Pitt studied the residence, noticing an exterior side stairwell that led to the roof. He turned to a young man crouched next to him. “Do you have any grenades?”
“Only smoke grenades.”
“Give me what you have.”
After collecting four smoke grenades, Pitt lined the men in a picket.
“On my signal, spray the rooftop to give me cover. When I get to the stairs, I’ll lob the grenades onto the roof. Move in quickly and secure it.”
Pitt slithered to a position closer to the house and then yelled, “Now!” The jungle exploded with gunfire, targeting the rooftop guards. Pitt took off running as the guards ducked for cover. But they regrouped quickly and returned fire. Sprinting to the house, Pitt saw the rooftop gunners were obscured by the residence’s front porch, and he angled toward the entry. He was nearing the porch steps when the front door burst open and two guards charged out. In their wake followed Bolcke, like a running back behind his blockers. The trio dashed down the first steps, then froze at the sight of Pitt a few feet away.
Bolcke’s eyes flared in shock. But there was no hesitation in his voice as he spoke over the background gunfire.
“Kill him!”
68
BOLCKE’S GUARDS SWUNG THEIR RIFLES TOWARD Pitt and readied to fire. But Pitt was a step ahead. He popped the pin on one of the smoke grenades and tossed it on the steps. The grenade skidded across the carved stone and stopped at Bolcke’s feet.
The guards dropped their weapons, grabbed Bolcke, and heaved him over the far balustrade. One guard dove after him, but the other hesitated. He’d heard the grenade hissing and noticed a first wisp of smoke spurting from it. Realizing it was not an explosive, he kicked it off the steps, and a gray cloud erupted over the lawn. He turned back to Pitt, who stood, exposed, at the corner wall a few feet away.
The guard raised his rifle and took a bead on Pitt. But before he found the trigger, two red splotches appeared on his chest, and he staggered back on his heels. The guard teetered, then collapsed on the steps and rolled to the ground.
Pitt saw his son kneeling on the lawn, the SIG Sauer held outstretched in his hands. Dirk jumped up and ran to the side of the house as a salvo of bullets stitched the ground beside him.
“Thanks for the backup,” Pitt said.
Dirk smiled. “Smoke is no match for lead.”
Pitt motioned toward the porch steps. “Bolcke.”
Dirk took the lead as they crept across the porch, but Bolcke and the other guard had already vanished down a jungle path. Reversing course, Pitt led his son up the side stairwell, halting a few feet from the top. He heaved the remaining grenades onto the rooftop, engulfing it in a thick cloud of smoke. Ground fire ceased as the boat 3 commandos streamed out of the jungle and raced up the stairs. A few seconds later, the remaining boat 2 commandos broke from the shore and joined the assault. The combined forces quickly overran the guards, sweeping the roof as the smoke cleared.
As the residence fell silent, they could still hear sporadic gunfire from the dock area.
“Has anyone heard from Alvarez?” Pitt asked, as the commandos reassembled on the roof.
“I’ve had no response,” said the leader of boat 2. “We better move to the dock.”
“I’ll show you the way,” Pitt said.
The commandos rushed back down the stairs. A small contingent peeled off to secure the interior of the house while the rest followed Pitt down the same path Bolcke had taken. When the commandos arrived at the dock, a half dozen security guards were scattered about it, firing into the water. They had been joined by two armed crewmen on the bow of the Adelaide, firing from above.
The Canal Authority commandos opened fire, catching several guards without cover and dropping them quickly. The rest of the dock guards fell back, retreating into the jungle for cover. But the crewmen on the ship held their position and returned fire. An extended firefight ensued, until the better-trained commandos picked off both men.
Over the clatter of gunfire, Pitt had detected a revving motor. He caught a quick glimpse of a small crew boat exiting the mouth of the inlet, the white-haired figure of Bolcke visible next to the pilot.
Pitt turned to the boat 2 commander, who was kneeling behind a rubber tree, reloading his rifle. “Bolcke has escaped in a small boat. Call Madrid on the Coletta and have them pick him up.”
The commando nodded. Snapping a magazine into place, he hit the transmit button on his radio and called the support boat.
