“How are you, babe?” Kyle said when Lilah got back on the phone.
“Bored. Lonely. Horny.”
He laughed. “I miss you, too.”
“I’m waiting for the but.”
Kyle took a deep breath, let it out. “Sara’s cutter is missing.” His wife said nothing. “Lilah?”
“How can a two-hundred-and-eighty-four-foot Coast Guard cutter go missing?”
“It’s been out of communications with District for over a full day now.”
“Did it sink?”
“They don’t know.”
They listened to each other think for a while. “Does Sara’s missing cutter have anything to do with why we’re here instead of there?” Kyle took longer to answer this time. “Kyle?”
“I don’t know for sure,” Kyle said. “But I’m afraid so. Hugh-”
“Hugh’s here?”
“No. He’s not here.” Kyle lent a slight emphasis to the last word.
“Oh,” Lilah said on a note of discovery. “Oh no, Kyle, no.”
“Yeah,” Kyle said. “Stay there for a few more days, okay, honey?”
“We’ll stay here,” Lilah said.
She hung up and stared out the window at Resurrection Bay, a deep fjord walled in by steep, snow-covered mountains. She was not blind to the beauty, but she couldn’t help but wonder what lay buried beneath its wind-whipped surface.
She very much hoped that Kyle’s two best friends weren’t.
The phone rang and she snatched it up, hoping it was her reprieve from purgatory. “Kyle?”
No, instead it was a preternaturally perky young woman who chirped brightly, “No, ma’am, this is Kenai Fjords Tours. Is this Mrs. Lilah Chase?”
“It is,” Lilah said, voice dull with disappointment.
“We’re calling to confirm your Resurrection Bay excursion, one adult, two children, departing at noon on January nineteenth.”
Four interminable days from now. “Yes, that is correct.”
“You’ll want to check in at our office down in the marina half an hour prior to departure. A hot lunch will be included with your tour.”
“Yes, I know. We’ve sailed with you before.” Twice in the past week, she thought. Stuck here much longer and they’d have to start repeating cruises.
“That’s fine, then, ma’am, thank you so much, and we’ll look forward to seeing you on the nineteenth.”
She replaced the receiver and fought a sudden and irrational up-welling of tears. “Come on, kids, let’s hit the beach.”
JANUARY 19 GULF OF ALASKA
THEY WERE UNDER WAY again. From overheard conversations they deduced that the fuel filters on the freighter’s one engine had clogged up, leaving them adrift for almost forty-eight hours. Fang bore a grudging respect for Smith, who had maintained his own calm and order among the men during that time.
But in truth there had been little danger of the Star of Bali’s crew calling anyone for help. In the schedule-driven world of maritime shipping all that mattered was getting the goods to market on time. The last thing any shipowner wanted was a boarding by the U.S. Coast Guard, which would cause significant delay and who knew how many citations for safety and security violations requiring expensive legal action later on. The hired hands that captained most oceangoing vessels nowadays were well aware of this, and they would do everything in their power to avoid the official attention of authorities on shore.
Fang listened to the engine, which it seemed to him was still running a little rougher than it had before it quit. It was running, however, which was preferable to the alternative. The two days adrift had not been enjoyable, with the ship at the mercy of the heavy seas.
Fang turned his head to see that Smith was watching the digital readout on his GPS. Everyone else was watching him.
“How long?” Fang said, voicing the thought that was on everyone’s mind.
“Soon now.”
Fang looked around at the men, swinging in hammocks, huddled in sleeping bags. They’d run out of fuel for the stove and the lanterns the night before. This morning they’d eaten dry noodles for breakfast. Everyone looked as cold as he felt. He wondered how well everyone would be moving when Smith finally set the plan in motion. Although one benefit of the cold was that the smell was much less noticeable.
He wondered, not for the first time, what they were doing here, and rued, perhaps for the last time, the greed that had led him to this place.
Smith said something. Fang stared at him, uncomprehending.
“One hour,” Smith repeated.
“One hour till what?”
“We take the ship,” Smith said, and held up the GPS. Fang took it and squinted at it. “Here,” Smith said, and pushed a button which lit up the display. “When we hit fifty-nine degrees forty minutes north latitude, we take the ship. If we wait any longer, they’ll call for the pilot.”
“Pilot?” one of Smith’s men said.
“Every ship needs a pilot to get them into port. Someone who knows the local waters.” To Fang he said, “Tell your men to get ready.”
Fang was still squinting at the GPS. Fifty-nine degrees thirty minutes latitude, one hundred forty-nine degrees and thirty minutes longitude. He tried to imagine the nearest port to that location and came up with Anchorage, Alaska. What the hell were they doing here?
“Get ready,” Smith said, more sharply this time, holding his hand out.
Fang gave him the GPS and went to get his men suited up.
GULF OF ALASKA
“BEST SPEED CAH7 BE more than twelve knots, XO,” Ostlund said. “She’s only got one engine. We’ve got six knots on her.” The Sojourner Truth’s top speed was eighteen knots.
“We’ve lost her,” Chief Edelen said.
Sara ignored him. “What’s our location, Tommy?”
“South-southwest of Rugged Island, XO.”
“Mr. Rincon?”
Hugh was leaning over Tommy’s shoulder, staring intently at the readout on the Transas. “Pan up a little, Tommy, would you? Thanks.” He pointed. “Right here. What’s that?”
Tommy pointed and clicked. “Caine’s Head.”
“What are those, feet or meters?”
“Feet.”
“So the point’s a little under seven hundred feet high, and the mountain in back of it?”
“Fifteen hundred.”
Hugh stood up and looked at Sara. “They’ll want a straight shot right up the valley. My guess is they’ll light it off when they’ve cleared this point.”
“Caine’s Head?”
Hugh nodded.
“EO?” Sara said.
“We’re peddling as fast as we can, XO.”
“Vessel in sight!”
PO Barnette’s shout caused a surge toward the windows.
It was indeed the Star of Bali, gaining on the southern end of Rugged Island.
“Yeah,” Sara said, binoculars trained on the ship, “that’s our baby all right. Well done, everyone.”
“I think she’s got engine problems, XO,” Barnette said, eyes still glued to his binoculars. “She’s barely making way.”
“Mr. Ostlund, assemble your team.”
“Aye aye, Captain.”
When Hugh started to follow him Sara, said, “Hold up, Mr. Rincon. Anything from the Agafia, anyone?”
“No, ma’am,” Ops said.
“Pull one of the emergency VHF radios from the lifeboats and start trying to raise her.”
“Those radios only have a reach of two miles, ma’am.”
“I know, Ops, but she’ll be on our tail, and I want to know as soon as she’s within reach.” Yes, ma am.
“All right, let’s tell the troops what’s going on.” Sara caught a down swell to port and was at the microphone in two steps. “Attention all hands, attention all hands, this is Lieutenant Commander Lange,” she said, wincing a little as her voice boomed back at her from the speaker. Tommy reached quickly for the volume knob and Sara thanked her with a nod. She only hoped that the pipe wasn’t reaching across the water to the Star of Bali.