Lovich quickly translated.
The stranger squinted at Mac, as though weighing him. “There’s a woman who got all wet and bothered over
Lovich was a good translator. He accompanied his words with hand gestures that outlined a shapely female butt.
The third man answered with a sharp string of words that took the smile off Lovich’s face.
“He says he’s not interested in selling.”
“Are you going to be around for a few days, or do you have another job?” Amanar asked Mac.
“I’m getting my boat ready for a cruise. I’ll be around.”
“Great. We don’t have anything right now, but you never know.”
Mac heard what wasn’t being said:
“You have my cell number,” Mac said. “I’d like my check. I’ve got some bills to take care of.”
“Stop by tomorrow morning,” Amanar said. “The bookkeeper is gone now.”
Mac nodded, not worried. Blue Water Marine Group had always paid him on time.
As he started to gather his charts and stow his gear in a red canvas duffel, the three men disappeared down into the engine room. He could hear their murmured conversation. All were speaking the third man’s language.
Mac heard someone rap a piece of metal on the side of the heavy, sheet-steel fuel tank on the port side. Then Amanar muttered a single word. If his tone could be trusted, it was praise rather than curse.
Duffel in hand, Mac stepped onto the dock. The marina parking lot was full of empty cars. The nearby streets had the usual traffic for a small town on a working night.
And Mac felt like he was being watched.
The back of his neck didn’t listen.
He paused at the top of the marina ramp and looked around, trying to find a reason for his unease.
It wasn’t the cement-cold stranger. He was still below decks with the owners of Blue Water Marine.
Mac swept the front ranks of the parked vehicles on the marina lot, searching out spots where someone could see without being easily seen. There were pickup trucks, a few panel vans, and plenty of rusted-out urban beaters worth less than the gas in their tank. Nothing unusual.
Except the hair on his neck wouldn’t lie down.
His own boat was docked on the other side of the marina, a mile closer than the little house he owned. Mac cut across a corner of the parking lot, punched in a code at another gate, and vanished down the gangway.
8
DAY ONE
MANHATTAN
11:30 P.M.
Ambassador Steele turned away from the wall of television screens in his office/home. A quick push with his hands sent his wheelchair humming across the polished tile floor. He had a motorized wheelchair but preferred the modest exercise he got rolling himself around his large office.
He hit the button blinking on his phone and spoke so that the microphone could pick up his voice. “Steele.”
“Emma Cross, as requested.”
“Thank you, Dwayne.”
In the next room, his assistant transferred the call and went back to talking in a low voice into the headset he wore.
“You requested information on MacKenzie Durand, called Mac,” Steele said, forcing himself not to look at his watch.
“Yes.”
“I’ll tell Grace as soon as we’re finished, but I wanted you to know right now that Durand could be a valuable ally or a lethal enemy. Until five years ago, he and his Special Ops team were deployed into some of the world’s nastiest places. On the last op, he was the only survivor. He quit and never looked back. Rumor is that the CIA hung his team out to dry with bad intel.”
At the other end of the line, Emma drew in her breath and stared out over the marina parking lot. “Mac wouldn’t be the first that happened to.”
“Or the last. The political back-stabbing among American intel agencies is St. Kilda’s biggest recruiting boost. That and the built-in lack of competence that comes from political hacks being appointed to high office.”
Emma wanted to laugh, but it hurt too much. “Amen. Been there, got screwed without being kissed, didn’t go back for seconds.”
Steele’s laugh was as unexpected as sunrise at midnight. “As I said, St. Kilda is more than happy to pick up the talented survivors. You’re one of them. Durand is another. As much of his background as I could get without ringing alarms is in a file waiting to be downloaded to your computer.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“I want you to recruit Durand. You have all the skills.”
Emma blinked. She indeed had been trained by the Agency in recruiting locals. She had been very good at it.
And she had hated it.
“What if he doesn’t want to be recruited?” she asked.
“Buy him.”
“From what I’ve seen of him, I doubt that would work. He’s too self-confident, not needy or greedy.”
Steele let the silence lengthen before he said, “If
“Yes, sir,” Emma said through her teeth.
Steele laughed again. “Why am I hearing echoes of ‘screw you, sir’?”
“Good ears?” she asked dryly.
“Don’t be surprised to see Grace and Annalise with Joe.”
“Family vacation,” she said. “Always heartwarming.”
“Joe loves the Pacific Northwest when it isn’t raining,” Steele said. “Ask anyone who knows him.”
“Fickle man. I hear it rains a lot here. That’s how it got so green.” But Emma understood what hadn’t been said-Faroe was traveling with his wife and daughter under cover of a vacation.
“Research is still digging,” Steele said. “We’ll get back to you.”
He broke the connection.
Emma rubbed her forearms, feeling chilled. She hoped it wasn’t her grave St. Kilda was digging.
She settled into the cold Jeep, booted up her laptop, and began reading-keeping one eye out for Mac to reappear. Living aboard a boat was illegal at the marina.
According to Mac’s file, he had a little cottage in town.
All she had to do was freeze her butt off waiting for him to go home.
9