Aboard the Coletta, Madrid had been using binoculars to watch a small containership approach when he received the call. He turned to see Bolcke’s crew boat surging out of the inlet and he brought his patrol boat to bear. “Gunner, prepare for a warning shot ahead of the approaching boat,” he said. “Fire!”
A man let loose a blast from the 20mm deck gun, ripping a fountain of water ahead of the crew boat. The fleeing boat reduced speed but held its course across the Coletta’s bow. Focused on stopping Bolcke’s boat, Madrid had ignored the containership, which was approaching off his stern quarter.
“Gunner, prepare for a burst into the motor. Fire!”
The gunner took aim, but before he could fire he fell to the deck and began flailing his arms as if attacked by a swarm of bees. Screaming, he rolled to the rail and hurled himself over the side to find relief in the lake’s waters.
Inside the wheelhouse, Madrid suddenly found his skin inflamed with a searing pain. He danced away from the helm, unable to grip the controls. Screaming in pain, he looked out the window to see the containership bearing down on him.
The ship plowed into the Coletta at slow speed, its lumbering mass easily crushing the patrol boat’s bow. The smaller boat was kicked backward, as its interior filled with water. In seconds, its stern rose, and the boat plunged underwater.
Bolcke watched the patrol boat disappear as his own boat tied up alongside the containership. He sprinted up the ship’s accommodation ladder with his guard in tow, crossed the deck, and climbed to the bridge. Panting, he staggered to the helm, where Pablo stood admiring the modified Active Denial System on the ship’s bow.
“We seem to have made a timely arrival,” Pablo said.
“They’ve . . . attacked . . . the facility,” Bolcke said.
“Who has?”
“One of the prisoners. He escaped yesterday.”
“They would have to be from the Canal Authority. I thought that was their boat. I’m sure Johansson will take good care of them ashore.”
“No, Johansson was killed. By the man who escaped.”
“Can they know of the deal?”
Bolcke shook his head.
“Five hundred million will buy you plenty of new facilities,” Pablo said.
“The plans and motor are safe aboard?” Bolcke eyed the changed appearance of the Salzburg.
“Yes.”
“The Chinese are waiting for us in Miraflores Lake.”
Pablo looked at him like a child awaiting a birthday present. “Then I see no reason to delay our payment a minute longer.” He ordered the ship into the canal’s main channel, and the Salzburg was swiftly on its way.
69
THE CANAL AUTHORITY COMMANDOS FISHED OUT Alvarez and the remnants of his team that had been scattered across the inlet or huddled among the dock pilings. The operations leader looked like a drowned rat, but he shook off the loss of half his team to take command of the combined forces.
He pointed to a wide trail off the far end of the dock that meandered into the jungle. “The prisoners are down there?”
“Yes,” Pitt said. “The trail leads to a millhouse. The prison housing is just beyond.”
Alvarez split his men into two groups and set off down the trail with the lead force, Pitt and Dirk following. They moved cautiously, fearing an ambush, but the remaining guards were nowhere to be seen. The trail widened as they approached the millhouse, a high-roofed, open building. Alvarez sent three men to scout the side entrance, but they never made it
.
Gunmen opened fire from every door and window in the structure. Bolcke’s remaining security forces, a dozen strong, had gathered in the millhouse to mount a final defense and counterassault. Their sudden barrage inflicted casualties on nearly half of Alvarez’s men.
Alvarez himself was hit in the leg, and Pitt dragged him to cover. The operations leader quickly called in his reserve force, which had followed on the flank. Under a blanket of return fire, he retrieved his wounded men to the cover of the jungle, but the battle regressed into a stalemate. Alvarez radioed the Coletta for assistance but heard only static in reply. “There’s no response,” he said to Pitt. “Without additional support, we’ll have to pull back.”
“Not without the prisoners.” Pitt grabbed an assault rifle from a wounded commando who had fallen unconscious. “Keep them occupied. We’ll try to get around to the housing complex.” He motioned to Dirk.
