“Get your ass inside,” she hollered. “Never mind the cannon!”
Jason peered around the portside of the tug. Ducked back again quickly as more shots sounded out. He hurried around the starboard side of the tug and into the house.
“Take Al and Jason and lock yourselves in the engine room,” McKenna told Ridley. “Stay there and don’t move until I come and get you, okay?”
Ridley’s brow furrowed. “What are you going to do?”
McKenna checked the autopilot. Checked back at the attackers, now about fifteen yards out, and closing. A lifeboat. They’d taken a damn lifeboat. But where the hell had they come from in the first place?
“I’m going to give them what they came for,” McKenna said, reaching for the radio. “Now take the others and lock this tug down.”
* * *
• • •
SATO WATCHED AS THE TUG’S crew scrambled to hide from Fuchida and Tsunoda’s barrage of fire. The lifeboat pushed through the waves, approached the tug’s stern. Five minutes, maybe less, and Sato and his colleagues would be able to board.
The people in the tug’s wheelhouse disappeared. Sato could only see one of them left. He wondered what the rest of the crew was doing. Hiding, probably.
Then the radio came to life.
“We have what you came for.” A woman’s voice, the captain. “If you’d stop shooting at us, I could hand it over.”
Fuchida and Tsunoda looked back at Sato. He lifted a hand. Cease fire. Then he picked up the radio. “Show me.”
A pause. Then: “Yeah, okay. Just give me a second.”
99
McKenna edged out onto the Gale Force’s afterdeck, keeping the tug’s big winch between her body and the attackers’ guns, holding the briefcase aloft so they could see it.
“This is what you want, right?” she yelled, though she knew they couldn’t hear her over the roar of the engines, hers and their own.
She peered around the winch. Saw the lifeboat lit bright as day in the Gale Force’s spotlight, ten yards off the port quarter. The little boat wallowed in the swell, one man on the bow, and one perched above the stern, both armed with rifles. They’d stopped shooting, anyway. That was a plus.
I should have done this earlier, McKenna thought. As soon as I saw them, I should have hailed them on the radio and told them come get what they wanted. Hell, I should have passed this thing on to the Coast Guard as soon as Court called. Whatever it is, it’s not worth dying over.
The lifeboat approached the tug. McKenna looked out from around the winch, waved the briefcase over her head.
“Just take it,” she called out. “Take this damn briefcase and leave us alone!”
The men on the lifeboat lowered their rifles. Whoever was inside driving the thing motored the boat past the Gale Force’s stern and up the portside of the tug. It rolled in the swell, but the men on board kept their weapons gripped tight as they watched McKenna.
That’s some serious firepower, she thought. We wouldn’t stand a chance if they boarded us.
She edged out from the winch. Picked her way across the deck to the port gunwale, careful to stay as hidden as possible, holding the briefcase in front of her like a shield. It wouldn’t stop the bullets, she knew, but it might give the shooters pause if they were planning to kill her.
The lifeboat idled, fifteen feet off the Gale Force’s starboard side. The men watched McKenna approach. McKenna held out the briefcase.
“Take it,” she called out again. “It’s all yours.”
She began to step out to the gunwale, ready to beckon the driver of the lifeboat closer so she could heave the thing over. The gunman on the stern leaned into the lifeboat’s cabin, said something to the driver, and the little boat turned and motored down the top of a wave toward McKenna.
Okay, she thought. Nice and easy. Throw them the briefcase, and then duck for your life.
She knew as soon as she threw the briefcase, she was fair game for the men. She thought about dying. Thought about her father.
Might see you sooner than either of us planned, Daddy.
Then something exploded from somewhere above McKenna’s head. Instantly, there was a hole in the lifeboat’s bow. The shooters ducked for cover, disappeared inside the orange canopy. McKenna heard a noise from above, a familiar chu-chunk from the wheelhouse door. Looked up and saw Ridley with the pump-action Remington, swinging the barrel around to the lifeboat’s stern.
