He looked up and nodded at Smith. The last of Fangs men, who had remained behind when they came through the fence, materialized out of the gloom behind the second guard. Steel flashed, dark fluid spewed across the snow, the guard fell heavily. Almost before he hit the ground Fangs man had recovered and pocketed the payoff.
Before the first guard could give the alarm, Fang was there, his knife sliding easily and expertly through the guards uniform and his ribs, up and straight into the heart, stopping it in midbeat. The guard sucked in a great breath of air, shocked eyes staring into Fangs. He looked down at the knife, at Fangs hand on the hilt, as if he couldnt believe it, and then he, too, fell, the knife sliding free, the blade stained a dark purple in the lights of the yard.
Smith took a quick step forward and shoved Fang back. “What do you think you are doing?
“No witnesses, Fang said without expression.
Jones shoved forward and he and Smith exchanged angry words in whispered Korean. It was obviously about Fangs action, and it was equally obvious that it was uncomplimentary.
“Enough. Fang nodded at one of his men. The Koreans watched as the bodies were arranged to look as if they had been fighting, as the guards sidearms were fired into both their wounds, covering up the knife marks. The gunshots were masked by the roaring and clanking of heavy equipment operating nonstop all around them. In a town this size there wouldnt be a medical examiner or probably even an effective police force. The local cops would believe what was easiest for them to believe.
Smith, coldly furious, said, “If you are quite finished here, please explain to me who now is going to close and lock the doors behind us and reapply the seals?
Fang nodded at the man who had taken out the first guard. “He is.
“And how, then, will he join us?
“He wont. He stays behind. He stays behind, Fang repeated when Smith burst into another flood of Korean. He started toward the nearest container and after a tense moment Smith followed with ten of his men and five of Fangs. Jones and the rest went into the second container.
The door thudded shut behind them and Fang could hear the seals and padlocks clicking back into place. The dark descended like a suffocating blanket. Instantly Fang wanted to be back outside freezing his balls off. More nervous sweat rolled down his spine. He didnt like the dark, and he didnt like small enclosed spaces. He didnt like any of this at all, and the prospect of being stuck here for any length of time was not appealing. He wondered if he could advance the timetable and resolved to take up the topic with Smith at the earliest opportunity.
He wondered if Smith would listen to anything he had to say. He couldnt understand Smiths anger at the killing of the Russians. Anybody would think Smith wanted to get caught.
There was a snick and a light appeared. Smith had a flashlight. They were sandwiched between the doors and the cargo, equipment of some kind swathed in plastic and padding, most of it strapped to pallets. Smith motioned them to follow him as he edged his way between the front pallets and the walls of the container. This was ten times worse than just standing around in the dark. Fangs clothing and equipment caught on every protruding bolt, and several times he was afraid he was going to have to ask for help, but at last they were behind the first row of pallets.
Smith was already unhooking the second layer of strapping and was ripping into the crates stacked there. These crates were identified as being shipped to the Mattel Corporation. Fang examined the label more closely in the dim light cast by the flashlight and saw that the crates were supposed to be full of dolls. Instead they yielded hammocks and sleeping bags, chemical toilets, prepackaged foods, a two-burner camp stove, a set of cook pots, bowls and mugs and spoons, a satellite phone, a whole case of batteries for it, decks of cards, and a mah-jongg game.
The crates and boxes were disassembled and stuffed into the space between the cargo and the container. They attached hooks to the walls of the container and slung the hammocks. At Smiths direction, one of the men unfolded the stove and boiled water for tea and noodles. Fang slurped both down with gratitude, feeling the heat spread into his hands and feet.
Something flapped over his head and he ducked instinctively and looked up. The container had a canvas roof.
He looked at Smith. In a low voice Smith said, “We must be very quiet until we are under way.
Fang was more concerned about the loss of heat. He claimed one of the hammocks closest to the floor, unrolled a sleeping bag and climbed in without removing his boots. As he was pulling the bag to his chin he noticed a spray of blood extending from the back of his hand to the sleeve of his parka. The cold had already made it tacky to the touch, so he didnt have to worry about smearing it all over.
