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 Ritaon 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 Ritasat 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 Spruancein 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
82
LOOKS LIKE WE’VE GOT COMPANY, BOSS.”
Seated in a lounge chair under an umbrella, Al Giordino kicked open a cooler and tossed an empty beer bottle inside. He closed the lid, placed his bandaged leg atop the cooler for support, and eyed the approaching speedboat. He was dressed for a day at the beach in shorts and a Hawaiian shirt, although he was sitting on a barge in the middle of the Panama Canal.
“I hope it’s not another representative from the Canal Authority.” Pitt was kneeling on the deck nearby, checking an assortment of dive equipment.
“Actually, it looks to be our man from Washington.”
The speedboat pulled alongside, and Rudi Gunn hopped aboard the barge. With a travel bag hanging over his shoulder, he wore khaki pants and an oxford shirt and was drenched in sweat. “Greetings, canal wreckers,” he said. He embraced his old friends. “Nobody told me this place would be more miserable than Washington in August.”
“It’s not that bad,” Giordino said, fishing a cold beer out of the cooler for him. “The alligators are smaller here.”
“You didn’t really have to fly down and check on us,” Pitt said.
“Believe me, I’m only too happy to get out of that town. You created a public relations nightmare with the demolished dam and sunken ships all over the place.”
Gunn peered down the waterway at a large green ship that was aground on the canal bank. A crew of workers milled about her mangled bow, making repairs so she could be floated down the waterway. “Is that the Adelaide?”
“Yes,” Pitt said. “And we’re parked over the Salzburg.”
Gunn shook his head. “The Panamanians are crying bloody murder. Between fixing the dam, raising the Salzburg, and compensating for lost traffic through the canal, Uncle Sam is going to be writing the country a pretty large check.”
“It’s still a bargain, considering what we almost lost.”
“I can’t disagree. Sandecker’s pleased as Punch, and the President is extremely grateful. However, for security reasons, he can’t divulge what was at stake. He’s taking lots of heat for what Panama is calling reckless American adventurism.”
Giordino yanked another beer from the cooler and popped its cap. “Reckless American adventurism? I’ll drink to that.”
“Of course,” Gunn said, “the President will be much happier if we return the Sea Arrow’s motor.”
“I have my best team working on it as we speak,” Pitt said.
Gunn looked up the canal in the other direction, eyeing a gray Navy destroyer moored a short distance away.