Gale Force

106

Fifty million dollars.

The HMCS Nanaimo shadowed the Gale Force through the day and into the night. At Port Angeles, across the water from the very bottom of Vancouver Island, McKenna and her crew towed the Pacific Lion back into American waters, and the Nanaimo ducked away, replaced by a bigger—and heavily armed—Coast Guard cutter.

By morning, the Gale Force and her entourage were sailing south down Puget Sound, back into the tugboat’s home waters. There was something calming about the familiar scenery, the blue sea and green forest, the white, double-ended Washington State ferries trundling across the Sound. McKenna supervised the crew as they shortened the towline, increasing maneuverability in the Sound’s tight confines, and she knew she should feel relaxed now, money in the bank, and the boat almost home.

But there was the briefcase to deal with. Fifty million dollars, or thereabouts. And McKenna knew she should just hand it over to the police, the Coast Guard, the Canadian Navy, whoever. But she was still a Rhodes, wasn’t she? Still Riptide’s daughter, descended from gamblers and thrill-seekers. The smart thing would be to surrender the briefcase to the authorities, she knew. But nobody in McKenna’s family had ever been accused of being smart.

Wait until we tie up in Seattle. Then give it to the cops, and forget about it.

Yeah, she thought. Maybe.

BY MIDMORNING, the Gale Force and her tow had Seattle in sight. the crew gathered in the wheelhouse to watch the Space Needle appear, the city skyline, busy Elliott Bay with its ferries and fishing boats and massive container ships.

Four harbor tugs waited to dock the Pacific Lion, powerful little bulldogs, and McKenna slowed the Gale Force and supervised the handover, retrieved Matt and Stacey Jonas from a gangway down the side of the big freighter. Soon, the Lion was out of her hands—for good, this time—nudging into a berth in the vast harbor facility south of downtown, across the raised Alaskan Way viaduct from the sports stadiums where the Mariners and the Seahawks played.

McKenna let the tug linger near the Pacific Lion, looking from the ship to the city skyline, feeling at home and adrift at the same time. That damned ship had been her responsibility—her life—for nearly a month, and now that she’d finished the job, she wasn’t quite sure what to do. Life on dry land was infinitely more complex than life on the water, and part of McKenna wished she could stay at sea forever.

She doubted her crew felt the same, though, and she turned the tug north again, toward the West Point light and, beyond, the Ballard Locks. The Gale Force felt light, almost weightless now, freed from the burden of the heavy tow.

McKenna called Matsuda as she guided the tug through the locks. Let the shipping executive know that the tow was complete, the Lion arrived safe in Seattle. She didn’t mention the incident off the Canadian coast, and Matsuda didn’t ask. He thanked her, and promised to wire her payment. The conversation was a short one.

Al and Jason Parent took their positions at the bow and stern as the Gale Force approached her berth in Lake Union, and McKenna looked up at the city beyond, and felt that same sensation of aimlessness return. Her crew had worked hard. They’d saved the Lion. Now what?

Now we deal with the briefcase. She tried to steel herself for the phone call she knew she had to make. The Coast Guard, probably. Maybe the FBI. Someone would know what to do.

Then she heard voices outside the wheelhouse, happy shouts from on deck, and she looked out the window at the approaching pier and saw a figure there, waiting. It was Harrington.

The architect looked stronger than he had the last time she’d seen him, stood straighter, moved easier. He looked tanned and happy, smiling that cocky smile and jawing at Al Parent across the tug’s bow. McKenna smiled, despite herself, but as she brought the tug closer, she could see the fatigue behind Harrington’s eyes. Judging by his face, he’d aged five years since he’d boarded the flight in Dutch Harbor.

With the bow and stern thrusters going, McKenna guided the Gale Force to her berth. Nudged her in gently, and watched Jason and Al Parent scramble to secure the lines, forward and aft, Matt and Stacey assisting on the spring lines amidships. McKenna waited in the wheelhouse until the tug was secure, hurried through her shutdown ritual, and ducked out of the wheelhouse and across the deck to the dock, where Court Harrington was already exchanging hellos with the rest of the crew.

“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.”