They were made aware of the arrival of morning by the increase in noise outside. Smith gave an order and the men secured everything that wasnt already tied down or tucked behind the cargo straps. A while later the container jolted as a tractor latched on, and the hammocks swung merrily as they moved out of the yard, down the shore road, and rumbled over the wood surface of what was probably a dock.
The sounds of chains jangling were heard, followed by an increase in the pull of gravity when they were hoisted into the air. Men bellowed and somewhere a crane clanked and groaned into action and the container began moving sideways. It stopped, swaying back and forth, and almost immediately began descending. They thudded into something and another voice bellowed. There were answering shouts from the other side of the container walls, and Fang and the rest of the men held themselves quiet and still. More shouting as the container was muscled into position. There was a loud clank as the hoist let go and a series of kachunks, when some kind of fastening kicked in. The voices and the sounds retreated, only to return not much later when the next container was loaded, and the next, and the next.
It continued for six hours. At one in the afternoon the ship shuddered into life, the engines starting with a rumbling roar. The deck vibrated, setting the hammocks to trembling. They got underway an hour later. Five minutes after that the first of Smiths men threw up.
By six that evening they were in the North Pacific, with seas Fang estimated as well as he could from inside the container running at least fifteen feet. The ship was rolling and pitching and corkscrewing, and it sounded like the screw was out of the water as often as it was in it. The ships helmsman wasnt doing much to compensate, either. Fang foresaw an overhaul in the ships engine room in the not too distant future.
By now all of Smiths men were puking, some of them just hanging their heads over the sides of their hammocks and others taking turns kneeling in front of the portable toilet. The miasma of vomit and sour sweat mingled with the smell of diesel exhaust creeping into the container. It was enough to make even Fang nauseous. He pulled his sleeping bag over his nose and thought again of that plump wife in Shanghai, with a sturdy son he could raise to be a real seaman, with his own shipping line bankrolled by his father.
This was going to be his last trip, he realized, and with the decision made, he felt almost lighthearted. One more trip, and home for good.
Fang curled more tightly ships helmsman wasnt doing much to compensate, either. Fang foresaw an overhaul in the ships engine room in the not too distant future.
By now all of Smiths men were puking, some of them just hanging their heads over the sides of their hammocks and others taking turns kneeling in front of the portable toilet. The miasma of vomit and sour sweat mingled with the smell of diesel exhaust creeping into the container. It was enough to make even Fang nauseous. He pulled his sleeping bag over his nose and thought again of that plump wife in Shanghai, with a sturdy son he could raise to be a real seaman, with his own shipping line bankrolled by his father.
This was going to be his last trip, he realized, and with the decision made, he felt almost lighthearted. One more trip, and home for good.
Fang curled more tightly into his sleeping bag and drifted off to the sleep of the righteous.
JANUARY
DUTCH HARBOR
OH BOARD THE USGG CUTTER SOJOURNER TRUTH
UNDER THE SURE HAND of Chief Edelen the Sojourner Truth sidled away from the dock at Dutch Harbor like a hooker caught by a cop in the act of propositioning a John, only with a lot more style. The sky was gray and so was the attitude of most of the crew.
This had not been the Sojourner Truths best port call. Two underage seamen had spent the better part of their first night in port at Tommys Elbow Room and most of their second day and night confined to quarters, although most of that had been spent crouched over toilets in the head. Together they had been the proximate cause of three injuries bad enough for the victims to be taken to the hospital and damages to the Elbow Room and a passing pickup truck in excess of five thousand dollars. It was one seamans first offense and the others second. Ensign Ryan had been the investigating officer. Still smarting from the harangue he had received from the owner of the hotel to which the two seamen had retreated, which harangue repeatedly featured the phrase “fucking Coasties, his report on the incident had been tart and testy. Sara, still smarting from a lengthy conversation with the Dutch Harbor police chief, had signed off on the report without her usual diplomatic toning down of pejorative adjectives and passed it up to the captain.
