Poseidon's Arrow

74

THE ADELAIDE, LIKE THE TASMANIAN STAR IN Chile, was equipped with its own conveyor for loading and off-loading cargo. The Adelaide’s system was mounted on its starboard beam, right above where Pitt stood.

Climbing up the ore carrier’s shattered bow, he raced to a control station next to the conveyor. The collision hadn’t damaged the ship’s auxiliary power, and a generator below deck hummed when Pitt tested the hydraulic controls. The conveyor consisted of a sliding belt that could be moved alongside each hatch. Hopper cranes were fitted on the opposite side of the deck, which would pull the ore from the hold and deposit it onto the conveyor.

Pitt engaged the belt and moved it forward to the number 1 hold. He experimented with the controls until he figured out how to pivot the conveyor. Rotating it out from the Salzburg, he aimed it at Ann’s container. A separate vertical control allowed him to lower the far end of the belt, which he dropped beneath the rail.

Standing next to Ann’s container, Dirk was signaling him closer when a deep bellow sounded from the depths of the Salzburg. Containers everywhere shifted as the ship began to founder. In a slow, steady motion, the portside deck dipped toward the canal while the starboard side rose, sending the containers in a mad tumble into the water.

Pitt jammed the end of the belt ahead and below as far as it would go and engaged it. Looking out, all he could see was a mountain of containers spilling into the water. At the stern, he saw the captain and a handful of crewmen leap for their lives.

As the ship rotated, equipment, stores, and remaining cargo tumbled and crashed. With a sudden rush, the ship broke free of the Adelaide and capsized. The inverted Salzburg drifted for a minute or two, then let out a gurgle and slipped beneath the waters of the canal.

The tip of the Adelaide’s conveyor belt dropped below water level, and Pitt thought he had failed. But the belt stammered and shook, and a beige slab appeared beneath the surface. A moment later, a shipping container emerged, riding unevenly up the belt. Pitt looked over the side to see Ann and Dirk clinging to its base, their feet dangling over the waves.

As water sloshed off the belt it pulled the container up to the side rail, where Pitt powered the conveyor off.

“Nice catch,” Dirk said, “though I wasn’t expecting a dip in the bargain.” He dropped to the deck as Ann touched her feet down beside him.

“You okay?” Pitt asked Ann.

“I thought my arm was going to leave its socket, but, yes, I’m all right.” She shook the water from her hair.

“Hand me the gun,” Pitt told his son.

Dirk pulled the SIG Sauer from his waist and handed it to his father. Pitt shook it to clear the water and held the muzzle to Ann’s handcuffs. The shot split the chain that linked the cuffs and freed Ann from the container.

“Would have tried that earlier, but you were too far underwater when we found you.”

“But then I would have missed the ride.” Ann smiled for the first time in days. She got to her feet and looked into the canal where the Salzburg had vanished. “The Sea Arrow’s motor was aboard.”

“They’re not going to get it now,” Pitt said.

“But they still have the plans,” she said. “I saw them in the boat with Pablo.”

Pitt nodded. He had seen Bolcke and Pablo flee in the boat while he tried to save Ann. “There’s only one place they can go.” Having examined a map of the canal on the Adelaide’s bridge, he knew the next lock was only a short distance away.

Dirk was already crossing the deck to an inflatable secured beneath a tarp. In minutes, he had it winched over the side and lowered into the water with Pitt and Ann aboard. Already drenched, he dove over the side of the Adelaide and swam to the side of the boat, where he was helped aboard. Pitt started its small outboard, and they were soon zipping up the canal.

The canal curved past Gold Hill, a small bluff that marked the continental divide and its deepest area of excavation. Just beyond it, the canal straightened, and the Pedro Miguel Locks appeared two miles away. Bolcke and Pablo had already reached the lock and sailed into the north chamber, whose gates had been opened in preparation for the Salzburg.

Pablo docked the boat against the center island, which bisected the lock’s two chambers. He assisted a pair of canal workers in attaching fore and aft mooring lines to the crew boat before he jumped off. With Bolcke still aboard, the workers walked the boat to the far end of the chamber and tied it off, forgoing the tiny locomotives used to maneuver larger vessels.

Pablo strode toward the control house, a multistory white structure in the middle of the island that managed the water flow for the chambers.

A gruff transit supervisor with a clipboard met Pablo. “That’s no four-hundred-foot bulk carrier.”

“We had an accident with the ship and need to make passage at once. Mr. Bolcke will pay triple your usual fee if you don’t book it.”

“Is that him in the boat?”

Pablo nodded.

“Haven’t seen him for a while.” He pulled a radio off his hip and called the control house. A minute later, the chamber’s massive gates began to close. Soon the waters in the chamber would drain out the bottom, lowering the boat for the next section of the canal.

“We’ll have you out of here in ten minutes,” the supervisor said.

Pablo glanced at the closing gates, then hesitated. A small inflatable boat was approaching at high speed with three people aboard. There were two men and a woman with short blond hair. Ann Bennett.

“Just one minute.” He pointed to the inflatable. “Those three attacked and sank our ship. Treat them as terrorist suspects and detain them for at least an hour.”

The man looked at the approaching boat. “They don’t look like terrorists.”

“There’s an extra ten thousand in it for you.”

The supervisor beamed. “You know, I might just be wrong about that,” he said. “Give my regards to Mr. Bolcke.”

All he got in reply was Pablo’s turned back as the Colombian walked briskly to the waiting boat.