Dirk got to his feet and sprinted down the dock as Summer turned the inflatable around and followed. Suddenly the inflatable veered toward the Adelaide, and Dirk quickly saw why. Summer brought the boat alongside the dangling gangway and Pitt jumped up and grabbed it. Climbing hand over hand, he pulled himself up and boarded the ship.
The bowline was pulled taut, grabbing the ship by its nose and holding it in place. With its propeller still churning, the stern began swinging to starboard, threatening to lodge the ship crossways in the inlet. On the dock, the mooring bitt’s mounts strained under the pressure, fighting to hold the ship in place.
As the tug-of-war played out, Summer brought the inflatable alongside a dock ladder, where Dirk helped Madrid and the other injured men ashore. When Jorge, the last man, was transferred to the dock, Dirk jumped into the inflatable. “Run me over. I’ll back him up,” he shouted.
Summer gunned the throttle and shot to the side of the Adelaide, allowing Dirk to jump onto the dangling gangway.
“Be careful,” she shouted.
Dirk nodded. “Just get away from that line.”
Summer hurried back to the dock as a twang arose from the straining rope. Gomez had turned the rudder over and was applying full power against the line. Something had to give and finally it did.
The bowline’s threaded loop snapped at the mooring bitt, sending the line whipsawing toward the Adelaide. Clinging to the gangway, Dirk ducked as the line slapped against the hull, nearly taking his head off. As the loose line began to fall over him, he scrambled up the gangway and pulled himself onto the deck.
Free of its leash, the ship surged forward, angling out of the narrow inlet. Dirk scanned the deck for his father, but aside from the bodies of the two gunmen on the bow, the ship appeared empty. He eyed the bridge atop the rear superstructure and took off at a run across the long, open deck. He made it to a side door and was on the first steps of the companionway when gunfire erupted overhead.
Repeated bursts of gunfire sounded for nearly half a minute as Dirk raced up the stairs. When he reached the fourth level, the shooting fell silent, and he proceeded cautiously from there up to the bridge deck. He clutched the SIG Sauer at the ready as he crept onto the bridge.
He’d taken only a few steps past the door when a warm muzzle was jammed into the back of his neck. He froze in his tracks, but the barrel was quickly removed.
“I don’t remember giving you permission to come aboard.”
Dirk turned his head to find it was his father holding the gun, relief plastered on his face.
“I wasn’t aware you were the captain of this tub,” Dirk said.
“Apparently, I am now.” Pitt pointed across the bridge.
There was nothing but carnage around them. The bridge windows were shot out and the radar and navigation monitors shattered. Smoke from the decimated electronics filled the air with an acrid odor. In the far corner lay the bloodied body of Gomez.
“Gave him a chance, but he refused to take it.”
Dirk nodded, then glanced out the broken forward window of the pilotless ship. The Adelaide had nearly cleared the inlet, but a wall of rocks and mangroves blocked its path.
“There’re rocks ahead!” he said, jumping to the helm.
“They’re not real,” Pitt replied. “Part of the fake scenery to disguise the inlet.”
A few seconds later, the ship charged into the decoys. There was no jarring collision. Instead the Adelaide sailed smoothly through. Out the side window, Dirk saw an overturned Styrofoam rock gently float away.
Clear of the inlet, the Adelaide charged into the open waters of Gatun Lake. A large crane ship was crossing the canal to the north, while a pair of tankers and a containership were headed around a bend to the south. Pitt stepped to the helm and dialed up the ship’s throttle controls to full.
“Not going back for the others?” Dirk asked.
Pitt gave a steely gaze toward the containership vanishing around the channel ahead.
“No,” he said. “We have a ship to catch.”
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