Ridley fired again. One of the lifeboat’s plastic windows disappeared, along with the back of its canopy. The lifeboat shuddered and wallowed. The shooters stayed down. Ridley pumped another shell, fired at the bow again. Made another hole.
McKenna could only watch. What the hell are you thinking, Nelson? That shotgun only holds five rounds. What are you planning for when the ammo runs out?
Ridley fired his fourth shell at the lifeboat, amidships. Shot spattered the hull, pitting it with holes. One more shell.
The shooters were regrouping now. McKenna could see the barrels of their rifles poking out from the lifeboat’s mangled canopy. Ridley pumped the shotgun one more time.
“The brake,” he called down to McKenna. “Release the brake, skipper.”
McKenna blinked. Didn’t get it right away. Ridley caught her eye through the stairway’s metal grating.
“The winch brake,” he shouted. “Let her go.”
The shooters let off a rapid barrage of shots from the lifeboat. Ridley ducked down as sparks exploded around him. Stood up again and fired his last shell at the smaller boat. This one put another hole in the bow.
Ridley ducked into the wheelhouse and slammed the door. Bullets spattered the superstructure around him. The lifeboat’s engine whined loud, working hard. The attackers would close the distance in no time, climb aboard the tug and kill them all.
McKenna hurried to the winch. Looked up to the wheelhouse and saw Ridley at the aft controls, yelling something through the window. She reached the winch, heard bullets all around her. Felt them fly past. Found the manual brake on the winch, pulled it out of its chock. Instantly, she heard the tug’s engine roar.
The Gale Force bolted like a spooked horse. The winch paid out towline, no longer restrained. The thick wire spooled out, fast as a train, as the tug’s twin propellers churned white water at her stern.
The lifeboat kept pace. The bullets kept coming. From behind the winch, McKenna saw the driver aim his ailing vessel at the tug’s stern. But the lifeboat was hurt. It was underpowered already, and Ridley had blasted a couple big holes in her bow. Every time a wave hit, the boat took on more water, sagged lower.
Ridley had the tug’s engines revved to the limit. Now the lifeboat dropped back. The driver sold out for the Gale Force’s stern, one last-ditch Hail Mary. One of his shooters climbed to the bow. Readied himself, crouched, leaped at the tug. Seemed to hang in the air a long moment, then fell into white water. The lifeboat wallowed in the Gale Force’s wake. The shooting stopped.
McKenna watched the little boat settle in the water. It was listing to starboard now, thanks to Ridley’s new holes, and it was sinking fast. The shooters had clambered atop the lifeboat’s ruined canopy, the highest, driest point, the tug and the briefcase forgotten.
Inside the wheelhouse, Ridley powered down the engines a little. Took them off redline. It didn’t matter now, McKenna knew. The lifeboat was a goner. The Gale Force was safe.
McKenna heard a noise above her head. Looked up to see Ridley step out of the wheelhouse door, survey the damage on the wheelhouse wall, pockmarks and bullet holes. Nothing a little spackle and some paint wouldn’t fix.
“You want to tell me what that was all about, Nelson?” McKenna asked, her heart still racing.
Ridley didn’t answer. Tracked the spotlight back to follow the lifeboat, its bow submerged by now.
“I had this
thing resolved,” McKenna continued. “They put their guns down. I could have thrown them the briefcase and resolved this thing peacefully.”
Ridley studied the lifeboat some more. McKenna watched him. He came down the stairs without ever taking his eyes off the attackers.
“You do what you want with that briefcase,” Ridley said. “You can turn it in to the police, throw it overboard, hell, turn this tug around and drop it in the water next to those assholes. I don’t care.”
He looked at McKenna, and his eyes were hard. “I told your dad I’d keep watch over you, lass, if he ever couldn’t do it himself. And as long as I’m your engineer, no one, but no one is going to bully this boat around.”
McKenna studied his face. Realized she appreciated Ridley’s resolve, though she would never admit it.
“I guess we should go back and rescue those guys,” she said.