The two men took off through the jungle, skirting wide left around the millhouse. Pitt led them on a partial loop, then cut back toward the tall structure. Peering from behind a gnarled cedar, they eyed the end of the millhouse and the prisoners’ housing just beyond.
The housing stood in the center of a wide clearing, fully exposed to the gunmen in the millhouse. Pitt could see several prisoners peering through the housing’s lone gate, trying to watch the gun battle.
He noticed an ore cart parked on the grass midway between their position and the gate. “I’m going to make a run for that cart. If I can get there undetected, I should be able to make it to the gate.”
Dirk gauged the distance between them and the millhouse. “Tough range to cover you from here. I’ll go with you.”
Before Pitt could protest, Dirk sprinted for the cart. Pitt followed on his heels, though his weakened legs couldn’t keep pace for long.
They were seen by a gunman on the second floor of the millhouse. Bullets tore into the ground alongside the ore cart as Dirk ducked behind it. A couple steps behind, Pitt had to dive for cover, rolling hard into his son as the bullets struck close by.
Dirk stuck out the SIG Sauer and fired twice, but that only attracted more gunmen from the millhouse. The cart clanked as it absorbed cross fire from several shooters.
“Not the stealth approach I hoped for,” Pitt said.
“They must have gunmen all over that building.” Dirk peeked over the top of the cart, fired another two shots, and ducked back down. “There’s a guy on the second floor with an RPG.”
Pitt stuck his assault rifle around the side of the cart and sprayed a short burst at an open window. The bullets chewed up its frame and shattered the glass. As he pulled his gun away, Pitt saw a guard emerge from the shadows with a bulbous green device on his shoulder. He knew that a successful shot from the RPG would vaporize them both.
He swung his rifle atop the cart and was preparing to fire again when an explosion rang out like a thunderclap. Shooting ceased as all eyes watched a black cloud rise from beyond the prisoners’ housing complex.
Pitt looked at his watch and grinned. Zhou had come through after all. “You’re ten minutes late,” Pitt muttered.
A second later, the entire millhouse erupted in a fireball. A half dozen additional explosions rang out, leveling the separation-and-extraction buildings that were spread throughout the compound. The entire jungle belched smoke and flames as Bolcke’s hidden facility was methodically destroyed. Zhou had spared only the prisoners’ housing, Bolcke’s own residence, and a staff hall where a dozen research workers were huddling during the fight.
Chunks of the millhouse roof rained down around Pitt and his son as they crowded behind the ore cart. The blast unleashed the ball mill, sending the giant cylinder tumbling out a side wall and rolling into the jungle. Most of the guards inside were killed instantly, but a few were hurled out the windows and landed on the grass unscathed. Canal Authority commandos cut them down on the spot.
Pitt and his son moved quickly to the prisoners’ housing. Pitt shot the lock off with his rifle and kicked open the gate. The crowd of captives inside surged forward.
“Boy, are we glad to see you,” Plugrad said, pushing through to pat Pitt on the shoulder.
Maguire and the other men rushed up and shook his hand. Pitt worked his way through the crowd, anxiously counting each man while searching for his friend. Reaching the last man standing, Pitt found himself a head short. Giordino’s.
With an uneasy feeling, Pitt stepped through the mess and the living quarters. Both were empty. Turning back toward the gate, he noticed a hammock strung between two grills in the open kitchen. The still figure of Giordino lay on it. Pitt moved closer, staring at his friend with apprehension. Then a familiar snore gurgled from Giordino’s throat.
Pitt grinned from ear to ear. “Rise and shine, big boy.”
Giordino cocked open a sleepy eye. “You got back pretty quick.”
“I knew you’d miss me.”
Giordino yawned and sat up. “Quite the fireworks show. Did you get Bolcke?”
“No, he slipped out when the fun started.” He handed Giordino a nearby crutch that had been crudely carved from a stick of zebrawood. “How are you feeling?”
“Like a contender for the national hopscotch championships.” Giordino hopped up on one foot and planted the crutch under his arm. His wounded leg was bandaged so thickly, it resembled a tree stump. Pitt helped him hobble to the gate, where the other captives were milling about, afraid to leave.
