Celtic Empire (Dirk Pitt 25)

Another shrug. “They asked about the niños and took some food and water samples.” He stopped at a plastic marker pinned to the ground with the number 17. “This is our plot.”

Elise retrieved a yellow spool of string from Rondi’s bag and strode a few yards into the cornfield. She uncoiled the string onto the ground, forming a square around a patch of stalks. With Rondi’s assistance, she examined every stalk in the enclosure, recording the number of buds and ears forming on each. She jotted the figures on a clipboard, then moved the string to a patch several yards away and repeated the count. Back at the camp, she would calculate the predicted yield for the entire field.

“Let’s return to the camp by the lake,” Rondi suggested, once they completed their measurements. He guided Elise through the cornfield.

They emerged on a low bluff overlooking the reservoir. Less than a mile to their right was the eight-hundred-meter-long concrete wall of the Cerrón Grande Dam. They turned the opposite way and followed the shoreline toward camp.

Near the path to the village, Elise stopped to admire a small aluminum windmill on a concrete pad at the water’s edge. An eight-bladed fan spun in the light breeze, and water sloshed beneath the structure’s base. “I don’t remember this being here last year.”

“The village well was running low, so the government provided it. Now we can get water from the lake. Mr. Phillip helped us install it last year, after you left.”

“The water is used to irrigate the fields?”

“Sí, and for the village. It draws water from a pipe that extends into the lake. We can direct it to the fields or to a filtered cistern that can be pumped into the village.”

Elise gazed at the windmill, then turned to Rondi. “You have a boat, don’t you?”

“Tied up just around the bend.”

“Can you take me out into the lake? I’d like to get some water samples near the inlet pipe.”

“I’ll get the boat and be right back.”

Elise jogged to the camp and dropped off the duffel bag and yield records. In its place, she grabbed a satchel with a half-dozen test tubes secured in Velcro pockets. She returned to the shore and waited until Rondi motored up in a small aluminum boat.

“Sorry.” He gave a toothy grin. “The engine, it does not always like to start.”

The dented, oxidized craft was powered by a little six-horsepower outboard that was older than Rondi and smoked as it idled. She tossed the satchel onto a bench, shoved the prow from shore, and hopped aboard. Rondi reversed into deeper water, then turned and motored offshore. They traveled just a short distance before he killed the engine and let the boat drift.

Rondi eyed their position relative to the windmill. “The pipe opening is about here.”

Elise took two of the test tubes from the satchel, removed their stoppers, and dipped them into the cool, clear water. As she capped them, she noticed a dead fish floating nearby. “Do you see many dead fish in the lake?”

Rondi delivered another shrug. “I’ve seen some by the dam.”

“Will you show me?”

Rondi tugged on the outboard’s pull starter a dozen times until it rasped to life. He aimed toward the dam, passing an old fisherman in a canoe who was pulling in a purse seine net. They approached the dam’s safety barrier, a simple steel cable stretched just above the water. Rondi cut the motor and allowed the boat to rub against the cable. Bobbing in the water were dozens of dead fish, their bloated white bellies turned skyward.

Elise snapped some pictures with her cell phone, feeling sick at the thought of the village people drinking untreated water from the lake. She collected two more samples, then looked across the reservoir.

“Let’s go north toward San Luis del Carmen. I’d like to collect one more sample near there.”

As Rondi nodded, three sharp, deep rolls of thunder echoed from the opposite side of the dam. Elise and the teen looked at each other—and a deep rumble burbled up beneath them. In a slow cascade, the center face of the concrete dam in front of them crumbled away with a roar.

Elise screamed as Rondi tried to start the outboard. The motor coughed to life, and Rondi turned the throttle full over. The little boat surged away from the collapsing dam, gaining a dozen yards, before losing headway. The tiny motor wailed, but the boat went nowhere.

“What’s happening?” Elise cried.

“The current . . . it’s too strong.” Rondi looked at her with large eyes, his hand on the tiller trembling.

Behind him, the dam was disintegrating into the ravine a hundred meters below as the flow of water accelerated.

Squeezing the throttle until his knuckles turned white, Rondi stared back at the watery edge and shook his head.

He and Elise could only watch as the boat was drawn backward to the widening gap in the dam and the deadly waterfall just beyond.

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