Unlucky 13

Chapter 49

Conklin wasn’t moving fast enough for me, so I screamed at him again, even louder.

“Come here, quick! Look at this video from Yuki.”

I had seen the ten-second video Yuki had attached to her blank e-mail, but all I could comprehend for sure was that something unthinkable was happening on the FinStar.

“Run it again,” Richie said reasonably. “And bring up the sound.”

I replayed the too-short video. The phone Yuki had used as a camera whipped around and from side to side as her clip opened with an unfocused view of a bright orange lounge inside the ship. I saw streaks of tables, a sofa, and what might have been a piano. And I saw blurred groups of people in defensive postures.

Yuki’s voice was recognizable, even though she spoke in a whisper that crackled like crumpling cellophane.

“Lindsay. Our ship was attacked. We were hit with explosives. The engine room is dead. Men with assault weapons boarded us. Pirates or terrorists. I can’t talk long—some passengers were shot—”

Shit, shit, shit.

The camera angle shifted, and I saw blurry images of people crying into their hands, an elderly couple standing next to Yuki clutching one another in an embrace, their faces contorted in horror. A terrifying blend of shouts and muffled cries nearly overwhelmed Yuki’s words.

She said, “We’re in a lounge. Just women and elderly. The men are somewhere else. I don’t know where Brady is—”

Yuki’s voice broke up. I strained to hear her when she said, “We don’t know what they want or what they’re going to—”

A man in camo fatigues, assault weapon in hand, with a knitted black ski mask covering his face, filled the screen and was coming closer. Two seconds of that, then half the picture went dark. There was another flash of orange carpet and then the video was over.

I was screaming inside.

I replayed the video, hoping to extend the ten seconds, to see something beyond this one heartrending window of time. But of course, the wildly whipping video repeated the frightening scene before going black.

Rich, his eyes fixed on the screen, kept saying, “Holy crap.”

I said to him, “This has to be a hijacking. But in Alaska? There can’t be terrorists there, right, Rich? It’s not the Gulf of Aden, for God’s sake. Where’s the Navy?”

Richie left my side and went to his computer and typed.

“Oh, man,” he said.

“What did you find?”

“This: ‘Rogue pirates attack the cruise ship HM FinStar.’ And this. ‘The HM FinStar, flagship of the Finlandia Line, filled to capacity with approximately six hundred and fifty passengers and two hundred crew, was attacked by an unknown group of commandos as it prepared to enter Alaska’s Inside Passage at Dixon Entrance near Prince Rupert.’”

“Send me the link,” I barked.

He did it.

I reached for my keyboard, backhanding the coffee that Rich had left on my desk this morning and sending it spilling in every direction. I didn’t even try to contain it.

Richie brought over a wad of paper towels as I read the latest breaking news.

Summarizing: Eight hours ago rocket-propelled grenades had slammed into the FinStar’s hull above the waterline, possibly hitting the engine room. An unknown number of gunmen boarded the ship in the small hours of the morning. The group was unidentified. The ship was damaged but afloat. There was no information about casualties. No official word of any demands made by the presumed pirates.

When Yuki had sent the video, she was well. Was she still safe? Was Brady?

I played the video again, looking for any new detail.

I felt that I was looking through Yuki’s eyes.

Where was Brady?