“What, you’re not sick of us?” she said as she climbed over the gunwale. “You some kind of glutton for punishment?”
Harrington smiled, sheepish. “Had to make sure you all were okay,” he said. “Those guys you were dealing with, they’re bad news.”
Jason Parent met her eyes. “Court says they followed him to Seattle. Took him hostage.”
McKenna arched an eyebrow in Harrington’s direction, but the architect couldn’t quite return her gaze. He shifted his weight, lifted his shirt slightly, and she saw the butt end of a pistol tucked into his waistband.
“What the hell?” she said. “Harrington, what are you doing with that thing?”
Harrington shrugged. “Let’s just say your last phone call was pretty fortunate timing. I think the guy holding me prisoner was about to use this on me.”
And you didn’t tell me? Damn it, Court.
“Anyway,” Harrington continued, “you guys figure out what’s in that briefcase, or what?”
“Fifty million dollars.” That was Jason Parent again. The deckhand went red, covered his hands with his mouth. “I mean, nothing.”
“Seriously?” Harrington said. “He’s not serious, is he? I figured it was something crazy, but fifty—”
McKenna made to answer. Wanted to strangle Jason. But before she could do either, she caught movement in her peripheral vision, the top of the pier. a big Cadillac SUV pulled up and parked. A man climbed from the driver’s seat, a young, slender Japanese man. He looked down at the crew as he circled to the rear passenger door, seemed to pick Harrington out of the crowd.
“Oh, dang,” Harrington said. “That’s him. That’s the guy from my hotel room!”
The young man opened the rear door of the Cadillac. An older man stepped to the pavement, slight, but handsome, immaculately dressed. He said something to his driver, who closed the door and hung back, glaring down at Harrington from the top of the pier.
The strange man picked his way down the ramp. Crossed the dock toward McKenna and the tug. He walked with confidence. He was smiling, but his smile carried no warmth.
“Captain Rhodes,” the man said, when he’d reached them. “My name is Katsuo Nakadate. I believe you have something of mine.”
107
McKenna led Katsuo Nakadate into the wheelhouse of the Gale Force. So here it is, she thought. One way or another, this saga ends now.
Spike looked up from the dash as McKenna entered the wheelhouse. The cat gave one look at the skipper and her guest, stood straight and jumped down to the carpet, bolted downstairs and out of sight. Nakadate didn’t appear to notice.
They sat at the chart table. Nakadate looked relaxed, comfortable here. Somehow, this set McKenna’s nerves even more on edge.
“You’re here for the contents of that briefcase,” she said.
“Yes,” Nakadate said.
“You sent your men to attack my boat. To kill me and my crew.”
“I sent them to retrieve stolen property,” Nakadate said. “I did not send them to kill you.”
“Regardless, they fired on my tug. Whatever your instructions, they intended to hurt us.”
Nakadate studied her across the table, his face serene, unworried. “The contents of that briefcase are very important to me. My employees know better than to return to me empty-handed.”
“They could have explained their position. We could have talked things over.”
“And you would have returned what is mine, Captain Rhodes?” Nakadate asked, the hint of a smile on his face. “You would have handed it over, if asked?”
“I intended to, yeah,” McKenna told him. “Your employees fired on me before I could communicate my intentions. We hadn’t even opened that briefcase.”
Nakadate winced. “I am sorry to hear that,” he said. “Truly.”
He said nothing more, for a long beat. McKenna held his gaze, kept her expression neutral, a poker face. Whoever this man was, he must be very powerful. McKenna imagined that if she knew Nakadate’s story, she wouldn’t be so calm.
Good thing I don’t know. Ignorance is bliss.
Nakadate scanned his eyes around the wheelhouse. Then he sighed, and the smile was gone from his face, and he suddenly looked tired.
“The contents of that briefcase are very important to me,” he said, again. “I regret that this situation has resulted in violence. I simply want returned what is rightfully mine.”
McKenna didn’t reply right away. She’d had an idea. Wondered if she had the guts to pull it off.
“What’s the deal with that briefcase, anyway?” she asked him. “We opened it, and I know you have bonds worth a heck of a lot of money inside. What I want to know is why?”
Nakadate shrugged. “Each of those bonds comprises a share of ownership in a numbered company based in Switzerland,” he said. “Essentially, Captain Rhodes, by holding the contents of the briefcase, you are the owner of one of my companies.”
“You’re talking about money laundering.”
“Those are your words. I would merely say that the bonds are ideal for purposes of anonymity.”
The man before her was a hundred times scarier than the pirates who’d attempted to kill her crew, McKenna decided. This was a man who would kill at an arm’s length, with instructions and innuendo. This was a dangerous, dangerous individual.
Nakadate seemed to read her thoughts. “You can see, perhaps, why it is in both of our interests to resolve this issue. I would like my property returned, and I am confident that you would not enjoy any prolonged connection to me or my business ventures.”
“Is that a threat?” McKenna asked.
“No,” the man replied. “I only mean that you will find it difficult to offload my property to anyone else, and that even if you do manage to liquidate your holdings, you may find the authorities knocking at your door someday, wondering about your involvement with such unsavory activities.”
