Оуэн Локканен - Gale Force

“There’s no way he can move that ship,” McKenna replied, “and he’s a fool for even trying. So let’s get our pumps and generators ready to go. Climbing equipment, too. Matt and Stacey, I need you inside the Lion as soon as we get our line on.”

The Jonases nodded. “You know us, boss,” Matt said. “We’ll be ready.”

“Al and Jason, you get the towline ready,” McKenna continued. “We’re going to rig a bridle at the stern, stabilize her, see if we can’t put some distance between us and the Aleutians before this storm takes over. We’re going to need every inch of open water, from the looks of it.”

“Aye-aye,” Al agreed.

“Good. Nelson and I will join Matt and Stacey on the ship. It’s all hands for this job.” She turned to Harrington. “You have that computer of yours fired up?”

“Just waiting on the numbers,” Harrington said.

“Perfect.” McKenna turned back to the window. It was eight in the morning, and today, she knew, would determine the Lion ’s fate—and the Gale Force ’s. “This is our wreck,” she told the crew. “So let’s be ready to claim her.”

The wind howled.

Christer Magnusson stood at the Salvation ’s wheel. Bill Carew and his deckhand joined him in the wheelhouse. Foss and Ogilvy were in their bunks, resting. They’d drawn the night watch, and it had been a long night.

The other guy, Okura, was still on the ship somewhere. Refused to leave, the maniac. Magnusson studied the Lion ’s stern, figured the guy would probably wind up dead, decided he was glad he’d asked for that twenty-five thousand up front.

Behind the Salvation , the Lion dragged at the towline, the wind catching the freighter’s hull and shoving it off course, threatening to pull the smaller boat with it. Bill Carew had the Salvation ’s engines revving high, almost at their limits, but the force of the wind was nearly overpowering the ship, and that, Magnusson knew, was a very bad sign.

Bill Carew met his eyes. “You want to have your men slacken off that winch and we’ll release the tow?”

Magnusson didn’t answer. The correct thing to do in this circumstance—the seas getting bigger, the wind moaning through the rigging, foam and salt spray everywhere, an underpowered boat, and a heavy, wallowing tow—was as Carew suggested: slacken off the towline, untether the Salvation from the wreck, and turn around, with tail between legs, head back to home base.

But Magnusson hadn’t built his career on giving up early. If that woman on the Gale Force wanted to take the Lion from him, she was damn well going to earn it.

“Slacken the winch?” Magnusson said. “What the hell for?”

Carew opened his mouth to answer. Magnusson cut him off. “Give me more power,” he told the captain. “Damned if we’re giving up without a fight.”

THE BRIEFCASE, at last.

Okura’s muscles screamed as he balanced on the windshield of the sports car, clutching the briefcase like a trophy. The ship swayed and rolled. The cars groaned against their fastenings.

Okura didn’t care. He was fifty million dollars richer.

He timed his movements carefully. Clambered off the Nissan and onto its neighbor, aiming his headlamp in the direction he’d come. Four cars away, his rope dangled in space. All that remained was to reach that rope and to climb it to safety.

Fifty million dollars . Okura crawled across the front end of the next Nissan. Thank you, Tomio .

ABOARD THE MUNRO , Captain Geoffries watched the Pacific Lion swing on the end of the Salvation ’s towline, waves crashing against her exposed hull. He checked the GPS screen in front of him: forty-five nautical miles to landfall, the south shore of Umnak Island. Despite the Salvation ’s efforts, the freighter continued to drift north.

“Raise the Salvation ,” Geoffries told his radio operator. “Ask them what the hell they’re doing over there.”

THE SALVATION ’S RADIO CRACKLED to life. The Munro . “Requesting an update on the status of your operation,” the radio operator told Magnusson. “It looks like you’re into some difficulty over there.”

Magnusson studied the Munro . It jogged in the swell, steady and silent and ever-present. Behind the cutter, a half mile away, the Gale Force waited her turn.

Magnusson picked up the radio. “No difficulty,” he told the Munro . He motioned to Carew, who pushed the Salvation ’s throttles, the twin Caterpillars roaring with the strain. “Everything is proceeding as planned.”

McKenna stared out at the Salvation through her binoculars. “My god,” she said as another thick plume of smoke erupted from the little boat’s stack. “They still think they can tow that thing.”

Beside McKenna, Nelson Ridley shook his head. “They’re nuts, skipper. They’ll blow their bloody engines.”

Through McKenna’s binoculars, the Salvation struggled forward, white water roiling from beneath her stern.

“The old girl has heart, anyway,” she said. “Even if her master’s a maniac.”

The wind gusted harder. The Lion began to yaw sideways on her towline again, fighting the Salvation ’s efforts to keep her true. The Salvation bucked on the end of the line, straining and pulling for all she was worth. McKenna could almost hear the engines howling, knew the noise must have been tremendous, the exertion, as the plucky little boat put fifty-five thousand tons of ship on her back.

At first, she thought her eyes were playing tricks on her. But Ridley noticed the same. “Geez,” the engineer exhaled. “Who’s towing who, skipper?”

Ridley was right. Little by little, the Lion was dragging the Salvation around as the big freighter herself turned abeam to the sea, her whole flank now exposed, increasing the wind’s hold on her, blowing her back.

The Salvation fought valiantly. It was losing. Slowly, inexorably, the wind and the sea took control of the Lion .

“Thundering Jonas,” Ridley said. “They’re going to lose that ship if they’re not careful.”

McKenna put down the glasses. “Forget the ship,” she said. “If they don’t change something fast, they’re going down with it.”

MAGNUSSON LOOKED OUT the aft window of the Salvation ’s wheelhouse. The towline was stretched taut, the propellers churning up a mighty white wash. Carew had the throttle pegged at the max, the engines howling. But behind them, the Lion continued to pull, dragging them into the trough, the waves hitting hard, broadside.

Magnusson swore. Threw open the aft door and hollered down to Robbie, who worked the winch from the afterdeck, paying out line to gain distance from the Lion .

“Don’t you dare drop that line,” Magnusson shouted down. “You don’t do a damn thing unless I say so.”

Magnusson ducked back inside the wheelhouse, his adrenaline running now. The Salvation ’s engines seemed to take hold, the propeller biting into green water, arresting the Lion ’s momentum—for the moment.

We’re not giving this ship up, Magnusson thought. I’ll be goddamned if that woman takes this job from me.