McCabe broke the connection as he heard the whoop-whoop of a helicopter overhead. It touched down on the quayside and he climbed aboard. Someone thrust a helmet and headset into his hands as the large machine lifted off, and headed out into the onyx night.
The helicopter was covering a search area slightly to the north and west of the cutter, using its powerful searchlight to identify any vessel it came across. Through his headset, McCabe heard the response of a fishing vessel as the Coastguard cutter interrogated its captain. With its identity confirmed, the cutter moved on to the next radar target and repeated the procedure until every vessel in the fishing fleet was accounted for.
McCabe's brow was damp with sweat. Time was fast running out for Walker, if it hadn’t already done so. These people were ruthless and had no qualms about illegally dumping dangerous chemicals or eliminating anyone who got in their way. McCabe tried not to think too hard about what fate might await his friend—he just hoped they would be in time to prevent him ending up on a slab in the morgue.
He anxiously scanned the waters of the straits through a pair of night vision goggles. There was nothing in sight, just miles of open water. That damned freighter had to be out there somewhere—if only they could get a fix on her.
McCabe didn't paid much attention to the incessant chatter of the fishing fleet, but suddenly he honed in on a conversation between the captain of a tanker and the mate of a seine netter who was complaining bitterly about the near collision it had with a vessel. The vessel had been running without navigation lights.
"That has to be her! Someone get on the radio and get the location of that tanker."
"Whidbey's already on it sir," the co-pilot shouted. The helicopter banked to the left. "We're getting a GPS location for her now. We're approximately ten minutes flying time from her."
"Hold on, Walker, hold on," McCabe prayed. The pilot dropped the nose of the helicopter. Skimming the tops of the waves, it gained speed with each passing second.
***
Cold, stark fear ran down Walker's spine as the heavy watertight hatch above his head opened. This was it. This was how his life was going to end. He’d be tossed overboard with the toxic chemicals whose safe disposal he had tried hard to ensure. He knew his chances of survival in the icy waters of Puget Sound were slim. At best, he'd last half an hour before hypothermia set in. That’s if he could stay afloat with his hands and feet tightly bound. And if he could, would it be long enough for him to be picked up by a passing vessel?
Things looked blacker by the second.
He thought about the sassy auburn-haired woman he'd left behind in the city earlier that day. Skye had been on vacation. He'd dragged her unwillingly into this unholy mess. And what had he done? Kidnap, assault—well almost, if he counted the bruises he'd given her. Blackmail too, depending on your interpretation of the word, and probably countless other misdemeanors. The list was abominably long. If that wasn’t bad enough, he had stupidly let her walk away without telling her she was the only woman he'd ever truly loved.
He had no right to expect anything of her and wouldn't blame her if she'd high-tailed it back across the Atlantic. If he'd been in her shoes, he would have done just that. But he was certain of one thing. If, and it was a massive if, if he should—
Steel-toed boots clanked on the deck above. The boots swung over the side of the hatch and descended the access ladder into the hold. He felt the rush of adrenaline as panic welled in his stomach. He didn't have a chance to dwell on what fate was about to befall him as two rough-looking seamen dragged him to his feet. A flash of humor crossed his face. The Rosario Queen's crew all came from the same school of charm and etiquette—the two men could easily be cousins to Dumb and Dumber.
Whatever they planned, Walker decided he wasn't going to make their job easy. He struggled violently as they hauled him towards the bulkhead door. He twisted first one way and then the other in an attempt to loosen their grip on his arms. A fist slammed into his face and, for a millisecond, his world went black. A hand grabbed a fist full of his hair, forcing his head up to meet a pair of weasel-like eyes.
"We can either do this the easy way or we can do it the hard way. Now which is it to be? Are you gonna co-operate or does my friend here have to give you more of the same?"
Walker nodded.
"Okay, let's get movin'. The boss wants you up on deck."
They half-pushed and half-dragged Walker along the corridor until they reached the companionway. Either one of them had to carry Walker's dead weight up the narrow staircase, or they must untie his feet. Walker watched as the question passed silently between his two guards. He saw a flash of steel as the shorter of the two seamen withdrew a gutting knife from his belt and bent down to cut the rope round his ankles.
That was the only invitation Walker needed. As soon as he felt the rope slacken he lashed out with his foot at the guard standing behind him. At the same time he used the momentum to propel himself forward to head-butt the other guard in the stomach. Before either could react, he had regained his balance, ducked around the stairwell, and sped along the corridor as fast as he could. But his escape was short-lived. He'd hardly covered ten yards before he was tackled from behind and brought down. A pair of heavy sea boots connected with his ribs in a vicious kick, forcing the air from his lungs with a whoosh and leaving him gasping for breath.
"That was a real stupid move." The tip of the gutting knife pressed against Walker's throat. "One more stunt like that, jerk, and I'll have no hesitation in using this. Understand?"
Incapable of talking, Walker inclined his head a fraction.
