Gale Force

17

Christer Magnusson stood on a Bering Marine barge and watched his men load gear aboard the Salvation in the first light of day. It wasn’t especially early—dawn came to Dutch Harbor around six thirty this time of year—but the men had worked all night to prepare, and Magnusson was eager to set sail. The Lion was drifting toward land, and the weather wouldn’t hold forever. And who knew if Waverly was planning an attempt of their own?

One of Bill Carew’s men coiled lines on the stern while Carew himself watched from the wheelhouse, hand on the throttle. He gave Magnusson a nod. Ready to go? Magnusson nodded back and bent down to release the spring line, preparing to step aboard.

There was a noise behind him, and Magnusson turned to see a small Japanese man step onto the barge. He wore the uniform of an officer aboard a Japanese Overseas ship.

“Good morning,” he said in accented English. “I’ve heard you are going to salvage the Lion.”

Magnusson said nothing. He would let the man reveal his angle before he made any response.

“My name is Okura,” the man continued. “I need to get back to that ship.”

Magnusson glanced back at Carew in the wheelhouse. “What’s your business with the Pacific Lion?” he asked.

“I was second officer,” Okura replied. “There’s something on board that I would like to retrieve. If you could take me with you, I would gladly pay.”

“We intend to bring this ship to harbor,” Magnusson said. “Why not wait?”

“If I stay on this island, the authorities will send me home. I cannot allow that to happen.”

“This thing you lost is valuable?”

“It is to me.”

Magnusson studied the man. After a moment, he spit. This was unusual, to say the least. The man, Okura, was clearly into something unsavory, something that would no doubt bring trouble on land. Were he approached in the supermarket with a request like this, Magnusson knew he would turn Okura down without a second thought.

But the high seas weren’t bound by the same laws as land. If you sailed far enough, you could outrun any law—and anyone who wished to enforce it. Magnusson had built his career in that wild, anarchic space. He wasn’t the type to shy away from opportunity.

And there was opportunity here; that was plain.

“Ten thousand dollars,” he said. “Plus expenses. And you stay out of our way.”

Okura nodded. “Fine.”

“Each,” Carew called from the wheelhouse.

“I have twenty-five thousand dollars in American cash in my stateroom,” Okura told them. “If you bring me to the Lion, you can have it.”

He held Magnusson’s gaze. Waited.

“You stay out of our way,” Magnusson said again, turning back to the Salvation. “Hurry up and climb aboard.”