The commando nodded. Snapping a magazine into place, he hit the transmit button on his radio and called the support boat.
Aboard the Coletta, Madrid had been using binoculars to watch a small containership approach when he received the call. He turned to see Bolcke’s crew boat surging out of the inlet and he brought his patrol boat to bear. “Gunner, prepare for a warning shot ahead of the approaching boat,” he said. “Fire!”
A man let loose a blast from the 20mm deck gun, ripping a fountain of water ahead of the crew boat. The fleeing boat reduced speed but held its course across the Coletta’s bow. Focused on stopping Bolcke’s boat, Madrid had ignored the containership, which was approaching off his stern quarter.
“Gunner, prepare for a burst into the motor. Fire!”
The gunner took aim, but before he could fire he fell to the deck and began flailing his arms as if attacked by a swarm of bees. Screaming, he rolled to the rail and hurled himself over the side to find relief in the lake’s waters.
Inside the wheelhouse, Madrid suddenly found his skin inflamed with a searing pain. He danced away from the helm, unable to grip the controls. Screaming in pain, he looked out the window to see the containership bearing down on him.
The ship plowed into the Colettaat slow speed, its lumbering mass easily crushing the patrol boat’s bow. The smaller boat was kicked backward, as its interior filled with water. In seconds, its stern rose, and the boat plunged underwater.
Bolcke watched the patrol boat disappear as his own boat tied up alongside the containership. He sprinted up the ship’s accommodation ladder with his guard in tow, crossed the deck, and climbed to the bridge. Panting, he staggered to the helm, where Pablo stood admiring the modified Active Denial System on the ship’s bow.
“We seem to have made a timely arrival,” Pablo said.
“They’ve . . . attacked . . . the facility,” Bolcke said.
“Who has?”
“One of the prisoners. He escaped yesterday.”
“They would have to be from the Canal Authority. I thought that was their boat. I’m sure Johansson will take good care of them ashore.”
“No, Johansson was killed. By the man who escaped.”
“Can they know of the deal?”
Bolcke shook his head.
“Five hundred million will buy you plenty of new facilities,” Pablo said.
“The plans and motor are safe aboard?” Bolcke eyed the changed appearance of the Salzburg.
“Yes.”
“The Chinese are waiting for us in Miraflores Lake.”
Pablo looked at him like a child awaiting a birthday present. “Then I see no reason to delay our payment a minute longer.” He ordered the ship into the canal’s main channel, and the Salzburgwas swiftly on its way.
69
THE CANAL AUTHORITY COMMANDOS FISHED OUT Alvarez and the remnants of his team that had been scattered across the inlet or huddled among the dock pilings. The operations leader looked like a drowned rat, but he shook off the loss of half his team to take command of the combined forces.
He pointed to a wide trail off the far end of the dock that meandered into the jungle. “The prisoners are down there?”
“Yes,” Pitt said. “The trail leads to a millhouse. The prison housing is just beyond.”
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 Colettafor 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.