Gale Force

by Owen Laukkanen

  But she couldn’t raise the Lion without him, she knew, and Harrington knew it, too. And that was the part that pissed her off the most.

  67

  UNALASKA AIRPORT, DUTCH HARBOR

  The four Japanese men stepped from the little plane and onto the tarmac. They paused briefly to breathe in the cool air, to survey the town and the mountains and the water. Then they walked into the terminal and out to the parking lot, where a couple of taxis stood idling beside a handful of private cars. A young woman stood waiting beside an American SUV. She held a sign that read GRAND ALEUTIAN HOTEL, and she straightened as the four men approached.

  “Need a room?”

  Three of the four men looked at the fourth, the young, slim man named Sato. “Yes,” Sato said. “We will need two rooms, if possible.”

  The woman looked back at the terminal, the rest of the flight walking out with family members, friends, heading to well-worn pickup trucks. “Looks like I’ll have plenty of space,” she said. “Jump in.”

  The men stowed their gear in the trunk, and climbed into the SUV as the young woman fired up the engine. Three men sat in the back of the truck. Sato sat in the front.

  “What are you in town for?” the woman asked him as she pulled out of the lot. “Business, or pleasure?”

  “Business,” Sato replied.

  “Something to do with that ship that wrecked?”

  Sato shook his head. “Fishing,” he said. “We represent a major investor.”

  “Aha,” the woman said. “Well, you’re in the right place for that.”

  * * *

  • • •

  THE DRIVE TO THE GRAND ALEUTIAN took all of five minutes. The woman—her name was Hannah, she’d told Sato—parked the SUV and opened the trunk.

  “The shipwreck you mentioned,” Sato said as he followed Hannah into the lobby. “Did they save the crew?”

  “The crew? Sure, no casualties.” Hannah paused. “Wait, I lied. One of those guys went AWOL, ditched the rest of his guys and went back to the ship on Bill Carew’s boat. What I heard, he was looking for something, but he shouldn’t have bothered. They brought him back to Dutch in a body bag.”

  “How very sad.”

  “You said it. Just goes to show.” Hannah shrugged. “There’s nothing in this world so important it’s worth dying over, right?”

  She led Sato to the check-in desk, took his credit card. “How long are you staying with us?”

  “We’re not sure,” Sato replied. “It depends how quickly we meet our objective.”

  Hannah nodded. “Well, we’re nowhere near capacity,” she said. “I’m sure it won’t be a problem if you need to stick around for a while.”

  68

  Harrington worked on the models through the night. He made coffee in the galley as the light disappeared outside the tug. Brought it up to the wheelhouse and sat with Spike at the chart table and stared at the computer and tried to conjure a way to guarantee the Pacific Lion’s survival.

  Tried to chase the fight with McKenna—Captain Rhodes—from his mind.

  The night passed quickly. It was only six hours long at this latitude, anyway. At dawn, Nelson Ridley came up into the wheelhouse. “We didn’t give your bunk away, lad,” he said. “You’re allowed to take a nap.”

  Harrington rubbed his eyes. “No rest for the wicked. I’m kind of stuck here at the moment.”

  Ridley walked to the wheel. Checked the instrument panel, the GPS screen. “You must be beat,” he said. “No sense working all night.”

  “This stuff has to get done, one way or the other. The captain led me to believe she wanted to get the pumps going right away.”

  “Sure,” Ridley said, shrugging, “but you’re still allowed a couple hours’ shut-eye. Hell, take all day, if you need it. After what you’ve been through, you’ve got to take care of yourself.”

  Harrington laughed. “You want to tell her that?” he said. “We’re kind of on the outs at the moment.”

  “Who, McKenna?”

  “I think she prefers Captain Rhodes.”

  Ridley frowned. “Oh,” he said, and he studied Harrington, his brow furrowed. “It was my fault, what happened yesterday, lad,” he said. “I shouldn’t have let you into the ship.”

