Three Weeks Last Spring (28 page)

"No, I can't.
I suspect your sister was sick long before I met her.
My involvement with her had nothing to do with her illness.
Despite how you feel about me, you're putting lives at risk by dumping these chemicals
.
I
s that what you want on your conscience—the deaths of innocent people?
Why don't you tell the captain here to turn his vessel around and head back to port?
I'm sure if you turn yourself in, we can cut a deal with the DA."

"Do you really think I'm that stupid?
I have no intention of letting you off the hook.
Besides, there's the good captain and his crew to think about.
No,
Mr.
Walker you are going to pay."

"Killing me won't make your sister sane again, Allensbury, if she ever was in the first place.
Nor will putting the lives of thousands of others at risk.
Be sensible about this, and turn this vessel around now.
What use will you be to your sister, languishing in the state penitentiary?"

"I have no intention of being caught.
Your body will never be found or at least nothing that will be
recognizable
.
The ocean will see to that.
We've talked long enough.
Captain, have your men get those
barrels
over the side.
You know how to deal with
Mr.
Walker."

Walker watched helplessly as one
barrel and
then another entered the water, bubbles rising from the seals as they sank into the depths.
Now would be a good time to show your hand, McCabe
, he said to himself
.

The two guards hauled Walker towards the
barrels
on the deck.
A deckhand removed the bolts from a section of handrails and lifted them out of the plugs that normally secured them.
A rough hand pushed him in the back and suddenly
he was flying through the air.

It seemed like a lifetime before he hit the water.
There was a feeling of pressure and a bubbling sound in his ears as the water rushed past and he started sinking.
He kicked hard for the surface, his lungs bursting with the effort of holding his breath.
A thousand icy daggers stabbed every inch of his body.
He ignored the searing agony in his ribs, and kicked again as dread set in
and he wondered if he had
the strength to make it to the surface
.

Suddenly he felt the breeze on his face and he was coughing and gagging trying to clear his lungs of the salt water he’d ingested.
No matter how cold he felt or how much pain he was in, he had to stay afloat for as long as possible.
He watched the
Rosario
Queen
steam
away, leaving him w
ith only the stars for company.

McCabe willed the helicopter to go faster.
Just how long did it take to cover thirty nautical miles?
Was his friend even alive?
His concern showed in the lines on his drawn and haggard face.
Every nerve in his body tingled.
He hadn't felt this anxious since his wife gave birth to their first child, for Christ's sake.
A burst of static erupted from his headphones
as a voice came over the radio.

"The target is changing course to the north-east."
A stream of GPS co-ordinates followed.
The helicopter pilot didn't miss a beat of the rotors, changing course before the transmission had ended.

"She's dumped her cargo!"
McCabe slammed his fist into the fuselage.
"We're too damned late
.
"

"With respect sir, you don't know that.
She could have picked up another vessel on her radar and decided to high-tail it out of there."

"No way!
The captain of the
Rosario Queen
hasn't switched on his radar, nor will he.
Not even if he were about to hit an iceberg and join the Titanic on the ocean floor.
I'm telling you, she's dumped her fucking cargo
.
"

"Either we go check that out, or we intercept the vessel.
It's your call, sir
,
" the co-pilot shouted back from the cockpit.

"Can't we do both?
Can't we fly over the ships’ original position before intercepting her?
If any of those
barrels
are still floating on the surface they represent a major shipping hazard."

"We're getting low on fuel.
We've got forty minutes of flying time left, at best.
That gives us one shot at this.
If your description of those
barrels
is accurate, I doubt they'll float for very long.
Under the circumstances we should go after the
Rosario Queen
and try to stay with her until the
Coastguard
cutter arrives on station.
When the cutter arrives, we can peel off, refuel, and come back to take a closer look at her original position—see if there are any
barrels
remaining on the surface.
If necessary drop a buoy.
I suggest we put an exclusion zone around her last position to alert shipping of a potential hazard.
That way we cover our backs.
But if you insist on flying over her last position then we may run the risk of losing her again."

McCabe thought hard.
What would Walker do in this situation?
Would he go after the vessel and the crew, or would he inspect the freighter's last position?
There was no doubt in his mind.
Walker wouldn't leave the area without first checking to see if she
ha
d dumped her cargo.
McCabe had a bad feeling about this, a real bad feeling.
The crew wouldn't let Walker go.
Chances are they’d throw him overboard with the
barrels
and leave him to the mercy of the sea.

The minutes ticked away.
The co-pilot broke into McCabe's thoughts.

"Sir?"

"Shut up, I'm thinking."
McCabe's mind whirled along with the helicopter’s rotors above his head.
Should he give the order to follow the
Rosario Queen
or fly over her earlier position?
He'd run the risk of losing the vessel, but he couldn't take the risk of losing his best friend and the best ma
rine biologist he'd ever known.

He keyed the send button on his radio mike.

"Turn back.
Let's check out that damned ship's last position.
And go in low.
I want to see the skids of this bird kissing the tops of the waves
.
I want to be one hundred percent certain there is nothing floating on the surface.
And get the boys at Whidbey to keep tracking that damned ship so we know exactly where she is at any given time."

"Yes, sir!"

The helicopter banked hard left throwing McCabe against the cold wall of the aft cabin.
He hoped and prayed he'd called it right and that he wasn't about to embark on a wild goose chase.
His instincts told him Walker was no longer on the vessel.

