But then it happened again. And this time, both McKenna and Ridley could hear Stacey Jonas’s voice, clear, and clearly panicked.
“There’s someone on the freighter, McKenna. We’re under attack! They—”
Stacey’s words were drowned out by something in the background that sounded a heck of a lot like gunshots. Then there was static, and then silence.
IF CIRCUMSTANCES HAD BROKEN just a little differently, Stacey Jonas wouldn’t have survived long enough to make that panicked call.
It had happened so fast. She’d set out for a walk, a little fresh air before bed, knew the weather was turning and it might be her last chance, the rest of the trip probably booked solid keeping watch on the bilge water and ballast tanks, looking for flooding. Matt was in the officers’ lounge, lazing about, reading another one of Al Parent’s paperback romances. He’d yawned, waved her off, said it looked cold out, and she’d called him a baby and bundled up tight.
The wind was blowing hard, and the swell had picked up, but the air was refreshing anyway, and Stacey turned up her iPod and jogged in place a bit, got the blood pumping, was thinking about sprinting down to the exhaust funnel and back—and then she saw them.
Men, three of them, by the aft portside lifeboat. They were dressed in black and fiddling with the davits, almost blending into the shadows around them. Stacey watched, frozen in place a hundred feet away, couldn’t quite believe what she was seeing.
Where did they come from?
What are they doing here?
And, scariest of alclass="underline" Have they been here the whole time?
And then it didn’t matter, none of it did, because one of the men had looked up and seen her, said something to his friends. And then one of those friends pulled out a gun.
NELSON RIDLEY WAS FIRST to spot the blip on the radar screen. McKenna was at the radio, trying to raise Stacey again, heart pounding, when Ridley called her over.
“C’mere, skipper,” the engineer said. “I think you want to have a look at this.”
McKenna joined him at the dash. Studied the radar screen. Then looked back through the aft windows at the lights of the Pacific Lion, fifty yards behind.
“Okay,” she said. “What the heck are we seeing?”
The Gale Force’s radar had a minor blind spot directly aft. It wasn’t configured to pick up small, fast-moving objects, particularly in heavy seas. If McKenna hadn’t known what to look for, she never would have seen it.
But it was there, an intermittent blip on the screen. It was tiny, moving distinctly from the Lion on the freighter’s portside. Moving faster, too, closing the distance between the freighter and the Gale Force.
“Whatever it is, it’s coming in hot,” Ridley said. “I’m going to try Stacey again.”
McKenna took her field glasses to the aft windows. Searched the gloom behind the tug’s stern as Ridley tried Stacey, got only static. McKenna kept looking. Couldn’t see a thing but the Lion and the black, empty ocean.
“Nelson, raise the Coast Guard,” she said. “I think we’re going to need some help out here, fast.”
97
Sato expected the salvage crew would know he was coming. He hoped that it wouldn’t matter.
Fuchida had seen the woman first. She’d picked an inopportune time for a walk, and it had nearly cost her her life. Would have, if Tsunoda was a better shot with his pistol.
The first shot had missed badly, and the woman didn’t make the mistake of waiting around for another. She’d turned and ran, sprinted for the first door and hurled herself inside the freighter.
“Find her,” Sato told the others. “Now. Her partner, too.”
But the woman was fast. She’d disappeared down the hall before Fuchida and Tsunoda could catch up, and though they’d followed her heavy breathing resonating down the steel corridor, they hadn’t been quick enough.
She’d gathered her companion. Locked themselves in a stateroom, a heavy bulkhead door. Fuchida had opened fire, nearly killed himself, and Sato and Tsunoda as well. Did no harm to the door whatsoever. And inside, through the steel, Sato could hear the woman’s muffled voice as she called her own colleagues for help.
So be it. We are armed. We will retrieve the briefcase.
“Leave them,” Sato told the others. “They aren’t of any consequence now.”
RIDLEY HAD THE Canadian Coast Guard on the radio. “Coast Guard, this is the tug Gale Force. We are currently transiting Canadian waters with tow, seventeen nautical miles off Long Beach. We, ah, have reason to believe that we are under attack.”
Ridley caught her eye, shot her a grim look. McKenna read it immediately. Unlike their American counterparts, the Canadian Coast Guard wasn’t considered a part of the military. The organization focused on search and rescue and environmental enforcement, not coastal defense, and its cutters weren’t equipped with deck guns or any other heavy weaponry.
The radio crackled back. “Gale Force, this is Tofino Traffic,” the operator said. “We have the lifeboat Cape Ann in your vicinity. Can you confirm the details of your situation?”
“I said we’re under attack, Tofino,” Ridley said. “You got any guns on that lifeboat?”
The operator paused. “Gale Force, I can’t broadcast that information on this channel. Do you have reason to believe the attackers are armed?”
“We heard gunshots,” Ridley said. “Look, we’re fearing for our lives here, Tofino. Do you have any way to protect us?”
Footsteps on the stairs. McKenna looked back, saw Al and Jason come up, brows furrowed, questions on their faces. On the radar, the blip continued to close distance. It looked small enough to be hampered somewhat by the heavy swell, but not nearly enough. They were coming, McKenna knew. That swell wouldn’t stall them for long.
The Coast Guard operator came back. “Gale Force, I’ve passed your information on to the Royal Canadian Navy. They have the coastal defense vessel HMCS Nanaimo outbound in the Juan de Fuca Strait. Estimate arrival on scene in approximately six hours.”
McKenna crossed the wheelhouse, took the radio from Ridley. “Tofino, Gale Force. Six hours doesn’t do us a lick of good out here.”
“I have an RCAF Sea King helicopter ready to fly from the 443 Maritime Helicopter Squadron in Victoria as well, Captain,” the operator said. “Again, they estimate two hours to get to your location.”
“Two hours. And what do you suggest we do until then?”
Another pause. “Gale Force, we recommend you, ah, initiate antipiracy measures and do what you can to keep them off of your ship. However you can protect your crew, Captain, we suggest you do it.”
McKenna looked at Ridley again. Ridley rolled his eyes. For the short term, anyway, the Gale Force was alone in the water.
“Antipiracy measures,” Al Parent said. “Do we have any of those?”
“We have firefighting equipment,” McKenna replied. “Water cannons, fore and aft. I want Jason on the forward cannon, Al on the aft. Try and blast them as best you can if they try to board us.”
“That’s it?” Jason said. “We’re going to spray them with water?”