Ridley followed her gaze. Narrowed his eyes. “Nah,” he said. “Coast Guard’s on its way. That little dinghy they’re riding won’t fully sink for a little while yet. We’ll keep the spotlight on them, let them stew in their bad decisions for a bit.”
McKenna looked at the lifeboat. The bow was underwater, most of the passenger compartment flooded. The three shooters clung to the stern, to the ruined canopy, as the wreck bobbed in the swell. Far behind, the Lion followed the Gale Force, but it would slow before it reached the shooters, McKenna could see, drift away from them.
In the distance, she spied lights on the horizon. The Canadian Coast Guard lifeboat, closing fast. The shooters wouldn’t drown in the water, but their bad night wasn’t over just yet.
“Fine,” she said, straightening. “Let the Coast Guard haul them in. Get the Parents out of the engine room. Let’s clean up this tow and get a move on.”
100
Nakadate stared at his computer in disbelief.
A Google News alert: MORE DRAMA ON THE PACIFIC LION. Three Japanese nationals rescued from a sinking lifeboat. Firearms recovered in the wreck. Reports of an audacious attack on the Pacific Lion and her tugboat escort, the Gale Force, the same tug that had rescued the ship after her near-capsize in the North Pacific three weeks ago.
The three attackers were safe, Nakadate read, but were in Canadian custody. The Pacific Lion, meanwhile, would continue her voyage to Seattle—though from now on, with a military escort.
Nakadate read the article over again. Sato and his colleagues had failed. The Lion continued. There was nothing about a briefcase. No mention of his stolen property.
Perhaps there was no need. The scope of Sato’s failure was so vast that Nakadate could be sure the briefcase remained in the salvage crew’s possession. That was a problem, but it was not yet a disaster.
He picked up the phone. Placed a call to Masao Tanaka. The crew of the Gale Force retained the stolen bonds. Nakadate wondered how eager they would be to trade.
* * *
• • •
“THERE IS ONE THING I’ve been wondering,” Stacey Jonas told McKenna over the radio. She and her husband had emerged from their hiding place, called over to the Gale Force to check in on the crew. She and Matt were scared half to death, but otherwise they were fine.
“What’s that?” McKenna asked, watching the lights of the Lion inch closer to the stern of her tug, the winch drawing the big freighter back close again. Beyond the Lion’s stern, the Canadian Coast Guard lifeboat had rescued the three shooters; above, a big Royal Canadian Air Force helicopter stood guard.
“It was like they knew something,” Stacey said. “Like, why would they even move on the Gale Force at all?”
“Maybe they talked to the sailor,” McKenna said. “The Coast Guard brought him to Dutch Harbor. Best I can tell, that’s where these three got on.”
“Yeah, maybe,” Stacey said. “That would put them on the ship, for sure. But there’s no way they could have checked out the whole freighter since we left Dutch, is there? I mean, they didn’t even bother to ask me and Matt if we knew anything.”
McKenna said nothing. Thought back to Dutch Harbor. Thought she might remember, vaguely, a man on the dock, a pickup truck. A man at the airport, Court’s flight.
Probably nothing. Just paranoia.
“Those guys were on a mission, McKenna,” Stacey continued. “They knew where to look. How do you figure they got that information?”
Damn it. McKenna stared out the window, the near-black night, the ocean.
“I’ll get back to you,” she told Stacey. “I’d better make a call.”
101
Court Harrington still hadn’t eaten his steak.
Oh, the nice Japanese man with the silencer on his pistol had allowed Harrington to order room service, sure; the men had to eat while they waited, after all. And they’d been waiting a long time already.
But there was something just wrong about eating a steak at gunpoint. How could a guy fully enjoy the meal, knowing some lunatic was one ill-timed sneeze from blowing your head off?
So he’d ordered hamburgers, chicken fingers. A turkey club sandwich. Soda, instead of beer, because damn it, he wanted to save that first ice-cold Budweiser for the celebration. And this, whatever it was, was far from a celebration.
