Gale Force

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.”