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.
Pitt and his son moved quickly to the prisoners’ housing. Pitt shot the lock off with his rifle and kicked open the gate. The crowd of captives inside surged forward.
“Boy, are we glad to see you,” Plugrad said, pushing through to pat Pitt on the shoulder.
Maguire and the other men rushed up and shook his hand. Pitt worked his way through the crowd, anxiously counting each man while searching for his friend. Reaching the last man standing, Pitt found himself a head short. Giordino’s.
With an uneasy feeling, Pitt stepped through the mess and the living quarters. Both were empty. Turning back toward the gate, he noticed a hammock strung between two grills in the open kitchen. The still figure of Giordino lay on it. Pitt moved closer, staring at his friend with apprehension. Then a familiar snore gurgled from Giordino’s throat.
Pitt grinned from ear to ear. “Rise and shine, big boy.”
Giordino cocked open a sleepy eye. “You got back pretty quick.”
“I knew you’d miss me.”
Giordino yawned and sat up. “Quite the fireworks show. Did you get Bolcke?”
“No, he slipped out when the fun started.” He handed Giordino a nearby crutch that had been crudely carved from a stick of zebrawood. “How are you feeling?”
“Like a contender for the national hopscotch championships.” Giordino hopped up on one foot and planted the crutch under his arm. His wounded leg was bandaged so thickly, it resembled a tree stump. Pitt helped him hobble to the gate, where the other captives were milling about, afraid to leave.
A commando came running past the smoldering millhouse and approached Pitt. “Alvarez sent me. Are these all the captives?”
“Yes, every man is accounted for.”
“Where did those explosions come from?”
“Planted here ahead of time. They really saved our bacon.”
“They sure did,” the man said. “Alvarez says to get everyone to the dock.” He turned and started jogging back the way he came. “We’ve got a lot of wounded to attend to.”
Pitt began herding the captives out of the compound when Giordino grabbed his arm and pointed to the sky.
“Someone leaving without us?”
Pitt looked up to see a wisp of black smoke rising from the dock area—the sooty exhaust from a large diesel engine.
“It’s the
70
AL, KEEP THE MEN MOVING,” PITT SHOUTED, already on the run. “Dirk, come with me.”
In the rush to free the captives, Alvarez had failed to send anyone aboard to secure the
Pitt and Dirk emerged from the jungle to find the
Pitt and his son kept on running. The forward gangway was still in place, so they still had a chance to get aboard, if not hold its bowline. That possibility evaporated when the crewman slipped the line off its bollard, then gazed toward the mouth of the inlet. A small outboard motor could be heard over the drone of the
It was Summer, piloting boat 3. With her were four or five bedraggled men, lying in the bottom of the boat.
The crewman on the dock watched a moment, then kicked the bowline into the water. As the boat neared the dock, he calmly removed a holstered pistol and took aim at Summer.
A rapid peal of gunshots rang out as a half dozen bullets tore into the crewman’s back. At least two shots had come from Dirk’s SIG Sauer, the rest from Pitt’s assault rifle. The crewman spun and squeezed off a stray shot at his attackers, then collapsed dead.
A second later, a screech and a loud crash filled the air.
“She’s under way!” Dirk shouted.
Gomez had engaged the engines and was pulling away from the dock. The noise had come from the gangway, which skidded off the edge of the dock and slammed against the hull, dangling from its deck mountings.
Summer drove the inflatable alongside the dock as the ship pulled away. “A containership came in and rammed the
A flood of thoughts filled Pitt’s mind. If Summer was right, the
He spoke quickly to his kids as he watched the moving
He strapped the assault rifle over his back and dove off the dock. He hit the water a few feet from the