They’d sat here all day and night and through the day again, Tanaka and Harrington. Tanaka didn’t sleep, best as Harrington could tell. He went to the john, sure, but he kept the door open—and he made sure that Harrington remembered that he knew his parents’ address every time he had to go.
Harrington was bored. He was worried. He wondered how much longer this would take, how it would end.
He hoped McKenna Rhodes was all right.
If she’s hurt, it’s on you, you asshole, he thought. One hundred percent, you screwed up. The thought kept Harrington awake through the night.
But he’d turned the TV on a few hours ago. Kept the volume low, just background noise, something to distract him while he waited. Didn’t even care what program, what channel, just wanted something to take his focus away.
Now, the news was playing. And Harrington heard something that made him reach for the remote.
“Another twist in the saga of the Pacific Lion,” the anchor was saying. “The freighter that nearly sank three weeks ago in Alaska was involved in another high-drama, high-seas event, this time a foiled act of piracy.”
Foiled. Does that mean they’re okay?
Now Tanaka’s phone was ringing. The man stirred in his chair, removed the phone from his jacket with his free hand, brought it to his ear. Waved at the TV, at Harrington, Turn the volume down.
Harrington didn’t. Tanaka stopped waving. Pointed the gun at his forehead. Harrington reached for the remote. And then the room phone began to ring, too.
Tanaka turned away a split second, distracted. Accepted the call on his phone, brought his gun hand to his ear to block out the noise. And Harrington decided he’d had enough waiting around, figured he was about ready to eat that steak.
He leaped at Tanaka and knocked the man to the floor.
102
The hit man went down easy. Crashed to the carpet, Harrington on top of him. Had a moment while falling to choose what to hold, chose the phone. Chose wrong. His pistol flew sideways, landed under the couch.
A struggle ensued. Harrington pushed off of Tanaka. Dove for the couch, didn’t quite get there, felt the smaller man clawing at him. Prayed the guy didn’t have another gun hidden somewhere, kicked like swimming lessons until the guy let him free.
The hotel phone was still ringing. The TV was blaring. Harrington hardly heard it, leaped again for the gun.
This time, he got hold of it. Rolled on his back and aimed it at Tanaka, who’d climbed to his feet and was coming for Harrington. The hit man stopped when he saw the gun. Smiled a little bit.
The bastard was still holding the phone.
“Back,” Harrington tol
d him, pushing off of his back and to a standing position. “Back way up, buddy.”
Tanaka did as instructed. Stood there, waiting. The hotel phone was still ringing, and then it stopped. The TV was still on. Harrington had a pistol, and he had no idea what he was supposed to do next.
He had an idea.
“Give me your phone,” he told Tanaka. “Toss it to me. Don’t move.”
Tanaka obeyed. Tossed the phone softly to Harrington, who managed to catch it, though not at all gracefully. Harrington kept the pistol trained at Tanaka, as he’d seen Tanaka do all night. With his other hand, he brought the phone to his ear.
“I’m going to make a few assumptions,” he told whoever was on the other end of the line. “I’m going to assume you’re involved in this scheme Mr. Tanaka is running, first off.”
Silence.
“Second, I’m going to assume that you’re calling because you just saw the same news story we did, and now you know your buddies were, you know, foiled in their little act of piracy.”
Silence, still.
“And I guess I’m going to assume you were calling to tell Tanaka what to do with me, because you still don’t have what you’re looking for.”
More silence. Harrington was out of assumptions. Fortunately, he didn’t need any more.
“Suppose you’re correct,” came the reply. The man on the other end of the line sounded measured, composed. He wasn’t nearly as riled up about this whole escapade as Harrington. “What is it you’d like to tell me?”
“What I’d like to tell you?” Harrington went to scratch his forehead, remembered he was holding a gun. Nixed that idea. “I’m telling you, I’m in charge. I got your buddy’s phone, and I got his weapon, too. So that means, whatever you were planning to do with me, you can’t. Understand?”
Gale Force Page 29
