Gale Force

by Owen Laukkanen

  That was probably a good sign.

  She radioed back to the Munro, reported her crew’s status. Then, as an afterthought, “You guys still have that helicopter handy?”

  “That’s affirmative, Captain,” the radio operator replied. “The Dolphin is standing by.”

  “It might be nice,” McKenna told him, “if they could stand by a little closer while we’re pumping. Can you get them in the air above us?”

  “I’ll dispatch them now. Get you some eyes in the sky, huh?”

  And some quick response if this all goes sideways, McKenna thought. No pun intended. She thanked the operator and signed off. Gazed down the deck and found where Court Harrington had set up shop by an access hatch, a couple of hundred feet astern.

  She picked up the radio again. “I noticed we haven’t sunk yet, Court.”

  A pause. McKenna watched Harrington pick up the radio. “Say again?”

  “I said we aren’t sinking,” McKenna said, feeling dumb. “Just a joke. But it’s a good sign, right?”

  “Oh.” Harrington laughed a little. “Yeah. Not yet.”

  “Small victories, right?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “We keep an eye on things, take it slow, we might just make it out of here. You doing okay over there?”

  Harrington laughed again, more this time. “Just hoping our aces hold out.”

  “You and me both,” McKenna said. She straightened. “Okay, back to work. I’m going to go check on those pumps.”

  “Roger that,” Harrington replied. “I’ll be here.”

  * * *

  • • •

  HARRINGTON COULD FEEL THE DIFFERENCE, within a couple of hours. It was getting harder and harder to sit on the Lion’s accommodations house.

  Fifty degrees, maybe less, he thought, trying to find a place to set down his laptop. The closer the ship came to a forty-five-degree angle, the tougher it would be for the crew to maneuver. Harrington grabbed a handhold, a ladder up to the ship’s massive exhaust funnel. Hoped that the pumps would hold out and push the ship into a more comfortable position quickly.

  McKenna Rhodes appeared, down the deck. She climbed out of an access hatch, stepped out onto the wall of the accommodations house, and slipped and nearly fell. Settled for sitting down awkwardly. Harrington picked up the radio.

  “At least we’re making progress,” he said. “Even if it does suddenly feel like we’re drunk.”

  The captain picked up her own radio. “I was hoping you weren’t watching,” she said, laughing. “I feel like Bambi on ice over here.”

  “It shouldn’t last. And we’re moving in the right direction. A few hours, we’ll have enough water in the bow and stern tanks. We can kill those pumps and put all of our focus amidships.”

  “We can’t just keep them all running?” McKenna replied. “Fill the tanks up faster, and keep this thing moving?”

  “We’d get more control if we’re only filling two tanks. Plus, you can use the extra crew to relay messages from up here.”

  McKenna picked up her radio again, but didn’t reply. Harrington could tell she was thinking it through.

  “Yeah,” she said finally. “Okay.”

  “You’re running this operation, though. We’ll probably be fine with four pumps. It’s your call.”

  “No,” the captain said. “I don’t know a damn thing about how to right this ship. This is your call, Court. You tell me how you want to play it.”

  Harrington studied her down the long deck. Couldn’t quite see the captain’s eyes, but could tell they were fixed on him. He picked up his radio again.

  “Two pumps,” he said. “Just to be safe.”

  McKenna pushed herself to her feet. “I’ll tell Ridley.”

  72

  The young doctor gave Daishin Sato a pained expression. “I hate to tell you this, sir, but you took the wrong flight. They flew your brother’s body to Anchorage already.”

  Sato let his eyes drop, tried to play the role he’d chosen: grieving brother, come to retrieve his sibling’s remains. He’d found the doctor at work in the town of Dutch Harbor’s small medical center, tending to a Aleut girl with a broken arm. Assumed a pitiful countenance and asked for information.

  Both the smuggler Tomio Ishimaru and the sailor Hiroki Okura were still missing. One of the men was dead. Sato wanted to know which.

  “Anchorage,” he repeated. “Tell me, why did they move him? Are you not equipped to deal with the deceased at this hospital?”