Nakadate had a point. McKenna didn’t know the first thing about selling stolen bearer bonds. Nor did she relish the thought of explaining the bonds to the FBI.
Here goes nothing.
She fixed her eyes on the man. Willed her voice to stay firm. “I’m a salvage master, Mr. Nakadate,” she said. “I find lost things, and I return them to their rightful owners. That’s what I do for a living.”
Nakadate sat back. Tented his fingers. Smiled at her. “Are you suggesting I pay you for my own property, Captain Rhodes?”
“I just rescued a cargo ship worth a hundred and fifty million dollars. The owners paid a reward.”
“They were bound by the rules of the ocean. You and your crew had the law on your side, the convention of the sea. Here, you have nothing.”
“I have the briefcase.”
“You will have to show me the briefcase before I pay you any fees, Captain.”
“Fair enough,” McKenna said, “but this isn’t the open ocean anymore. This is America, and your time is running out. Sooner or later, the police, the Coast Guard, or the navy, is going to want to talk about why three armed pirates attacked my tugboat, and I’m going to have to hand over those bonds. You’ll have a far easier time negotiating with me than with them.”
Nakadate mulled his over. “The briefcase is on this vessel. Logic demands it.”
“Sure. But I’ll be damned if I’m letting you search it. And even with your bodyguard, I’d say you’re outnumbered.”
Nakadate studied her again, for a long time. McKenna willed herself not to flinch. Felt her insides shaking, hoped Nakadate couldn’t tell.
Finally, he sat back, and sighed. “Very well, Captain. What finder’s fee do you propose?”
McKenna shrugged. “In my business, we usually start at ten percent.”
“Ten percent. Am I to assume you’ve tabulated the value of the bonds?”
“Forty-five million euros,” McKenna replied. “A little more, in American dollars. Call it five million dollars, flat.”
“And if I don’t accept?”
“We continue to negotiate. But I’ll tell you, given the work that my team put in to recover your property, the risks we took—not to mention the damage we sustained in the attack on our tug—I think five million is eminently fair.”
Nakadate said nothing. This is it, McKenna thought. This is the all-in push on the river card, the big bluff. She held the gangster’s stare, felt her heart pounding. Nakadate didn’t say anything for a minute, two minutes.
Then, finally, he nodded. “Five million dollars,” he said. “I will need to see the briefcase before I transfer any funds.”
108
McKenna retrieved the briefcase from her stateroom. Passed Ridley in the galley. The engineer motioned upstairs. “Everything all right?”
“Perfectly fine,” McKenna told him. “Just doing a little business.”
She walked back upstairs to the wheelhouse. Paused before she reached the top, half expecting to find Nakadate waiting with a gun in his hand. But the gangster’s back was to her, a cell phone in his ear. He spoke very quickly in Japanese.
Nakadate turned as McKenna set the briefcase on the chart table. Crossed to the table and lifted the mangled lid, rifled through the stock certificates inside. Then, satisfied, he closed the briefcase again. Turned it back to McKenna.
“Your bank information,” he said.
McKenna dug a notebook out of a drawer at the front of the wheelhouse. Found the information and relayed it to Nakadate, who repeated it over the phone. Then the gangster ended the call.
“Call your banker in ten minutes,” he told her. “You will have the money.”
McKenna pulled out her cell phone. Found the number for her bank in the notebook and punched it in.
“I will create the necessary documentation,” Nakadate told her. “One of my legitimate companies. We will agree that we are paying you the money as a consultation fee relating to the Pacific Lion incident. Five million American dollars. That should be sufficient to deal with any tax implications.”
“Thank you,” McKenna said, realizing that she hadn’t quite thought that far ahead.
Nakadate gave her another ghost of a smile. “We are businesspeople, Captain Rhodes. I’m glad we could arrive at a civil arrangement.”
McKenna called her bank. Checked the balance of the Gale Force Marine account and the latest transaction. Nakadate was a man of his word. The five million was there.
She ended the call. “We’re set,” she told Nakadate. She handed him the briefcase, and the gangster took it, bowed slightly. Then he held out his hand.
McKenna hesitated. Then she shook it.
109
McKenna walked Nakadate off of the Gale Force, back onto the dock, where Court Harrington waited with the rest of the crew, talking quietly and trying not to let on they were watching.
They went silent as McKenna and Nakadate appeared, watched them walk to the ramp at the foot of the pier, watched McKenna wish the man well, and waited as he climbed the ramp to his waiting Cadillac. They watched McKenna watch the SUV drive away, watched her turn around, finally, and walk back to the tug.
“So?” Harrington asked, as he approached. “That guy was the big boss, right, skipper? Are we, like, cool?”
“That was the big boss, all right,” she replied. “It was his briefcase.”
“But you gave it back to him.” This was Ridley. “What happened to turning it in to the cops?”
McKenna studied her crew. They circled around her, waiting. They were good people. Solid, dependable, competent sailors. They were exactly the team she would want if she were to tackle the Pacific Lion again.
