“It contains important documents that were stolen from my employer. It’s imperative that I recover them.”
“Huh.” Harrington clasped his hands together. Looked down at the floor for a beat. When he looked up again, he was smiling. “Well, I hate to disappoint you, man, but you came a long way for nothing. I don’t have your briefcase.”
“Where is it?”
Harrington shrugged.
Inwardly, Tanaka rolled his eyes. Could nothing ever be easy? He raised the pistol, took aim at the American’s forehead.
“Your name is Court Harrington,” he said. “Your parents, David and Ashley Harrington, live in Sylva, North Carolina. Shall I recite their address for you?”
Harrington said nothing.
Tanaka kept the pistol aimed square. “Perhaps you are willing to die to protect a briefcase. Are you willing to kill your parents also?”
The American’s smile was gone now. He exhaled a long slow breath and looked down at the floor again.
“I’m afraid I have some more bad news for you, bud,” he said at last. “I don’t have your briefcase. I left it behind.”
“It’s not on the Pacific Lion. We know this for a fact. Try again.”
“Did I say it was on the Lion?” Harrington shook his head. “It’s on the tug, smart guy. Way out there in the middle of the Pacific Ocean.”
Tanaka nodded. “Good.” Kept the pistol trained, and with his free hand, produced a cellular telephone. Pressed the call button, and waited.
“Hai,” came the response.
“On the tugboat,” Tanaka said in Japanese. “I believe the American is telling me the truth.”
He ended the call.
“Who was that?” Harrington asked. “Who did you call?”
“My employer,” Tanaka replied. “I was pleased to inform him that you had offered us a good lead.”
“Oh.” Harrington relaxed a little bit. “So, great, what happens now? I guess you can go, huh? Let me grab a little dinner?”
Soon as this guy gets out of my hair, he thought, I’ll call McKenna and tell her to watch her six.
But Tanaka smirked. “Not yet,” he said, and he dragged a chair from a desk along the wall and sat, facing the American. “First, we wait to know if you’ve been truthful with us.”
95
Katsuo Nakadate replaced his handset and studied his computer screen with satisfaction. Masao Tanaka’s information had come at a fortunate time.
Nakadate had discovered, purely by accident, that he could follow the path of the Gale Force across the North Pacific simply by typing the name of the tugboat into an Internet search browser. The tug transmitted a GPS signal that was monitored and rebroadcast by a number of marine traffic websites, all of them dedicated to tracking the progress of ships across the sea.
If the Pacific Lion had been making a routine voyage, Nakadate surmised that he could have followed her path just as easily. The Internet site featured maps that were filled with hundreds of cursors, like an air traffic controller’s screen, each cursor representing a cargo ship, a tug, or a large fishing vessel.
Right now, Nakadate could see that the Gale Force had crossed the Gulf of Alaska to the Haida Gwaii archipelago, and turned in a southwesterly direction to follow the coast of the Canadian Vancouver Island toward Seattle.
The western length of Vancouver Island, Nakadate had learned, was remote and rugged, and mostly uninhabited. But there were settlements, mostly toward the southern end, fishing villages and tourist towns. They would have to do.
Nakadate picked up the phone. Called Daishin Sato on his satellite phone. Sato answered, apologized for the poor reception, and Nakadate could hear the man’s breathing as he ventured, presumably, somewhere better.
Then Nakadate could hear the wind, and perhaps the ocean. Whatever it was, Sato’s voice came through much clearer. “We are ready.”
“The briefcase is aboard the tug,” Nakadate told him. “You will retrieve it under cover of darkness. Take whatever steps necessary to maintain secrecy. Then you will retreat to Vancouver Island, a town named Tofino. I will arrange for your retrieval there.”
“As you wish,” Sato replied. Nakadate ended the call. Checked on the progress of the Gale Force again. Then he brought up the tugboat company’s website. It was a minor site, plain and amateurish. A picture of the tug, and a picture of the captain—a woman named McKenna Rhodes. Nakadate studied the pictures. The tug was handsome and well-kept, her owner surprisingly young for such a position. Her eyes were clear, though, and her gaze direct. She didn’t look like someone who would brook Sato’s ambush without a fight.
