Poseidon's Arrow

67

THE COLETTA SCREAMED THROUGH THE PANAMA Canal, passing the speed- restricted commercial ships like they were standing still. An Italian-built patrol boat of some forty meters, she sported a 20mm turreted cannon on her bow for muscle.

Below deck, thirty armed commandos were crammed into the wardroom, receiving a final briefing from Alvarez. They were well trained, having conducted numerous joint exercises with international forces in mock defense of the canal. Pitt tried to quell their obvious enthusiasm for the mission by detailing the strength of Bolcke’s forces.

Yet Pitt felt his own impatience. Showered, bandaged, and wearing a fresh set of borrowed fatigues, he was anxious to get into the facility and free Giordino. But a daylight raid was risky, and everything hinged on his brief encounter with Zhou. Pitt just hoped that his instincts were right.

Alvarez handed him a holstered SIG Sauer P228 automatic. “You know how to use it?”

Pitt nodded.

“We should arrive at the deployment zone in ten minutes. I’ll be leading boat 1 into the cove. We’ll secure the dock, knock out the generator, and release the prisoners. Boat 2 will land on the peninsula and secure the residence, hopefully with Bolcke inside. Boat 3 will follow as a reserve. You can join boat 3, but I must request that you act as an observer only.”

“I’ll help where I can. Good luck, Alvarez.”

Pitt looked for Dirk and Summer but didn’t see them in the emptying wardroom. He could hear the patrol boat’s motor slow, and he followed the others onto the deck.

The Coletta had followed the canal’s transit route around the eastern shore of Barro Colorado Island, a large nature preserve in the middle of Gatun Lake. The canal’s narrow channel was marked with lights and signs to prevent ships from running aground in the nearby shallows. The lightly drafted Coletta had no such concerns as she raced across the path of an approaching containership. She traveled east for a mile until she approached a narrow landmass covered with dense vegetation.

The Coletta drifted under the hot sun as three inflatable assault craft were lowered over the side, each loaded with ten commandos. Pitt sensed his boat had some extra passengers as he squeezed between two unarmed commandos with bush hats pulled low over their faces.

“A little room for the old man?” he said.

Dirk looked up from beneath his hat. “We wanted to be here to help.”

“I’d rather you both stayed on the boat.” Pitt unhooked his holster and passed the SIG Sauer to Dirk. “Keep an eye on your sister.”

“No worries,” Summer whispered beside him.

A commando had already engaged the outboard motor, propelling the inflatable toward shore behind the first two assault craft. The first boat veered left for the cove, while the other two eased right toward a small protected bluff. The boats had been in the water less than five minutes when their entire plan of attack fell apart.

A ring of moored buoys containing sensors and video cameras had detected their approach. Alarms sounded around the compound, alerting Bolcke’s security forces. Most deployed to the dock after securing the prisoners, while another force took to the roof of Bolcke’s residence.

Boat 1, with Alvarez leading his team, took the first hit. Maneuvering past a fake mangrove swamp, they approached the dock—only to be met with a fusillade from shore. Alvarez and his men gamely fired back, suppressing some of the gunfire, until a battery of rocket-propelled grenades came blasting at them. One landed in the boat, skidding to the rear transom before detonating. Two men were killed instantly as the stern blew apart, sending the rest of the men into the water.

Boats 2 and 3 had a moment’s warning before gunfire erupted from the rooftop of Bolcke’s concealed residence. Closest to the shore, boat 2 took the brunt of the fire, incurring several casualties, as they maneuvered and returned fire. The pilot managed to run the boat ashore, the commandos finding marginal protection behind a low rock berm. But the team was effectively pinned down by the shooters on the roof.

“Run to the right!” Pitt yelled to boat 3’s pilot as the battle ignited in front of them.

He had foreseen boat 2’s predicament and motioned for the pilot to sweep hard right and put ashore out of view of the residence. The panicked pilot turned up the outboard’s throttle and jammed the rudder to the side. They nearly made it unscathed as the team leader, a burly man named Jorge, organized return fire. But as the rooftop shooters focused on the third boat, Jorge was shot twice in the stomach.

Pitt saw the scared look in the eyes of the other commandos, none of whom had ever witnessed actual combat. He immediately stepped forward.

“We need to suppress the rooftop fire to get the men from boat 2 off the beach. Follow me to the house.”

When their hull touched bottom, Pitt leaped over the side and sprinted into the jungle. Inspired by his show of fearlessness, the commandos tore after him.

“I’ll stay here and look after Jorge,” Summer said to Dirk as she rummaged for a medical kit. “Go help Dad.”

Dirk nodded, thumbing off the safety of his pistol, and leaping from the boat. He quickly caught up with the others as they snaked their way through the jungle. Pitt stopped them at the fringe of a clearing that surrounded the house. Several gunmen were visible on the roof, waiting for them to emerge from the brush.

Pitt studied the residence, noticing an exterior side stairwell that led to the roof. He turned to a young man crouched next to him. “Do you have any grenades?”

“Only smoke grenades.”

“Give me what you have.”

After collecting four smoke grenades, Pitt lined the men in a picket.

“On my signal, spray the rooftop to give me cover. When I get to the stairs, I’ll lob the grenades onto the roof. Move in quickly and secure it.”

Pitt slithered to a position closer to the house and then yelled, “Now!” The jungle exploded with gunfire, targeting the rooftop guards. Pitt took off running as the guards ducked for cover. But they regrouped quickly and returned fire. Sprinting to the house, Pitt saw the rooftop gunners were obscured by the residence’s front porch, and he angled toward the entry. He was nearing the porch steps when the front door burst open and two guards charged out. In their wake followed Bolcke, like a running back behind his blockers. The trio dashed down the first steps, then froze at the sight of Pitt a few feet away.

Bolcke’s eyes flared in shock. But there was no hesitation in his voice as he spoke over the background gunfire.

“Kill him!”

68

BOLCKE’S GUARDS SWUNG THEIR RIFLES TOWARD Pitt and readied to fire. But Pitt was a step ahead. He popped the pin on one of the smoke grenades and tossed it on the steps. The grenade skidded across the carved stone and stopped at Bolcke’s feet.

The guards dropped their weapons, grabbed Bolcke, and heaved him over the far balustrade. One guard dove after him, but the other hesitated. He’d heard the grenade hissing and noticed a first wisp of smoke spurting from it. Realizing it was not an explosive, he kicked it off the steps, and a gray cloud erupted over the lawn. He turned back to Pitt, who stood, exposed, at the corner wall a few feet away.

The guard raised his rifle and took a bead on Pitt. But before he found the trigger, two red splotches appeared on his chest, and he staggered back on his heels. The guard teetered, then collapsed on the steps and rolled to the ground.

Pitt saw his son kneeling on the lawn, the SIG Sauer held outstretched in his hands. Dirk jumped up and ran to the side of the house as a salvo of bullets stitched the ground beside him.