I was nodding with what I hoped was the required amount of awe when I saw where we'd be getting our Coke. A truck-trailer had grown roots in the middle of the car park and become a cafe-cum-tourist-shop. White plastic garden chairs were scattered around matching tables shaded by multicoloured sun umbrellas. Hanging up for sale were enough souvenir T-shirts to clothe an army. We found a space and got out. It was sweltering, but at least I could peel my sweatshirt off my back.
Aaron headed towards the side window to join the line of tourists and two red tunics, each with a lump of brass under their arm, as they leered at a group of athletic-looking baton girls paying for their drinks. 'I'll get us a couple of cold ones.'
I stood under one of the parasols and watched the ship inch into the lock. I took off my Jackie Os and cleaned them: the glare made me regret it immediately.
The sun was merciless, but the lock workers seemed impervious to it, neatly dressed in overalls and hard hats as they went about their jobs. There was an air of brisk efficiency about the proceedings as a loudspeaker system sounded off quick, businesslike radio traffic in Spanish, just managing to make itself heard above the nightmare around the buses and the clatter of scaffolding poles.
A four-tier grandstand was being erected on the grass facing the lock, supplementing the permanent one to the left of it, by the visitors' centre, which was also covered in bunting. Saturday was going to be very busy indeed.
The ship was nearly into the lock, with just a couple of feet to spare each side. Tourists watched from the permanent viewing platform, clicking away with their Nikons, as the band drifted on to the grass. Some of the girls practised their splits, professional smiles, and top and bottom wiggles as they got into ranks.
The only person at ground level who seemed not to be looking at the girls was a white man in a fluorescent pink, flowery Hawaiian shirt. He was leaning against a large, dark blue GMC Suburban, watching the ship as he smoked with deep, long drags. The guy was using his free hand to wave the bottom of his shirt to circulate some air. His stomach had been badly burned, leaving a large scar the size of a pizza that looked like melted plastic. Shit, that must have been painful. I was glad my stomach pain was just from a session with Sundance's Caterpillars.
Apart from the windscreen, all the windows had been blackened out with film. I could see it was a DIY job by a snag mark in one of the rear door windows. It made a clear triangle where the plastic had been ripped down three or four inches.
Then, as if he'd just realized he'd forgotten to lock his front door, he jumped into the wagon and drove out. Maybe the real reason was because he had a false plate on the CMC and he didn't want any of the police to scrutinize it. The wagon had been cleaned, but not well enough to match the even cleaner plate. I'd always hit the carwash immediately before changing plates, then took a drive in the country to mess both the plate and the body-work before using the vehicle for work. I bet there were a lot of people with false plates down here, keeping the banking sector vibrant.
A fragile-looking Jacob's ladder of wooden slats and knotted rope was dropped over the side of the ship and two men in pristine white shirts and trousers climbed aboard from the grass below, just as Aaron came back with four cans of Minute Maid.
'No Coke they've been overrun today.'
We sat in the shade and watched the hydraulic rams slowly push the gates shut, and the water twenty-seven million gallons of it, according to Aaron flooded into the lock. The ship rose into the sky before us as the scaffolders downed tools and took a seat in preparation for the girls' rehearsal.
Quiet contemplation obviously wasn't Aaron's thing and he was soon waffling on.
'You see, the canal isn't as most people think, just a big ditch cut through the country, like the Suez. No, no, no. It's a very complicated piece of engineering quite amazing to think it's more or less Victorian.'
I had no doubt it was completely fascinating, but I had other, more depressing, things on my mind.
The Miraflores, and the other two sets further up, lift or drop these ships eighty feet. Once up there, they just sail on over the lake and then get lowered again to sea level the other side. It's kind of like a bridge over the isthmus.
Pure genius the eighth wonder of the world.'
I pulled the ring on my second orange and nodded towards the lock.
'Bit of a tight fit, isn't it?' That'd keep him waffling for a while.
He responded as if he'd designed the thing himself.
'No problem they're all built to Panamax specifications. Shipyards have been keeping the size of the locks in mind for decades now.'
The vessel continued to rise like a skyscraper in front of me. Just then, the trumpets, drums and whistles started up as the band broke into a quick-tempo samba and the girls did their stuff to the delight of the scaffolders.
Ten minutes later, when the water levels were equal, the front gate was opened and the process began all over again. It was like a giant staircase. The batons were still getting thrown into the air and the band were marching up and down the grass. Everyone seemed to be getting very Latin as some of the brass section chanced a few dance moves of their own as they strutted their stuff.
A black Lexus 4x4 with gold-mirrored side windows pulled up opposite the shop.
The windows slid down to reveal two shirt-and-tied white-eyes. The front-seat passenger, a muscular, well- tanned twenty something got out and went straight to the trailer window, ignoring the queue. One of the new small, chrome-effect Nokias glinted from his belt along with a weapon holstered on his right hip.
Just as with the CMC, however, I thought nothing of it after all, this was Central America. I just tilted my head back to get the last of the drink down my neck, thinking of getting another couple for the journey.
A young American voice called out from the Lexus as the twenty something went back with the drinks.
'Hey, Mr. Y! What's happening, man?'
Aaron's head jerked round, his face breaking into a smile. He waved.
'Hey, Michael, and how are you? How was your break?'
I turned as well. My head was still back but I instantly recognized the grinning face leaning out of the rear passenger window.
Finishing the drink, I brought my head down as Aaron moved over to the car. My tiredness disappeared as adrenaline pumped. This was not good, not good at all.
I looked at the floor, pretending to relax, and tried to listen above the music.
The boy held out a hand for Aaron to shake, but his eyes were on the girls.
'I'm sorry, I can't get out of the car my father says I have to stay in with Robert and Ross. I heard they'd be here today, thought I'd get a look on the way home, know what I mean, Mr. Y? Didn't you check out the pompom girls? I mean, before you got married ...'
I could see that the two BG (bodyguards) weren't remotely distracted by the girls or the infectious Latin tempo, they were doing their job. Their faces were impassive behind tinted sunglasses as they drank from their cans. The engine was running and I could see the moisture drip from the air-conditioning reservoir on to the tarmac.
The band stopped playing and now marched to the command of a bass drum. Michael jabbered on with excitement, and something he said made Aaron arch an eyebrow.
'England?'
'Yes, I returned yesterday. There was a bomb and some terrorists were killed. My father and I were very close by, in the Houses of Parliament.'
Aaron showed his surprise as Michael pulled back the ring on his can.
'Hey, Nick, did you hear that?' He pointed me out to the target with a cock of his head.
'Nick he's British.'
Shit, shit, Aaron no!
Michael's eyes turned to me and he smiled, displaying perfect white teeth. The BG also moved their heads casually to give me the once-over. This wasn't good.
I smiled and studied the target. He had short black shining hair, side parted, and his eyes and nose looked slightly European. His smooth unblemished skin was darker than most Chinese. Maybe his mother was Panamanian, and he spent a lot of time in the sun.