A commando came running past the smoldering millhouse and approached Pitt. “Alvarez sent me. Are these all the captives?”
“Yes, every man is accounted for.”
“Where did those explosions come from?”
“Planted here ahead of time. They really saved our bacon.”
“They sure did,” the man said. “Alvarez says to get everyone to the dock.” He turned and started jogging back the way he came. “We’ve got a lot of wounded to attend to.”
Pitt began herding the captives out of the compound when Giordino grabbed his arm and pointed to the sky.
“Someone leaving without us?”
Pitt looked up to see a wisp of black smoke rising from the dock area—the sooty exhaust from a large diesel engine.
“It’s the Adelaide,” Pitt said with resolve. Their fight wasn’t over yet.
70
AL, KEEP THE MEN MOVING,” PITT SHOUTED, already on the run. “Dirk, come with me.”
In the rush to free the captives, Alvarez had failed to send anyone aboard to secure the Adelaide. Hiding on the bridge, Gomez had fired up the ship’s engines at the beginning of the assault. After seeing Bolcke escape and the subsequent explosions in the jungle, he had no reason to linger.
Pitt and Dirk emerged from the jungle to find the Adelaide still at the dock. The stern mooring line had been released, and Pitt glimpsed Gomez yank the line onto the deck, then disappear into the ship’s superstructure. Ahead of the ship, a crewman on the dock moved to release the bowline.
Pitt and his son kept on running. The forward gangway was still in place, so they still had a chance to get aboard, if not hold its bowline. That possibility evaporated when the crewman slipped the line off its bollard, then gazed toward the mouth of the inlet. A small outboard motor could be heard over the drone of the Adelaide’s warming engines. As Pitt and Dirk hustled along the length of the big ship, they saw the source.
It was Summer, piloting boat 3. With her were four or five bedraggled men, lying in the bottom of the boat.
The crewman on the dock watched a moment, then kicked the bowline into the water. As the boat neared the dock, he calmly removed a holstered pistol and took aim at Summer.
A rapid peal of gunshots rang out as a half dozen bullets tore into the crewman’s back. At least two shots had come from Dirk’s SIG Sauer, the rest from Pitt’s assault rifle. The crewman spun and squeezed off a stray shot at his attackers, then collapsed dead.
A second later, a screech and a loud crash filled the air.
“She’s under way!” Dirk shouted.
Gomez had engaged the engines and was pulling away from the dock. The noise had come from the gangway, which skidded off the edge of the dock and slammed against the hull, dangling from its deck mountings.
Summer drove the inflatable alongside the dock as the ship pulled away. “A containership came in and rammed the Coletta,” she yelled to Pitt and Dirk. She had sped over in the inflatable and fished out the survivors as the containership sailed away. “I’m pretty sure they picked up Bolcke. It might have been the Salzburg.”
A flood of thoughts filled Pitt’s mind. If Summer was right, the Sea Arrow’s plans and motor would be aboard. And possibly Ann as well. The ship would have to be stopped before it could escape the canal.
He spoke quickly to his kids as he watched the moving Adelaide. “Dirk, run down to the end of the dock. Summer, keep the engine running, I’m coming aboard.”
He strapped the assault rifle over his back and dove off the dock. He hit the water a few feet from the inflatable but stroked toward the ship. He couldn’t match speed with the fleeing vessel, but he had a second target in mind: the ship’s bowline, dangling through its scupper and dragging through the water. He snagged the thick line, then slid along its length until he reached a heavy looped end. A smaller messenger line was attached to it, and he tossed that line to one of the men in the inflatable.
“Stay with the ship,” he yelled to Summer, grabbing the side of the inflatable as she wielded it around and chased after the vessel.
A weakened Madrid leaned over the side and helped Pitt aboard. Together, they reeled in the heavy bowline. Pitt had his daughter push ahead of the ship, dragging the line like an anchor. On shore, Dirk had sprinted to the end of the dock, where a final mooring bitt was mounted. As the inflatable struggled closer, Gomez guessed what they were attempting and turned the Adelaide as far across the inlet as he could.
Dirk Pitt 22 - Poseidon's Arrow Page 33