He was not Hiroki Okura’s brother. Okura didn’t have a brother, and if he did, this man would not have been him.
The man didn’t bother to introduce himself. He walked to the center of the cell. Sniffed, made a face. Then he fixed his eyes on Okura and smiled, wide. His teeth were white; Okura could have sworn they were jagged, like a shark’s.
“Katsuo Nakadate sends his regards,” the man told Okura. He reached into his suit pocket, removed a folded piece of paper. Unfolded it, and held it out to Okura.
Okura hesitated. The man gestured, Take it.
Okura took the paper, though he wanted nothing to do with it. He forced himself to look down. Swallowed.
His sister. Her daughter. A photograph from a distance, outside of their house.
“We aren’t barbarians,” the man continued. “Maybe you didn’t know what you were doing when you helped Ishimaru. You were old friends, yes? We can understand that. We’re not cruel.”
Okura said nothing. Felt his legs begin to shake, tried to focus on standing upright, maintaining control of his bladder.
“Mr. Nakadate simply wishes to be returned what has been taken from him. I assume you know what I’m speaking of?”
Okura nodded yes.
“Do you know where it is?”
Okura nodded again.
“Tell me, Okura-san. I give you Katsuo Nakadate’s word that your niece and her mother will not be harmed.”
Okura closed his eyes. Hoped desperately that what he said next would absolve him, wash his hands of this mess, keep his sister safe.
“On the ship,” he said, soft enough that the man had to lean in to hear him. “In the infirmary, in a medicine cabinet. If it’s not there, it was taken by one of the salvage crew.”
The young man grinned again. Shark teeth. “Thank you, Okura-san. I hope, for your family’s sake, that we recover the property without delay.”
He turned and called for the guard, who appeared quickly. Walked out of the cell and down the corridor, stopping before the outer door to turn back and wink, once, at Okura. And then he was gone.
Okura sank to the hard concrete bench. The man had left him the picture, his sister and his niece. Okura stared down at it for a long time. There was nothing else he could do.
84
A small collection of Japanese men waited at the fuel dock when the Gale Force tied up in Dutch Harbor.
It was morning, a day and a half after the Gale Force departed Inanudak Bay. The Pacific Lion was secure, tied to a couple of mooring buoys in Unalaska Bay, about a mile out from the town. The tow was complete, and the crew of the tug was ready to hand the freighter back to her owners.
McKenna watched the men on the dock as she nudged the tug against the wooden pilings. There were seven of them, all in black coats bundled tight. They studied the tug, and turned to talk among themselves. One man, slight and middle-aged, his hair thinning, stood with them but said nothing. He didn’t look away from the tug.
This man was Matsuda, McKenna would find out, when the tug was tied fast and she’d climbed down to the dock. The shipping company’s vice president stepped forward from his group, bowed slightly. “Captain Rhodes,” he said. “It’s a pleasure to meet you at last.”
McKenna cocked her head. “Is it?”
Matsuda hesitated. Then he looked McKenna in the eye. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I want to apologize for the stance my company—for the stance I took with you and your team. Truthfully, I didn’t think your organization had the capability to handle a job so demanding.”
McKenna cast her eyes across the water to where the Lion rested on her moorings. “I guess you were wrong.”
“Indeed, and my company is grateful for it. You and your crew have accomplished an incredible feat.”
Yeah, McKenna thought. Now let’s see how long it takes you to pay us.
Matsuda frowned, as if he could read her mind. “I’m truly sorry to have underestimated you, Captain Rhodes. Be assured, it won’t happen again.”
McKenna met Matsuda’s eyes. The executive looked tired from his journey. He seemed genuinely humbled. McKenna forced herself to be gracious. “Don’t mention it,” she told him. “Let’s have a look at your ship.”
* * *
• • •
McKENNA FERRIED THE Japanese Overseas contingent across the water on the Gale Force. Maneuvered her tug to the stern of the Pacific Lion, and waited as Al and Jason Parent made her fast. Then she helped Matsuda and his colleagues up and onto the afterdeck, the same perilous spot where Al Parent and Nelson Ridley had secured the towline just days before.
