Poseidon's Arrow

A black-and-white speedboat intercepted Pitt as he made his way to the locks.

Before the security men could hail him, Pitt stopped the tug and shouted, “A small ship lost control and crashed through the dam. There were many people aboard. You need to look for survivors. I’m going to the lock for more help.”

The security leader bought Pitt’s tale and ordered the speedboat to go investigate. Only later would he question the presence of Pitt on a Canal Authority tugboat.

Pitt pushed the tug ahead, spotting a distant gray vessel waiting to enter the south chamber from the opposite end. He headed for the north chamber, following after the Santa Rita, noticing that the narrow lake was draining faster than he expected. A large inlet pipe, which fed the lake water into the chambers, was growing more and more visible above the surface.

Pitt was thankful to find the gates to the Santa Rita’s chamber still open and he eased the prow of the tugboat inside. There it became even more evident how much water had receded. The Santa Rita sat low in the chamber, her main deck easily twenty feet below the dock.

But it wasn’t quite enough. The Santa Rita was on a Pacific-bound transit and would be lowered twenty-seven feet before passing through the chamber. The water level would have to drop well below that to prevent her from continuing on.

“Transit Central to Auxiliary Tug 16, please state your business,” a voice on the radio called.

Pitt picked up the transmitter. “Transit Central, this is security. Checking for possible damage to the north chamber gates.”

It didn’t take long for Bolcke to intercede. “Transit Central, that tug operator is an impostor. He is responsible for the damage to the dam. Apprehend him at once.”

Pitt turned off the radio, knowing his play was over. All he could do now was to keep the tug blocking the gates open—to the extent it wouldn’t get him killed. Ahead, a handful of armed men appeared on the deck of Santa Rita and took up positions along the side and stern rails. Beyond Pitt’s field of vision, a contingent of Canal Authority security men exited the control house and ran toward the tug.

A few hundred yards away, the last vestiges of the Miraflores Dam gave way, releasing an expanded flood downstream. Along the lake’s shoreline, the water had dramatically receded, leaving muddy flats nearly to the dredged shipping channel. The remaining water’s draw became stronger, and Pitt felt the tug drift back when he eased off the throttle. Slipping out the gates momentarily, he saw the outside culvert was now fully visible. The level had dropped almost a dozen feet since Pitt had entered the chamber and continued to drain out the open gates.

He saw the gates begin to close and he bulled into the chamber once more. The lock operator no longer heeded the tug’s safety and ordered the gates closed despite him. Pitt considered blocking the gates but realized the small tug would be crushed by the six-hundred-ton gates. Glancing again at the Santa Rita, he realized it no longer mattered.

The ship showed a slight list to starboard, where it leaned against the side of the chamber. The water level in the chamber had dropped enough to set the Santa Rita on her keel.

Pitt gunned the tugboat past the closing gates and motored alongside the Santa Rita, bumping to a stop off its forward port deck. Gunmen appeared at once, aiming their weapons at Pitt as he lashed the tug to the ship. With his hands raised, he stepped to the rail and boarded the freighter. One of the gunmen jabbed an AK-47 against his throat and threatened him in Mandarin.

Pitt looked at him with a hard smile. “Where’s your boss?”

He didn’t have to wait for a translator. Bolcke and Zhou appeared a moment later, having watched Pitt pull alongside. Zhou looked at him with curiosity, surprised to see him again after their jungle encounter. Bolcke, on the other hand, glared at Pitt with unadulterated rage.

“You have something, I believe, that belongs to my country,” Pitt said.

“Are you insane?” Bolcke shouted.

“Not at all. The game is over, Bolcke. You’ve lost. Give me the plans.”

“You are a fool. We will be leaving the lock shortly—and sailing over your dead body.”

“You’re not going anywhere,” Pitt said. “Your ship is grounded, and there’s no water in the culvert to refill this chamber.”

In the control house, the lock operator had come to the same conclusion. The water level where the Santa Rita sat was now considerably lower than in the next chamber. There was no way the exit gates would be opened with an uneven level on the opposite side.

“They will simply release additional water from Gatun Lake, and we shall be on our way,” Bolcke said.

“Not with the plans.”

“Kill him, Zhou.” Bolcke turned to the agent. “Kill him now.”

Zhou stood, weighing his options.

“I didn’t expect you to be lending him a free ride,” Pitt said to Zhou. “I take it you haven’t told him who blew up his facility? I guess you two have a few things to talk about.”

A cloud of suspicion crossed Bolcke’s face. “Lies,” he said. “Pure lies.” But his eyes revealed the desperate realization that his world was crashing down around him. There was nothing left for him to do but silence the messenger.

He spun to a gunman beside him and ripped the AK-47 from his hands. Aiming the weapon at Pitt, he was fumbling for the trigger when a shot rang out. A crisp red circle appeared on Bolcke’s temple, and his rage-filled eyes rolled back in his head. The Austrian miner collapsed to the deck, the automatic rifle clattering out of his hands.

Pitt saw Zhou with a Chinese 9mm pistol held at arm’s length, smoke rising from the barrel. The man slowly wheeled until he held the gun pointed at Pitt’s chest. “What if I do as Bolcke asked and kill you here?”

Pitt caught a shadow out of the corner of his eye and gave the Chinese agent a sly grin. “Then you will join me in death a second later.”

Zhou sensed, more than saw, the movement overhead. Then he looked up and saw the chamber dock lined with a dozen armed men, aiming M4 carbines at him and his crew. They were Navy sailors, deployed from the destroyer Spruance in the adjacent lock.

Zhou’s face expressed no alarm. “This is liable to create an awkward incident between our two countries,” he said.

“Would it?” Pitt asked. “Armed Chinese insurgents aboard a Guam-flagged ship apprehended while smuggling a murderous slave trader to safety? Yes, I suppose you are right. It would prove awkward to at least one of our countries.”

Zhou replied in a halting voice. “And if we return the plans?”

“Then I should think we shake hands and all go on our merry way.”

Zhou looked into Pitt’s green eyes, studying the friendly foe who had somehow gained the upper hand. He turned and spoke to one of his gunmen. The man slowly lowered his weapon and walked to the bridge. He returned a moment later with the sealed bin containing the Sea Arrow’s plans, which he reluctantly handed to Pitt.

Taking the bin, Pitt walked to the side rail and stopped. He returned to Zhou and stuck out his hand. Zhou stared at Pitt a moment before grasping his hand and shaking it vigorously.

“Thanks for saving my life,” Pitt said. “Twice.”

Zhou nodded. “I may come to regret the first instance,” he said with the faint hint of a smile.

Pitt returned to the rail and climbed up a ladder on the side of the chamber, carefully holding the bin. When he reached the top, he waved his thanks to the Navy sailors across the dock—and then was promptly arrested by the Canal Authority security force.

EPILOGUE

RED DEATH