Unlucky 13

Chapter 60

I was in the takeout line at MacBain’s, crunching peanut shells underfoot while saying hey to various tipsy Hall of Justice regulars, but my eye was on the muted TV over the bar.

A report was coming in from an ABC affiliate in Alaska. Valerie Ricco, a reporter wearing a big green down coat, was standing on a remote stretch of coastline, trying to keep her footing as the wind whipped her hair and shook her microphone.

The captioning read: “This is day two of the hijackers’ takeover of the FinStar, a lavish passenger liner…”

Behind me were a couple of uniforms, drinking their lunch and talking to each other about Brady and how they heard there had been shootings.

I dropped my eyes from the TV and turning my body, faced the restaurant. I didn’t want to be recognized or questioned.

I thought about Brady, a genuine tough guy in the best possible way. Brave. Unflinching. Determined. I’d watched him risk his life to save a child.

I could see him making a move against the commandos on the ship even though he was outnumbered, unarmed, and literally at sea. That made me worry for him, and I worried for Yuki even more. She was a fighter. She had taken on cases that should have gone against her and gotten juries who were predisposed to the defense to dance in the palm of her hand. She’d taken on hardcore criminal defense attorneys, big, big names, and while she hadn’t always won, she’d made them sweat for their wins.

But could Yuki’s courtroom skills help her now? Could she talk her way out of a sudden-death hostage situation?

I don’t pray every day, but I was praying every minute now. Please God, let them get off that ship alive and well.

I heard my name, spun around, and grabbed my bag of sandwiches off the bar. I paid at the cash register, and when I got outside, I phoned Joe.

“Anything new?” I asked him.

“Information coming from the Coast Guard ship is limited, Linds. What I’ve been able to glean is that these bad guys are kind of a hybrid; like pirates, they’re doing this for money, but unlike pirates, they’re not in it for a quick score. They’re looking for a financial killing, and they are trained terrorists.

“No names of possible suspects or groups have been discussed, but from what I’m seeing, they are former military. Our former military. They’re well aware that no one on the ship is armed, not the passengers and not the crew.”

“How can they be sure of that?”

“You can’t bring guns onto a cruise ship. No one. Not passengers. Not crew. Not FBI agents on vacation or cops. No guns, because in a case of piracy, insurance companies would rather pay the ransom than pay lawsuits if guns get into the wrong hands and shooting happens.”

I was crossing Bryant against the light. I kept the bag of lunch under my left arm, held my phone to my ear, and dodged angry lunchtime traffic.

“So the insurance company is going to pay, right?” I said. “What’s the holdup?”

“What’s going on, Linds? I can hardly hear you.”

I reached the sidewalk and said, “Can you hear me now?”

“Okay. Here’s the holdup. And it’s not good. FinStar has a piracy exclusion in their policy. Because they don’t run tours into historically dangerous waters, they took out a cheap policy.”

Running up the steps to the Hall, I shouted at the messenger, my poor husband.

“What are you saying? The insurance company isn’t liable for the ransom? So what the hell is going to happen? Who’s going to pay up? Where’s the military? What’s the government doing about this?”

“A Coast Guard vessel is about a mile away, keeping in contact with the head guy, trying to talk them down. Coast Guards have special ops, but nobody wants to go Waco on this ship. Not now. Too many people would die and—”

I interrupted, grunting my thanks, and said “Sorry for yelling. I love you.” Then, churning with furious thoughts about cheapskate cruise ship lines, I went back to work.