Death Echo

“Wake me up before we go around the headland,” he said.

“Will do.”

She drove the twelve-foot dinghy with flair, skimming down the channel like a crazed water bug. She liked everything about being in control of this particular transportation, especially the speed.

Best of all, Mac wasn’t upset about being busted down to first mate. Quite the opposite. He had kicked back to take one of the power naps all people in demanding professions learned to use for recharging.

There were a few signs of humanity on the long channel. A deserted cottage, floats marking crab or prawn pots, a workboat headed for somewhere else at top speed, a fisherman looking for a late salmon. Enough for local flavor, but not so much that Emma felt crowded.

She was having too much fun with the zippy little dinghy to notice that she was tired. Camouflaging Blackbird had been a grueling experience, complete with scratches, welts, and sap from the fresh greenery they had weaved through the netting. The camouflage wouldn’t hold for more than a few days-at most-but all they needed was a chip to bring to the Agency poker table for a few hours of play.

Blackbird was a very big chip.

58

DAY FIVE

NEAR DISCOVERY PASSAGE

3:41 P.M.

Shurik Temuri watched the signal on his cell phone screen, turned up an inlet, and scanned the shoreline with his glasses. Though the signal was clear, he couldn’t see Blackbird.

He braced the fishing rod upright against the gunwale, a silent explanation of why someone would be out in a little boat, going nowhere in particular. Then he engaged the outboard engine and eased up the inlet.

He was almost past Blackbird when he realized that he was looking at a camouflaged boat.

Carefully Temuri maneuvered closer until he was right on top of Blackbird. If he hadn’t been so impatient, he would have appreciated the skill and hard work that had gone into making the boat all but disappear. As it was, he was simply pleased that no one was aboard.

Even seen through binoculars, the couple in the red Mustang suits and speeding dinghy had been unmistakable. He didn’t mind killing, but he did object to unnecessary fuss. Much better to find Blackbird empty than to have to empty her himself.

Just in case the captain and first mate came back too soon, Temuri checked his weapon. As always, it was ready, waiting. His knife cut and slashed through netting and greenery. He boarded Blackbird from the swim step.

The back door was locked.

Temuri used his foot on the glass. Noisy, but fast. Soon he was inside the cabin. Quickly, thoroughly, he went through the boat, collecting what he needed. The cash was a happy surprise. He stuffed it in his pocket without counting the bills.

It finally was time to end the game.

59

DAY FIVE

NEAR DISCOVERY PASSAGE

3:46 P.M.

Occasional spray felt cold on Emma’s face. Wind and tide combined to make a nasty little chop on even the most protected water. Nothing dangerous, but there was enough splash that she was grateful for the fitted Mustang suit Mac had insisted that she wear. If nothing else, the waterproof gear covered nearly all of the scratches on her. Gloves took care of the rest.

And Mac looked so male in his red gear that she kept wanting to take a bite out of him.

The rocky outcropping came closer like a video on fast forward.

“Showtime,” she said over the outboard’s noise.

As though he hadn’t been snoring two seconds ago, Mac came fully alert, ready to rock and roll. He lifted the waterproof binoculars he wore around his neck.

“Go up and around,” he said. “I want to eyeball the setup before we commit.”

“So do I.”

Mac directed Emma around a small island and down a tiny, shallow channel. She watched the nav screen to maintain her bearings. She’d discovered that it would be easier to get lost in the tangled waterways of the Inside Passage.

“Slow to a crawl,” Mac said.

She cut back and went around the point at the slowest speed the dinghy could manage. She could just make out a deserted resort with a single public dock tucked back into a cove at the head of a narrow side channel. At the end of the channel, a stream cascaded in a sheet of froth into the bay, making a rushing sound that rivaled the wind.

Mac lifted the glasses and examined the area thoroughly.

“You see Harrow aboard?” she asked.

“The yacht has Summer Solstice painted on the stern,” Mac said. “Plus a black Zodiac that’s too military looking to be a yacht tender.”

“A SEAL team?”

“Or something like it,” he said. “I can see two ripped dudes in T-shirts, khakis, and Glocks out on the deck of the big boat, another equally ripped dude in the Zodiac wearing a dive suit. Whoa, there’s a big guy in khakis and a wind jacket with what looks like a machinegun underneath.”

“Sweet.”

“Yeah. I’m touched. They’re all watching the main channel. I guess they’re expecting to see Blackbird. A fifth man just came out on the deck. He’s a good-looking city type in a dress shirt, no tie, expensive slacks, and leather boat shoes.”

“Blond?” she asked. “Short, sleek hair? Mouth like the sharp side of a blade?”

“Yeah three times.”

“Meet Tim Harrow.”

“I believe I will. Take us in at about eight knots.”

Emma powered up on the outboard. The dinghy ran quietly toward the little marina. The men on the big boat glanced in their direction, then turned back to their posts, still watching for Blackbird.

Or most of them did. The man in the wind jacket kept watching them.

“So Harrow brought a team with him,” Mac said. “Spec Ops, no doubt.”

“I’m shocked.”

“No awe?”

“I’m not planning on going mano a mano with them.”

Mac gave her a dark, sideways glance. “You want to take the lead with Harrow?”

“No. He could teach slippery to soap. He knows that I’m not good-cop material, and you look like the hard-ass you are. We’ll double-team him.”