Celtic Empire Read online

  Stroking harder, her arm slapped into something. Someone else was in the water with her. For an instant, she hoped she had reached Rondi and the line. One look above the surface told her it wasn’t so. Instead, she found the dark-haired man from the survey boat next to her.

  He wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her tight against him. Confused, she continued to kick and stroke. Then she heard his calm voice. She stopped and looked up into his face.

  “Hang on tight to me and take a deep breath.” He winked at her through the greenest eyes she’d ever seen.

  Adrenaline overtook analysis, and she did as he said. There was nothing else she could do, as they’d reached the edge of the falls.

  He raised a finger in the air and twirled it as she wrapped her arms around him and took a last breath.

  Then gravity took command and carried them over the falls.

  3

  Elise felt the sensation of free-falling in the river’s flow. With her eyes shut tight and her breath held, she clung in a bear hug to Pitt. His arms were wrapped around her, his legs bent and squeezed together. Amid the rushing water, Elise could feel something slipping across her legs and back.

  They seemed to fall forever. She tensed for the anticipated collision with the rocks at the base of the dam. The impact didn’t arrive. Instead, she felt a jolt from Pitt that nearly ripped her from his arms. Something had stopped their descent.

  She caught a fistful of his shirt and pulled herself back to him. It took a herculean effort against the water’s battering. She felt like the Empire State Building was falling on her, one floor at a time.

  Pitt again pulled her close, and she clung tight against the relentless pressure.

  She opened her eyes for an instant, saw only a violent froth of white water rushing past. As her racing heart slowed a beat, Elise realized she needed to breathe. It had been only seconds since they were drawn over the top, yet the exertion had been intense.

  Her mind raced. What would become of them, suspended in the falls? She told herself she wasn’t going to inhale the water no matter what. She’d hold her breath until she passed out, then accept her fate.

  The force of the water tore at her limbs, taking her mind off the fear of drowning. Her arms ached, but losing her grip on Pitt would mean instant death. Yet she felt no such fatigue from the sinewy man who clutched her. He felt like a statue, his arms firm around her, despite the weight of the water on them.

  The water pressure jostled them about, banging them against the dam. During one collision, Elise’s leg slid against its surface. Oddly, she felt the wall fall away from her. Somehow, they seemed to be sliding up the face of the dam.

  Again, she needed to breathe. Her head was pounding and her lungs ached for air. Elise began to have thoughts of simply letting go. Then her legs scuffed over the jagged top of the dam, and the tumult from the rushing water lessened.

  She opened her eyes, surprised to encounter a few feet of visibility. The current was still strong, but not as heavy and not as frothy. She could now see that Pitt was grasping a small blue cable coiled around his leg, ending at a yellow tube-shaped device beneath his feet. The nose of the object had stopped their descent, and he had wedged his feet against it.

  Elise’s lungs felt like they would explode. She looked up to her rescuer. He had a hardened yet handsome face that had seen many hours in the sun. His eyes were open, and he looked at her with confidence and intelligence. Once more, the green orbs winked at her, telling her to hang on, they would soon be safe.

  The force of the water diminished, and Pitt freed his legs from the towfish and kicked upward until they broke the surface. Elise gasped, filling her lungs with deep breaths as the pounding in her head slowly lessened. The current still pulled at their bodies, and she kept a firm hold on Pitt, whose arms were outstretched gripping the cable.

  Elise looked ahead and saw the survey boat. On its stern deck a curly-haired man with Mediterranean features quickly pulled in the blue cable with his thick hands and arms. In the water nearby, Rondi grasped the taut rescue line tied to the survey boat’s stern.

  “That was a shower for the ages,” Pitt said. He turned to her and grinned. “You okay?”

  Still gasping, Elise nodded and gave a weak smile.

  Giordino pulled them alongside the corner transom, keeping them away from the churning outboards that held the survey boat in place. He reached over and lifted Elise onto the deck with an effortless grab. Pitt climbed aboard on his own and waved to the old fisherman who was manning the helm. Then he pulled in the remaining cable and towfish.

  Giordino offered Pitt a crooked grin. “I suggest you consider using a barrel next time you decide to jump over some falls.”

  “Barrels are for sissies,” Pitt said. “But thanks for the lift.”

  Giordino stepped to the opposite corner of the stern and began pulling in Rondi. “I was hoping you wouldn’t slip to the end. Glad the towfish held its bite on the cable.”

  “You and me both,” Pitt replied. “I’m afraid that cable might be stretched a bit longer than it was when we started.”

  “I think our survey work is done for the day.” Giordino nodded toward Elise and the old man, then yanked Rondi aboard.

  The teen stood there, shivering, and stammered, “Miss Elise . . . I thought you were gone . . . over the dam . . . for good.”

  “So did I.” Elise turned to Pitt. “I don’t know how to thank you.”

  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.

  4

  Elise and Rondi had been onshore just long enough to stomp the mud off their feet when a loud explosion shook the ground. Past an adjacent cornfield, a cloud of black smoke mushroomed into the air.

  “It’s from the camp,” Elise said. “Hurry!”

  She sprinted down a path, Rondi following close behind. But her strength quickly ebbed, and she was winded by the time they reached the field’s far edge. The sight of the camp just beyond made her stop in her tracks.

  The palm-thatched awning around the camp, or what remained of it, was billowing with flames. Beneath it, the benches and workstations had turned into a black, smoldering mass. The nearby tents had mostly disintegrated.

  Phil staggered from behind the ring of tents, his clothes singed. Specks of blood peppered his face where he’d been hit by debris from the explosion. He didn’t notice Elise, instead raising his hands to someone across the camp to halt.