The captain, still smarting from the two-hour delay in getting away from the dock, was disinclined toward forgiveness. He convened captains mast before they were all the way out of Unalaska Bay in the hangar in front of all the crew not on watch, instead of in the relative privacy of the wardroom. The two seamen departed broken in rank with thirty days restriction, thirty days extra duty, their wages attached to pay for damages incurred, and with substantial portions of their asses missing. The captain vented the rest of his spleen on a pithy indictment of a dozen other crewmen who had had the bad timing to be present at the scene, including Petty Officer Barnette, all of whom he held accountable for not keeping their fellow crewmen from “steering into Stupidland. The crew didnt know who to be more pissed off at for that blanket condemnation, the captain or the offending crew members. PO Barnette, who had made an honest effort to break up the fight, was particularly stung.
It didnt help that the C-130 from Kodiak hadnt made it in with their last shipment of mail, and when they learned that District 17 had tasked them with patrolling the Maritime Boundary Line there was very nearly a mutiny. “Theres nothing going on up there this time of year! PO Barnette said when informed. “Maam, he added, a lot quicker than usual, when Sara glared at him.
To a man and a woman everyone on board hated patrolling the MBL. Basically they were there to show the flag. Most of the time the American side of the line was empty of vessels, all the fishing going on on the other side, in Russian territorial waters, which meant no boarding opportunities except for the occasional marine research vessel.
And it was fresh in everyones memory that even when a foreign flagsay a Russian fishing vesseldid cross the MBL into U.S. territory, and even when a Coast Guard cutteroh, say the Sojourner Truth caught them half a mile the wrong side of the MBL with their nets in U.S. waters and those nets full of U.S. fish, when said fishing vessel hightailed itself back across the line into Russian territory the cutter was held on the U.S. side, fuming, waiting for District to give them permission to cross the line in hot pursuit.
Said permission, if and when it came, was always too late. Such had been the case the previous August, when District made them wait for the Russian Federal Border Service to show up and escort them across, thirty-six hours later. By then the illegal catch had been long since processed into unidentifiable filets packed deep in an endless line of refrigerated freight containers, the location data on the GPS altered or erased, and the taste of hot pursuit was cold ashes in Coastie mouths.
No, patrolling the Maritime Boundary Line was not an ingredient in any recipe for improving shipboard morale. Sara encouraged the training teams to pile on the fire and damage control drills and helo launches in the hope that it would keep the crew too tired to sulk. She and the senior chief had also organized a Trivial Pursuit championship for this leg of the trip, and the officers would be making pizza that Saturday in the galley, an event the crew always enjoyed, but they all knew it would take awhile before the goodwill kicked in.
She wondered how the miscreants were being treated by their fellow crew members below, but not for long and not with very much sympathy. She sat at her desk, brooding over the inevitable stack of reports, crew assignments, supply orders, and District communiques.
She worked where she slept, in the forwardmost stateroom in officer country, a step and a stairway from another set of stairs leading to the comm deck and the captains cabin, which was located directly beneath the bridge. XOs, mercifully, slept alone. She used the upper bunk in her room as a rotating library, but every privilege comes with a price. A stateroom to herself meant that under way there was no getting away from the job. There were two telephones in her stateroom, one of which was Velcroed to the head of her bunk.
As it should be, she told herself. Suck it up, Lange, and stop feeling sorry for yourself.
There was a knock at the door and she looked up. “Sparks? Whats up?
Sparks was the petty officer on duty in communications. He handed her an e-mail and made best speed in the other direction. She read it. “Sparks! Get back here!
He returned, reluctantly. She read it again, letting him wait. She even read it a third time, hoping against hope that the letters would form new words. They didnt. “I am ordering you to tell me that this is a joke.
