drain out the bottom, lowering the boat for the next section of the canal.
“We’ll have you out of here in ten minutes,” the supervisor said.
Pablo glanced at the closing gates, then hesitated. A small inflatable boat was approaching at high speed with three people aboard. There were two men and a woman with short blond hair. Ann Bennett.
“Just one minute.” He pointed to the inflatable. “Those three attacked and sank our ship. Treat them as terrorist suspects and detain them for at least an hour.”
The man looked at the approaching boat. “They don’t look like terrorists.”
“There’s an extra ten thousand in it for you.”
The supervisor beamed. “You know, I might just be wrong about that,” he said. “Give my regards to Mr. Bolcke.”
All he got in reply was Pablo’s turned back as the Colombian walked briskly to the waiting boat.
75
AS THE GATES OF THE NORTHERN CHAMBER CLOSED to accommodate Bolcke’s boat, the southern chamber’s gates were opened to release a large freighter traveling in the other direction. Pitt slipped the inflatable around the wide freighter and motored into the chamber. He angled toward the control house and pulled alongside the dock, where the transit supervisor stood with two armed guards. The water level in the opposite chamber had already dropped several feet, obscuring his view of the crew boat.
Dirk jumped onto the dock with the inflatable’s bowline in hand and held the boat close while Ann stepped off. Dirk turned to the supervisor.
“The crew boat with two men aboard.” He pointed to the boat in the other chamber. “You must stop its passage.”
“I’m afraid it is you who must be stopped,” the supervisor said. “Guards, arrest these people.”
Pitt had gazed past the control house and spotted Pablo walking along the dock. Hearing the guards grab Dirk and Ann, he goosed the outboard’s throttle. Dirk let the bowline slip, and the small boat took off down the chamber.
It was five hundred feet from the control house to the forward gates, and Pablo was nearly to the end when he heard the inflatable approach. He turned and was shocked to see Pitt at the helm, holding the SIG Sauer.
Unarmed, Pablo looked back to the control house guards. They were occupied holding Ann and Dirk and made no effort to chase Pitt. Their paid loyalty would go only so far.
The crew boat was still a few yards ahead of Pablo, but Pitt angled to cut him off. On the dock, Pablo saw that a maintenance crew had been repairing a locomotive track and left behind a damaged rail. He scooped up the rail—a slim, forged steel rod about six feet long—and stepped forward.
Pitt motored past Pablo and turned the inflatable toward the dock. He didn’t notice Pablo’s makeshift weapon as he leaped from the boat and turned his gun on him.
Pitt’s reflexes were dulled by fatigue, and when Pablo swung the rail, he reacted too late. He aimed and squeezed the trigger, but the rail arrived first, slamming into his outstretched hand. The gun fired harmlessly into the sky before being knocked from Pitt’s hand and splashing into the water.
Pitt recoiled as Pablo reversed his swing, but he was still tagged in the ribs with a sharp whack that sent him reeling. He managed to stay on his feet and backpedaled as Pablo came after him again.
The rail cut the air with a whistling sound as Pablo swung it like a scythe. “You’ve come a long way to die here.”
“Not far enough,” Pitt replied.
Staggering backward to avoid the swinging rail, Pitt had almost reached the gates and the crew boat tied at the end of the dock. The chamber was draining quickly, and the crew boat had already dropped more than twenty feet. He glanced at the boat but saw it was too far to jump.
Sensing Pitt’s vulnerability, Pablo closed in for the kill, swinging the rail even harder.
Pitt saw that the weight of the rail was beginning to slow Pablo’s backswings and he decided to take the offensive. He stepped back as Pablo whipped the bar at him, but rather than keep retreating, he planted his feet and sprang forward.
Pablo reacted by pulling the rail to his chest in defense as Pitt barreled into him. Pitt managed to catch Pablo slightly off balance and he staggered to the side. Pitt pressed the charge, grabbing the rail alongside Pablo’s hands and bulling into him as hard as he could.
Pablo had no choice but to step back and try to regain his leverage. But he had been turned sideways to the dock, and when he tried to plant a foot behind him, he found only air. He tumbled backward off the edge of the dock, taking Pitt with him.
From the base of the control house, Dirk and Ann had watched the battle while the guards held them at gunpoint. Dirk saw the two men fall into the chamber with a large splash and waited for them to surface. As the water settled, he began
counting the seconds—and felt a cold chill.
After more than a minute, neither man had returned to the surface.
76
PABLO TOOK THE BRUNT OF THE FALL INTO THE lock chamber, landing on his back as Pitt drove him into the water. From the height of the dock, it felt like he had hit a concrete pad. The impact knocked the breath out of him while his back erupted in pain. His body tensed, shocked to inactivity.
Pitt, however, stayed in control when he hit the water. He kicked his legs hard, driving his opponent deep. With his diving experience, he figured he could outlast Pablo in the water, and pressed on the rail to drive him as far down as possible.
Focused on his attack, Pitt didn’t notice the pull of the swirling water. He was surprised, though, to quickly feel pressure in his ears, and he waggled his jaw to clear them.
Slowly recovering from the shock of impact, Pablo’s first instinct was to wrestle away the steel rail. But Pitt clung tight, using it to press Pablo deeper. Pablo finally came to his senses and realized he needed air. He pushed himself away from the rail, kicking to the side to escape Pitt.
But a strange thing happened. Instead of ascending, he was drawn deeper by an unseen force. Unnerved, he reached back and grabbed the rail while kicking furiously.
On the opposite side of the rail, Pitt stopped kicking, but another ache in his ears told him they were being sucked to the bottom.
The two men had fallen into the lock chamber directly over one of the drainage wells that dotted its floor. When valves in the wells were opened, the chamber’s water would drain through them into a lateral culvert, which fed an even larger culvert built into the wall. At over eighteen feet in diameter, this huge pipe emptied into Miraflores Lake.
Near the surface, the swirling of the draining water was barely noticeable. But at the bottom of the chamber, it became an inescapable whirlpool. Like Pablo, Pitt briefly let go of the rail and tried to kick to the surface. But the suction of the water refused to release its grip. Pitt brushed against Pablo in the turbulence and regripped the rail, positioning himself parallel to the bottom.
The draw of the water accelerated, pulling them forcefully to the well’s four-foot-wide mouth. Pablo fought the downforce, but his legs and torso were sucked into the pipe. The rail would have been swallowed also, but at the last second Pitt muscled it sideways. It clanged atop the circular concrete well, jerking both men to a halt. Neither realized how hard the water had been pulling them and both nearly lost their grip.
The impact threw Pitt off balance, and his legs were sucked into the well. The rest of his body followed, and he found himself hanging side by side with Pablo, clinging to the steel rail overhead, as thousands of gallons of water rushed past them. No longer concerned with battling each other, each man fought for his life.
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 Pa
blo, 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.”
Poseidon's Arrow Page 36
