Clive Cussler - Poseidon's Arrow

The cart bounded across the dock, then smashed into the raised lip at the water’s edge. Pitt looked up to see the Adelaide moored above him. Ejecting himself like a jack-in-the-box, he dove out of the cart and over the side of the dock, splashing into the water below.

Caught by surprise, the dock guard didn’t fire until after Pitt disappeared. He ran to the edge and aimed his rifle at the concentric circles created by Pitt’s splash—and waited for him to surface.

Pitt struck the water near the aft end of the Adelaide , which had been backed into the inlet. He dove deep before turning and swimming hard toward the stern. The murky water offered a few feet of visibility, and he easily followed the hull’s dark contour until it tapered back and a large bronze propeller appeared.

An expert diver, Pitt was comfortable in the water and could easily hold his breath for more than a minute. He took a few more strokes past the ship and angled away from the dock. Though he was good for some additional strokes, he stopped and eased toward the surface, giving a sudden kick just before he broke for air.

His head burst from the water, and he took an easy stroke toward the far shore before grabbing another fresh breath of air, then pulled himself under. He spun and kicked down as fast as he could, swimming back toward the ship, as a spray of bullets struck the water above him.

While Pitt was in fact backtracking, the guard had bought his feigned motion to shore and aimed his shots accordingly. The gunman stopped firing long enough to yell to two approaching guards. “Cover the far shore. He’s headed over there.”

The two men ran to the head of the inlet, scanning the water for Pitt to surface.

But Pitt had already returned to the Adelaide and was swimming along her outboard hull. It was a demanding swim down the length of the big ship, which Pitt conducted underwater, surfacing quickly a few times for air. When he reached the relative concealment of the bow, he scanned both sides of the ship.

Teams of guards with dogs were beating through the jungle on the far side of the inlet. On the dock, the guard who had fired at him was speaking with another gunman while pointing at the water. Pitt saw few safe places to hide, and his position off the Adelaide was too exposed for him to remain there long.

A short distance ahead of the freighter, a small crew boat had been docked. The boat was secured with a thick chain, however, which was locked to a dock cleat. Between the two vessels a rusty ladder led up to the dock. That gave Pitt an idea. Ducking underwater, he swam to the base of the ladder in one breath. Pulling himself up a few rungs at a time, he peered over the edge of the dock—and saw the two guards running toward him.

He dropped down the ladder, surprised he’d been detected. As he was about to dive underwater, he hesitated at the sound of boots clanging on metal. He looked up and saw the men race up the Adelaide ’s gangway and head to the stern. They’d not seen him after all.

The dock was now empty, and Pitt made his move, jumping up and sprinting across its width. He eyed a storage shed near the crew boat and reconsidered escaping by water. There would be tools inside the shed, something he could use to free the boat. But to get there without being seen, he’d have to loop his way through the brush.

He made it to the jungle fringe and cut across a small footpath. Following the path around a thick cedar tree, Pitt suddenly ran smack into another man rushing from the other direction. The men bounced off each other and fell hard to the ground. Pitt reacted first. He sprang to his feet, then paused when he recognized the other man.

It was Bolcke, wearing pressed slacks and a polo shirt. The Austrian was slow to get up but wasted no time in ripping a handheld radio from his belt and pressing it to his lips. “Johansson, the escaped slave is near the northern dock.”

Pitt shook his head. “I’m afraid Johnny the Whip won’t be making any more house calls.”

Bolcke stared at Pitt as his radio call was met by a long silence. Another voice came on and spoke to Bolcke in hurried Spanish. The Austrian ignored it as he stared at Pitt.

“Just stay where you are.”

“Sorry,” Pitt replied, “but I’ve decided to check out of your sadistic hotel.” He could hear voices coming from the dock and movement farther up the path, which Pitt now realized ran from Bolcke’s residence.

“You’ll be hunted down and shot.”

“No, Edward Bolcke,” Pitt said, staring at the old miner with contempt. “I fully intend to come back for you.”

He turned and dove into the jungle, scrambling from view seconds before a contingent of guards appeared. Seeing Bolcke, they sprinted up to him.

“You reported seeing the escaped slave?” one of them asked.

Bolcke nodded and pointed at Pitt’s trail, then tossed his radio at the man. “Have all available guards converge here right away,” he said. “I want that slave brought back to me within the hour. Dead.”

59

TWIGS SNAPPED AND BRANCHES SWAYED AS PITT bulled through the thick brush. He didn’t know how many men were on his trail, and since he couldn’t move both quickly and quietly, he abandoned caution and simply advanced as fast as he could.

He kept to the strip of natural vegetation that was contained by the dock on one side and the road to Bolcke’s residence on the other. When the brush narrowed and a pair of white lines appeared to his left, he knew he had to change course. He wound his way to the edge of the road, ducking under a fern and holding his breath as a golf cart with several guards careened by. The instant it was out of view, he bolted across the road and into the opposite thicket, heading deep into its cover.

After only a few dozen yards he came to a stop. Beneath a rocky ledge, the lake appeared in his path. Pitt now realized Bolcke’s compound had been built on a narrow peninsula. His only hope of escape was to travel the length of the peninsula without being detected and flee into the expanse of landscape that lay beyond.

Breathing heavily, he pressed forward, slowing when one of the extraction facilities blocked his way. As he crept to one end, he saw a guard circling the building. He threw himself to the ground and snaked his way around the end of the building, then rose and sprinted into the jungle. At the base of a small mahogany tree, he sank to the ground and rested.

But his respite was ended by a sound that shocked him back onto the run. It was the shrill bark of attack dogs, making their way in his direction.

Pitt had seen guards patrol with Dobermans, and once with a German shepherd, but he had put them out of his mind. Now clear of the compound, they would be his most dangerous challenge.

The volume of their barking told Pitt they were no closer than the extraction facility, giving him hope that he had a safe head start. He could only trust that they didn’t have a specific scent to follow.

But his wet footprints from the dock had given the dogs a faint starting point, and they had picked up just enough scent to track him. The handlers released two of the animals to pursue him on their own, but they kept three others leashed, carefully sweeping his trail to ensure it wasn’t lost.

Dragging himself off the ground, Pitt ran. Prickly leaves and sharp branches tore at his face and clothes as he threaded his way ahead. The dogs’ constant barking pushed him forward, pushing the aches from his mind. The minimal diet he had endured the past few days quickly showed as his strength waned, producing a weariness he shouldn’t have felt so soon. But Pitt’s mental strength was a fortress, and he willed himself forward, ignoring the pain and fatigue.