Gale Force

58

The alarms had stopped sounding by the time McKenna made it up to the wheelhouse. As she hurried to where Matt stood at the controls, she scanned through the forward windows, looking for any indication of trouble.

“We still winning this thing?” she asked.

Matt didn’t look back at her, kept one hand on the wheel and the other on the throttle. He’d kept the Gale Force mostly on course, McKenna saw from the GPS, and behind the tug, the Lion still followed.

“We’re winning,” he told her, his jaw set, “but barely. That starboard engine is busting its ass for us right now.”

He still had control. Still had enough water moving over the tug’s rudders to keep her responsive to his commands. But there was still plenty of ocean to cover before they cleared the pass, and McKenna could only pray that Ridley’s fix on that faulty turbo would hold.

If the turbo blew up again, the starboard engine was shot, and they’d have to fire up that portside diesel and hope it could limp them somewhere quiet, somewhere safe, somewhere to anchor up.

There was nothing to do but hope, though. Fight the tide, and keep moving, and trust the tug would see them through.

The radio crackled. “Munro here. Gale Force, we notice you’ve wandered offline a little bit. Everything all right over there?”

McKenna picked up the handset. “Just fine, Munro. We had a little issue with our engine coolant system, but we have it licked now.”

A pause. McKenna figured Tom Geoffries was probably having a panic attack in his captain’s chair at the moment, picturing the Gale Force broken down, the Pacific Lion on the rocks.

You and me both, Tom.

“Okay, Gale Force,” the Munro replied, the radio operator sounding dubious. “Keep us advised as to the situation over there, please.”

McKenna agreed. Hung up the handset, and relieved Matt Jonas at the controls. Tried to calm her racing heart and focus on getting the tug through the pass.

SHE GUIDED THE GALE FORCE onward. North, past the top of big Chuginadak Island, its volcanic peak glowering down through the fog, then up along the smaller islands, Kagami and Ulaga to the portside, and, to starboard, tiny, rocky Adugak Island, so small it looked like a pimple jutting out from beneath the waves, a few miles offshore from Umnak.

The tide carried them forward as the pass widened, doubled in width, as the currents dissipated and the Bering Sea opened up before them. The starboard engine didn’t fail. The turbocharger didn’t blow. The towlines stayed strong, and the Lion didn’t capsize behind them. The ocean floor dropped down to six hundred fathoms, and the wind died a little in the lee of the islands. The Lion didn’t wallow so much behind the tug anymore. The waves didn’t crash and batter near as violently.

They’d made it.

The Munro on the radio again. Captain Geoffries. “Congratulations, Captain Rhodes. Now, do you have any idea where you want to park this thing?”

McKenna turned to her GPS screen, searched the charts for somewhere to hide the Lion. Found what she was looking for almost instantly.

“Inanudak Bay,” she told Geoffries. It was an uninhabited inlet on the north side of the island, ten miles wide, like someone took a bite out of the rock between Umnak’s three volcanoes. It looked sheltered enough to give the crew of the Gale Force a calm place to work, while wide enough for maneuverability if something went wrong.

“Good thinking,” Geoffries replied. “Should be flat as a mill pond in there.”

McKenna plotted a course. “It’s four thirty now,” she said. “We’ll run up there tonight and make sure it’s a good spot. Drop the anchors and see if we can’t all get a good night’s sleep, for a change.”

“Roger that. Let us know if you need a hand, Captain. Our resources are yours for the asking.”

McKenna thanked the captain. Wished him a good afternoon and signed off. Stood at the wheel, looked out at the calmer seas, the easing wind. Heck, even Spike was back asleep.

Through the pass on one engine, she thought. She crossed to the depth sounder, the picture of her dad in that old pewter frame. Studied it, the smile on his face, in his eyes, felt his presence around her, even though the wheelhouse was empty.

Couldn’t have done it without you, she thought, and as she went to set the picture down, the light caught the glass on the frame and showed McKenna her own reflection. It shocked her a little, caught her off guard.

She was filthy, she realized. A grease stain on her forehead and a smudge under her eye. Blood smeared across her cheek, though coming from where, she couldn’t be sure. Her knuckles, maybe; she’d scraped them raw. She looked tired, beaten-up, ragged—but she was smiling, the same smile as Randall Rhodes in the picture, worn-out but content.

Through the pass on one engine, she thought again, setting the picture down. Girl, you’re a bona fide towboater now.