  Two people stood on the opposite side of the crater left by the explosion, facing him. They weren’t part of the aid team, nor were they villagers. Each wore dark clothes, with low-slung ball caps and sunglasses concealing their faces. It wasn’t their attire that caught Elise’s eye. It was the assault rifle each carried, balanced on the hip with the barrel thrust forward.

  One of the weapons spit fire, and a bloody seam appeared on Phil’s chest. The scientist staggered backward, tripped over a tent stake, and fell to the ground, where he lay motionless.

  “Phil!” Elise tried to take a step toward his body. Something stopped her. It was Rondi, grabbing her arm and pulling her in the opposite direction.

  “Run, Miss Elise, run!” The teen yanked, then shoved her toward the cornfield.

  In a daze, Elise yielded to his urgings, turning and streaking toward the field. From the corner of her eye, a light flashed on the lake, but her attention was consumed by more gunshots. She and Rondi had reached the first row of cornstalks when the fusillade began. Rondi pushed her ahead as the bullets chewed up the ground at their feet, then struck flesh.

  “Go,” Rondi gasped, as a half-dozen rounds tore up his back.

  Elise felt a sting in her arm as she staggered forward. Her eyes tracked Rondi as he fell in a heap. She kept moving, driven by the clatter of automatic rifle fire and her pounding heart. The gunfire ceased for a moment as one shooter ran closer, then fired again. Bullets whizzed over Elise’s head and shredded the cornstalks beside her.

  She diced through the rows, feeling woozy as blood dripped down her arm. She was in no condition for a footrace. As she jumped over a small irrigation ditch, she saw a pile of dried husks in a clearing. Elise burrowed in like a rat, tucked into a fetal position, and froze.

  In the distance came the screams of others and more bursts of gunfire. But it was the closer sound of swishing cornstalks that made her hold her breath. Heavy footsteps entered the clearing, then paused. The crunch of husks underfoot told Elise the killer was circling the pile.

  A shrill whistle sounded from the camp’s direction. The gunman hesitated, then fired a short burst into the husks. He waited and watched for movement, then turned and bolted for the camp.

  Under the husks, Elise fought to keep from trembling. Dried stalks near her face had disintegrated under the gunfire. Somehow she escaped harm. The footfalls had retreated. Was the killer waiting? She could do nothing but lie as still as possible, taking slow, shallow breaths.

  Minutes passed. She heard a car start and drive away. She waited a bit longer, then began inching from beneath the stalks. Light-headed from blood loss, she fought to keep from passing out. She was nearly free of the pile when she heard a rustling. She tried to scramble back under the husks. It was too late.

  “Elise?”

  She turned to see Pitt step into the clearing. He rushed to her side and pulled her from the pile.

  “Looks like you got a little nicked up.” He tore off his shirt and wrapped it around her arm to stem the flow of blood.

  “Two gunmen attacked the camp,” she rasped. “They shot Phil and the others.”

  “Who were they?”

  Elise shook her head, and her eyes turned glassy. Pitt slipped his arm under her and raised her to her feet. She regained her balance, and he led her to the shore, where Giordino came from the camp.

  “Anyone else?” Pitt asked.

  Giordino shook his head.

  “Rondi? What about Rondi?” Elise asked.

  Giordino just stared at the ground.

  “No . . .” she moaned, tears welling in her eyes. She sagged against Pitt.

  “She needs medical attention,” he said. “Best to take her by boat back to Suchitoto.”

  Elise stirred. “The water sample.”

  Pitt and Giordino looked at her quizzically as she patted the satchel around her neck and passed it to Giordino.

  “Please hold on to this. Keep it safe.” She barely got the words out before losing consciousness and falling limp into Pitt’s arms.

  * * *

  • • •

  A HALF MILE AWAY, a woman in the passenger seat of an idling black Jeep watched the exchange through binoculars.

  “They aren’t police. They don’t even appear to have weapons.” She cursed. “The woman is still alive and just gave them a satchel.”

  “I lost her in the cornfield,” said the driver, a square-jawed man with cropped black hair. “You called me off before I could find her.”

  “I saw a flashing light on the boat. I
thought they were police.” She shook her head. “I was fooled.”

  “We still have all of their computers.” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. The backseat was littered with half-melted laptops. “If it’s a concern, let’s go back and finish the job.”

  “It’s too late, they’re returning to the boat. But it does appear the woman is wounded.”

  “There’s only one place they can take her for medical treatment. Suchitoto.”

  “Yes.” She lowered the binoculars and flashed him an angry look. “If we want to be there to greet them, then I suggest you step on it.”

  5

  With its twin outboards churning the water at maximum revolutions, the workboat leaped across the shrunken reservoir at close to forty knots. Elise had regained consciousness soon after Pitt had carried her onto the boat’s deck. He broke open a medical kit and applied clean bandages to her wounds, while Giordino steered for the town of Suchitoto, radioing ahead for medical assistance.

  They reached the town’s lakefront a few minutes later. With a deeper channel fronting its small marina, Giordino was able to run the boat aground just a few yards from the lone pier. Pitt jumped over the side, and Giordino passed Elise to him. He carried her to the wooden dock, where a faded green flatbed truck with a red cross on its door waited. Two young men dressed in white rushed over with a stretcher and loaded Elise onto it and onto the truck.

  Pitt looked to the driver. “She needs immediate attention.”

  The man nodded. “La clínica está justo en la ciudad.”

  Pitt watched the ambulance rumble off the dock toward the town. Had he looked to his left, he might have spotted a black Jeep sitting behind a large boat trailer. A dark-haired man climbed out, then the Jeep followed the ambulance into town.

  Giordino crossed the dock with the boat keys in hand and approached Pitt. “Hope she’s going to be all right.”

  He nodded. “She looks to have lost some blood, but I don’t think her wound is serious.”