Poseidon's Arrow

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 Adelaide in 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.”

The channel turned and narrowed ahead, partially obscuring the outline of the Salzburg. Aboard her bridge, Bolcke and Pablo came alert at the latest burst of ire from the radio. When the blue containership had passed the Adelaide and the pilot saw the repainted name on her stern, he made further threats over the radio. “Labrador,” he said, “I will be filing a formal complaint with the canal authorities in Colon.”

Bolcke stiffened at mention of the ship’s name. “Labrador. That’s the name given to the hijacked vessel at our dock.” He grabbed a pair of binoculars and sprinted to the rear window. There was no mistaking the large bulk carrier a mile behind them, spurting past the Dutch tanker. It was the Adelaide.

His face turned pale. “They are chasing after us,” he said to Pablo.

Pablo calmly surveyed the navigation screen. “We should be able to pass safely into the locks ahead. If not,” he added, his eyes turning cold, “we’ll make them regret coming after us.”

72

THE TWO SHIPS HAD ENTERED THE GAILLARD CUT, the canal’s most dangerous section. Nine miles long, it sliced through the continental divide and had presented the most difficult challenge for the engineers who built the canal. A herculean excavation effort gouged out a trench more than two hundred fifty feet deep in some places, using manual labor and finicky steam shovels. Untold thousands lost their lives, some due to accidents and mudslides, but most from yellow fever and pneumonia.

The magnitude of the feat was obscured when the canal waters were released in 1914, flooding the deep cut. A tranquil appearance belied its tricky currents that made the narrow passage a challenge to navigate.

Pitt stormed into the cut, ignoring a channel marker that indicated a speed limit of six knots for large vessels. He occasionally felt the effects of the currents, as the stern drifted one way or another. But he refused to slow his pursuit. He had a clear bead on the Salzburg, having closed to within a half mile.

Though Pablo had ordered the captain to increase speed, it took precious time for the Salzburg to increase its pace. Peering back at the faster Adelaide, he realized he would have to take the offensive.

When Pitt noticed a few men congregating on the Salzburg’s forward deck, he passed the helm to Dirk.

“Just for the record,” Dirk said, “I’ve never piloted a vessel this size before.”

“She’s easier to handle than a Duesenberg,” Pitt said. “Just keep her off the bank. I’ll be right back.”

As they drew closer to the Salzburg, Dirk could see three men on her bow manipulating a tall object that looked like a large radar dish. The men rolled the dish alongside some shipping containers on the portside rail and positioned it so it aimed rearward—at the Adelaide.

Pitt appeared on the bridge a moment later. Dirk did a double take at seeing his father dressed in the reflective silver coating of a Level A hazardous materials protective suit. “What’s with the Buck Rogers outfit?”

“We brought them along for protection when we came aboard,” Pitt said. “Bolcke’s ships are outfitted with a microwave device called ADS that’s used for crowd control, only theirs is lethal. They likely have one aboard the Salzburg.”

Dirk pointed forward. “You mean that dish on their bow?”

Pitt saw the Active Denial System aimed directly at them and tossed Dirk an extra suit. “Quick, get this on.”

Dirk was starting to slip on the Hazmat suit when he felt a burning sensation on his back. “They must have it cranked up,” he said, quickly zipping the suit up.

Pitt felt the same sensation on his face and pulled on the matching hood with faceplate, and stepped to the helm.

“Stay behind the bulkhead,” he said to Dirk, his voice muffled by the hood.

He jammed the helm control to starboard, feeling a hot sensation on his chest and arms. Standing before the shattered bridge window, he was in the device’s direct line of fire. The Hazmat suit provided some protection but didn’t block the full effect.

Positioned on the Salzburg’s bow, the system had to fire along the ship’s port side to strike the Adelaide. Pitt could avoid the weapon’s beam by sailing to the far right of the channel and tucking in behind the leading ship. Within a few minutes, he did exactly that.

Bolcke watched as the Adelaide suddenly altered course. “She’s veering to the bank. I think you got her.”

“The operator reports he had a clear strike on the bridge,” Pablo said.

Then they saw the Adelaide straighten its heading. The pursuer still maintained a slight speed advantage and continued to creep closer to the Salzburg’s stern.

“I think they might try and ram us,” Bolcke said.

Pablo looked at the navigation monitor and saw they would soon be approaching the first set of locks at Pedro Miguel. “We need to dispose of them before we are in sight of the locks.” He had a few words with the captain, then departed the bridge.

Bolcke remained where he was, glued to the rear window, watching the pursuing vessel.

Pitt maintained a safe buffer with the ship ahead. He had hoped to pull alongside the Salzburg and force her into the bank, but the appearance of the ADS on the port rail had nixed that plan. He was contemplating his next move when the Salzburg heeled over in front of him.

At Pablo’s command, the captain had turned the Salzburg hard to port. The ADS operators immediately aimed the beam at the Adelaide’s bridge. Pitt felt the familiar