Gale Force

84

A small collection of Japanese men waited at the fuel dock when the Gale Force tied up in Dutch Harbor.

It was morning, a day and a half after the Gale Force departed Inanudak Bay. The Pacific Lion was secure, tied to a couple of mooring buoys in Unalaska Bay, about a mile out from the town. The tow was complete, and the crew of the tug was ready to hand the freighter back to her owners.

McKenna watched the men on the dock as she nudged the tug against the wooden pilings. There were seven of them, all in black coats bundled tight. They studied the tug, and turned to talk among themselves. One man, slight and middle-aged, his hair thinning, stood with them but said nothing. He didn’t look away from the tug.

This man was Matsuda, McKenna would find out, when the tug was tied fast and she’d climbed down to the dock. The shipping company’s vice president stepped forward from his group, bowed slightly. “Captain Rhodes,” he said. “It’s a pleasure to meet you at last.”

McKenna cocked her head. “Is it?”

Matsuda hesitated. Then he looked McKenna in the eye. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I want to apologize for the stance my company—for the stance I took with you and your team. Truthfully, I didn’t think your organization had the capability to handle a job so demanding.”

McKenna cast her eyes across the water to where the Lion rested on her moorings. “I guess you were wrong.”

“Indeed, and my company is grateful for it. You and your crew have accomplished an incredible feat.”

Yeah, McKenna thought. Now let’s see how long it takes you to pay us.

Matsuda frowned, as if he could read her mind. “I’m truly sorry to have underestimated you, Captain Rhodes. Be assured, it won’t happen again.”

McKenna met Matsuda’s eyes. The executive looked tired from his journey. He seemed genuinely humbled. McKenna forced herself to be gracious. “Don’t mention it,” she told him. “Let’s have a look at your ship.”

McKENNA FERRIED THE Japanese Overseas contingent across the water on the Gale Force. Maneuvered her tug to the stern of the Pacific Lion, and waited as Al and Jason Parent made her fast. Then she helped Matsuda and his colleagues up and onto the afterdeck, the same perilous spot where Al Parent and Nelson Ridley had secured the towline just days before.

The deck was safe now, the list erased, the ship more like a ship again than a sadist’s climbing wall. McKenna and Ridley led the inspection party through the ship, from engine room to cargo holds to bridge, the shipowners talking among themselves in Japanese, making notes, taking photographs.

Matsuda was quiet. He didn’t talk to McKenna, and he didn’t talk to his colleagues. He walked ahead of them without pause, as though he knew its layout intimately. He studied the Nissans in the cargo hold and the spilled papers and coffee creamers on the bridge with the same careful, conscientious eye.

“They will not be able to sell these cars, you know,” he told McKenna as they climbed a staircase between decks. “Already, there is outrage in the American market. A newspaper suggested the manufacturer could refurbish the vehicles and sell them as new on their lots. Do you believe this, Captain?”

McKenna glanced back, through the bulkhead door and onto the cargo deck, the Nissans still strapped in and secure, the steel deck still slippery with oil and transmission fluid. “No,” she said. “I don’t believe it.”

“I’m told that most of the cars remained dry, at least,” Matsuda said. “Maybe they are salvageable, maybe not.” He shrugged. “Whatever the case, they won’t be sold in America. Your country’s love of litigation will ensure it.”

McKenna said nothing. Five thousand Nissans. Brand-new, all of them, and all of them headed for scrap.

“The ship, though,” she said. “You’re going to keep using the ship, right?”

“Oh yes, the ship can be fixed.” Matsuda laughed. “Maybe you’ll even pass her in the harbor someday on your tugboat. You can look at her and see a monument to your determination.”

It was a happy sentiment, sure, but you couldn’t pay a fuel bill with sentiment. The payout remained foremost in McKenna’s mind as she followed Matsuda through the ship, casting glances back at the executive’s colleagues with their iPads and digital cameras and notebooks. The survey took hours, and the shipping executives seemed to make note of every chip, dent, and scratch they came across.

Finally, though, Matsuda and McKenna led Ridley and the executives onto the starboard weather deck, the survey complete. Matsuda conferred with his colleagues. Ridley joined McKenna at the rail.

“I bet they try to screw us,” Ridley said. He sounded nonchalant, but McKenna knew there was real fear in his words. “I bet we fight this thing out in court for years.”

The engineer had a right to be afraid, McKenna figured. For thirty million dollars, Matsuda and his colleagues might very well be tempted to haggle on the price, judging that Gale Force Marine lacked the resources to fight a long legal battle.

And they’d be right, McKenna thought. I have barely enough cash on hand to pay for fuel and transit back to the Lower 48, much less retain a team of maritime lawyers.

She stared out over the railing at the town of Dutch Harbor in the distance. “I really hope it doesn’t come to that.”

Matsuda coughed quietly behind them. Ridley nudged McKenna. “Here it comes.”

McKenna turned. Found Matsuda standing alone, a few feet away, his colleagues watching silently from behind. “Captain Rhodes,” Matsuda said. “Can we discuss?”

McKenna glanced at Ridley, who grinned, sardonic, like, Wait for it. Then she followed Matsuda to the forward lifeboat.

“I wanted to express my apologies again,” Matsuda told her. “I was wrong to underestimate you, Captain Rhodes. You’ve done remarkable work.”

“Thank you,” McKenna said. Now stick the knife in me.

“We have no interest in making enemies of you, Captain, or any of your crew,” Matsuda continued. “And I, personally, have no interest in making this partnership any more adversarial than it already has been.”

“Good,” McKenna said. “Me, neither.”

Matsuda paused. Broke eye contact, and McKenna thought, Here it comes. Then the executive looked at her again. “Our insurance assessment of the value of the ship and its cargo will take some time,” he said. “However, we estimate the total will amount to something more than the hundred and fifty million dollars you and I discussed previously.”

McKenna frowned. “Okay?”

“I’d like to therefore make a proposal,” Matsuda said. “The Japanese Overseas Shipping Company will make Gale Force Marine a good faith payment of twenty million dollars, effective immediately. We can settle the remaining balance when we have processed the assessment, which you of course will be allowed to review.”

He met McKenna’s stare. “You are welcome to propose another arrangement, but I think this is a fair offer.”

McKenna didn’t answer for a beat. Felt her heart pounding. Realized, for all the work, she hadn’t quite been prepared for this moment. “Yes,” she said, and her voice came out strangled. “That’s more than fair.”

“You’ll need to provide the company’s banking information. My colleagues will process the transaction.”

“Of course,” McKenna said.

Matsuda studied her face, the ghost of a smile on his lips. “Will you shake my hand, Captain Rhodes?” he asked. “And accept my friendship, once and for all?”

McKenna blinked her head clear. Looked at the shipping executive, who waited, his hand outstretched. “Damn right, I’ll shake your hand,” she replied, and she did just that. “It’s a pleasure doing business with you.”