  “No, that’s on me,” Harrington replied. “I dragged you into it, but it was my call. Anyway, I think it goes deeper than that. She doesn’t think I respect her, or something.”

  “Do you?”

  Harrington looked up, surprised at the engineer’s bluntness. “I mean, yeah, of course. Of course I respect her. Why wouldn’t I?”

  Ridley rubbed his chin. “But is she the captain of this vessel, lad? Or is she still your old flame?”

  “Can’t she be both?” Harrington replied.

  Ridley looked at him. Clucked sympathetically. He disappeared down the stairs, and reappeared a moment later, carrying a fresh mug of coffee.

  “You think on it,” he said, setting the coffee down for Harrington. “And don’t kill yourself with this computer work. It’s only a job, after all.”

  “Yeah,” Harrington said. “But what a job it is.”

  * * *

  • • •

  HE WOKE UP GROGGY a few hours later. Lifted his head from the chart table, wiped the drool from his cheek. Downstairs, in the galley, someone else was awake, bashing pots and pans, making breakfast. His computer was dark, fast asleep; the cat, too. Harrington thought of his bunk longingly. Then he shook his head clear.

  He sat up, rubbed his eyes, switched the computer back to life. His 3-D model of the Pacific Lion glared out at him, every fluid level rendered in exact detail. Harrington studied the screen for a moment. Then he stood, stretched, and limped down the stairway to rouse Captain Rhodes.

  * * *

  • • •

  “I THINK THE SIMPLEST way is the best way,” Harrington told McKenna. “The portside ballast tanks are full, and the starboard tanks are empty. If we can ballast the tanks, the ship should regain equilibrium.”

  They’d returned to the wheelhouse. The captain sat beside Harrington at the chart table, Harrington’s laptop open in front of them. They hadn’t talked about last night yet, but Harrington knew they would have to.

  He needed to be on board that ship.

  McKenna looked at the model. “What about the rest of the fluids? Fuel and fresh water, et cetera. Don’t they factor into your thinking?”

  “They do,” Harrington said, “but every tank but the ballast is already balanced for ocean sailing. The more we mess around with ancillary fluids, the greater the risk we destabilize the ship even further.”

  “And those models?” McKenna said. “Still no way you can really predict what the ship is going to do?”

  “Not one hundred percent. But eighty percent, definitely.”

  McKenna looked at the computer again. Looked at Harrington, at Spike. “Pocket aces, huh?”

  “Best we can do.” Harrington paused. “There’s one more thing,” he said. “I know you’re mad about yesterday, and I’m sorry. But I really need to be on board the Lion if we’re going to make this work.”

  McKenna shook her head. “I can’t trust someone who doesn’t respect the chain of command, Court.”

  “Look.” Harrington sighed. “It’s not about respect.”

  “No?” Her eyes flashed. “You would have disobeyed my dad just the same?”

  “I don’t know. Probably not. But your dad was your dad, and you’re—”

  “One of your old hookups.”

  “My friend.” He looked at her. “I thought we were friends, McKenna— Captain Rhodes, sorry. This whole chain of command thing is hard to get used to, okay?”

  McKenna didn’t answer. She stood, and walked to the front of the wheelhouse, looked out through the windows toward the hulk of the Lion.
Harrington waited.

  “This is a thirty-million-dollar job,” the captain said finally. She hadn’t turned away from the windows. “This isn’t about friends, or old hookups, or anything else. You almost died on that ship, Court. The last time this tug ran an operation this big, my dad drowned. If we don’t have rules—if we don’t have trust, and respect—then we’re putting our lives at risk just being here.”

  “I’m sorry,” Harrington said. “You’re right.”

  She turned from the window. Met his eyes. “You do what you need to do to get that ship raised. If that means you’re on board, then so be it. But don’t spit in my face and call me your friend, Court. I give an order, you damn well follow it.”

  He nodded.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Yeah,” he said. Cleared his throat. “I mean, aye-aye, Captain Rhodes.”