So be it, Nakadate thought. If she is lucky, she won’t even notice Sato’s presence aboard her tug. But I will have my property returned, one way or the other.
He clicked off of the Gale Force Marine website. Brought up the GPS map again. The Gale Force inched across the ocean, little by little, beating her steady path down the Canadian coast.
96
The weather began to turn again as the Gale Force reached the top of Vancouver Island. The wind picked up to about fifteen knots, and the swell built to six feet. The tug led the Pacific Lion down the west side of the island, dodging the treacherous Brooks Peninsula, which jutted out ten miles from shore like a hitchhiker’s thumb, a nest of hairy weather and unpredictable seas.
By the time the tug and tow reached Estevan Point, just north of the little surfing town of Tofino, the radio was broadcasting a wind warning and a small-craft advisory, and McKenna was checking the barometer and hardly daring to sleep. The Gale Force could handle a little rough weather out in the open ocean, but tomorrow would see the tug enter the Strait of Juan de Fuca, that narrow, busy channel to Vancouver and Seattle, and she hoped the weather would cooperate for that tricky stretch.
Right now, there was nothing to do but wait and watch and worry, though at least it took her mind off of the briefcase. McKenna caught a few hours of sleep around Estevan Point, woke up and relieved Al Parent at the wheel as night fell, and the tug and tow approached Tofino. Their course kept them offshore by about twenty miles, the rocky Vancouver Island invisible off the portside, but McKenna looked out at the heavy rolling swell scudding in toward land, and imagined the surfers on Tofino’s Long Beach would have a field day in the morning.
Nelson Ridley was in the wheelhouse with McKenna when the radio squawked. Just brief, mostly static, probably a stray pickup from somewhere long-range.
But then it happened again. And this time, both McKenna and Ridley could hear Stacey Jonas’s voice, clear, and clearly panicked.
“There’s someone on the freighter, McKenna. We’re under attack! They—”
Stacey’s words were drowned out by something in the background that sounded a heck of a lot like gunshots. Then there was static, and then silence.
* * *
• • •
IF CIRCUMSTANCES HAD BROKEN just a little differently, Stacey Jonas wouldn’t have survived long enough to make that panicked call.
It had happened so fast. She’d set out for a walk, a little fresh air before bed, knew the weather was turning and it might be her last chance, the rest of the trip probably booked solid keeping watch on the bilge water and ballast tanks, looking for flooding. Matt was in the officers’ lounge, lazing about, reading another one of Al Parent’s paperback romances. He’d yawned, waved her off, said it looked cold out, and she’d called him a baby and bundled up tight.
The wind was blowing hard, and the swell had picked up, but the air was refreshing anyway, and Stacey turned up her iPod and jogged in place a bit, got the blood pumping, was thinking about sprinting down to the exhaust funnel and back—and then she saw them.
Men, three of them, by the aft portside lifeboat. They were dressed in black and fiddling with the davits, almost blending into the shadows around them. Stacey watched, froze
n in place a hundred feet away, couldn’t quite believe what she was seeing.
Where did they come from?
What are they doing here?
And, scariest of all: Have they been here the whole time?
And then it didn’t matter, none of it did, because one of the men had looked up and seen her, said something to his friends. And then one of those friends pulled out a gun.
* * *
• • •
NELSON RIDLEY WAS FIRST to spot the blip on the radar screen. McKenna was at the radio, trying to raise Stacey again, heart pounding, when Ridley called her over.
“C’mere, skipper,” the engineer said. “I think you want to have a look at this.”
McKenna joined him at the dash. Studied the radar screen. Then looked back through the aft windows at the lights of the Pacific Lion, fifty yards behind.
“Okay,” she said. “What the heck are we seeing?”
