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 channel would be deepest, he didn’t really care.

The tanker’s pilot did what he could to slow his vessel and steer it to the right-hand side of the marked channel. But because his ship had the deepest draft, he refused to push it any closer to the bank. That left the game of chicken in the hands of the containership’s pilot.

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 channel turned and narrowed ahead, partially obscuring the outline of the Salzburg. Aboard her bridge, Bolcke and Pablo came alert at the latest burst of ire from the radio. When the blue containership had passed the Adelaide and the pilot saw the repainted name on her stern, he made further threats over the radio. “Labrador,” he said, “I will be filing a formal complaint with the canal authorities in Colón.”

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.