  69

  They left Al Parent on the Gale Force to tend to the tug—and, via sat phone, to his insomniac grandson. The rest of the crew flew to the Lion in the Munro’s Dolphin, the last of their portable pneumatic pumps hanging from the helicopter’s hoist.

  McKenna watched the Gale Force shrink beneath the helicopter, and tried to work through her strategy. More accurately, she tried to figure out how to implement Court Harrington’s strategy while risking the least number of her crew.

  “We’ll work in teams,” she told the others. “Matt and Stacey, you guys take Ridley to the bow. Get one pump in position, then move your old pump from the cargo deck down to deck one as well. I’ll take Jason aft. Court, you’re topside.”

  Everyone nodded. “Sounds good,” Matt said.

  “Those pumps are heavy. A hundred pounds apiece. We’re going to need all of them, so take your time. Don’t try to be a hero, just get the job done.”

  “Speak for yourself, skipper,” Ridley said, grinning. “You know you’re the only hero we’ve got.”

  McKenna shook her head. “No heroes today. Strictly professional. Let’s get it done.”

  * * *

  • • •

  HARRINGTON’S PLAN INVOLVED pumping seawater from the Lion’s portside tanks to the starboard tanks, until the ship was properly balanced, then taking stock of the list and adjusting as necessary. It meant McKenna and her team would have to lug four one-hundred-pound pneumatic pumps to the lowest reaches of the ship—the labyrinth on deck one—and run pumps and hoses across the width of the bottom deck.

  The portside tanks were full, and fully pressurized, and any mistake could send that ballast water flooding into deck one, drowning whoever was down there within minutes. There were four pumps. Four opportunities for failure.

  McKenna and Jason Parent wrestled the first pump through the after stairway and down the narrow access hatch to the first deck. Hustled back up to help Harrington lower the heavy hoses down behind.

  The pump was heavy, a beast to maneuver in the ship’s narrow confines. McKenna and Jason sweated and swore, muscling the pump through the access hatch and easing it, slowly, down to the lowest deck.

  “Cripes,” Jason said, wiping sweat from his brow. “You’re kind of a badass, skipper.”

  “You and me both,” McKenna replied. “This is teamwork.”

  They wrestled the first pump into position, just ahead of the engine room on deck one. Then they climbed again, up to the fourth deck, where McKenna descended among the Nissans to where the second pump waited, left over from the crew’s initial efforts to pump out the hold. The skipper untied the pump and fastened a line to it, guided the machine up between the long row of vehicles as Jason hefted it back up to the stairs.

  Then they maneuvered the pump through the access hatch to the first deck again, hauled it through the maze to the stern ballast tanks. They tied down the pump and ran hoses in both directions, up to the starboard tank, and down to the portside. McKenna connected the hose to the starboard tank’s emergency valve.

  “I’m going to wait until the rest of the pumps are hooked up to do the portside,” she told Jason. “Don’t want to get this party started too early.”

  Jason looked at her, then past her, down the long corridor to the portside tank. He shivered. “Yeah,” he said. “I’d say that’s a good idea.”

  * * *

  • • •

  THE CLIMB TOPSIDE was as long and arduous as ever. The rest of the crew was waiting there. “What took you so long, skipper?” Ridley asked. “You take the lad on a tour?”

  McKenna wiped the sweat from her face. “Just lazy, I guess. You guys been here a while?”

  “He’s just messing with you,” Stacey said. “We just got here. All the pumps in position.”

  “Perfect,” McKenna said. “Okay, we need four people down below to watch the pumps. I’ll take one. Ridley, Matt and Jason, you guys take the others.”

  Stacey and Court swapped glances. “What about us?”

  “Stay up here. Get ready to relay information down to us, if necessary.” She looked at Stacey. “I don’t want you and Matt down there at the same time. If something goes wrong—”

  “If something goes wrong, I don’t want to be left alone on this earth without my husband,” Stacey finished. “I appreciate the sentiment, skipper, but this is your operation. We could use you and Court topside to coordinate.”