He looked as apologetic as his naturally mischievous face was capable of. “Its not a joke, XO. I confirmed, and you know how they are, theyve already held a press conference from the bridge of their ship. I e-mailed my wife and had her check CNN. Its already aired. Theyre en route, all right. They may even beat us back to the line.
“Youre fired, Sara said.
“Yes, maam, Sparks said, and added hopefully, “Maybe the Russians will sink em.
“I wish. Thanks, Sparks.
Correctly reading this statement as his dismissal, he returned to his duty station. Sara relieved her feelings with an uncharacteristic burst of profanity that earned an admiring glance from a passing seaman, and called the captain. “Captain, weve just received a heads-up from District. The Greenpeace vessel Sunrise Warrior is en route to the Maritime Boundary Line.
There followed a long silence. “What is their purpose on the MBL? the captain said.
“According to Sparks, whose wife watched the press conference on CNN, they are protesting the overfishing of the North Pacific Ocean, which they say is causing the precipitous drop in the Stellers sea lion population in the Bering Sea, the sea otter population in the Aleutian Islands, and the salmon runs in Bristol Bay.
There was another long silence while they both thought about the last time theyd had dealings with the Sunrise Warrior. Six months before, Greenpeace had been protesting the taking of bowhead whales in the Arctic Ocean by the Inupiat people who lived there. Television footage had been involved, featuring bloodied whale carcasses being winched to shore and one memorable scene when one of the catch was revealed to be female and pregnant. Sara wasnt sure the sight of the dead baby whale rolling out of its dead mothers abdomen had faded from the public consciousness six months later. She knew for a fact that the footage of the Sojourner Truth getting in front of the Sunrise Warrior so the Sunrise Warrior couldnt get in between the whales and the exploding harpoon heads had not. They were still getting indignant letters from whale lovers all over the world.
At last the captain said, “Thanks, XO.
He was right. There wasnt much else to be said. At least this time nothing as belovedor as photogenicas whales was involved. She hoped. “Youre welcome, captain.
She hung up and sat staring at the screen of her computer, trying to summon up enough energy to move.
Truth was, she was tired. This was the Sojourner Truths second patrol in four months, the first one
lasting fifty days and this one scheduled for fifty-one, with barely enough time in port between patrols for a crewman to father a child and then out to sea again. They were short two cutters on the Bering Sea, and the remaining fleet had to pick up the slack.
But she knew that it was as much loneliness and depression as it was fatigue. Her mind started backsliding toward that hotel room in Anchorage three months before. Just the memory made her breath come faster.
There wasnt anything she didnt love about sleeping with Hugh Rincon. Theyd barely waited for the elevator doors to close before they were on each other, and she didnt know now if anyone had been waiting to get on when the doors opened again on his floor or if there had been maids or other hotel staff who had watched them stagger from wall to wall down the hall, see Sara climbing up Hughs body and wrapping her legs around his waist. His tie was twisted around to the side and his shirt was missing two buttons by the time she got her key out, and by then he had his hand up her skirt and she had a very difficult time focusing on the lock.
And then they were inside the room and he had shoved her up against the door and gone down on his knees and his mouth was there and, oh, she couldnt get her legs open far enough, couldnt press his face to her hard enough, couldnt scream loud enough when she came. He got back to his feet and tossed her up into his arms for the three steps to the bed, threw her down, and fell on her before she had a chance to protest. Not that she tried. He didnt bother undressing, just moved his clothes enough out of the way before he was on her and in her, and that was when he stopped, bracing himself on his arms, looking down into her face with fierce eyes. “Sara, he said, his voice a husk of sound. “Sara.
“Move, she said, arching up, clawing frantically at his back, and he laughed, deep and low and triumphant.
He hadnt slept much that night, and hadnt let her sleep, either. He was proving to her how much she had missed him, and she knew it, and she didnt care. He wanted everything she had to give him and he took it without hesitation or apology, tender only when it suited him, rough and urgent when it did not.
Stabenow, Dana - Blindfold Game (v1 Page 10