The deck was safe now, the list erased, the ship more like a ship again than a sadist’s climbing wall. McKenna and Ridley led the inspection party through the ship, from engine room to cargo holds to bridge, the shipowners talking among themselves in Japanese, making notes, taking photographs.
Matsuda was quiet. He didn’t talk to McKenna, and he didn’t talk to his colleagues. He walked ahead of them without pause, as though he knew its layout intimately. He studied the Nissans in the cargo hold and the spilled papers and coffee creamers on the bridge with the same careful, conscientious eye.
“They will not be able to sell these cars, you know,” he told McKenna as they climbed a staircase between decks. “Already, there is outrage in the American market. A newspaper suggested the manufacturer could refurbish the vehicles and sell them as new on their lots. Do you believe this, Captain?”
McKenna glanced back, through the bulkhead door and onto the cargo deck, the Nissans still strapped in and secure, the steel deck still slippery with oil and transmission fluid. “No,” she said. “I don’t believe it.”
“I’m told that most of the cars remained dry, at least,” Matsuda said. “Maybe they are salvageable, maybe not.” He shrugged. “Whatever the case, they won’t be sold in America. Your country’s love of litigation will ensure it.”
McKenna said nothing. Five thousand Nissans. Brand-new, all of them, and all of them headed for scrap.
“The ship, though,” she said. “You’re going to keep using the ship, right?”
“Oh yes, the ship can be fixed.” Matsuda laughed. “Maybe you’ll even pass her in the harbor someday on your tugboat. You can look at her and see a monument to your determination.”
It was a happy sentiment, sure, but you couldn’t pay a fuel bill with sentiment. The payout remained foremost in McKenna’s mind as she followed Matsuda through the ship, casting glances back at the executive’s colleagues with their iPads and digital cameras and notebooks. The survey took hours, and the shipping executives seemed to make note of every chip, dent, and scratch they came across.
Finally, though, Matsuda and McKenna led Ridley and the executives onto the starboard weather deck, the survey complete. Matsuda conferred with his colleagues. Ridley joined McKenna at the rail.
“I bet they try to screw us,” Ridley said. He sounded nonchalant, but McKenna knew there was real fear in his words. “I bet we fight this thing out in court for years.”
The engineer had a right to be afraid, McKenna figured. For thirty million dollars, Matsuda and his colleagues might very well be tempted to haggle on the price, judging that Gale Force Marine lacked the resources to fight a long legal battle.
And they’d be right, McKenna thought. I have barely enough cash on hand to pay for fuel and transit back to the Lower 48, much less retain a team of maritime lawyers.
She stared out over the railing at the town of Dutch Harbor in the distance. “I really hope it doesn’t come to that.”
Matsuda coughed quietly behind them. Ridley nudged McKenna. “Here it comes.”
McKenna turned. Found Matsuda standing alone, a few feet away, his colleagues watching silently from behind. “Captain Rhodes,” Matsuda said. “Can we discuss?”
McKenna glanced at Ridle
y, who grinned, sardonic, like, Wait for it. Then she followed Matsuda to the forward lifeboat.
“I wanted to express my apologies again,” Matsuda told her. “I was wrong to underestimate you, Captain Rhodes. You’ve done remarkable work.”
“Thank you,” McKenna said. Now stick the knife in me.
“We have no interest in making enemies of you, Captain, or any of your crew,” Matsuda continued. “And I, personally, have no interest in making this partnership any more adversarial than it already has been.”
“Good,” McKenna said. “Me, neither.”
Matsuda paused. Broke eye contact, and McKenna thought, Here it comes. Then the executive looked at her again. “Our insurance assessment of the value of the ship and its cargo will take some time,” he said. “However, we estimate the total will amount to something more than the hundred and fifty million dollars you and I discussed previously.”