***

Walker estimated he'd been in the icy water for no more than ten minutes, but already his body temperature was dropping.
Against the ever-darkening sky he could just make out the silhouette of the
Rosario Queen
as she steamed steadily north.
His initial panic had gone and he felt surprisingly calm.
But despite his calmness, he
recognized
the on-set of symptoms of hypothermia.
It took a supreme effort to keep his chin above the waves and more often than not he found himself holding his breath as a particular
ly large swell washed over him.

He
tried changing position to float on his back, but with his arms still tied, it was impossible.
He needed to get his arms in front of him, but that was easier said than done in a choppy sea.
Even as a lanky schoolboy he'd never been able to manipulate his body as other students had and thirty-odd years
later, he still couldn't.

The ache in his shoulders became unbearable, and the ropes binding his wrists rubbed his skin raw.
With immense effort, and with his thigh muscles burning, he forced his legs back, bringing his body into an upright position.
This allowed him to tread water, but also sapped his energy.
How long he could maintain this effort was a matter of conjecture.
Every seventh wave seemed to be more powerful than the six before it, driving him under, further diluting his strength, and forcing him to use what little reserves of energy he had lef
t to kick hard for the surface.

Of the
barrels
, Walker could make out
a
few
which remained
half submerged on the surface, a stream of air bubbles rising from the seals, as their contents spilled into the sea.
He tried to keep away from them, but in the choppy sea he had no way of knowing whether their deadly cargo was sinking or floating on the surface.
The hazard the
barrels
posed to shipping diminished with each passing minute, as they sank and joined the others on the sea floor, where they would become an even greater hazard to ocean life and ultimately man.

In the ever-increasing darkness, Walker weighed up his situation and decided it wasn't good.
In fact it was hopeless.
He should have listened to McCabe and called the cops when he’d suggested, rather than trying to deal with matters on his own.
Of all the stupid, dumb decisions he'd made that had to be the worst
.
When would he learn that dealing with a gang of eco-criminals required all the help he could get?
But hindsight
was
a wonderful gift, b
ut it was just that, hindsight.

He lost track of time until all he could think about was the bone-numbing coldness of the ocean and his non-existent chances of survival.
He was cold, so cold that he started to convulse.
Despite the pain in his ribs and shoulders, all he wanted to do was sleep.
He'd already drifted off more than once, dreaming about his childhood only to jerk awake, coughing and spluttering from the seawater he'd swallowed.
He ha
d to stay awake—he just had to!

He couldn't succumb to hypothermia and die like this, but if help didn't arrive soon he knew he'd be done for.
What little reserves of energy he had would soon be depleted, and he'd slip into the inky blackness not having the strength or the will t
o force himself to the surface.

Turning his face skyward he tried to pick out familiar stars, but that only remind him of the first time he'd tasted Skye's sweet mouth.
Skye, sweet, sexy Skye.
Too late, he
realize
d
he loved her, but his stupidity and mistrust h
ad made her turn away from him.

When he closed his eyes he could see her as she had been that day on his boat, the wind whipping at her hair, a radiant smile on her face.
She was so beautiful, intelligent and
s
o darned sexy.
He wanted her, even more than that he needed her.
Although he'd not shown it, she made his life whole.
If she woul
d have him, he wanted to spend the rest of his l
ife and have children with her.

And yet
in truth he knew he'd lost her.

By now Ridge would have poisoned her mind against him and dragged her back to London.
Everything in his life
had
taken a downward spiral since he'd take
n
this
assignment
.
But he made himself a promise.
If
he got out of this mess he woul
d find her and put things right between them, even if it meant following her halfway across the globe.

In among the stars he spotted the twinkling lights of a plane as it climbed out of Anacortes airport, heading north towards Alaska.
Drifting, his mind wandered.
He shook his head to clear the salt water from his eyes and looked around, desperately seeking signs of a ship.
He thought he saw a light in the distance, but when he looked a second time, it had vanished.
Damn it!
He was hallucinating.
His exhausted mind was playing tricks
.

His chin fell onto his chest in utter despair.
He dozed for a while.
When he woke, the light he'd seen off to his right seemed to be getting closer.
As he watched, it detached itself from the horizon and climbed into the sky.
A plane!
And what's more, it was heading in his direction, sweeping the sea as if searching for something or someone.
He sho
uted through salt cracked lips.

"McCabe!
"

McCabe had come looking for him.
Thank God.
Everything was going to be all right after all.
Over the lapping of the waves, he could hear the
distinct sound of a helicopter.

"Come on, come on, baby!
That's it, k
eep coming this way."

Then to his utter dismay the machine changed course and headed away from him.
Walker screamed in frustration, his hopes dashed.
Despair shrouded him
.
I
t was pointless.
His chances of being rescued were non-existent.
He may as well accept his fate and give up.
But giving up wasn't in his nature, but this time the odds stacked against him were just too high.

The strong currents of Puget Sound tugged at him, dragging him along with the changing tide.
The wave strength increased and Walker found it more and more difficult to keep his head above water.
Caught in a sudden cross current, a particularly fierce wave washed over him.
The sea became a white churning cauldron, tossing him in one direction and then another.
He kicked hard but despite all hi
s efforts he was dragged under.

His lungs were bursting from the effort of holding his breath.
He was on the point of blacking out when the submerged tree trunk slammed into the back of his head.
It was a long time before his semi-unconscious body emerged on the surface, the sea once more calm as the wave rolled on towards the islands.
He floated face down in the water, an
invisible form in a black sea.