The Gale Force’s radar had a minor blind spot directly aft. It wasn’t configured to pick up small, fast-moving objects, particularly in heavy seas. If McKenna hadn’t known what to look for, she never would have seen it.
But it was there, an intermittent blip on the screen. It was tiny, moving distinctly from the Lion on the freighter’s portside. Moving faster, too, closing the distance between the freighter and the Gale Force.
“Whatever it is, it’s coming in hot,” Ridley said. “I’m going to try Stacey again.”
McKenna took her field glasses to the aft windows. Searched the gloom behind the tug’s stern as Ridley tried Stacey, got only static. McKenna kept looking. Couldn’t see a thing but the Lion and the black, empty ocean.
“Nelson, raise the Coast Guard,” she said. “I think we’re going to need some help out here, fast.”
97
Sato expected the salvage crew would know he was coming. He hoped that it wouldn’t matter.
Fuchida had seen the woman first. She’d picked an inopportune time for a walk, and it had nearly cost her her life. Would have, if Tsunoda was a better shot with his pistol.
The first shot had missed badly, and the woman didn’t make the mistake of waiting around for another. She’d turned and ran, sprinted for the first door and hurled herself inside the freighter.
“Find her,” Sato told the others. “Now. Her partner, too.”
But the woman was fast. She’d disappeared down the hall before Fuchida and Tsunoda could catch up, and though they’d followed her heavy breathing resonating down the steel corridor, they hadn’t been quick enough.
She’d gathered her companion. Locked themselves in a stateroom, a heavy bulkhead door. Fuchida had opened fire, nearly killed himself, and Sato and Tsunoda as well. Did no harm to the door whatsoever. And inside, through the steel, Sato could hear the woman’s muffled voice as she called her own colleagues for help.
So be it. We are armed. We will retrieve the briefcase.
“Leave them,” Sato told the others. “They aren’t of any consequence now.”
* * *
• • •
RIDLEY HAD THE Canadian Coast Guard on the radio. “Coast Guard, this is the tug Gale Force. We are currently transiting Canadian waters with tow, seventeen nautical miles off Long Beach. We, ah, have reason to believe that we are under attack.”
Ridley caught her eye, shot her a grim look. McKenna read it immediately. Unlike their American counterparts, the Canadian Coast Guard wasn’t considered a part of the military. The organization focused on search and rescue and environmental enforcement, not coastal defense, and its cutters weren’t equipped with deck guns or any other heavy weaponry.
The radio crackled back. “Gale Force, this is Tofino Traffic,” the operator said. “We have the lifeboat Cape Ann in your vicinity. Can you confirm the details of your situation?”
“I said we’re under attack, Tofino,” Ridley said. “You got any guns on that lifeboat?”
The operator paused. “Gale Force, I can’t broadcast that information on this channel. Do you have reason to believe the attackers are armed?”
“We heard gunshots,” Ridley said. “Look, we’re fearing for our lives here, Tofino. Do you have any way to protect us?”
Footsteps on the stairs. McKenna looked back, saw Al and Jason come up, brows furrowed, questions on their faces. On the radar, the blip continued to close distance. It looked small enough to be hampered somewhat by the heavy swell, but not nearly enough. They were coming, McKenna knew. That swell wouldn’t stall them for long.
The Coast Guard operator came back. “Gale Force, I’ve passed your information on to the Royal Canadian Navy. They have the coastal defense vessel HMCS Nanaimo outbound in the Juan de Fuca Strait. Estimate arrival on scene in approximately six hours.”
McKenna crossed the wheelhouse, took the radio from Ridley. “Tofino, Gale Force. Six hours doesn’t do us a lick of good out here.”
“I have an RCAF Sea King helicopter ready to fly from the 443 Maritime Helicopter Squadron in Victoria as well, Captain,” the operator said. “Again, they estimate two hours to get to your location.”
“Two hours. And what do you suggest we do until then?”