McKenna frowned. “Okay?”
“I’d like to therefore make a proposal,” Matsuda said. “The Japanese Overseas Shipping Company will make Gale Force Marine a good faith payment of twenty million dollars, effective immediately. We can settle the remaining balance when we have processed the assessment, which you of course will be allowed to review.”
He met McKenna’s stare. “You are welcome to propose another arrangement, but I think this is a fair offer.”
McKenna didn’t answer for a beat. Felt her heart pounding. Realized, for all the work, she hadn’t quite been prepared for this moment. “Yes,” she said, and her voice came out strangled. “That’s more than fair.”
“You’ll need to provide the company’s banking information. My colleagues will process the transaction.”
“Of course,” McKenna said.
Matsuda studied her face, the ghost of a smile on his lips. “Will you shake my hand, Captain Rhodes?” he asked. “And accept my friendship, once and for all?”
McKenna blinked her head clear. Looked at the shipping executive, who waited, his hand outstretched. “Damn right, I’ll shake your hand,” she replied, and she did just that. “It’s a pleasure doing business with you.”
85
Through the window of his rented pickup truck, Daishin Sato stared across the pier at the salvage tug, trying to conjure a strategy.
Beyond the Gale Force, the freighter Pacific Lion sat peaceful and upright in the middle of Unalaska Bay, almost close enough to touch. And somewhere onboard, or somewhere nearby, fifty million dollars’ worth of Inagawa-kai bearer bonds waited to be claimed.
The sailor, Okura, claimed the bonds were in a briefcase in the infirmary. If they weren’t there, they were in the hands of the salvage crew already. Dutch Harbor was a small place. There were only so many ways to leave it. Sato was confident he and his colleagues could recover the briefcase. The more pressing concern was that of stealth: How to retrieve the bonds and escape this barren rock without being noticed?
Sato did not want to have to resort to violence. Violence would attract undue attention, but these situations invariably required a strong hand, and Sato was not averse. His job was to recover his employer’s stolen property. There would be no credit given for mercy.
The Lion sat alone in the middle of the bay, visible to all in the tiny town. For all Sato knew, there may still have been men aboard her, Coast Guard men, or salvage men, or shipping company men. But even if the ship were unoccupied, it would be foolish to attempt to gain access during daylight. No matter how stealthy, no one could cross a mile of open water in daytime without being seen.
But it would be dark soon enough. And there was work to be done. From his pocket, Sato produced a satellite phone, and used it to place a call to his colleagues at the Grand Aleutian Hotel.
“We move tonight,” he told the man who answered. “Send one man to the pier to keep watch over the salvage crew. Tell him to report immediately if he sees the stainless-steel briefcase.”
“I’ll send Masao,” his colleague replied. “And what of the rest of us?”
Sato started his engine. “You’ll meet me outside the hotel,” he said, shifting into reverse. “Five minutes. We’ll need to locate some adequate firepower.”
86
McKenna and Ridley delivered Matsuda and the rest of the shipping company executives from the Pacific Lion back to shore. One of Matsuda’s companions, an accountant named Hayata, copied Gale Force Marine’s banking information on the short ride across the harbor. He entered it into a laptop equipped with a satellite transmitter, pressed a few buttons, and then nodded to Matsuda.
“You can call your banker,” Matsuda told McKenna. “You should receive payment within thirty minutes.”
McKenna thanked him, shook his hand again. Shook Hayata’s hand, too, and the rest of the executives’. Ferried them to the pier and helped them off of the tug, wished them all a happy goodbye and a safe return to Japan. Then she called the crew into the wheelhouse.
They gathered, Matt and Stacey, Ridley and the Parents, and Court Harrington.
“The Japanese Overseas men have surveyed the ship,” she told them. “And they’ve accepted delivery. Our job is officially finished.”
The crew cheered. Hugged. High-fived. McKenna shook hands with Al and Jason Parent, hugged Matt and Stacey and Ridley. Hugged Court Harrington, too.