  “Most of the time, sure,” the doctor said. “But if the death is suspicious—”

  “Suspicious? I was told he died alone on his ship.”

  The doctor winced again. “I’m sorry. Someone should have really gone over this with you. There were some questions that arose when I looked at the body. The cause of death wasn’t maybe as clear as we thought. So I sent the body to the state medical examiner in Anchorage, standard procedure. They’d be able to give you more information.”

  He began to turn away. “I’m really sorry. This is— I don’t know why someone didn’t tell you this stuff already.”

  “Wait.” Sato took hold of the doctor’s arm. With his free hand, he retrieved a photograph from his pocket, Hiroki Okura. “My brother— Tell me, this was him, yes?”

  The doctor glanced back at the injured young girl, her mother behind her glaring at Sato. He sighed. “I’m sorry,” he said again. “I really—” Then he looked down at the picture. “Wait a minute.”

  “Yes?”

  The doctor took the picture. Studied it close, squinting. “This is your brother?”

  “Hiroki Okura. My brother. This is the dead man, correct?”

  “I don’t . . .” The doctor stared at the picture. “This isn’t the body I saw,” he said. “What the heck?”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Pretty sure.” The doctor still hadn’t taken his eyes from the photo. He scratched his head. “The body— His eyes were set closer. And his mouth, it was different. It was—” He shook his head. “This wasn’t the guy.”

  Sato took the picture back. “Thank you,” he said. “That is excellent news.”

  He turned away from the doctor, walked out of the hospital. Heard the doctor call something after him, but didn’t look back.

  73

  The Lion’s progress slowed with only two pumps online, but Harrington’s plan was working. By nightfall, the big freighter’s list was reduced to forty-five degrees.

  McKenna radioed back to Al Parent on the Gale Force, asked him to make up a care package of sandwiches, fresh coffee, and sleeping bags to send over via the Coast Guard’s Dolphin. Asked him how little Ben was doing, got a laugh in response.

  “He likes ‘Twinkle Twinkle Little Star,’” Al said. “Knocks him right out. ‘Ramblin’ Man,’ not so much.”

  “Maybe stick to the classics?” McKenna replied.

  “‘Ramblin’ Man’ is a classic, boss. Soon as we get home, I’m playing that baby Waylon’s entire back catalog.”

  The helicopter arrived as the last light of day faded away. Its bright spotlight lit up the Lion’s deck, found McKenna and Court Harrington in the center of it, and the flight mechanic lowered his shopping basket with Al Parent’s provisions inside.

  Harrington helped McKenna unload the cargo. Then the architect bent down, wincing, to gather up a couple of the sleeping bags, and began to parcel out the sandwiches and coffee. “I’ll take these back to Matt and Stacey,” he told McKenna. “Get them settled in.”

  McKenna shook her head. “I’ll do it.”

  “You have Ridley and Jason to take care of,” Harrington replied. “I’m not going to go AWOL on you, I promise. Just trying to help.”

  “You’re still recovering,” McKenna said. “I’m not sending you down thirteen decks. I’ll do b
oth.” She gestured to the flight basket, which she was still holding steady. “Get in.”

  “What?”

  “Go on back to the tug. We can handle things overnight. Get some sleep, have a hot meal. We’ll see you back here in the morning.”

  Harrington frowned. “Are you serious?”

  “This isn’t me trying to power-trip,” McKenna said. “But you’ve been working nonstop for a good couple of days. If anything goes wrong, we’ll call you.”

  The helicopter’s engine roared overhead.

  “If I wasn’t so tired, I’d fight you harder on this,” Harrington muttered, climbing into the basket.

  McKenna smiled. “And I’d still be the captain. Get out of here.”

  She waved up to the helicopter, watched as the flight mechanic began to winch Harrington skyward. Watched the architect climb aboard, watched the lights of the helicopter as it disappeared behind the Lion, stood there until she couldn’t see anything anymore.

