The Saboteurs by Clive Cussler (top 10 best books of all time .TXT) 📗

your men loose on the rebels, but then I got a telegram from Washington late yesterday. The powers that be plan on sending down a thousand Marines to put down this insurrection once and for all.”

Court Talbot opened his mouth to protest. Goethals silenced him with a look. “I don’t like it either. They haven’t gotten permission from the Panamanian government to operate outside the zone, which means the Red Vipers will retreat deeper into the jungle after hitting us. I’m sure the diplomats will get the authority for the Marines to chase them, but it’s going to be a dog and pony show. Like I said, I was inclined to let you can hunt them with your men, but this negates that entirely.”

“May I make a suggestion?” Talbot said.

“What?”

“Let me try to find them before the Marines arrive. How long will that be?”

Goethals lit a cigarette. “It’s going to be some time,” he admitted. “They need to mobilize them first and then get ’em down here on a troop transport. A month, probably.”

“By which time Viboras Rojas will have grown in size and power.”

While Goethals said nothing, it was a point he recognized. “That’s already happening. We haven’t made this public, but when you were in California, they raided a warehouse at Pedro Miguel and made off with a ton of explosives.”

“Damn.”

“No idea what they’re going to use it for, can’t be good.”

“I’d like to see the warehouse,” Bell said.

Goethals blew a plume of smoke up at the ceiling fan. “Think my men missed something?”

“Doubtful,” Bell said diplomatically. “I’m the type of man who likes to see things for himself.”

A moment passed. “I suppose if you’re good enough to single-handedly save Bill Densmore’s life, you deserve some leeway. I’ll allow it. However, you’ll need an escort at all times.”

“What about me, Colonel?”

“You can tag along, if you like.”

“Thanks, I would, but what about letting me and my men go after the Viboras?”

“My hands are tied. Unless there’s a massive escalation that will convince Washington that we don’t have the time to waste waiting for the Marines, you can’t search for them in the zone.”

“And the local government has no interest searching for them in Panama, so there’s nothing to be done.”

“That’s it precisely.”

Goethals’s aide knocked and opened the door. “They’re here, sir.”

“Thanks, Frederick. If you gentlemen will excuse me, I’ve got to tell some archeologists that the permit they had when this country was part of Colombia is void. Whatever bits and bobs they hoped to find have already been flooded when we sealed the Gatun Dam.”

Bell and Talbot got to their feet. “Thank you for your time, Colonel.”

“Yes, yes . . . Frederick.” The aide popped his head back through the door. “Get these gentlemen passes to be in the zone, and find Sam Westbrook. It’s his day off, but I saw him around here earlier.” He looked at Bell. “Westbrook’s one of my best men. He was the man who discovered the break-in.”

“Thank you,” Bell said. “That’s a big help.”

Ten minutes later, they were at the rail station just down from the administration building. Talbot dismissed his driver with some last-minute instructions, and they made it aboard the 10:10 train.

“This is the secret to the whole construction project,” Sam Westbrook said, tapping his foot on the floor of the passenger carriage.

It was an old railcar used by workers. The floors were dirty with mud, and the seats were gritty from clinkers thrown from the locomotive’s stack. The passengers were all workingmen.

“The train?” Bell said.

Westbrook was not yet thirty, with dark hair and eyes and a strong cleft in his chin. He was handsome enough yet had the unfortunate luck of not even topping five foot four. His handshake had been firm, but his hand was small in Bell’s. He was dressed in denim pants tucked into heavy boots and a linen shirt. He wore a panama hat similar to Bell’s. He spoke with a heavy New York accent.

“Yes, the railroads. That’s the one thing the French never got right. They had decent steam shovels but couldn’t get the rock and dirt out of the excavations fast enough.”

“Is that your background?”

“New York Transit Authority,” he said proudly. “Started when I was sixteen and by the time I left to come here I was first assistant scheduler. We were responsible for making sure every train was on time at every station across the entire system.

“Down here, we use the railroad like it’s a giant conveyor belt linking the Culebra Cut, where the lion’s share of the excavating is done, to where we need to dump the overburden. Most went to Gatun, to construct the dam that makes the entire canal possible, while some came here to Panama City to construct seawalls and reclaim land.”

“How many trains per day?”

“Five hundred. That works out to be about a train a minute during daylight hours. We’re moving more debris out of Culebra in a year than what the French managed in all their seventeen years here. I’ll take you to see the cut after I show you the warehouse. You really can’t imagine a five-hundred-foot-deep, thousand-foot-wide man-made valley that stretches nine miles. It’s something you have to take in with your own eyes.”

The train snaked through a jungle so thick that Bell couldn’t see more than a few yards into the foliage. The growth oftentimes almost met overhead the railcars, so the effect was like riding through a jade-colored tunnel. They passed an occasional depot or siding, which were the only indications that man had had any impact on the lush landscape.

The heat and humidity were rising the higher the sun climbed into the sky. It was worse than any sweltering New York City heat wave, and Bell imagined he’d welcome the next deluge of rain for the temporary relief it provided.

Even though the train stopped at Mira Flores, the station sat behind some enormous warehouses so Bell couldn’t see the giant locks being constructed.

“These here are the double locks,” Westbrook said. “There’s just a