Poseidon's Arrow

He faced forward as the Salzburg entered a narrow stretch of Gatun Lake called Gamboa Reach. “How much farther to the lock?”

Pablo turned from the helm. “It’s about twelve miles to Pedro Miguel.” He noted the angst on Bolcke’s face. “I’ve radioed ahead. The lock’s transit chief is expecting our passage. There will be no problems.”

The bridge radio blared with the voice of a tanker pilot castigating another ship for passing it on the lake. Bolcke and Pablo ignored the chatter as they eyed the Sea Arrow’s motor on the deck below, covered on the flatbed truck and concealed by stacked containers.

Two miles behind them, the tanker’s pilot still spouted venom at the large bulk carrier that had cut in front of him. “The maximum speed in this section of the canal is eight knots, jerk,” he radioed.

On the bridge of the Adelaide, Pitt couldn’t hear a word the man said, since the ship’s radio had been destroyed in his gun battle with Gomez. He didn’t even know his speed, as the navigation instruments were also demolished. But he had little doubt the ship was traveling well over eight knots.

Empty of all cargo and most of her fuel, the Adelaide sailed light on her feet. Pitt coaxed every ounce of speed he could from the ship, and soon had her approaching twenty knots. She left the tanker and its angry pilot in her wake as Pitt set his sights on the next vessel ahead. It was a large Dutch Panamax tanker, built to the original specs of the canal’s locks at nearly a thousand feet long.

The canal cha

Dirk gauged the distance needed to pass the tanker and shook his head. “No way we can get past her ahead of that containership.”

He expected his father to slow the ship and duck back behind the tanker until there was room to pass. Instead, Pitt stood calmly at the helm. He had no intention of slowing down.

Dirk gri

The pilot of the oncoming ship had already noticed the Adelaide in his lane and was making furious demands over the radio for the bulk carrier to back down. But the increasingly frantic calls went unanswered as the vessels converged.

Pitt continued to gain on the tanker, but its monstrous length made passing it an interminable task. Ahead, the tanker and containership had already passed bow to bow, so there was no escape for anyone. Pitt had estimated the canal cut was wide enough for the three ships to pass side by side, but he didn’t know if it was deep enough for all three. Positioned in the middle, where the cha

The tanker’s pilot did what he could to slow his vessel and steer it to the right-hand side of the marked cha

Pitt helped the cause by pulling tight alongside the tanker, close enough that a man could jump from one vessel to the other. But, by all appearances, a collision looked inevitable.

As the containership bore down from the other direction, Pitt and Dirk braced for impact. The approaching ship, stacked to the sky with containers, filled their vision as its bow cut toward them. But the pilot wisely decided that grounding on the bank would be safer than a collision and he guided the ship aside to make way for Pitt.

The ships passed within a few feet of each other as the containership’s hull scraped bottom and its propeller churned through mud. The pilot and deck officers hurled a mountain of insults as the bridges of the two ships passed. Pitt merely smiled and waved.

“They’re going to want your pilot’s license for that,” Dirk said.

“Think how mad they’ll be,” Pitt replied, “when they find out I don’t have one.”

The cha

Bolcke stiffened at mention of the ship’s name. “Labrador. That’s the name given to the hijacked vessel at our dock.” He grabbed a pair of binoculars and sprinted to the rear window. There was no mistaking the large bulk carrier a mile behind them, spurting past the Dutch tanker. It was the Adelaide.

His face turned pale. “They are chasing after us,” he said to Pablo.

Pablo calmly surveyed the navigation screen. “We should be able to pass safely into the locks ahead. If not,” he added, his eyes turning cold, “we’ll make them regret coming after us.”

72

THE TWO SHIPS HAD ENTERED THE GAILLARD CUT, the canal’s most dangerous section. Nine miles long, it sliced through the continental divide and had presented the most difficult challenge for the engineers who built the canal. A herculean excavation effort gouged out a trench more than two hundred fifty feet deep in some places, using manual labor and finicky steam shovels. Untold thousands lost their lives, some due to accidents and mudslides, but most from yellow fever and pneumonia.

The magnitude of the feat was obscured when the canal waters were released in 1914, flooding the deep cut. A tranquil appearance belied its tricky currents that made the narrow passage a challenge to navigate.

Pitt stormed into the cut, ignoring a cha

Though Pablo had ordered the captain to increase speed, it took precious time for the Salzburg to increase its pace. Peering back at the faster Adelaide, he realized he would have to take the offensive.

When Pitt noticed a few men congregating on the Salzburg’s forward deck, he passed the helm to Dirk.

“Just for the record,” Dirk said, “I’ve never piloted a vessel this size before.”

“She’s easier to handle than a Duesenberg,” Pitt said. “Just keep her off the bank. I’ll be right back.”

As they drew closer to the Salzburg, Dirk could see three men on her bow manipulating a tall object that looked like a large radar dish. The men rolled the dish alongside some shipping containers on the portside rail and positioned it so it aimed rearward—at the Adelaide.

Pitt appeared on the bridge a moment later. Dirk did a double take at seeing his father dressed in the reflective silver coating of a Level A hazardous materials protective suit. “What’s with the Buck Rogers outfit?”

“We brought them along for protection when we came aboard,” Pitt said. “Bolcke’s ships are outfitted with a microwave device called ADS that’s used for crowd control, only theirs is lethal. They likely have one aboard the Salzburg.”

Dirk pointed forward. “You mean that dish on their bow?”

Pitt saw the Active Denial System aimed directly at them and tossed Dirk an extra suit. “Quick, get this on.”

Dirk was starting to slip on the Hazmat suit when he felt a burning sensation on his back. “They must have it cranked up,” he said, quickly zipping the suit up.