Gale Force

91

Two days out of Dutch Harbor, the satellite phone in the Gale Force’s wheelhouse startled McKenna out of the blissful rhythm of another morning at sea. She’d been tending to the autopilot, satellite radio blasting some classic Stones, looking out through the forward windows at a flat calm sea and enjoying every minute of the slow, monotonous journey south.

She’d all but pushed Court Harrington from her mind, forgotten about the cocky North Carolinian who’d almost—almost—bewitched her into losing her sense again, back there in Dutch Harbor.

And then the satellite phone rang, and it was Harrington on the other end. And he sounded, well, sheepish.

“Hey, uh, skipper,” he began tentatively. “How’s it going?”

“Going fine, Harrington,” she replied. “Seas are flat calm and we’re plowing along. You’d have been bored out of your mind by the first night out.”

Harrington laughed, but it was something more nervous than funny. “Yeah, I bet.”

“Where are you? You make it down to a hospital, or what?”

“I’m in Seattle,” he replied. “Found a good physiotherapist, and she’s working me hard. Sounds like I’m going to be here for a little bit.” He paused. “But listen, skipper…”

McKenna frowned. “Uh-huh?”

“This is awkward,” he said. “There’s no easy way to say this, but, uh—” Sigh. “I left something on the tug. In my stateroom.”

“Oh,” McKenna said. “That’s no problem. Give me a forwarding address, and I’ll have it sent your way as soon as we hit the docks. Unless it’s dirty underwear or your personal stash of porn, in which case you’re SOL.”

“It’s not porn. It’s not underwear, either. It’s not—” Another nervous laugh. “Actually, it’s not even mine.”

He let that one hang there, long enough that McKenna should have asked him to elaborate, but she didn’t bother. Figured if he was going to spill something rotten on her, she wasn’t going to beg for it.

And then he did. Told her a whole sordid story, the ghost on the Lion and how it led to the ambush, Harrington saving McKenna’s life in the nick of time.

McKenna knew all this. This was old news. But Harrington had more to tell.

“I started wondering why this guy stuck around so long,” Harrington said. “Turns out he was after this briefcase. Stainless-steel, like in a James Bond movie or something. It was hidden in a cabinet in the infirmary.”

A briefcase. McKenna felt the first stirrings of nausea. “You never mentioned anything about a briefcase before, Court.”

“I wasn’t—” Pause. “I knew we’d have to give it up if I made a big deal out of it. You know, with the guy trying to kill you and all.”

“So you kept it.”

“We’re a salvage operation. Everything on that boat belongs to us, rightfully, by law, right?”

“Court.” McKenna rubbed her eyes. “We made thirty million dollars–plus on that job. If someone wants to kill me for a briefcase, heck, they can have it.”

“I was just curious, is all. Wouldn’t you be?”

“So you left the briefcase in your stateroom, is that it?” McKenna replied, dodging the question. “And what do you want me to do with it? What was inside, after all that?”

“I don’t know,” Harrington said. “I was waiting until things calmed down, and I was going to show it to you and we could open it, but then… you know.”

You tried to kiss me and I got cold feet and put you on the next plane out of my sight. I know.

“McKenna— Captain Rhodes?”

“I’m here, Court,” McKenna said. “I’m just trying to process this.”

“I just thought you should know. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”

“Yeah, well.” She corrected the autopilot. Shook her mind clear. “Nothing to do about it now. Let me have a look at the briefcase and I’ll get back to you.”

“Okay,” he said. “Thanks.” Then after a beat: “Tell the gang I say hi, okay?”

“Yeah,” she said. “Okay. Will do.” And she ended the call.

HARRINGTON TOOK THE PHONE from his ear. Stood for a minute outside the front doors of the hospital, looking up at the sky. It was a pleasant, sunny day, warm and summery, the sky a cloudless blue, but Harrington barely noticed.

She’s going to kill me, he thought, tucking the phone into his pocket and starting toward the hospital entrance. That woman is going to straight-up kill me.

He disappeared inside the front doors, intent on finding his therapist for another day’s labor. The doctor was pretty cute, kind of a hardass, and she seemed to find Harrington’s salvage stories exciting. It wasn’t the worst situation in the world, but Harrington wasn’t focused on the doctor right now.

He found the elevator, pressed the call button, and waited, tapping his foot and mentally kicking his ass—completely unaware of the nondescript Chrysler rental idling out in the parking lot, or the driver inside, who’d been watching him close ever since he’d left Dutch Harbor.