“Ain’t finished until we get paid, though,” Ridley said. “I told Carly we’d redo the kitchen, soon as I finished up here. She wants granite countertops, skipper. Help me out.”
McKenna grinned at him. “You can tell Carly to go ahead and start working,” she said. “Though she might want to look into marble counters, instead. The really expensive stuff.”
She addressed the crew again. “The shipping company figures the Lion’s value at somewhere north of a hundred and fifty million dollars. Based on the contract we signed, which gives us twenty percent of that figure, Mr. Matsuda and his team have offered to make a good faith payment to the Gale Force up front, with the outstanding balance to be worked out once we’ve all had a chance to run the numbers.”
“Okay,” Harrington said. “So what’s the payout?”
“Twenty,” McKenna replied.
A pause. “Twenty what?” Stacey said.
“Twenty million. The money’s in transit as we speak.”
The crew stared at her. Said nothing. McKenna knew they were running the math, calculating their own payouts. Ridley was the first to break the silence.
“Well, thundering Jonas,” he said. “Forget the kitchen. I’ll buy Carly a new house.”
Stacey nudged Matt. “What do you think, honey?” she asked. “Want to take me to Antarctica? Hang out with some penguins?”
“Might need a different plane,” Matt said, kissing her. “But I’m game if you are.”
All eyes turned to Al and Jason Parent. Al shrugged. “Think I’ll finish up that old Mustang in my garage. Finally get her up and running again.”
“What about you, Jay?” McKenna asked.
Jason blushed a little bit, looked down. “Probably put most of my share into Ben’s college fund. Make sure he’s set up really well for the future.”
He paused. The rest of the crew waited. Finally, Jason looked up, and there was a shy smile on his face, too. “And maybe I’ll get a new truck,” he said.
“Sure you will.” Nelson slapped him on the back. “A really big truck, my friend. This calls for a celebration!”
“Heck yeah, it does,” McKenna said. “Find us a decent restaurant, and the best-looking bar on the island. Dinner’s on me tonight, gang.”
* * *
• • •
LAUGHING AND JOSTLING, the crew disappeared belowdecks to their staterooms to dig out their fancy Sunday-go-meeting clothes and prepare for dinner. Work was over. Time to relax, to eat a steak and drink a beer, to shower and sleep and feel like a human being again.
/> Court Harrington hung back. He’d been quiet all day, kind of withdrawn, and McKenna felt the first tendrils of worry as she watched him. She’d come pretty damn close to opening up to him the other night, showed him more of herself than she liked, and she caught herself wondering what he was thinking about, if he’d seen what she’d showed him and was judging her for it.
Don’t be so self-absorbed. The job’s over, and the guy’s probably still in pain from that fall. He’s wondering how soon is too soon to book a flight out of here.
“I’ll get you on the next plane,” McKenna said, figuring to cut him off at the pass. “Find you a specialist wherever you want to go, everything on me.”
Harrington blinked. “A specialist?” he said. “No, I—”
“If it’s about the money, we still do it like my dad did,” McKenna told him. “Divvy it up, like on a fishing boat. The tugboat, the Gale Force, Gale Force Marine, whatever you want to call it, the company takes half. As the skipper, I take a double share of the rest. Crew gets a full share.”
“I don’t care about the money,” Harrington said. “Whatever you think is fair.”
“Eight shares total, including my two. Means your share—every share—is worth—”
“One point two five million dollars,” Harrington finished.
“That’s right. It’s not World Series of Poker money, but I hope it’s a decent consolation.”
“One million–plus is top nine, easy. And in case you forgot, I busted out of that tournament.”
“That’s the game,” McKenna said. “Here, just like Vegas. You bust out, you get nothing—and we bust out plenty. You win, you take your cut of the spoils.”
Harrington didn’t say anything.
“You’ll have to give me your bank information,” McKenna said, for nothing else than to keep the conversation going. “I’ll get the money to you as quick as I can, obviously.”
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