River of Ruin

or bulk carriers still crossing Miraflores Lake.

Harry had given it his best and failed. No, he had nothing to apologize for except letting Liu get away with destroying the Panama Canal and opening the way for nuclear missiles to threaten the United States. Fucking Chinese. The thought was so bitter that the inspiration springing from it took a second to hit. Chinese, damnit. He’s been thinking like a Westerner. Liu had been clever but not clever enough.

He looked at Mercer, stung by the reproach in his friend’s gray eyes. “We’ve got a serious problem.”

“We know that.” The voice cut even deeper than the eyes.

“There isn’t one bomb ship. There are two. The Mario diCastorelli is only supposed to block the canal so Liu can get the crews off of them before detonation.”

“Why are we listening to this idiot?!” Bruneseau raged.

“Tell us,” Lauren invited softly, for her faith in Mercer and Harry, though weakened by what was happening, was still with her.

“Gemini. Twins. But not the ones from our mythology. Robert T. Change. Englander Rose. Change and Englander. Chang and Eng-the famous conjoined brothers commonly referred to as Siamese Twins. They were actually Chinese.”

Harry had just cracked the unconscious mistake Liu had made when choosing a code name. The name diCastorelli had put in his mind the idea of the Gemini twins, although at the time he didn’t fully recall they were called Castor and Pollux. Yet when he saw the names of the two fabled Siamese twins hidden in the names of the two bomb ships and chose Gemini, he’d unknowingly tipped his hand to a man who loved to play word games.

No sooner had Harry finished his explanation than Mercer knew his friend was right. He keyed the radio. “Roddy, the two ships behind you. They’re both floating bombs.”

“Are you sure?”

“No doubt about it.” Iron-hard, Mercer’s conviction carried across the airwaves. “Your ship was held up for the submarine, meaning the Mario is supposed to choke off the canal to give the next two ships a legitimate reason to stop. Once they’re in place, Liu will use the sub to pull off the crews and let them blow.”

“Angel, this is Devil One.”

“Go ahead.”

“Can you come get us? We’ll try an assault from your boat.”

“Ah, negative.” Mercer thought furiously, trying to come up with a plan that would minimize damage. That at least one of those ships would explode wasn’t in doubt. He turned to Harry. “Fire up the engine and ease us into the canal.”

Harry moved with the speed of a man half his age. “Which ship?”

The Robert T. Change had already passed their position while the Englander Rose was almost directly abeam. “The Rose.”

Captain Patke and Roddy had heard the exchange over the comm link. “What are you doing?” the commando asked.

Mercer ignored him. “Roddy, you’ve got to stop your ship from being deflected by the submersible. Get some crewmen on the deck so they’ll see its propwash and give a warning the instant she fires her motor.”

“Okay. Then what?”

“Liu must need both ships to explode either simultaneously or in a pre-timed sequence, like what they do when blowing up a building. Carefully placed charges are more effective than one big blast. Get away from the Robert T.

Change, even if you have to swim to shore and run like hell. We can’t stop that one from going up, but maybe we can get the Englander Rose far enough away so that when she goes she doesn’t complete her job.”

Roddy’s voice became strident. “Even if you separate the boats by a mile or more, you’re still stuck next to the lock. The explosion will blow it into a million pieces. Liu still wins.”

“Can you think of a way to get her back through the lock?”

“Not quickly,” the pilot admitted, thinking about the dozens of Chinese soldiers they’d slipped past to board the ship.

“I can.” It was the female officer aboard Heaven, the USS McCampbell. She went on to outline her idea. With the pilot boat fast approaching the scaly side of the Englander Rose, there wasn’t time to debate the merits of her plan, only its chance for success. Roddy, who was the most disturbed by her suggestion, agreed that it would work, adding, “Do you have any idea what this is going to cost to repair?”

“Less than if Liu blows the lock entirely,” Mercer said. “Don’t forget I happen to know where your country can get the money to fix it.”

“The Twice-Stolen Treasure,” the Panamanian breathed.

“A fitting use.” Mercer had moved to look through the windscreen as they neared the lumbering freighter. A wash of disturbed water undulated along her Plimsoll mark as she picked up speed after coming out of the lock. Because pilot boats were so common on this stretch of the canal, none of the men standing around her superstructure paid them much attention.

Mercer looked farther up the waterway, where the stern of the Mario diCastorelli was just vanishing around a curve. A towering promontory of granite loomed over the ship where men and machines had once cleaved the path through the mountains. The other shore had been leveled further to a sloping plain that dropped into the water. He knew from what Roddy had told him, the ship would be in the canal’s tightest choke point in about fifteen minutes, a narrow gut at the exact center of the continental divide. There is where Liu intended to set off his explosives-laden vessels.

Between him and the Mario was the dark shape of the second bomb ship, the Robert T. Change.

“Oi!” The voice was amplified by a loudspeaker and came from above the pilot boat.

Harry throttled back to keep pace with the huge ship. Mercer stepped aft, emerging from the cabin onto the small rear deck space. He looked up at the ship’s rail twenty feet over his head, steady rain drumming his upturned face. It was hard to tell but the man with the megaphone appeared Chinese.

“We no need another pilot.” His accent was the same as the guard Foch had knifed in the parking lot.

Moving slightly so the man above couldn’t see, Mercer asked, “Foch, any ideas?”

“We’ve got him sighted,” the Legionnaire said. “As soon as I finish fashioning this anchor into a grappling hook, we’ll take him.”

Foch sat on the deck out of view of the sailor. He worked to replace the heavy chain secured to a foot-wide anchor with rope he’d pulled from a locker. Behind him, two of his men peered through the windows, their eyes screwed into their assault rifles’ scopes.

Mercer turned his attention back to the Chinese crewman. “We had a report that you needed us. It’s not true?”

“No.”

“Let me speak with Guillermo, the pilot,” Mercer bluffed.

“No Guillermo. Pilot is Mr. Lin.”

“Wait,” he cried as if making a sudden realization. “Is your ship the Mary Celeste?”

“No. That ship behind. You go back.” The guard showed the butt of a pistol.

“I’m ready,” Foch announced.

Mercer dropped to his knees behind the gunwale. “Take him.”

It took just one shot that sounded quieter than the shatter of the glass the bullet had gone through. The soldier had aimed perfectly, compensating for angle, deflection of the glass, and the wind that raced up the canal. The round caught the lookout in the soft part of the throat so that most of its energy was carried beyond his corpse. Rather than fall back, he slumped forward, draped over the rail as if he were studying something on the water.

Foch was in motion an instant later, racing out into the open, the anchor ready to throw, loops of rope