  Then she picked up the sleeping bags and the food and headed aft to Matt and Stacey, to get them tucked in for the night.

  * * *

  • • •

  FROM HIS HIDING SPACE in the infirmary, Okura could tell the list was easing. It had happened slowly, imperceptible, but now, as the hours passed and the Lion’s walls became walls again, Okura found he could stand on the deck nearly without support. The salvage crew was winning. They were righting the ship.

  And that meant they would soon be towing it back to civilization. As long as he kept hidden until then, he could find his way off—steal a lifeboat, maybe, or wait until the ship was tied to a dock—and use his passport and the stolen bonds and the thirty thousand in cash from the ship’s safe to disappear into America and start a new life.

  He’d moved to the infirmary, near the rear of the crew accommodations deck. Brought the briefcase, too; stashed it in a medicine locker. He had food—stale, but edible—and enough bottled water to survive another week, at least. And he had the pistol.

  Okura checked the weapon. Hoped, again, that he wouldn’t have to use it, but he knew he’d have no choice if the salvage team found him.

  So be it.

  * * *

  • • •

  McKENNA DIDN’T SLEEP MUCH.

  She carried supplies down to Matt and Stacey at the stern of the ship. They’d set up a nest on deck one, at the base of the closest access hatchway to their pump. McKenna handed out the sleeping bags, the sandwiches and the coffee, a paperback adventure novel to help them pass the time.

  Stacey looked at the book’s cover, all gunfights and swarthy heroes and scantily clad women. She made a face. “I mean, really? You expect me to read this?”

  McKenna grinned. “Al sent it over. Could be from his private collection.”

  “Great.” Stacey tossed it in the corner with the sleeping bags. “Desperate times, huh?”

  “Stay safe,” McKenna said, heading back for the climbing rope and the surface. “I’ll be topside if you need me.”

  She climbed back to the weather deck and carried the rest of the provisions down to Nelson Ridley and Jason Parent at the forward pump.

  Ridley looked through the sandwich bag. “Couldn’t find us a cigar?”

  “We pump out this ship, I’ll fly you to Cuba,” McKenna told him. “In the meantime, you’ll have to make do with roast beef.”

  Ridley spread out the sleeping bag. Unpacked a sandwich. “Get some shut-eye, lad,” he told Jason. “I’ll take the first watch.”

  McKenna and Ridley waited until Jason had made himself as comfortable as possible in the damp, dark corridor. They ate sandwiches by the light of their headlamps, drank coffee.

  “Seems like it’s working,” Ridley said, gesturing at their confines. “We’re getting there, boss. Little by little.”

  He was right, McKenna knew. The ship had passed the forty-five-degree point by now; the pumps were moving her in the right direction.

  “I just hope we can stop the list when we need to,” she said. “From what Harrington says, there’s still a chance this thing could kill us all.”

  “Nah. The kid’s got it licked, skipper. You wait and see.”

  “Mmm,” McKenna said, unconvinced.

  Ridley didn’t say anything for a while. Then he shuffled a bit closer to her, lowered his voice. “You know, he’s not such a bad guy, McKenna. He’s a cocky bastard, to be sure, but he doesn’t mean any harm.”

  “Whether he means it or not is irrelevant,” she said, meeting his eyes. “He doesn’t respect me, Nelson. And if he doesn’t respect me, I can’t trust him.”

  “I get it,” Ridley said. “I do. It’s just . . .” He paused. “There’s a history between you two; there’s no point pretending otherwise. You’re never going to be merely captain and crew.”

  She set her jaw. “So, what? I should just let him walk all over me? I’m supposed to forgive insubordination because we hooked up a couple times?”

  “No, skipper,” Ridley said. “No, you’re right about that. I’m just saying that this is hard for him, too. He’s trying to find his place on that tug, same as you.”

  He finished his coffee and didn’t say anything more, and McKenna couldn’t read the expression on his face, his eyes dark and inscrutable.

  “I’m going topside,” she said, standing. “Make sure you get some rest.”

