Poseidon's Arrow

69

THE CANAL AUTHORITY COMMANDOS FISHED OUT Alvarez and the remnants of his team that had been scattered across the inlet or huddled among the dock pilings. The operations leader looked like a drowned rat, but he shook off the loss of half his team to take command of the combined forces.

He pointed to a wide trail off the far end of the dock that meandered into the jungle. “The prisoners are down there?”

“Yes,” Pitt said. “The trail leads to a millhouse. The prison housing is just beyond.”

Alvarez split his men into two groups and set off down the trail with the lead force, Pitt and Dirk following. They moved cautiously, fearing an ambush, but the remaining guards were nowhere to be seen. The trail widened as they approached the millhouse, a high-roofed, open building. Alvarez sent three men to scout the side entrance, but they never made it.

Gunmen opened fire from every door and window in the structure. Bolcke’s remaining security forces, a dozen strong, had gathered in the millhouse to mount a final defense and counterassault. Their sudden barrage inflicted casualties on nearly half of Alvarez’s men.

Alvarez himself was hit in the leg, and Pitt dragged him to cover. The operations leader quickly called in his reserve force, which had followed on the flank. Under a blanket of return fire, he retrieved his wounded men to the cover of the jungle, but the battle regressed into a stalemate. Alvarez radioed the Coletta for assistance but heard only static in reply. “There’s no response,” he said to Pitt. “Without additional support, we’ll have to pull back.”

“Not without the prisoners.” Pitt grabbed an assault rifle from a wounded commando who had fallen unconscious. “Keep them occupied. We’ll try to get around to the housing complex.” He motioned to Dirk.

The two men took off through the jungle, skirting wide left around the millhouse. Pitt led them on a partial loop, then cut back toward the tall structure. Peering from behind a gnarled cedar, they eyed the end of the millhouse and the prisoners’ housing just beyond.

The housing stood in the center of a wide clearing, fully exposed to the gunmen in the millhouse. Pitt could see several prisoners peering through the housing’s lone gate, trying to watch the gun battle.

He noticed an ore cart parked on the grass midway between their position and the gate. “I’m going to make a run for that cart. If I can get there undetected, I should be able to make it to the gate.”

Dirk gauged the distance between them and the millhouse. “Tough range to cover you from here. I’ll go with you.”

Before Pitt could protest, Dirk sprinted for the cart. Pitt followed on his heels, though his weakened legs couldn’t keep pace for long.

They were seen by a gunman on the second floor of the millhouse. Bullets tore into the ground alongside the ore cart as Dirk ducked behind it. A couple steps behind, Pitt had to dive for cover, rolling hard into his son as the bullets struck close by.

Dirk stuck out the SIG Sauer and fired twice, but that only attracted more gunmen from the millhouse. The cart clanked as it absorbed cross fire from several shooters.

“Not the stealth approach I hoped for,” Pitt said.

“They must have gunmen all over that building.” Dirk peeked over the top of the cart, fired another two shots, and ducked back down. “There’s a guy on the second floor with an RPG.”

Pitt stuck his assault rifle around the side of the cart and sprayed a short burst at an open window. The bullets chewed up its frame and shattered the glass. As he pulled his gun away, Pitt saw a guard emerge from the shadows with a bulbous green device on his shoulder. He knew that a successful shot from the RPG would vaporize them both.

He swung his rifle atop the cart and was preparing to fire again when an explosion rang out like a thunderclap. Shooting ceased as all eyes watched a black cloud rise from beyond the prisoners’ housing complex.

Pitt looked at his watch and grinned. Zhou had come through after all. “You’re ten minutes late,” Pitt muttered.

A second later, the entire millhouse erupted in a fireball. A half dozen additional explosions rang out, leveling the separation-and-extraction buildings that were spread throughout the compound. The entire jungle belched smoke and flames as Bolcke’s hidden facility was methodically destroyed. Zhou had spared only the prisoners’ housing, Bolcke’s own residence, and a staff hall where a dozen research workers were huddling during the fight.

Chunks of the millhouse roof rained down around Pitt and his son as they crowded behind the ore cart. The blast unleashed the ball mill, sending the giant cylinder tumbling out a side wall and rolling into the jungle. Most of the guards inside were killed instantly, but a few were hurled out the windows and landed on the grass unscathed. Canal Authority commandos cut them down on the spot.

Pitt and his son moved quickly to the prisoners’ housing. Pitt shot the lock off with his rifle and kicked open the gate. The crowd of captives inside surged forward.

“Boy, are we glad to see you,” Plugrad said, pushing through to pat Pitt on the shoulder.

Maguire and the other men rushed up and shook his hand. Pitt worked his way through the crowd, anxiously counting each man while searching for his friend. Reaching the last man standing, Pitt found himself a head short. Giordino’s.

With an uneasy feeling, Pitt stepped through the mess and the living quarters. Both were empty. Turning back toward the gate, he noticed a hammock strung between two grills in the open kitchen. The still figure of Giordino lay on it. Pitt moved closer, staring at his friend with apprehension. Then a familiar snore gurgled from Giordino’s throat.

Pitt grinned from ear to ear. “Rise and shine, big boy.”

Giordino cocked open a sleepy eye. “You got back pretty quick.”

“I knew you’d miss me.”

Giordino yawned and sat up. “Quite the fireworks show. Did you get Bolcke?”

“No, he slipped out when the fun started.” He handed Giordino a nearby crutch that had been crudely carved from a stick of zebrawood. “How are you feeling?”

“Like a contender for the national hopscotch championships.” Giordino hopped up on one foot and planted the crutch under his arm. His wounded leg was bandaged so thickly, it resembled a tree stump. Pitt helped him hobble to the gate, where the other captives were milling about, afraid to leave.

A commando came running past the smoldering millhouse and approached Pitt. “Alvarez sent me. Are these all the captives?”

“Yes, every man is accounted for.”

“Where did those explosions come from?”

“Planted here ahead of time. They really saved our bacon.”

“They sure did,” the man said. “Alvarez says to get everyone to the dock.” He turned and started jogging back the way he came. “We’ve got a lot of wounded to attend to.”

Pitt began herding the captives out of the compound when Giordino grabbed his arm and pointed to the sky.

“Someone leaving without us?”

Pitt looked up to see a wisp of black smoke rising from the dock area—the sooty exhaust from a large diesel engine.

“It’s the Adelaide,” Pitt said with resolve. Their fight wasn’t over yet.