Оуэн Локканен - Gale Force

Harrington sighed. He was tired, and he was hungry. It had been a long day of physical therapy, feeling weak and helpless as the cute doctor put him through a succession of strengthening exercises. A steak sounded pretty damn good right about now. So did alcohol, for that matter. He’d earned it.

Three knocks, quick and solid. Someone meant business. Harrington crossed the suite to the door and peered through the peephole. Saw a man standing in the hall, young, a black suit.

“Yeah?” he called through the door.

The man seemed to fix his eyes on Harrington’s own, even through the tiny looking glass. “Hotel security, Mr. Harrington,” he said in an accented voice. “There is a matter we need to discuss with you.”

“Security?” Harrington frowned. “What are they saying I did?”

“It’s nothing so serious,” the man replied. “Please, there are some questions about your account with us. If you’ll allow me to verify them with you, I can leave you in peace.”

Damn it . Harrington sighed again, felt his stomach rumble in protest as he slid the security chain loose and unlocked the door. Swung it open to reveal the slender security man, smaller than Harrington had first imagined. He gave Harrington a wide smile.

“My name is Tanaka,” he said. He gestured into Harrington’s suite. “Please, make yourself comfortable.”

This was weird. But the guy was small, and Harrington figured if the joker tried anything, he could take him.

“You said you had questions about my account?” he asked, turning to walk into the suite’s spacious living area as the door swung closed behind Tanaka. “Listen—maybe you should show me some ID, first.”

He turned back, pleased with himself, figured he’d put the guy on the defensive, see how he liked it.

Felt significantly less clever when he caught sight of the gun.

THE GUN had been easy for Masao Tanaka to obtain.

The Inagawa-kai was yakuza, after all, and the yakuza had friends in Seattle. One discreet phone call to one of those friends, one late-night meeting in one empty parking garage, and Tanaka found himself the proud owner of a Beretta 92FS 9mm pistol, with a Gemtech GM-9 suppressor thrown in for good measure. An easy transaction, to be sure, but a worthwhile one, judging by the expression on Court Harrington’s face.

Tanaka backed the American farther into his suite. Gestured to a plush chair in the corner. “Please,” he said. “Sit.”

Harrington sat. He hadn’t taken his eyes off the pistol.

“Very good.” Tanaka smiled at the American again, still friendly, harmless. “I’m not planning to hurt you,” he said. “I don’t want to have to alter my plans. Do you know why I’m here?”

Harrington nodded. Tried to speak, wet his lips, tried again. “I guess it’s the same reason that other guy drew down on me and my skipper. Y’all really want that briefcase back, huh? What do you have in there, gold bars?”

“It contains important documents that were stolen from my employer. It’s imperative that I recover them.”

“Huh.” Harrington clasped his hands together. Looked down at the floor for a beat. When he looked up again, he was smiling. “Well, I hate to disappoint you, man, but you came a long way for nothing. I don’t have your briefcase.”

“Where is it?”

Harrington shrugged.

Inwardly, Tanaka rolled his eyes. Could nothing ever be easy? He raised the pistol, took aim at the American’s forehead.

“Your name is Court Harrington,” he said. “Your parents, David and Ashley Harrington, live in Sylva, North Carolina. Shall I recite their address for you?”

Harrington said nothing.

Tanaka kept the pistol aimed square. “Perhaps you are willing to die to protect a briefcase. Are you willing to kill your parents also?”

The American’s smile was gone now. He exhaled a long slow breath and looked down at the floor again.

“I’m afraid I have some more bad news for you, bud,” he said at last. “I don’t have your briefcase. I left it behind.”

“It’s not on the Pacific Lion . We know this for a fact. Try again.”

“Did I say it was on the Lion ?” Harrington shook his head. “It’s on the tug, smart guy. Way out there in the middle of the Pacific Ocean.”

Tanaka nodded. “Good.” Kept the pistol trained, and with his free hand, produced a cellular telephone. Pressed the call button, and waited.

“Hai,” came the response.

“On the tugboat,” Tanaka said in Japanese. “I believe the American is telling me the truth.”

He ended the call.

“Who was that?” Harrington asked. “Who did you call?”

“My employer,” Tanaka replied. “I was pleased to inform him that you had offered us a good lead.”

“Oh.” Harrington relaxed a little bit. “So, great, what happens now? I guess you can go, huh? Let me grab a little dinner?”

Soon as this guy gets out of my hair, he thought, I’ll call McKenna and tell her to watch her six.

But Tanaka smirked. “Not yet,” he said, and he dragged a chair from a desk along the wall and sat, facing the American. “First, we wait to know if you’ve been truthful with us.”

Katsuo Nakadate replaced his handset and studied his computer screen with satisfaction. Masao Tanaka’s information had come at a fortunate time.

Nakadate had discovered, purely by accident, that he could follow the path of the Gale Force across the North Pacific simply by typing the name of the tugboat into an Internet search browser. The tug transmitted a GPS signal that was monitored and rebroadcast by a number of marine traffic websites, all of them dedicated to tracking the progress of ships across the sea.

If the Pacific Lion had been making a routine voyage, Nakadate surmised that he could have followed her path just as easily. The Internet site featured maps that were filled with hundreds of cursors, like an air traffic controller’s screen, each cursor representing a cargo ship, a tug, or a large fishing vessel.

Right now, Nakadate could see that the Gale Force had crossed the Gulf of Alaska to the Haida Gwaii archipelago, and turned in a southwesterly direction to follow the coast of the Canadian Vancouver Island toward Seattle.

The western length of Vancouver Island, Nakadate had learned, was remote and rugged, and mostly uninhabited. But there were settlements, mostly toward the southern end, fishing villages and tourist towns. They would have to do.

Nakadate picked up the phone. Called Daishin Sato on his satellite phone. Sato answered, apologized for the poor reception, and Nakadate could hear the man’s breathing as he ventured, presumably, somewhere better.

Then Nakadate could hear the wind, and perhaps the ocean. Whatever it was, Sato’s voice came through much clearer. “We are ready.”

“The briefcase is aboard the tug,” Nakadate told him. “You will retrieve it under cover of darkness. Take whatever steps necessary to maintain secrecy. Then you will retreat to Vancouver Island, a town named Tofino. I will arrange for your retrieval there.”

“As you wish,” Sato replied. Nakadate ended the call. Checked on the progress of the Gale Force again. Then he brought up the tugboat company’s website. It was a minor site, plain and amateurish. A picture of the tug, and a picture of the captain—a woman named McKenna Rhodes. Nakadate studied the pictures. The tug was handsome and well-kept, her owner surprisingly young for such a position. Her eyes were clear, though, and her gaze direct. She didn’t look like someone who would brook Sato’s ambush without a fight.