Gale Force

38

The wave snapped the towline like the crack of a rifle. Magnusson lunged for the door, called out for the deckhand, watched the line snap back like a whip, heard—felt—the loose end hit the wheelhouse like a freight train.

Then the boat was surging forward, down into the trough, the engines at full bore, the load suddenly eased, the propellers churning and driving the Salvation into the sea. Carew had fallen over backward, was stumbling to his feet, nobody at the controls. Magnusson hurried over, throttled down the engines, three-quarters power. Turned her bow into the waves.

“Hey,” he called down to the galley, where Foss and Ogilvy had damn well better be awake. “Get your asses up here, right now!”

OKURA WAS HALFWAY UP the climbing line, the briefcase tucked under his arm, when the wave hit. He felt the Lion drop into the swell, knew instinctively what was coming, knew it was a bigger wave than any he’d felt so far. The cars lurched on their mounts, steel screaming in protest. Okura braced himself. Then the wave hit.

It seemed to hit twice. Broadsided the Lion with a hard, thudding crash, and then another jolt, not as forceful, but somehow more sudden. And Okura felt the briefcase slip from beneath his arm, felt it falling away.

He loosened his grip on the rope for an instant, reaching down for the briefcase, and then he was slipping. The rope seemed to slide through his fingers, and then it was gone, and he was falling backward, down through the darkness, his headlamp giving brief, photo-flash glimpses of the ceiling, the deck, the cars on their mounts.

No, he thought, time seeming to slow. Damn it, no. I was so close.

Then he hit something hard, unyielding and painful, and the impact knocked out his headlamp, and everything was dark and suddenly very quiet.

MCKENNA WATCHED THE WAVE HIT. Watched the towline snap like an overstretched elastic, watched the Salvation lunge forward, an explosion of white water breaking over her bow, the towline whipping back, wild, on the tug’s afterdeck.

“Bleeding hell,” Ridley muttered. “I hope nobody’s back there.”

McKenna lifted her field glasses. Couldn’t see a soul on deck, though at this point she wouldn’t be able to see much; the towline had snapped with enough force to cut a man in half.

Christer Magnusson seemed to get the Salvation back under control. He throttled down the engine and turned the salvage boat into the waves. She jogged there, for a minute or two, and McKenna relaxed. Maybe disaster had been averted. Maybe everyone on that little ship was fine, and the Gale Force could set to work saving the Lion.

The radio came to life above her head. “Man overboard, man overboard. Salvation has a man in the water.”