"Good. Then, let's do as the captain ordered and go on deck."
Dizzy and shaking in agony, Walker struggled to his knees, gulping air into his oxygen-starved lungs. If he breathed deeply, the pain in his ribs was incandescent. Cracked or broken, he wondered. Either way it wouldn't matter, for his chance of staying afloat was now infinitesimal. Two pairs of strong arms hauled him to his feet. The cold steel at his throat never wavered. Breathing shallowly through his teeth, he shuffled along to the companionway. He was unceremoniously shoved up the narrow stairway. Once on deck, his guards kept their grip on his arms. This time there was no chance of escape. All he could do was watch, shudder in pain and await his fate.
The Rosario Queen rolled in the gentle swell. In the glare of the deck lights, Walker saw that the small deck crane had lifted some of the barrels from the hold. The crew released them from the cargo net and rolled them off to one side. The crane swung into action again, disappearing into the depths of the hold for another load.
Walker glanced over his shoulder out to sea, but the illumination from the deck lights ruined his night vision, making it impossible for him to make out any landmark on the horizon. This was one cautious captain.
Moonlight filtered through a web of clouds, and there was little breeze. Walker guessed that it was slack-tide—that time when the sea is often at its calmest—perfect for dumping the barrels over the side into the black depths of the sound.
The wheelhouse door opened and three figures stormed their way towards him. The first Walker took to be the captain of the freighter, the second he recognized as the manager of the waste management plant. His mind raced. There was no doubting the manager's involvement now, but who was the third guy? Was he the brains behind the operation or just another monkey?
All three picked their way over the deck, avoiding trailing ropes and deck cleats until they stopped inches from Walker and his guards.
"Mr. Walker, it seems we meet again, however this time I appear to have the upper hand."
"I wouldn't be too sure of that. It's only a matter of time before the Coastguard locates this freighter."
"Ah, yes, your associate, McCabe. He's contacted the Coastguard, but I wouldn't rely on their intervention. Before we sailed there was a major incident—I won't bore you with the details—but suffice to say the Coastguard cutter is miles away and not likely to turn up before we've f
inished our business. Isn't that right, captain?"
"Yes, sir. She won't be with us anytime soon."
"As you can see, we're about ready to conclude our nights’ work. But before we do—"
"Why?"
"Why dispose of these chemicals illegally? That's an easy question to answer—because your actions nearly ruined me. You weren't satisfied with closing down my South American operation; you also had a hand in refusing my company's application to build a new plant here in Washington State. I needed that plant to recoup my losses."
"Your planning application was turned down for one simple reason, his bad management." Walker indicated the plant manager with a jerk of his head.
"That's a matter of opinion. But there's something else, something far more personal. I've waited a long time for this. You don't recognize me, do you, Walker?"
Walker struggled to put a name to the face. "Should I?"
"We've met before, under far different circumstances and in more pleasant surroundings."
"If I knew you, I'm sure I'd remember."
"I doubt it, although most people remember my sister. And you do remember my sister, don't you?"
"Hey what’s this, an inquisition? I meet lots of people in my job—scientists, secretaries, and even dumb-asses like you! If you're going to kill me, just get on with it."
"Tut, tut, Mr. Walker. Where are your manners? Let me refresh your memory. She has blonde hair, stunning blue eyes and even if I say it myself, a figure most women would kill for. She certainly captivated your attention. You even implied you loved her, although you didn't exactly say as much. Ring any bells?"
Walker shook his head. "Look, can we just cut to the chase. If you've something to tell me, come out and say it."
"You dated my sister, or more precisely my half-sister. But what did you do? You used her. You used her like some high-class call girl—only you didn't pay—until now that is. She loved you, but you made her look a fool."
"I don't know who you're talking about—"
"It's too late to play the innocent, its payback time."
"I can assure you that I've always made it clear that my work makes it difficult to be involved with someone. I have to be free to travel and if your sister—half sister—couldn't accept that then I'm sorry, but it's not my fault she got hurt."
"Arlene. Her name is Arlene. Ah, I see by your face you remember."
"Arlene Allensbury. Oh, yes, I remember Arlene. We had dinner once or twice when I was in town and that's all I intended it to be. But your sister started turning up unexpectedly at my office, at my apartment, when I entertained clients—she was stalking me, for Christ's sake! She had the gall to tell anyone who would listen that she was my fiancée. I took her to dinner to try and explain how I felt, but she didn't get it and started screaming. I tried to calm her down, but she just lost it, so I left and drove home. She managed to get to my place before I did. She'd wormed her way past the doorman. Your darling sister was in the middle of trashing my apartment. Your sister is sick. I called the cops and they took her away in plastic cuffs, frothing at the mouth. The psychiatrist who treated her at the hospital said she was psychotic."
"She was not! You drove her to this. She loved you, Walker. She loved you so much that she couldn't imagine life without you. Do you know what she did?"
