Gale Force

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.