"We're coming up on something," Giordino alerted Pitt.
A thumping sound became stronger as they moved closer to what Pitt quickly identified as a giant pumping station. The rock that had been crushed to sand was sent from the conveyor belt into a monstrous bin. From there, pumps the size of a three-story building thrust it into huge pipes. As Pitt had concluded, the contaminated muck was then propelled into the sea where Poco Bonito had run aground on the accumulation. Beyond the pumping stations were giant steel doors.
"The enigma goes deeper," said Pitt thoughtfully. "Those pumps are monumental, far more capable of pumping ten times the excavated muck. They must serve another purpose."
"They'll probably dismantle them when the tunnel is finished."
"I don't think so. They look permanent."
"I wonder what's on the other side of those doors," said Giordino.
"The Caribbean," answered Pitt. "We must be miles from shore and deep beneath the surface of the sea."
Giordino's eyes never left the doors. "How in the world did they dig this thing?"
"They began with an open excavation onshore by digging a portal. First, a starter tunnel was launched with a different type of machine called a roadheader excavator. When it reached a calculated depth, the big boring machine was brought in and assembled in the excavated tunnel. It worked east under the sea, then it must have been disassembled and reassembled so it could begin excavating in the opposite direction toward the west."
"How could an operation this size be kept secret?"
"By paying the miners and engineers big bucks to keep their mouths shut, or perhaps by threats and blackmail."
"According to Rathbone, they don't hesitate to kill intruders. Why not workmen with loose tongues?"
"Don't remind me about intruders. Anyway, suspicions confirmed," Pitt said slowly. "The brown crud is spread into the sea by man without the slightest consideration for the terrible consequences."
Giordino shook his head slowly. "A contaminated dump operation that puts all others to shame."
Pitt reached into his knapsack again and lifted out a small digital camera and began taking pictures of the giant pumping operation.
"I don't suppose your magical kit can produce any food and drink?" probed Giordino.
Pitt reached inside and produced a pair of granola bars. "Sorry, that's the best I can do."
"What else is in there?"
"My trusty old Colt forty-five."
"I guess we can always shoot ourselves before they hang us," Giordino said glumly.
"We've seen what we came for," said Pitt. "Time to go home."
Giordino was pressing his foot on the accelerator before Pitt finished his sentence. "The sooner we're out of here, the better. We're on borrowed time as it is."
Pitt continued snapping pictures as they drove. "One more detour, I want to see what's inside those crosscut tunnels."
As he accelerated, Giordino sensed that heading off into a side tunnel was only part of Pitt's plan. He was dead certain that Pitt wanted to check out the other end of the tunnel and observe the big boring machine in action. Pictures were taken of every piece of equipment they passed. No small detail of the tunnel's construction went unrecorded.
Giordino swung right into the first crosscut he reached without slowing down, taking the turn on two wheels. Pitt hung on and gave him a waspish look, but said nothing. They had traveled less than two hundred feet when abruptly the golf cart shot into another tunnel. They came to a fast stop and stared in total astonishment.
"Mind-boggling," Giordino muttered under his breath in awe.
"Don't stop," ordered Pitt. "Keep going."
Giordino acquiesced and drove the golf cart at top speed into another tunnel. He didn't hesitate or wait for Pitt to urge him forward. His foot never came off the pedal as they charged through the crosscut into a fourth tunnel. At last they could go no farther, and Giordino braked the cart before they struck the far wall. They sat there for several moments, staring left and right into eternity, taking in the immensity of what they were seeing.
The gargantuan proportions of the tunnel network became even more spectacular when Pitt and Giordino in stunned disbelief forced themselves to accept the fact that there was not one but four immense interconnected tunnels of equal size.
Giordino didn't astound easily, but he was shamelessly overwhelmed. "This can't be real," he said, in a voice barely above a whisper.
Carefully, Pitt steeled himself, shutting out all inclinations to fog his mind from the impact and blind his concentration. There had to be an explanation for the Herculean undertaking. How was it possible that Specter had built four massive tunnels under the mountains of Nicaragua without exposure by international intelligence or the media? How could such a vast project have gone unnoticed for more than four years?
"How many railroads does Specter intend to operate?" Giordino muttered dazedly.
"These tunnels weren't built to run cargo across the land by rail," Pitt mused.
"Barge transportation, maybe?"
"Not cost-efficient. There has to be another objective behind it all."
"There has to be a colossal bonanza at the end of the rainbow for such an expensive undertaking."
"The cost must have easily run more than the estimated seven billion."
Their voices reverberated up and down the cavernous tunnel that was completely empty of men and vehicles. If not for the perfectly arched walls and roof and the smooth concrete surface, they could have imagined themselves in an immense natural grotto.
Pitt tilted his head down at the floor of the tunnel. "So much for a rapid transit cargo system. They removed the railroad tracks."
Giordino nodded discreetly at a security camera mounted on a post that was aimed directly at them. "We'd better beat a hasty retreat back to the main tunnel and find another means of transportation. This cart is too conspicuous."
"Good thinking," said Pitt. "If they haven't figured out that they have unwelcome intruders by now, they must be brain-dead."
They retraced their journey through the three empty tunnels, stopping just short of the fourth, where they had started. They parked the golf cart in the crosscut tunnel beyond a security camera and nonchalantly walked down the roadway until they reached a stop where eight other miners were standing around waiting for the bus. Close up and through their sunglasses, Pitt could see their eyes. They were all Asian.
Pitt nudged Giordino, who got the message.
"Ten will get you twenty, they're Red Chinese," whispered Pitt.
"I won't take the bet."
No sooner had the double-decker bus arrived than a fleet of carts with red and yellow lights flashing sped past and into the crosscut tunnel they'd just deserted.
"Once they find the cart, it will take them all of ten seconds to know we're on this bus," said Giordino.
Pitt's eyes were on a train that was approaching from the east sector of the tunnel. "My thoughts exactly." He held up a hand and motioned for the bus driver to continue after the waiting miners had boarded. The door closed with a hiss and the bus moved on.
"When was the last time you chased a freight train?" Pitt asked Giordino, as they hurried across the road and stood talking in detachment as the locomotive passed by, the engineer inside the cab reading a magazine.
"Several years ago in the Sahara Desert, the train carrying toxic chemicals to Fort Foureau."
"As I remember, you almost fell off."
"I hate it when you make sport of me," said Giordino, with a downward twist of his lips.
The instant the locomotive passed by, they sprinted along the track. Pitt had already clocked the train's speed at twenty miles an hour, and they judged their running speed accordingly. Giordino was fast for his size. He put his head down and charged after a flatbed car as if he was carrying a football toward the end zone. He grabbed the hand ladder as it passed, held on and was literally swept onto the car. Pitt also used the momentum of the train to swing himself aboard.