Summer hurried back to the dock as a twang arose from the straining rope. Gomez had turned the rudder over and was applying full power against the line. Something had to give and finally it did.
The bowline’s threaded loop snapped at the mooring bitt, sending the line whipsawing toward the Adelaide. Clinging to the gangway, Dirk ducked as the line slapped against the hull, nearly taking his head off. As the loose line began to fall over him, he scrambled up the gangway and pulled himself onto the deck.
Free of its leash, the ship surged forward, angling out of the narrow inlet. Dirk scanned the deck for his father, but aside from the bodies of the two gunmen on the bow, the ship appeared empty. He eyed the bridge atop the rear superstructure and took off at a run across the long, open deck. He made it to a side door and was on the first steps of the companionway when gunfire erupted overhead.
Repeated bursts of gunfire sounded for nearly half a minute as Dirk raced up the stairs. When he reached the fourth level, the shooting fell silent, and he proceeded cautiously from there up to the bridge deck. He clutched the SIG Sauer at the ready as he crept onto the bridge.
He’d taken only a few steps past the door when a warm muzzle was jammed into the back of his neck. He froze in his tracks, but the barrel was quickly removed.
“I don’t remember giving you permission to come aboard.”
Dirk turned his head to find it was his father holding the gun, relief plastered on his face.
“I wasn’t aware you were the captain of this tub,” Dirk said.
“Apparently, I am now.” Pitt pointed across the bridge.
There was nothing but carnage around them. The bridge windows were shot out and the radar and navigation monitors shattered. Smoke from the decimated electronics filled the air with an acrid odor. In the far corner lay the bloodied body of Gomez.
“Gave him a chance, but he refused to take it.”
Dirk nodded, then glanced out the broken forward window of the pilotless ship. The Adelaidehad nearly cleared the inlet, but a wall of rocks and mangroves blocked its path.
“There’re rocks ahead!” he said, jumping to the helm.
“They’re not real,” Pitt replied. “Part of the fake scenery to disguise the inlet.”
A few seconds later, the ship charged into the decoys. There was no jarring collision. Instead the Adelaidesailed smoothly through. Out the side window, Dirk saw an overturned Styrofoam rock gently float away.
Clear of the inlet, the Adelaidecharged into the open waters of Gatun Lake. A large crane ship was crossing the canal to the north, while a pair of tankers and a containership were headed around a bend to the south. Pitt stepped to the helm and dialed up the ship’s throttle controls to full.
“Not going back for the others?” Dirk asked.
Pitt gave a steely gaze toward the containership vanishing around the channel ahead.
“No,” he said. “We have a ship to catch.”
71
BOLCKE STOOD PEERING OUT THE REAR BRIDGE WINDOW. Billows of black smoke from the site of his hidden facility painted the horizon. It was destroyed, he knew, because of the escaped prisoner, the one who had tossed the smoke grenade onto his front steps.
But Pablo was right. The money he would receive from selling the Sea Arrow’s technology would leave plenty for a new rare earth extraction facility. He had already done work at a site on Madagascar; he could safely expand his operations there. But he would lose precious months of trading activity at a critical time in the minerals market. Once he was safely in Colombia, he vowed, he would have Pablo hunt down the prisoner and bring him his head on a platter.
He faced forward as the Salzburgentered a narrow stretch of Gatun Lake called Gamboa Reach. “How much farther to the lock?”
Pablo turned from the helm. “It’s about twelve miles to Pedro Miguel.” He noted the angst on Bolcke’s face. “I’ve radioed ahead. The lock’s transit chief is expecting our passage. There will be no problems.”
The bridge radio blared with the voice of a tanker pilot castigating another ship for passing it on the lake. Bolcke and Pablo ignored the chatter as they eyed the Sea Arrow’s motor on the deck below, covered on the flatbed truck and concealed by stacked containers.
Two miles behind them, the tanker’s pilot still spouted venom at the large bulk carrier that had cut in front of him. “The maximum speed in this section of the canal is eight knots, jerk,” he radioed.
On the bridge of the Adelaide, Pitt couldn’t hear a word the man said, since the ship’s radio had been destroyed in his gun battle with Gomez. He didn’t even know his speed, as the navigation instruments were also demolished. But he had little doubt the ship was traveling well over eight knots.
Empty of all cargo and most of her fuel, the Adelaidesailed light on her feet. Pitt coaxed every ounce of speed he could from the ship, and soon had her approaching twenty knots. She left the tanker and its angry pilot in her wake as Pitt set his sights on the next vessel ahead. It was a large Dutch Panamax tanker, built to the original specs of the canal’s locks at nearly a thousand feet long.
The canal channel had narrowed even more as Pitt caught up to the Dutch ship and pulled up to its port flank to pass. The Adelaidehad just edged alongside the tanker when a large blue containership appeared, sailing in the opposite direction.
Dirk gauged the distance needed to pass the tanker and shook his head. “No way we can get past her ahead of that containership.”
He expected his father to slow the ship and duck back behind the tanker until there was room to pass. Instead, Pitt stood calmly at the helm. He had no intention of slowing down.
Dirk grinned at his father and shook his head. “Those boys in that containership aren’t going to be happy.”
The pilot of the oncoming ship had already noticed the Adelaidein his lane and was making furious demands over the radio for the bulk carrier to back down. But the increasingly frantic calls went unanswered as the vessels converged.
Pitt continued to gain on the tanker, but its monstrous length made passing it an interminable task. Ahead, the tanker and containership had already passed bow to bow, so there was no escape for anyone. Pitt had estimated the canal cut was wide enough for the three ships to pass side by side, but he didn’t know if it was deep enough for all three. Positioned in the middle, where the channel would be deepest, he didn’t really care.
The tanker’s pilot did what he could to slow his vessel and steer it to the right-hand side of the marked channel. But because his ship had the deepest draft, he refused to push it any closer to the bank. That left the game of chicken in the hands of the containership’s pilot.
Pitt helped the cause by pulling tight alongside the tanker, close enough that a man could jump from one vessel to the other. But, by all appearances, a collision looked inevitable.
As the containership bore down from the other direction, Pitt and Dirk braced for impact. The approaching ship, stacked to the sky with containers, filled their vision as its bow cut toward them. But the pilot wisely decided that grounding on the bank would be safer than a collision and he guided the ship aside to make way for Pitt.
The ships passed within a few feet of each other as the containership’s hull scraped bottom and its propeller churned through mud. The pilot and deck officers hurled a mountain of insults as the bridges of the two ships passed. Pitt merely smiled and waved.
“They’re going to want your pilot’s license for that,” Dirk said.
“Think how mad they’ll be,” Pitt replied, “when they find out I don’t have one.”