“I didn’t give it, Nelson,” she said. “I negotiated a salvage contract. Mr. Nakadate agreed to stop sending men to shoot up our boat if I promised to give him back the contents of that case.”
The crew swapped looks. “That’s it?” Jason Parent said. “Is that the contract?”
“Well, no. There was the matter of our fee.” McKenna tried to keep her poker face. “Mr. Nakadate and I agreed that ten percent was probably fair. He’s already wired us the money.”
“Ten percent,” Stacey Jonas said. “That’s nearly five million dollars.”
“We called it five, even. And I figure we’ll split it like bonus money, between the seven of us. That’s a little over seven hundred thousand per person. Sound fair?”
“Hell,” Ridley said, “sounds fair to me.”
“I’ll take it,” Stacey said. “Those jerks tried to kill me.”
“Fine by us,” Al said. Jason nodded in agreement.
Court Harrington hadn’t said a thing. McKenna caught his eye. “You’re awfully quiet.”
Harrington studied the dock. “I could have got you guys killed,” he said finally. “You don’t have to cut me in. Keep the money.”
McKenna shook her head. Made to argue. Ridley beat her to it. “Nah, that’s bull,” the engineer said. “No one ever claimed salvage was easy. You earned this money, lad, just like the rest of us.”
“You’re crew,” Stacey said. “Like it or lump it. You gambled, we won.”
“And,” McKenna said, “I don’t want you getting a swelled head or anything, but you kind of saved our bacon up there in Alaska. Consider it a performance bonus. Donate it to charity. Chalk it up to brain damage from that fall you took. But you’re taking the money, and you’re never, ever”—she looked at him, hard—“pulling a stunt like this again, understand?”
Harrington met her stare. Those green eyes. Held it a moment. Then finally, he grinned. “Aye-aye, Captain,” he said. “Thanks.”
“Settled.” McKenna clapped her hands. “Now, shall we celebrate?”
“Hell, yes,” Harrington replied. “I could really use a beer.”
McKenna climbed back aboard the Gale Force. Locked up the wheelhouse, made sure the rest of the tug was secure. The crew had already begun making their way up the ramp by the time she’d returned to the dock. All except Court Harrington.
He was waiting for her, watching her with those eyes, his mouth set and serious. McKenna cocked her head at him. “What?”
“I wanted to apologize,” he said. Hitched a thumb up the dock to the rest of the crew. “I mean, I know I already said sorry to them, but I wanted to apologize to you.”
“For the briefcase?” McKenna said. “Yeah, well. You don’t do it again, we won’t have any problems.”
“Not just for the briefcase. For what happened in Dutch. For taking things too far when you were just trying to work.”
McKenna said nothing. Looked away.
“I know I messed this up,” Harrington said. “You won’t let me give back the money. What can I do to make this up to you, McKenna?”
She didn’t look at him. “This crew needs an architect, Court,” she said. “You’re the best guy I know. And I like you, I care about you, and—damn it—sometimes, I still miss you. But this crew needs an architect more than I need a man in my life, understand? I can’t afford to lose you just because we gambled on an old flame.”
He nodded. “Yeah, I get that.”
He was looking at her again, earnest, and she could feel something give in her, some kind of grudge. Knew the crew was watching from up on the pier, and figured he knew it, too, figured he just didn’t care.
Figured she probably didn’t care that much, either.
“Give it some time, Harrington,” she said, turning away, turning up the dock toward the rest of the crew. “I’m not saying no yet, I’m just saying stand by.”
“Stand by,” Harrington said, and she could hear the laugh in his voice. “And what should I do while I’m waiting?”
“While you’re waiting?” She turned
. “You can start by buying this crew dinner, Whiz. Fending off a pirate attack really works up an appetite.”
110
A few days later, and nearly five thousand miles away from McKenna Rhodes and the Gale Force, Hiroki Okura was woken by a knock at his door.
His life had been unpleasant, these last weeks, since his return from Dutch Harbor. As he’d expected, he’d been terminated from his position with the Japanese Overseas Lines. He’d been visited by police detectives, investigators. He faced criminal charges for his role in the Pacific Lion’s near capsize, for Tomio Ishimaru’s presence on the Lion, and subsequent death, for his own, unauthorized disappearance from Dutch Harbor and his attack on the American salvage crew aboard the Lion.
The charges were coming. The Americans had shipped him back to Japan on the promise that justice be served. It was only a matter of time.
And now, a knock on the door, and Okura, in sweatpants and a stained T-shirt, opened the door and stood blinking in the harsh light of day and saw that it wasn’t the police who’d come for him, at last, or his former employer, but a third party, a familiar face.
The man who stood on the other side of Okura’s door wore almost exactly the same uniform as the man who’d visited the sailor in the jail in Dutch Harbor: a black suit, a white shirt, a skinny black tie. An air of menace, barely contained. Okura realized he’d been waiting for this.
He’d heard about a high seas shootout off the Canadian coast while the Pacific Lion was being towed to Seattle. Apparently, the crew of the salvage tug had foiled the attack. Okura took this to mean the briefcase was still at large. He took the thug’s presence at his door to mean that Katsuo Nakadate still required his help.
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