“Yes, I’ve been waiting for their call.”
“Check this out. I recorded it just a few minutes ago.”
Yaeger keyed up earlier footage of the same view, which showed a small boat come into one of the chambers. A few minutes later, an inflatable boat entered the parallel chamber and landed by the control house.
Gunn stared at the figures who stepped out of the boat. “That looks like Ann and Dirk.”
“So that is Ann,” Yaeger said. “I wasn’t sure what she looked like. But I pegged Dirk.”
They watched the rest of the events unfold, including Pitt’s battle with Pablo and his watery ride out of the lock. The two could only stare in disbelief.
“Could that be Bolcke in the boat?” Yaeger asked.
“Yes,” Gunn said. “He must still have the plans or Pitt wouldn’t be after him.”
“What do we do?”
Gunn shook his head with a dazed look.
“Sandecker,” he said finally. “We better call Sandecker.”
78
THE LINE WENT SLACK IN PITT’S HAND AFTER HIS short aquatic sled ride. Catching his breath, he watched Bolcke speed across the lake.
He’d been pulled just a short distance into Miraflores Lake. At the shoreline a few yards away was a landing with a moored boat. Pitt swam toward the boat and reached it in short order. It was a small auxiliary tugboat used by the Canal Authority to supplement the operating tugs used to maneuver large ships.
Pitt pulled himself aboard and quietly untied the mooring lines, then made his way to the wheelhouse. He started the engine and pulled away from shore, oblivious to the standby crew who were busy assisting with the lock operations. As he turned into the lake, he pushed the tug to top speed as it passed a large object floating in the water. It was the body of Pablo, crushed and mangled from his death ride through the drainage culverts.
The tug was no match for Bolcke’s crew boat, but it didn’t have to be. Miraflores Lake was small, just over a mile long. Bolcke couldn’t escape from view, and if he wished to flee on the crew boat, he would have to pass through another series of locks. Following a half mile behind, Pitt soon realized that wasn’t Bolcke’s plan.
The crew boat pulled alongside a large freighter idling on the lake and waited for its accommodation ladder to be lowered. Two armed men with Asian features descended the ladder and pulled the boat alongside. Bolcke handed one of the men the bin containing the Sea Arrow’s plans, then stepped off the boat.
Approaching from its stern, Pitt saw that the black-hulled freighter was named the Santa Rita, ported out of Guam. The men were halfway up the ladder when Pitt barreled alongside in the tug.
Spotting Pitt in the wheelhouse, Bolcke stared at him as if he were a ghost. He spoke quickly to the gunmen.
The man carrying the bin raced to the top of the ladder, but the second gunman stopped and aimed his weapon. He studied the tugboat with a cautious eye and fired a warning burst ahead of it. Then he swung the gun toward Pitt in the wheelhouse. Pitt heeded the message, turning away from the side of the freighter and motoring on ahead.
Zhou approached the deck rail as Bolcke climbed aboard. “Welcome,” Zhou said with faint emotion.
Bolcke stood wild-eyed, catching his breath after climbing the steps. “My ship was rammed and sunk, my facility attacked and destroyed. We have lost the motor, and my assistant Pablo was killed. But I escaped with the supercavitation plans. They are worth more than the motor.”
Zhou stared at the Austrian, relieved that he was not a suspect in the destruction of his complex. But the loss of the Sea Arrow’s motor was a failure, even with receipt of the plans. “This changes our agreement.”
“Of course. But we can discuss it later. We need to clear the Miraflores Locks at once.”
Zhou nodded. “We are next in line to make the transit. Who was that in the tugboat?”
Bolcke looked at the tugboat receding in the distance. “Just a nuisance. He can’t stop us now.”
79
THE NUISANCE NAMED PITT HAD PLOWED AHEAD of the Santa Rita, searching for a way to stop the ship and recover the plans. Alone in the tugboat, he had few options. He studied the lake ahead, seeing that at its far end the slim waterway split. A southerly fork led to a narrow dam and spillway that controlled the water level of the lake. To the north was the twin set of locks also named Miraflores. One of the chambers had just opened its gates, releasing a large white cruise ship.
The locks, he knew, would be a dead end. Bolcke no doubt had the same paid influence at Miraflores as he did at Pedro Miguel. Any plea to halt the freighter’s passage through the locks would result in Pitt being arrested, just like Dirk and Ann, until the Santa Ritawas safely at sea. He had to find another way.
Chugging along the shoreline, he noted an old barge filled with mud that was moored near the dam. He continued on, circling in front of the locks and passing near the cruise ship, which he noted had a familiar look. He dropped back to confirm the name beneath her slightly damaged stern deck, then smiled as a plan came to mind.
“Splendid,” he muttered to himself. “Simply splendid.”
80
CAPTAIN, YOU HAVE A RADIO CALL FROM THE CANAL tug off our port beam.”
Captain Franco stepped across the cruise ship’s bridge and grabbed a handset from the deck officer.
“This is Sea Splendour, Captain Franco speaking.”
“Good morning, Captain. This is Dirk Pitt.” He stuck his head out of the tug’s wheelhouse and waved toward the cruise ship.
“My friend Pitt!” the captain said. “It is a small world. What are you doing here? Working for the Canal Authority?”
“Not exactly. There’s a critical situation at hand, and I need your help.”
“Of course. I owe my ship and my career to you. What do you require?” He spoke for a few minutes, then hung up the phone with a sullen look. He stepped over to his assigned canal pilot, who stood at the helm, monitoring their track.
“Roberto,” the captain said with a forced smile, “you look hungry. Why don’t you go down to the galley for a quick meal? We’ll call you to the bridge when we approach the locks at Pedro Miguel.”
The grizzled pilot, who was fighting a rum hangover, perked up at the offer. “Thank you, Captain. The channel is wide through the lake, so you’ll have no problems.” He departed the bridge.
The first officer looked at Franco. “This is most unusual, Captain. What are you doing?”
Franco stepped to the helm and stared out the window with a vacant gaze. “Completing the career that should have ended in Valparaiso,” he said quietly, then ordered the ship to turn about.
Pitt maneuvered the tug away from the cruise ship and drove hard toward the shoreline. His target was the rusty barge used in the canal’s ongoing dredging operations. Nearly full of thick mud, it rode low in the water, awaiting a tow to be dumped in the Pacific.
Pitt pulled inshore of the barge, tied the tug to its rail, and sprinted across her deck walkway. Near the bow, he found the barge’s mooring line, a thick rope that he wrestled to free from a massive cleat. Dropping the line over the side, Pitt raced back to the tug and put it to work.
He turned parallel to the side of the barge and nudged the barge into deeper water. It drifted close to the main channel, so Pitt backed away and took up a new position on its flat stern, shoving the barge toward the locks.
A few hundred yards away, the Chinese ship Santa Ritahad inched in front of the locks, waiting for a gate to open. Glancing over his shoulder, Pitt saw the Sea Splendoursweep up behind him, having used its bow thrusters to quickly turn around.