Gale Force

37

McKenna stared out at the Salvation through her binoculars. “My god,” she said as another thick plume of smoke erupted from the little boat’s stack. “They still think they can tow that thing.”

Beside McKenna, Nelson Ridley shook his head. “They’re nuts, skipper. They’ll blow their bloody engines.”

Through McKenna’s binoculars, the Salvation struggled forward, white water roiling from beneath her stern.

“The old girl has heart, anyway,” she said. “Even if her master’s a maniac.”

The wind gusted harder. The Lion began to yaw sideways on her towline again, fighting the Salvation’s efforts to keep her true. The Salvation bucked on the end of the line, straining and pulling for all she was worth. McKenna could almost hear the engines howling, knew the noise must have been tremendous, the exertion, as the plucky little boat put fifty-five thousand tons of ship on her back.

At first, she thought her eyes were playing tricks on her. But Ridley noticed the same. “Geez,” the engineer exhaled. “Who’s towing who, skipper?”

Ridley was right. Little by little, the Lion was dragging the Salvation around as the big freighter herself turned abeam to the sea, her whole flank now exposed, increasing the wind’s hold on her, blowing her back.

The Salvation fought valiantly. It was losing. Slowly, inexorably, the wind and the sea took control of the Lion.

“Thundering Jonas,” Ridley said. “They’re going to lose that ship if they’re not careful.”

McKenna put down the glasses. “Forget the ship,” she said. “If they don’t change something fast, they’re going down with it.”

MAGNUSSON LOOKED OUT the aft window of the Salvation’s wheelhouse. The towline was stretched taut, the propellers churning up a mighty white wash. Carew had the throttle pegged at the max, the engines howling. But behind them, the Lion continued to pull, dragging them into the trough, the waves hitting hard, broadside.

Magnusson swore. Threw open the aft door and hollered down to Robbie, who worked the winch from the afterdeck, paying out line to gain distance from the Lion.

“Don’t you dare drop that line,” Magnusson shouted down. “You don’t do a damn thing unless I say so.”

Magnusson ducked back inside the wheelhouse, his adrenaline running now. The Salvation’s engines seemed to take hold, the propeller biting into green water, arresting the Lion’s momentum—for the moment.

We’re not giving this ship up, Magnusson thought. I’ll be goddamned if that woman takes this job from me.

It sounded good in his head. But then he looked out the portside window and saw the wave coming, bigger than any other, looming large and closing fast, headed for the Salvation and her prize.

RIDLEY STIFFENED. “Oh,” he said. “Oh, Lord, no.”

McKenna glanced over at him. Looked back at the Salvation, binoculars down, and saw what her engineer was seeing.

A wave, the biggest of the day, a freak, maybe thirty feet high—kid’s stuff for the Gale Force, and even the Salvation, but not with this tow behind her. Not like this.

The wave scudded toward the Salvation, toward the Lion and the towline stretched between them. McKenna watched it come, knew she should feel vindicated. There was no way the Salvation could survive with her tow intact. As soon as this wave hit, the Lion would be hers.

Instead, she felt emptiness, fear, as if she were watching the wave that had stolen her father all over again. The Salvation dropped into the trough. The wave loomed. McKenna braced herself, though she was a half mile away.