"No, tell me."
"She tried to kill herself. My beautiful sister took an overdose because of you. All because of you!"
"Look, Allensbury, I'm sorry, but your—"
"You're sorry? It's too late to be sorry. My beautiful sister doesn't even recognize me when I go visit her. She sits in a chair and drools like a baby! Can you imagine what that feels like?"
"No, I can't. I suspect your sister was sick long before I met her. My involvement with her had nothing to do with her illness. Despite how you feel about me, you're putting lives at risk by dumping these chemicals. Is that what you want on your conscience—the deaths of innocent people? Why don't you tell the captain here to turn his vessel around and head back to port? I'm sure if you turn yourself in, we can cut a deal with the DA."
"Do you really think I'm that stupid? I have no intention of letting you off the hook. Besides, there's the good captain and his crew to think about. No, Mr. Walker you are going to pay."
"Killing me won't make your sister sane again, Allensbury, if she ever was in the first place. Nor will putting the lives of thousands of others at risk. Be sensible about this, and turn this vessel around now. What use will you be to your sister, languishing in the state penitentiary?"
"I have no intention of being caught. Your body will never be found or at least nothing that will be recognizable. The ocean will see to that. We've talked long enough. Captain, have your men get those barrels over the side. You know how to deal with Mr.Walker."
Walker watched helplessly as one barrel and then another entered the water, bubbles rising from the seals as they sank into the depths. Now would be a good time to show your hand, McCabe, he said to himself.
The two guards hauled Walker towards the barrels on the deck. A deckhand removed the bolts from a section of handrails and lifted them out of the plugs that normally secured them. A rough hand pushed him in the back and suddenly he was flying through the air.
It seemed like a lifetime before he hit the water. There was a feeling of pressure and a bubbling sound in his ears as the water rushed past and he started sinking. He kicked hard for the surface, his lungs bursting with the effort of holding his breath. A thousand icy daggers stabbed every inch of his body. He ignored the searing agony in his ribs, and kicked again as dread set in and he wondered if he had the strength to make it to the surface.
Suddenly he felt the breeze on his face and he was coughing and gagging trying to clear his lungs of the salt water he’d ingested. No matter how cold he felt or how much pain he was in, he had to stay afloat for as long as possible. He watched the Rosario Queen steam away, leaving him with only the stars for company.
Chapter Twenty-Five
McCabe willed the helicopter to go faster. Just how long did it take to cover thirty nautical miles? Was his friend even alive? His concern showed in the lines on his drawn and haggard face. Every nerve in his body tingled. He hadn't felt this anxious since his wife gave birth to their first child, for Christ's sake. A burst of static erupted from his headphones as a voice came over the radio.
"The target is changing course to the north-east." A stream of GPS co-ordinates followed. The helicopter pilot didn't miss a beat of the rotors, changing course before the transmission had ended.
"She's dumped her cargo!" McCabe slammed his fist into the fuselage. "We're too damned late."
"With respect sir, you don't know that. She could have picked up another vessel on her radar and decided to high-tail it out of there."
"No way! The captain of the Rosario Queen hasn't switched on his radar, nor will he. Not even if he were about to hit an iceberg and join the Titanic on the ocean floor. I'm telling you, she's dumped her fucking cargo."
"Either we go check that out, or we intercept the vessel. It's your call, sir," the co-pilot shouted back from the cockpit.
"Can't we do both? Can't we fly over the ships’ original position before intercepting her? If any of those barrels are still floating on the surface they represent a major shipping hazard."
"We're getting low on fuel. We've got forty minutes of flying time left, at best. That gives us one shot at this. If your description of those barrels is accurate, I doubt they'll float for very long. Under the circumstances we should go after the Rosario Queen and try to stay with her until the Coastguard cutter arrives on station. When the cutter arrives, we can peel off, refuel, and come back to take a closer look at her original position—see if there are any barrels remaining on the surface. If necessary drop a buoy. I suggest we put an exclusion zone around her last position to alert shipping of a potential hazard. That way we cover our backs. But if you insist on flying over her last position then
we may run the risk of losing her again."
McCabe thought hard. What would Walker do in this situation? Would he go after the vessel and the crew, or would he inspect the freighter's last position? There was no doubt in his mind. Walker wouldn't leave the area without first checking to see if she had dumped her cargo. McCabe had a bad feeling about this, a real bad feeling. The crew wouldn't let Walker go. Chances are they’d throw him overboard with the barrels and leave him to the mercy of the sea.
The minutes ticked away. The co-pilot broke into McCabe's thoughts.
"Sir?"
"Shut up, I'm thinking." McCabe's mind whirled along with the helicopter’s rotors above his head. Should he give the order to follow the Rosario Queen or fly over her earlier position? He'd run the risk of losing the vessel, but he couldn't take the risk of losing his best friend and the best marine biologist he'd ever known.
Three Weeks Last Spring Page 23
