“Good luck to you, Mr. Pitt,” Franco said.
Pressing the tug to full power, he caught up to the barge’s stern as the cruise ship dug in to reverse course.
The loaded barge was like a runaway freight train, with the tug simply maintaining its momentum. Pitt bumped its stern quarter, keeping it aligned as it raced toward the middle of the concrete dam. The barge closed quickly, charging dead center into the spillway.
Pitt braced himself for the impact, which came harder than he anticipated. The flat prow of the barge slammed into the spillway with a metallic thud—and stopped cold. The tug bounced off the barge’s stern, and Pitt went flying over the helm. Staggering back to the wheel, he turned the tug away, and considered his failed attempt to burst open a dam that had stood since 1914. He had succeeded in only wedging a barge into its century-old spillway.
Then a deep rumble sounded from below. Several feet beneath the waterline, the barge had fractured the dam facing. The fracture grew as the pressure of the lake’s water forced its way into the fissure. With a sudden buckle and roar, a fifty-foot section of the dam wall disintegrated, leading the way for the collapse of the entire dam.
Pitt looked in awe as the barge slid forward and disappeared over the edge, crashing with an audible impact as it struck the waterway forty feet below. The tug felt an immediate draw from the escaping water, and Pitt had to quickly steer clear to elude the suction. The Sea Splendour had already backed well clear as Captain Franco hurried to take the cruise ship to the deepest part of the lake, near Pedro Miguel. Pitt turned his attention to the Santa Rita. The freighter was still stationed in front of the locks, awaiting its passage to the Pacific.
As Pitt turned the tug away from the shattered dam, he saw the gates of the north chamber slowly swing open. He’d done what he could, he told himself. Now it was simply a matter of time and physics.
81
BOLCKE WAS THE FIRST TO REALIZE WHAT PITT WAS attempting. Watching the barge tumble through the break in the dam, he turned to Zhou on the bridge of the Santa Rita. “He’s trying to lower the water level to pin us in. We need to enter the locks right away.”
Zhou said nothing. He had no control over the gates and was surprised when a moment later they opened as if by command. The Chinese freighter crept forward, entering the chamber as lines were affixed to the small locomotives on the dock.
A frequent traveler through the locks, Bolcke noted right away that something was askew. The freighter’s main deck sat well below the topside of the dock. That should
n’t have happened until the chamber was drained. Already the water level was several feet lower than normal.
He rushed to the ship’s radio and screamed into the transmitter. “Transit Central, this is Santa Rita. Close the gates behind us at once. I repeat, close the gates behind us.”
Inside the Miraflores Locks control house, Bolcke’s call was readily ignored. The staff was busy trying to determine what was happening at the spillway. Someone had seen the Sea Splendour and a tugboat in the area, but nobody had noticed anything until the barge went over the side. The lock’s security force was immediately mobilized, and boats were sent to investigate both sides of the dam.
A black-and-white speedboat intercepted Pitt as he made his way to the locks.
Before the security men could hail him, Pitt stopped the tug and shouted, “A small ship lost control and crashed through the dam. There were many people aboard. You need to look for survivors. I’m going to the lock for more help.”
The security leader bought Pitt’s tale and ordered the speedboat to go investigate. Only later would he question the presence of Pitt on a Canal Authority tugboat.
Pitt pushed the tug ahead, spotting a distant gray vessel waiting to enter the south chamber from the opposite end. He headed for the north chamber, following after the Santa Rita, noticing that the narrow lake was draining faster than he expected. A large inlet pipe, which fed the lake water into the chambers, was growing more and more visible above the surface.
Pitt was thankful to find the gates to the Santa Rita’s chamber still open and he eased the prow of the tugboat inside. There it became even more evident how much water had receded. The Santa Rita sat low in the chamber, her main deck easily twenty feet below the dock.
But it wasn’t quite enough. The Santa Rita was on a Pacific-bound transit and would be lowered twenty-seven feet before passing through the chamber. The water level would have to drop well below that to prevent her from continuing on.
“Transit Central to Auxiliary Tug 16, please state your business,” a voice on the radio called.
Pitt picked up the transmitter. “Transit Central, this is security. Checking for possible damage to the north chamber gates.”
It didn’t take long for Bolcke to intercede. “Transit Central, that tug operator is an impostor. He is responsible for the damage to the dam. Apprehend him at once.”
Pitt turned off the radio, knowing his play was over. All he could do now was to keep the tug blocking the gates open—to the extent it wouldn’t get him killed. Ahead, a handful of armed men appeared on the deck of Santa Rita and took up positions along the side and stern rails. Beyond Pitt’s field of vision, a contingent of Canal Authority security men exited the control house and ran toward the tug.
A few hundred yards away, the last vestiges of the Miraflores Dam gave way, releasing an expanded flood downstream. Along the lake’s shoreline, the water had dramatically receded, leaving muddy flats nearly to the dredged shipping channel. The remaining water’s draw became stronger, and Pitt felt the tug drift back when he eased off the throttle. Slipping out the gates momentarily, he saw the outside culvert was now fully visible. The level had dropped almost a dozen feet since Pitt had entered the chamber and continued to drain out the open gates.
He saw the gates begin to close and he bulled into the chamber once more. The lock operator no longer heeded the tug’s safety and ordered the gates closed despite him. Pitt considered blocking the gates but realized the small tug would be crushed by the six-hundred-ton gates. Glancing again at the Santa Rita, he realized it no longer mattered.
The ship showed a slight list to starboard, where it leaned against the side of the chamber. The water level in the chamber had dropped enough to set the Santa Rita on her keel.
Pitt gunned the tugboat past the closing gates and motored alongside the Santa Rita, bumping to a stop off its forward port deck. Gunmen appeared at once, aiming their weapons at Pitt as he lashed the tug to the ship. With his hands raised, he stepped to the rail and boarded the freighter. One of the gunmen jabbed an AK-47 against his throat and threatened him in Mandarin.
Pitt looked at him with a hard smile. “Where’s your boss?”
He didn’t have to wait for a translator. Bolcke and Zhou appeared a moment later, having watched Pitt pull alongside. Zhou looked at him with curiosity, surprised to see him again after their jungle encounter. Bolcke, on the other hand, glared at Pitt with unadulterated rage.