Death Echo

74

DAY SIX

SOUTH OF TOFINO

8:01 P.M.

A wave crashed hard over Blackbird’s starboard bow. Water foamed gray and silver in the thin moonlight that penetrated the massing clouds. Even though rain hadn’t begun, the ship’s three windshield wipers moved furiously to clear the forward windows after each wave broke. And they broke all the time.

Emma and Temuri lurched sideways, held from a fall only by her hand wrapped around the overhead handrail that ran down the center of the salon ceiling. She groaned and said something in Russian.

Temuri’s response was blunt. “Nyet.”

“I can’t hold both of us with one hand! My wrist…” She sagged and flinched.

Her fingers slipped.

The knife drew more blood.

“Watch it, Temuri,” snarled Mac. “Another cut like that and we’re all going to the bottom.”

Emma repeated it in Russian as she struggled to balance herself and Temuri’s much heavier weight.

Waves hit Blackbird one after another, sending the ship wallowing from side to side like an egg rolling in a bowl.

Even in the dim light of the computer screen, Mac could see that Temuri was turning green. He had a fine sheen of moisture on his face.

Cold sweat, Mac thought. It’s about time. If one of those big waves catches us wrong, the side windows will blow out.

And Mac would let it happen. He and Emma were wearing float harnesses. Temuri wasn’t. Those were better odds than they had right now.

Temuri said something guttural to Emma. She moaned as he freed her right hand. She shook out her arm. With agonizing slowness she raised her fingers toward the rail.

Then she twisted and slammed her elbow into Temuri’s neck. He managed to take most of it on his jaw, but lost his balance. He yanked savagely on her hair. The knife jerked.

Mac’s kick deflected the knife before Temuri could cut Emma’s throat. As she rolled free and came up on her feet, Temuri shifted the knife to his other hand and lunged for her. The hard side of Mac’s hand slammed against Temuri’s shoulder. Mac had been aiming for the neck, but a wave had interfered.

With a grunt, Temuri sliced the knife toward Mac.

He fell, scissoring his legs, and took Temuri down. In seconds they became a grunting, cursing, kicking, slashing pile of intent to kill. Being knocked around by the boat and each other didn’t leave any room for finesse. Biting, kicking, gouging, they grappled under the dinette for control of the knife, which had become slippery with blood.

Another wave sent both men rolling between the sofa and the dinette.

Emma dragged herself to her feet, braced herself, and watched the straining men like a snake waiting for a chance to strike. She managed a hard kick to Temuri’s kidneys before the melee moved out of her reach.

It wasn’t enough.

Mac was losing the battle. His right wrist and hand weren’t working. Adrenaline had suppressed Temuri’s seasickness. In a few minutes Emma would be left alone to deal with an assassin and a gale-force storm.

With a desperate heave, Mac changed positions with Temuri and locked his thighs around the man’s thick neck. Pain slashed across Mac’s left thigh and hip. He tightened his hold and wrenched with every bit of his body.

Mac felt as much as heard Temuri’s neck snap.

Emma grabbed the bloody knife as it skidded over the floor. Automatically she closed the weapon and stuck it in the pouch she wore around her waist. She didn’t need to check Temuri for a pulse. She had heard the crack of bone and tendon.

Her headset lay on the floor. Mac’s headset wasn’t far away. She grabbed for them while he kicked Temuri’s body to the side and staggered to his feet.

“You-okay?” Mac asked, breathing hard.

“Some cuts,” she said, pulling on a headset. “You?”

He ignored her question. “Take the wheel off auto. Steer into the waves.”

He locked his left hand into Temuri’s hair and dragged the body to the back of the salon. As he let go of Temuri, a big wave slammed into the boat, sending Blackbird reeling. Reflexively Mac tried to brace himself and nearly passed out when his injured wrist smacked the edge of the dinette. He tried to bite back a hoarse sound of pain, but wasn’t entirely successful.

Temuri might have been slowed by seasickness, but he had been as vicious a fighter as Mac had ever gone against.

“You’re hurt!” Emma cried.

“Keep on my intersection course for that tanker,” he said, pointing to the radar overlay on the chart.

Every breath was a fight for Mac. Every heartbeat was a stab of pain. He had to take advantage of adrenaline while he had it in his system. Bracing himself with his legs and wedging his back into a corner behind the pilot seat, he used his good hand to yank out the cell phone that was gnawing on his neck.

“Temuri’s dead,” he told Faroe. “We’re banged up, but nothing fatal. I’m heading out into the shipping zone miles offshore, but something’s wrong with Blackbird. I’ll see if I can find out and get back to you.”

“Anything useful on Temuri’s body?” Faroe asked.

“Haven’t had time for treasure hunting.”

“Don’t throw him overboard until you do.”

The sound Mac made was too cold to be a laugh. “Wasn’t planning to. As soon as I wrap my wrist, I’m going to the engine room to check some things.”

“You can’t use your right hand,” Emma called out, loud enough for Faroe to overhear.

“If I find anything,” Mac said into the phone, “Emma will call.”

“What happened to you?” Faroe demanded.

“Broken wrist.”

“Shit.”

“The left one works fine.”

Mac disconnected. He didn’t need Faroe to add to the distraction of the pain pulsing through his arm with every heartbeat. Adrenaline was a primo painkiller until it wore off.

It was wearing off.

75

DAY SIX

WEST OF VANCOUVER ISLAND

8:09 P.M.

We’ve got to splint that wrist,” Emma said.

“Steer.”

“Splint. You’re no good to anyone if you pass out from pain.”

Mac couldn’t argue with that. There were bones grinding in his wrist, and each time it happened, the pain