  McKenna thought about it. “Damn it, fine. But be careful, all of you. Find somewhere safe to camp out, somewhere you can get out quick if something goes wrong, understand?”

  “Got it,” Stacey said.

  “Aye-aye,” said Matt.

  McKenna looked at Jason Parent. The kid looked nervous, a little, but he wasn’t about to admit it.

  A married couple and a new dad, McKenna thought. You could be sending them to their deaths.

  She shook the thought away. “You good?” she asked Jason.

  Jason stood straighter. “I’m good.”

  “Okay. Synchronize your watches. I’ll give you an hour to get down to your stations and in position. Sixty minutes from now, we start pumping. Good luck.”

  She watched her crew disperse, Matt and Stacey toward the after two access points, Jason and Ridley toward the bow. Court Harrington stood beside her. He was watching, too.

  “This going to work?” McKenna asked him.

  Harrington set his jaw. “Yeah,” he said. “Yes, damn it, it will.”

  70

  Matt Jonas found the pump ahead of the engine room on deck one. He checked that the hose was connected to the starboard tank’s emergency valve, then rappelled down the corridor to the portside valve.

  He checked his watch. Ten minutes to zero hour. Matt picked up the loose end of the hose, fastened it to the portside tank’s emergency valve.

  A noise, behind him. Footsteps, labored, someone navigating the tricky path through the corridor. Matt turned, saw a headlamp at the top of the hall, the starboard side, peering down at him.

  “It’s McKenna.” The skipper’s voice echoed through the empty ship, an eerie, ghostly sound. “Just making sure you’re all set.”

  “Doing fine,” Matt told her. “Just about to open the portside valve, start pumping this thing up.”

  The skipper hesitated. “Right,” she said finally. “Okay, cool.”

  “This thing going to work?” Matt called up to her.

  “I hope so,” she replied. “I think so.” Then, quickly, “I mean, the whiz kid says it’s pocket aces, best shot we have.”

  “Pocket aces, you said?”

  “That’s right.”

  Matt looked around the corridor. “Those are good odds. Eighty percent, right? Best starting hand in poker.”

  “Yeah,” the skipper replied, “but did he tell you how he busted out of the World Series?”

  Matt shone his light up toward her. He could see the skipper in the distance, a hundred feet up, peering down at him.
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  “None of us would be here if we didn’t like to gamble, right?” Matt said. “Aces get cracked now and then, but hell, that’s just variance. You sure as heck wouldn’t fold them.”

  “Dad was always a gambler,” McKenna said. “Guess I’m going to find out if I’ve got that itch, too.”

  Matt smiled. “You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t.” He checked his watch and looked up at her. “I’m about due to open this valve up, skipper.”

  “Roger that. I’d better check on the others.” A pause. “Be careful.”

  “Always.” Matt listened to the skipper’s footsteps until they were nothing but echoes. Then he checked his watch again. Time to gamble. He hesitated a moment, thought about Stacey and the rest of the crew.

  Variance, he thought. Then he opened the valve, tensed as the hose filled, muttered a silent prayer, and waited.

  71

  McKenna made her way forward through the bowels of the ship. Checked in on Ridley, could barely hear the engineer’s answer over the roar of the pumps.

  “She’s looking fine, skipper,” he reported. “No leaks, no mess. We’re in business.”

  “Keep it that way,” McKenna told him. Then she crawled along the starboard side of deck one to the bow, where Jason Parent was babysitting his own pump, the bright orange hose filled with water and pumping steadily into the starboard tank.

  “You okay?” McKenna shouted down to him.

  Jason flashed her a thumbs-up. “All good down here.”

  McKenna returned the thumb. “Keep it going.” Then she found the kid’s access hatch, climbed up and through to deck four, and up the stairway to the outside world again.

  She couldn’t feel a thing as she stood on the Lion’s accommodations house. The list remained constant, about fifty-five degrees. It hadn’t begun to ease yet, but the ship wasn’t sinking, either.