Death Echo

“Wait,” Emma said, “is Canada in on the game?”

“All our information says no,” Grace said. “What are you going to do?”

“Head north,” Emma and Mac said together.

“Like fucking lemmings,” Mac said under his breath.

Emma felt the same way.

And she was tired of it.

“St. Kilda can track us by our special phones, right?” she asked Grace.

Mac looked at Emma, smiled, then started laughing. When it came to tactics, partnering with her was like looking in a mirror.

It was time for the other side to work blind.

“What’s the joke?” Grace asked.

“Can you find us by our phones?” Mac asked.

“Yes.”

“Good,” Emma said, watching Mac. “Because in a few minutes, Blackbird is going stealth.”

53

DAY FIVE

NORTH OF CAMPBELL RIVER

10:15 A.M.

A single locator says Blackbird hasn’t left Discovery Harbor,” One said. “The other locator is dead.”

Tim Harrow looked at the hard, well-built man known only as “Team One” or “One.” The other team members were also known by a numeric designation.

Don’t ask.

Don’t tell.

“One” was the leader of the team of five that had met him at public docks connected to a small, deserted resort/campground. The nearby, popular Blind Channel resort obviously siphoned off all the business. At this time of year, the ratty public docks were ignored. In any case, most cruisers were in their winter docks by mid-September. Harrow’s team had told him that fall weather was notoriously unpredictable in northern B.C.

It was hard to believe that today. Steady breeze, a few clouds, water like blue glass with artistic ripples here and there to keep things from being boring. Ringing it all was the endless mixed forest, green on green.

“Thank you, One,” Harrow said. “Let me know the instant that changes.”

“Sir.”

The man went back to his team. Part of the team was aboard the Summer Solstice, a sixty-foot power boat. The rest was in the Zodiac that served as the larger boat’s tender.

Harrow had no doubts about the competence of the team. He’d never met a group of better conditioned, smarter men in his life. Seasoned, too. All of them looked to be in their mid-thirties.

Or maybe they’re in their twenties with a lot of mileage on them, Harrow thought. Hope this assignment doesn’t pile on more.

What the hell are Emma and Durand doing on Blackbird? Polishing the decks with their tongues?

Harrow pulled out his special cell phone. Good satellite signal. He punched in Joe Faroe’s number.

“Who are you?” asked a male voice.

“Emma Cross used to work for me,” Harrow said.

“I care about that because…?”

“She’s working for you and St. Kilda Consulting now.”

Silence.

“Look, Faroe,” Harrow said impatiently. “Blackbird is sitting dead in the water in Campbell River and I want to know what the hell is going on. The clock is running hard. You know it. I know it. Cut the bullshit.”

At the other end of the connection in Rosario, Faroe kicked back in the uncomfortable motel chair and thought hard. Part of him and all of Steele had been expecting this.

And most of Faroe had hoped they both were wrong.

“What do you want?” Faroe asked.

“Blackbird at the coordinates I’ll give you. And I want her there fast.”

“If you don’t get what you want?”

“St. Kilda Consulting is out of business. Permanently.” Harrow listened to the silence stretch. “Look, we’re taking over the running of the op. Help us and you’re golden. If you get in our way-”

“Yeah,” Faroe cut in, “I heard you the first time.” He paused, thought of Alara, and wished he felt better about cutting in a third party. Or was it a fourth?

“Faroe?”

“Give me the coordinates,” he said curtly. “Then call me back in ten minutes.”

As soon as Harrow gave the numbers the connection went dead.

Faroe, you son of a bitch, you’re everything your file told me to expect.

54

DAY FIVE

DISCOVERY PASSAGE

10:21 A.M.

Seymour Narrows was behind them. It had been a treacherous surge and boil of cold green and nearly black water sucking around Blackbird. They had powered through the rough, heavy currents and tidal whorls without waiting for slack water, something that many pleasure boats couldn’t or wouldn’t do.

It had been an exhilarating ride. Once Emma had realized that Mac was watchful rather than worried, she had enjoyed the feel of Blackbird meeting conditions that changed from second to second. She was discovering that she liked challenging water.

“I keep thinking the boat should feel lighter after you off-loaded all that junk,” Emma said.

“Locator bugs don’t weigh much.”

“Still…Do you think they’re waterproof?”

“I think the plastic bag I tacked below the edge of the dock will get wet whenever a big enough boat goes by.”

“But until then,” she said, “the bugs will send reassuring signals of Blackbird tied to the dock in Discovery Harbor, Campbell River, B.C.”

“Too bad it isn’t true. That was the most fun I’ve ever had in Discovery Harbor.”

She didn’t hide the grin that spread over her face. “No wonder yachting is so popular.”

Mac made a sound of strangled laughter. “Never heard it called that before.”

“My turn,” she said, reaching for the wheel.

“You said that last night.”

She gave him a sideways look. “Turn about and all that.”

“Did I complain?” He turned the wheel over to her.