Unerringly, as if Pitt had ordained it, the ship's bow stem cut into the steep slope on the edge of the channel and forged through the bottom mud on an oblique angle to the levee two hundred feet beyond the breach. On a sharper angle she might have driven straight through.
The power of the river's flow through the gash blown out by the explosion came into play and helped slew her massive hull laterally against the breach. And then as suddenly as the vast surge had burst into the marshlands, it was dying, falling off to a small torrent that curled around the liner's still-flailing propellers at the stern.
At last she came to a complete stop, her four great bronze screws beating against the riverbed, embedding their blades in the mud until they could turn no more. The United States, the once-grand superliner of America's shipping fleet, had finished her final voyage.
Pitt stood like a man who had run a triathlon, his head dropped over the wheel, his hands still locked on the rim. He was dead-tired, his body, never fully recovered from the injuries received on an island off the coast of Australia only a few weeks before, shrieking for a rest. He was so brain-weary he could not distinguish any separation of the bruises and abrasions suffered from the explosions or the fight with the Chinese defenders of the ship. They all blended into a growing sea of torment.
It took nearly a full minute before he became dimly aware that the ship was no longer moving. His legs could hardly keep him upright as he released the helm and turned to go search for Giordino. But his friend was already standing in the shattered doorway, leaning on the Kalashnikov AKM that he used to shoot down the helicopter, using it as a cane.
“I have to tell you,” Giordino said with a slight grin, “your docking technique leaves much to be desired.”
“Give me another hour of practice and I'll get the hang of it,” Pitt replied in a tone barely above a whisper.
On shore, the sickening moment of panic had passed. They no longer looked out across a broken levee and saw a roaring, unstoppable flood. The flow had fallen off to that of a rushing stream. Every man on the highway cheered and shouted exultantly, all except Sandecker. He gazed at the United States through saddened eyes. His face was weary and haggard. “No seaman likes to see a ship die,” he said somberly. “But what a noble death,” said Gunn. “I suppose there is nothing left for her but to be scrapped.” “It would cost too many millions to restore her.” “Dirk and Al, bless their hides, prevented a major disaster.” “A lot of people will never know how much they owe those two characters,” Gunn agreed.
Already, a long convoy of trucks and equipment was descending on both ends of the break. Towboats pushing barges loaded with huge stones were arriving from up and down the river. Directed by General Montaigne, the Army Corps of Engineers, seasoned veterans at making emergency repairs along the river, rapidly deployed. Every available man and piece of equipment from New Orleans to Vicksburg had been marshaled to restore the levee and put the highway back in serviceable order for auto and truck traffic.
Thanks to the massive hull of the United States acting as a barrier, the flood tide that hurtled toward the Atchafalaya was robbed of the immense power of the Mississippi. After spreading across the marshlands, the wild waters diminished to a wave less than three feet high when it reached Morgan City.
Not for the first time had the mighty Mississippi been prevented from forging her way into a new channel. The battle between men and nature would go on, and eventually there could be but one outcome.
April 30, 2000 Washington, D.C.
CHINA'S AMBASSADOR TO THE UNITED STATES, QIAN MIANG, was a portly man. Short, hair styled in a crewcut, face fixed in a constant little grin that almost never revealed teeth, he reminded those who first met him of a sculpture of a contented Buddha with its hands supporting a round stomach. Never behaving like a dogmatic Communist, Qian Miang was a very gracious man. Supremely confident, he cultivated many powerful friends in Washington and moved through the halls of the Capitol and White House with the ease of a Cheshire cat.
Preferring to do business capitalist-style, he met with Qin Shang in the private dining room of Washington's finest Chinese restaurant, where he often entertained the city's power elite. He greeted the shipping magnate with a warm two handed shake. “Qin Shang, my dear friend.” The voice was jolly and congenial. Instead of Mandarin, he spoke perfect English with a trace of a British accent absorbed during three years of schooling at Cambridge. “You have neglected me during your stay in town.”
“My humble apologies, Qian Miang,” said Qin Shang. “I have experienced pressing problems. I was informed earlier this morning that my project to divert the Mississippi River past my port of Sungari has failed.”
“I am quite aware of your problems,” replied Qian Miang without loosening his smile. “I cannot suggest otherwise, but President Lin Loyang is not happy. Your smuggling ventures, it seems, have become a substantial embarrassment to our government. Our long-standing strategy to infiltrate high level government offices and influence American policy toward China is threatened.”
Qin Shang was shown to a high-backed chair carved out of ebony before a large circular table and offered a choice of Chinese wines the ambassador kept stocked in the basement of the restaurant. Only after a waiter pulled the cord to a chime to announce his entrance, poured the wine and exited the room, did Qin Shang speak. “My carefully laid plans were somehow thwarted by the INS and NUMA.”
“NUMA is not an investigative agency,” Qian Miang reminded him.
“No, but their people were a direct cause of the raid on Orion Lake and the disaster at the Mystic Canal. Two men in particular.”
Qian Miang nodded. “I have studied the reports. Your attempt to kill NUMA's special projects director and the female INS agent was not a wise judgment, certainly one not condoned by me. This is not our homeland, where such things can be carried out in secret. You cannot run—what do they call it in the West—roughshod over citizens within their own borders. I am instructed to tell you that any attempt to murder NUMA officials is strictly forbidden.”
“Whatever I have done, old friend,” said Qin Shang bluntly, “I have done for the People's Republic of China.”
“And Qin Shang Maritime,” added Qian Miang quietly. “We go back too far to delude one another. Until now, as you have profited, so has our country. But you have gone, not one but several steps too far. Like a bear that has knocked a nest of bees from a tree, you have maddened a swarm of Americans.”
Qin Shang stared at the ambassador. “Am I to assume you have instructions from President Lin Loyang?”
“He wished me to convey his regret§, but I am to tell that from this moment, all operations by Qin Shang Maritime will cease within North America, and all your personal ties to the American government are to be terminated.”
Qin Shang's normally controlled demeanor cracked. “That would spell the end of our smuggling operations.”
“I think not. The government's own shipping company, China Marine, will substitute for Qin Shang Maritime in all smuggling as well as the legal transportation of Chinese goods and materials into the United States and Canada.”
“China Marine is not half as efficiently run as Qin Shang Maritime.”
“Perhaps so, but since Congress is demanding public investigations into Orion Lake and the debacle on the Mississippi, and the United States Justice Department is in the process of building a case for your indictment, you should consider yourself fortunate that Lin Loyang hasn't given orders to surrender yourself to the FBI. Already, the news media is calling the destruction of the levee and the ocean liner the United States an act of terrorism. Unfortunately, lives were lost and the coming scandal is certain to expose many of our agents around the country.”
The chime announced the arrival of the waiter, who entered the private room with a tray of steaming dishes. He artfully arranged the dishes around the table and retreated.