She picked up the radio again. “I noticed we haven’t sunk yet, Court.”
A pause. McKenna watched Harrington pick up the radio. “Say again?”
“I said we aren’t sinking,” McKenna said, feeling dumb. “Just a joke. But it’s a good sign, right?”
“Oh.” Harrington laughed a little. “Yeah. Not yet.”
“Small victories, right?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“We keep an eye on things, take it slow, we might just make it out of here. You doing okay over there?”
Harrington laughed again, more this time. “Just hoping our aces hold out.”
“You and me both,” McKenna said. She straightened. “Okay, back to work. I’m going to go check on those pumps.”
“Roger that,” Harrington replied. “I’ll be here.”
HARRINGTON COULD FEEL THE DIFFERENCE, within a couple of hours. It was getting harder and harder to sit on the Lion’s accommodations house.
Fifty degrees, maybe less, he thought, trying to find a place to set down his laptop. The closer the ship came to a forty-five-degree angle, the tougher it would be for the crew to maneuver. Harrington grabbed a handhold, a ladder up to the ship’s massive exhaust funnel. Hoped that the pumps would hold out and push the ship into a more comfortable position quickly.
McKenna Rhodes appeared, down the deck. She climbed out of an access hatch, stepped out onto the wall of the accommodations house, and slipped and nearly fell. Settled for sitting down awkwardly. Harrington picked up the radio.
“At least we’re making progress,” he said. “Even if it does suddenly feel like we’re drunk.”
The captain picked up her own radio. “I was hoping you weren’t watching,” she said, laughing. “I feel like Bambi on ice over here.”
“It shouldn’t last. And we’re moving in the right direction. A few hours, we’ll have enough water in the bow and stern tanks. We can kill those pumps and put all of our focus amidships.”
“We can’t just keep them all running?” McKenna replied. “Fill the tanks up faster, and keep this thing moving?”
“We’d get more control if we’re only filling two tanks. Plus, you can use the extra crew to relay messages from up here.”
McKenna picked up her radio again, but didn’t reply. Harrington could tell she was thinking it through.
“Yeah,” she said finally. “Okay.”
“You’re running this operation, though. We’ll probably be fine with four pumps. It’s your call.”
“No,” the captain said. “I don’t know a damn thing about how to right this ship. This is your call, Court. You tell me how you want to play it.”
Harrington studied her down the long deck. Couldn’t quite see the captain’s eyes, but could tell they were fixed on him. He picked up his radio again.
“Two pumps,” he said. “Just to be safe.”
McKenna pushed herself to her feet. “I’ll tell Ridley.”
72
The young doctor gave Daishin Sato a pained expression. “I hate to tell you this, sir, but you took the wrong flight. They flew your brother’s body to Anchorage already.”
Sato let his eyes drop, tried to play the role he’d chosen: grieving brother, come to retrieve his sibling’s remains. He’d found the doctor at work in the town of Dutch Harbor’s small medical center, tending to a Aleut girl with a broken arm. Assumed a pitiful countenance and asked for information.
Both the smuggler Tomio Ishimaru and the sailor Hiroki Okura were still missing. One of the men was dead. Sato wanted to know which.
“Anchorage,” he repeated. “Tell me, why did they move him? Are you not equipped to deal with the deceased at this hospital?”
“Most of the time, sure,” the doctor said. “But if the death is suspicious—”
“Suspicious? I was told he died alone on his ship.”
The doctor winced again. “I’m sorry. Someone should have really gone over this with you. There were some questions that arose when I looked at the body. The cause of death wasn’t maybe as clear as we thought. So I sent the body to the state medical examiner in Anchorage, standard procedure. They’d be able to give you more information.”
He began to turn away. “I’m really sorry. This is— I don’t know why someone didn’t tell you this stuff already.”
“Wait.” Sato took hold of the doctor’s arm. With his free hand, he retrieved a photograph from his pocket, Hiroki Okura. “My brother— Tell me, this was him, yes?”
The doctor glanced back at the injured young girl, her mother behind her glaring at Sato. He sighed. “I’m sorry,” he said again. “I really—” Then he looked down at the picture. “Wait a minute.”
“Yes?”
The doctor took the picture. Studied it close, squinting. “This is your brother?”
“Hiroki Okura. My brother. This is the dead man, correct?”
“I don’t…” The doctor stared at the picture. “This isn’t the body I saw,” he said. “What the heck?”
“You’re sure?”
“Pretty sure.” The doctor still hadn’t taken his eyes from the photo. He scratched his head. “The body— His eyes were set closer. And his mouth, it was different. It was—” He shook his head. “This wasn’t the guy.”
Sato took the picture back. “Thank you,” he said. “That is excellent news.”
He turned away from the doctor, walked out of the hospital. Heard the doctor call something after him, but didn’t look back.
73
The Lion’s progress slowed with only two pumps online, but Harrington’s plan was working. By nightfall, the big freighter’s list was reduced to forty-five degrees.
McKenna radioed back to Al Parent on the Gale Force, asked him to make up a care package of sandwiches, fresh coffee, and sleeping bags to send over via the Coast Guard’s Dolphin. Asked him how little Ben was doing, got a laugh in response.
“He likes ‘Twinkle Twinkle Little Star,’” Al said. “Knocks him right out. ‘Ramblin’ Man,’ not so much.”
“Maybe stick to the classics?” McKenna replied.
“‘Ramblin’ Man’ is a classic, boss. Soon as we get home, I’m playing that baby Waylon’s entire back catalog.”
The helicopter arrived as the last light of day faded away. Its bright spotlight lit up the Lion’s deck, found McKenna and Court Harrington in the center of it, and the flight mechanic lowered his shopping basket with Al Parent’s provisions inside.
Harrington helped McKenna unload the cargo. Then the architect bent down, wincing, to gather up a couple of the sleeping bags, and began to parcel out the sandwiches and coffee. “I’ll take these back to Matt and Stacey,” he told McKenna. “Get them settled in.”
McKenna shook her head. “I’ll do it.”
“You have Ridley and Jason to take care of,” Harrington replied. “I’m not going to go AWOL on you, I promise. Just trying to help.”
“You’re still recovering,” McKenna said. “I’m not sending you down thirteen decks. I’ll do both.” She gestured to the flight basket, which she was still holding steady. “Get in.”
“What?”
“Go on back to the tug. We can handle things overnight. Get some sleep, have a hot meal. We’ll see you back here in the morning.”