Poseidon's Arrow

71

BOLCKE STOOD PEERING OUT THE REAR BRIDGE WINDOW. Billows of black smoke from the site of his hidden facility painted the horizon. It was destroyed, he knew, because of the escaped prisoner, the one who had tossed the smoke grenade onto his front steps.

But Pablo was right. The money he would receive from selling the Sea Arrow’s technology would leave plenty for a new rare earth extraction facility. He had already done work at a site on Madagascar; he could safely expand his operations there. But he would lose precious months of trading activity at a critical time in the minerals market. Once he was safely in Colombia, he vowed, he would have Pablo hunt down the prisoner and bring him his head on a platter.

He faced forward as the Salzburg entered a narrow stretch of Gatun Lake called Gamboa Reach. “How much farther to the lock?”

Pablo turned from the helm. “It’s about twelve miles to Pedro Miguel.” He noted the angst on Bolcke’s face. “I’ve radioed ahead. The lock’s transit chief is expecting our passage. There will be no problems.”

The bridge radio blared with the voice of a tanker pilot castigating another ship for passing it on the lake. Bolcke and Pablo ignored the chatter as they eyed the Sea Arrow’s motor on the deck below, covered on the flatbed truck and concealed by stacked containers.

Two miles behind them, the tanker’s pilot still spouted venom at the large bulk carrier that had cut in front of him. “The maximum speed in this section of the canal is eight knots, jerk,” he radioed.

On the bridge of the Adelaide, Pitt couldn’t hear a word the man said, since the ship’s radio had been destroyed in his gun battle with Gomez. He didn’t even know his speed, as the navigation instruments were also demolished. But he had little doubt the ship was traveling well over eight knots.

Empty of all cargo and most of her fuel, the Adelaide sailed light on her feet. Pitt coaxed every ounce of speed he could from the ship, and soon had her approaching twenty knots. She left the tanker and its angry pilot in her wake as Pitt set his sights on the next vessel ahead. It was a large Dutch Panamax tanker, built to the original specs of the canal’s locks at nearly a thousand feet long.

The canal channel had narrowed even more as Pitt caught up to the Dutch ship and pulled up to its port flank to pass. The Adelaide had just edged alongside the tanker when a large blue containership appeared, sailing in the opposite direction.

Dirk gauged the distance needed to pass the tanker and shook his head. “No way we can get past her ahead of that containership.”

He expected his father to slow the ship and duck back behind the tanker until there was room to pass. Instead, Pitt stood calmly at the helm. He had no intention of slowing down.

Dirk grinned at his father and shook his head. “Those boys in that containership aren’t going to be happy.”

The pilot of the oncoming ship had already noticed the Adelaide in his lane and was making furious demands over the radio for the bulk carrier to back down. But the increasingly frantic calls went unanswered as the vessels converged.

Pitt continued to gain on the tanker, but its monstrous length made passing it an interminable task. Ahead, the tanker and containership had already passed bow to bow, so there was no escape for anyone. Pitt had estimated the canal cut was wide enough for the three ships to pass side by side, but he didn’t know if it was deep enough for all three. Positioned in the middle, where the channel would be deepest, he didn’t really care.

The tanker’s pilot did what he could to slow his vessel and steer it to the right-hand side of the marked channel. But because his ship had the deepest draft, he refused to push it any closer to the bank. That left the game of chicken in the hands of the containership’s pilot.

Pitt helped the cause by pulling tight alongside the tanker, close enough that a man could jump from one vessel to the other. But, by all appearances, a collision looked inevitable.

As the containership bore down from the other direction, Pitt and Dirk braced for impact. The approaching ship, stacked to the sky with containers, filled their vision as its bow cut toward them. But the pilot wisely decided that grounding on the bank would be safer than a collision and he guided the ship aside to make way for Pitt.

The ships passed within a few feet of each other as the containership’s hull scraped bottom and its propeller churned through mud. The pilot and deck officers hurled a mountain of insults as the bridges of the two ships passed. Pitt merely smiled and waved.

“They’re going to want your pilot’s license for that,” Dirk said.

“Think how mad they’ll be,” Pitt replied, “when they find out I don’t have one.”

The channel turned and narrowed ahead, partially obscuring the outline of the Salzburg. Aboard her bridge, Bolcke and Pablo came alert at the latest burst of ire from the radio. When the blue containership had passed the Adelaide and the pilot saw the repainted name on her stern, he made further threats over the radio. “Labrador,” he said, “I will be filing a formal complaint with the canal authorities in Colón.”

Bolcke stiffened at mention of the ship’s name. “Labrador. That’s the name given to the hijacked vessel at our dock.” He grabbed a pair of binoculars and sprinted to the rear window. There was no mistaking the large bulk carrier a mile behind them, spurting past the Dutch tanker. It was the Adelaide.

His face turned pale. “They are chasing after us,” he said to Pablo.

Pablo calmly surveyed the navigation screen. “We should be able to pass safely into the locks ahead. If not,” he added, his eyes turning cold, “we’ll make them regret coming after us.”