  74

  By morning, the Lion’s list had dropped to thirty-eight degrees. McKenna climbed the ropes down to Ridley and Jason Parent, found the engineer asleep and Jason awake, flipping through some kind of cheesy romance novel.

  “My dad packed it in,” the deckhand said, shrugging. “I wish he’d chucked in a Car and Driver or something.”

  “Matt and Stacey got an adventure story,” McKenna told him. “You give it here, I can see if they’ll trade.”

  Jason looked at McKenna’s outstretched hand, then back at the book. The kid was blushing a little. “It’s just, I’m kind of invested by now. The characters, you know?”

  McKenna laughed. “Suit yourself. Everything okay otherwise?”

  “Perfect. Except Ridley snores like a diesel engine.”

  “Good to hear,” McKenna said. “It’ll keep you awake.”

  She made her way along deck one to Matt and Stacey’s nest, made sure the Jonases and their pump were in working order.

  “Everything’s fine, but we’re almost out of fuel,” Stacey reported. “How’s the rest of the crew?”

  “Jason’s feeling romantic, and Ridley’s fast asleep,” McKenna replied. “And Al’s singing Waylon Jennings to Jason’s little boy.”

  Matt laughed. “Don’t let your babies grow up to be cowboys?”

  “Surprisingly, no. But I bet if you requested it, he’d be glad to oblige.”

  “How are you, McKenna?” Stacey asked. “Did you get any sleep?”

  “I’m fine,” she said, set to brush off the question. Then she met Stacey’s eyes. “Sent Court back to the tug for some bunk time last night, so that kind of eased the tension a little bit.”

  Matt and Stacey both nodded like they knew exactly what she was talking about. “He’s still Court,” Stacey said. “That’s for sure.”

  “Still a genius,” Matt agreed. “And still a little boy.”

  “And still my ex-boyfriend, or not even,” McKenna said. “Ridley thinks I’m being extra hard on Court because I still hold a grudge.”

  The Jonases swapped looks. “I mean,” Matt said. “I wasn’t going to say anything, but—”

  “You guys have some stuff to work through, is all,” Stacey finished. Then she smiled brightly. “But who doesn’t, right?”

  “Sure,” McKenna said. “I guess I was just hoping I wouldn’t have to work through all this stuff with a hundred-million-dollar ship on the line.” She shrugged. “Anyway, I’l
l get that fuel for you. Give me an hour or so.”

  She left Matt and Stacey to tend the pump. Climbed back up topside, where the sky was still gray but getting lighter, and the clouds still whipped around the bases of the volcanoes on Umnak Island, obscuring their peaks. It still looked like a hell of a gale on the south side of the island, and from what McKenna had picked up from the weather forecast, the storm wasn’t set to die yet. Another couple of days of a real solid blow, at the very least. She looked up at the racing clouds and shivered, thankful they weren’t still out in open water.

  Around eight in the morning, the Coast Guard helicopter returned, bringing fuel for the pumps, and more food, and Court Harrington.

  “Brought you a case of Red Bull, too,” Harrington told her. “Figured you probably didn’t get much sleep last night.”

  McKenna helped him unload the rescue basket. Thought about last night’s conversation with Ridley, forced herself to meet the architect’s eyes. “You’d be right about that,” she said.

  “We still okay, though? I mean, the ship’s looking better.”

  “Everything’s good,” McKenna said. “No problems. Still pumping away. You okay?”

  “Slept like a baby,” Harrington said, grinning. “First time in my life that old bunk felt comfortable.”

  They got the basket unloaded, marshaled the supplies on the deck. “You know, you could head back to the tug for a little bit,” Harrington said. “Get a little rest yourself. It’s going to take another day or so for the ship to level out.”

  McKenna finally looked at him. A good night’s sleep had done Harrington well, put some color on his face; he looked refreshed and energized and ready to work. And you look like you spent another sleepless night on a smelly old shipwreck.

  “I have these supplies to distribute,” she told Harrington. “Pumps to refuel, food to pass out. Those guys down below could probably use some fresh air.”