Celtic Empire (Dirk Pitt 25)

She stepped closer and awkwardly shook his hand. “My name is Elise Aguilar, with the U.S. Agency for International Development. I was trying to collect some water samples with Rondi when the dam gave way.”

Rondi, calmer now, followed Elise’s lead and shook hands with Pitt and Giordino. “I don’t think the dam collapsed. I think it was blown up.”

Elise looked at him. “Rondi, who would blow up a dam here?”

Rondi shrugged. “I don’t know, Miss Elise. It just sounded like some explosions before it fell down.”

They all looked aft at the remains of the dam. The reservoir had lost twenty feet of depth, exposing a wide, jagged opening in the concrete. The water drainage was slowing, but the impact was evident. Wide swaths of muddy ground lay exposed on the reservoir’s shore. The survey boat pulled forward as the draw from the falls abated.

Giordino found a thermos of hot coffee for Elise and Rondi, then stepped to the wheelhouse and relieved the fisherman at the helm. Easing ahead on the throttle, he guided the boat away from the dam.

Elise slowly sipped the coffee, passed it to Rondi, then looked at the sonar towfish on the deck. She turned to Pitt. “What are you doing on Cerrón Grande?”

“We were attending a subsea technology conference in San Salvador and had a free afternoon. Thought we’d try out a new sonar system and see if there were any monsters or shipwrecks at the bottom of the lake.”

“Monsters or shipwrecks?”

“Al and I work for the National Underwater and Marine Agency.”

Elise was familiar with NUMA, the U.S. scientific organization tasked with monitoring the world’s oceans. Pitt was in fact the agency’s Director, while his age-old friend Al Giordino headed the undersea technology division. A marine engineer by trade since a stint in the Air Force, Pitt had a lifelong fascination with the sea, being drawn to underwater exploration at every opportunity.

“Yes, I know NUMA,” Elise said, “though I doubt you’ll find either monsters or shipwrecks in this lake. By the way, I thought all of NUMA’s vessels were painted turquoise.” She patted the white bulkhead of the survey boat.

“A rental from a local engineering firm,” Pitt said. “Lucky for us, they didn’t skimp on the outboard motors.”

He looked over the rail at some mud-encased tires along the exposed shoreline. “What did you say you and the boy were doing out on the water?”

“I’m here

as part of a scientific team assisting local farmers with their agricultural yields. Besides helping with crop rotation, irrigation, and fertilization techniques, we’re introducing new crop strains that might be more productive. Our team has been assisting farmers throughout El Salvador and Guatemala.”

She pointed to some distant cornfields. “The output in some of the villages has more than doubled in just three years.”

“Sounds like a worthy endeavor,” Pitt said. “But I’m not sure I see how that’s a reason to sail in front of a collapsing dam.”

“In the past months there’ve been unexplained child fatalities in the area. Rondi said some of the villages draw drinking water from the reservoir, so I thought I’d collect samples.” She patted the soaked leather satchel that still hung from her neck.

Giordino looked over his shoulder from the wheelhouse. “Where would you like to be dropped off?”

“As close to that windmill as you can get.” Rondi pointed to the western shore.

Giordino turned the boat, slowing as the depths shallowed. When he could see the bottom, he cut power and raised the propellers, letting the boat drift until its hull scraped. “Close as I can get. Watch out for quicksand.”

Elise, Rondi, and the fisherman offered thanks once more, then climbed over the side and waded toward shore. Elise took a moment to stop at the water’s edge and wave at the NUMA boat, then joined the others hiking across nearly fifty yards of mudflats and sand.

Pitt and Giordino watched until the trio was safely ashore. Elise and Rondi turned south, while the old fisherman hiked north. “Call it a day?” Giordino nodded toward the sun that was tickling the horizon.

“Sure,” Pitt said. “We may be in for a muddy hike of our own back at the dock.”

He slipped over the side and shoved the boat toward deeper water as Giordino lowered the props and eased on the motors. Once Pitt was aboard and they’d cleared the shallows, Giordino applied full throttle. But soon Pitt tapped him on the arm.

“Cut the motors!” Pitt shouted.

Giordino instantly obliged. The high-riding boat sagged to the flat surface as the motors fell quiet. He turned to ask Pitt why, then saw for himself.

Where they’d dropped Elise and the others was aglow with flames and rising black smoke. The sound of gunfire echoed across the lake.

Someone was attacking the U.S. aid camp.