Gale Force

40

McKenna called the Coast Guard on channel 16, the maritime distress frequency. “We’re taking over. The Salvation has agreed to relinquish the tow.”

The Munro responded quickly. “Copy, Gale Force. Please advise if there’s any way we can assist.”

“Actually, there is,” McKenna told the radio operator. “The Salvation left a man aboard the wreck, one of the Japanese sailors. He’s somewhere in the cargo hold, looking for lost property, but the last thing we need is some treasure hunter in our way right now.”

A pause. Then the Munro returned. “Roger, Gale Force. Funny thing, the customs agents in Dutch Harbor reported a missing Japanese sailor. We’ll pick him up and make sure he gets home.”

McKenna thanked the radio operator and hung up the handset. Then she picked up the satellite phone and placed a call to Japan.

IT TOOK McKENNA THIRTY minutes of holding and transferring before she reached who she was looking for, a vice president of the Japanese Overseas Lines, a man named Matsuda.

“We already have signed an agreement,” Matsuda told her. “Commodore Towing is handling our ship.”

“Commodore tried and failed,” McKenna replied. “Technical difficulties. Gale Force Marine is taking over.”

Matsuda didn’t answer for a minute. “I assume you are calling to negotiate,” he said at last. “In which case, I can offer you an Open Form agreement. Five percent of the Pacific Lion’s value, as established by an independent arbitrator.”

McKenna laughed. “Commodore brought five guys and a seventy-year-old hulk, and I know you gave them a better offer. I have a crew of salvage experts and a deep-sea tug. You’re going to have to do better.”

“Double, then,” Matsuda said. “Ten percent.”

McKenna pursed her lips. Ten percent of the Lion’s value would net the Gale Force approximately fifteen million dollars. Even after paying off the crew, it would make for a substantial windfall. But McKenna didn’t bite.

“Ten percent is the industry floor,” she told the executive. “And this is an extraordinary job. We’ll sign the Open Form for thirty percent of your ship’s value.”

Matsuda gave a sharp bark of disbelief. “This is a one-hundred-and-fifty-million-dollar ship, Ms. Rhodes. You’re asking me for forty-five million dollars?”

“Those pretenders on the Salvation jerked our chain for days,” McKenna told him. “Now I’m fighting a gale and a sinking ship. My crew’s going to earn every penny of that award. Thirty percent, or I’ll let the arbitrator figure it out.”

Matsuda went silent again. McKenna pictured the man in his office, hoped he was gripping the phone tight. “Twenty percent,” he said finally. “Thirty million dollars. We sign the agreement now, and save the legal costs.”

McKenna looked out at the Pacific Lion through the wheelhouse windows. The ship wallowed in the swell, waves breaking over her red keel.

Matsuda coughed. “Ms. Rhodes?”

She blinked back to focus. Idled the Gale Force toward the Pacific Lion’s stern. “Twenty percent,” she agreed. “Fax me the paperwork. And Mr. Matsuda?”

A pause. “Yes?”

“It’s Captain Rhodes,” McKenna said. Then she ended the call.