Another pause. “Gale Force, we recommend you, ah, initiate antipiracy measures and do what you can to keep them off of your ship. However you can protect your crew, Captain, we suggest you do it.”
McKenna looked at Ridley again. Ridley rolled his eyes. For the short term, anyway, the Gale Force was alone in the water.
“Antipiracy measures,” Al Parent said. “Do we have any of those?”
“We have firefighting equipment,” McKenna replied. “Water cannons, fore and aft. I want Jason on the forward cannon, Al on the aft. Try and blast them as best you can if they try to board us.”
“That’s it?” Jason said. “We’re going to spray them with water?”
“They’re here for the briefcase,” McKenna said. “If we give it back to them, they’ll leave us alone.”
“And if they don’t?”
McKenna looked at him. At the rest of her crew. “If that doesn’t stop them?” She crossed the wheelhouse to a locker on the starboard side, secured with a combination lock. Spun the dial, opened the locker. Pulled out a Remington pump-action shotgun.
“If that doesn’t stop them,” she said, “we use this. But let’s pray it doesn’t come to that.”
She looked around at her crew. The crew stared back, their eyes wide. Ridley met her gaze, frowning, and McKenna knew what he was thinking.
One shotgun and two water cannons. It was hardly an arsenal.
98
Sato stood in the cockpit of the lifeboat, listening to the little engine whine as it closed the distance between his men and the target.
The master of the tug had turned on her spotlights, and they crisscrossed the water, searching the dark. The tug was quite large up close, its red-and-white superstructure rising tall and proud over its rugged black hull. The tug was still plowing through the water as though nothing at all was the matter, as though they hadn’t noticed the lifeboat’s approach.
But Sato knew that wasn’t true. He’d heard the woman on the freighter calling for help, had monitored the captain of the Gale Force talking to the Coast Guard on the lifeboat’s radio. He knew the Coast Guard had informed the military, and that the quickest response was still two hours away.
In two hours, Sato thought, we’ll have made landfall. And we will have that briefcase with us.
All the same, they would have to work quickly. There would be no time for creativity, just simple brute force. The captain would produce the briefcase. Sato would ensure it. It was only a matter of time.
The heavy ocean was slowing the lifeboat’s progress. The engine punched and struggled, and the little boat climbed up and crashed down on the large waves. The tugboat ground on ahead. Sato could see action in the wh
eelhouse, two figures silhouetted in the windows. A third man appeared on the afterdeck, fiddling with something that looked like a deck gun. Sato stared at the man. For a moment, he even felt concerned. Then the deck gun began to spout water.
A firefighting tool. A giant water gun. The crew of the tug intended to use it for defense.
The tug’s spotlights crossed the water. Landed on the lifeboat, momentarily blinding Sato. He ducked away, called ahead to Fuchida, who stood at the lifeboat’s bow door with a rifle. “Send them our regards.”
Fuchida shouldered his rifle, took aim. Fired three shots across the water, sending the man at the water gun down to the deck.
There, Sato thought. What do you think about that?
* * *
• • •
“DOWN!”
McKenna and Ridley hit the floor as the attackers opened fire. Bullets struck the wheelhouse walls, a hail of sparks along the tug’s superstructure.
At the after water cannon, Al Parent fell. McKenna staggered to her feet, half crawled to the starboard door, away from the attackers in their little lifeboat. Opened the door and looked out onto the deck, expecting to see her first mate cut to pieces. “Al!”
But Al wasn’t dead. He’d ducked behind his cannon, hiding for his life. “Get the hell off that deck,” McKenna told him. “Get in here, now.”
Al pushed himself to his feet and made a dash for the doorway just as the attackers fired again. More sparks, everywhere. The tug plunged and rolled in the swell, and Al slipped, lost his balance. Picked himself up as the bullets whizzed past.
McKenna leaned out the doorway, grabbed the first mate, and pulled with all of her strength until the man was safe inside. Then she hurried to the forward starboard window and called down to Jason Parent on the bow.
Gale Force Page 28