An Oriental was running forward on the dock, waving to her—one of Ohira’s people. He was swinging a nylon sports bag as if to throw, and signaling for her to catch it. Behind him, several others were wheeling out one of the shoreside gangplanks. Michelle ran to the nearside rail and caught the bag. It was full of mecs. Even as she watched, one of them—a telebot—came to life and scurried along the deck to the object that had fallen from above. It looked like a gun. The other mec was climbing down after it from the fantail. The two of them began dragging it between them, while another emerged from the bag.
The gangplank touched the side of the cockpit, but at once the gap started opening again. “Ms. Lang! Come quick.” The Japanese who had thrown the bag waved frantically. It was her only chance now. The inflatable tied below the stern was pitching crazily in the turbulence from the screws.
But as Michelle was about to move, another figure dropped down the stairway from the fantail. It was one of Finnion’s guards. He hadn’t seen Michelle, who was back under the edge of the fishing cockpit, but he had seen the Japanese holding the gangplank. Misinterpreting their intentions and thinking they were trying to board, he produced his gun and aimed. Michelle hit him full-force from behind, throwing all her weight. He doubled over the rail and went down into the water between the boat and the dock. Michelle caught herself before she went in after him, steadied herself, and then jumped to the gangplank. It was rolling back again before she was halfway down.
Vanessa ran forward from the salon to the bottom of the stairs going up to the bridge. Smoke was engulfing everything above. Garsten, in the doorway behind her, had torn his shirt off to shake the mec out of it. Ellipulos disappeared upward, hauling a fire extinguisher. Payne came down out of the smoke, his eyes red and cheeks streaming.
“What is it? What’s happened up there now?” Vanessa shrieked.
Payne shook his head, groggy and bewildered. “One of them set off a distress flare behind the bridge somehow. The boat deck’s alight. . . . I don’t know. . . .”
Victor Bazhin and Norbert Dunne were blocking the door from the dining room and forward lounge, looking aghast. Zed shouldered his way through from behind them. “Where’s Mike?” He spotted Payne. “Chief, somebody’s overboard.”
“Who?”
“I think it’s one of Andy’s guys—went in off the stern.”
Finnion, holding a flashlamp, came through from the darkened salon aft of them. “A bunch of guys just showed up in two cars—Japanese or something. They’ve just crashed through the gate. That gray van of yours is there too.”
Vanessa closed her eyes and inhaled slowly, her jaw tight. Now she saw their mistake in all its ghastliness. The van left unguarded; Corfe loose. And now Ohira was involved too—which no doubt had a lot to do with whatever had gone wrong in Tacoma.
Kyle, holding a gun, came out of the salon behind Finnion. “The lawyer—she’s off the boat,” he announced. “They got her off.”
“How? Where is she?” Vanessa whispered.
Kyle gestured behind him with the gun. “Fished her off on a gangplank. They’re landing her on the dock now.”
“Why didn’t you shoot her, you fool?” Vanessa seethed.
“Hell, it’s not up to me. I just—”
“Give me that!” Vanessa’s tone was enough to make Kyle let her take the gun from his hand. She went back through the salon, heading for the stern.
“Christ, she can’t! There’s people coming from all over out there,” Kyle said.
“Wait!” Payne called after Vanessa, but she took no notice. He started after her. At that moment, the engines died.
“Get up on deck,” Finnion snapped at Zed and Kyle. “Head her off outside.”
Vanessa stormed through the salon, down the stairway at the end and along the passage, and burst into the engine room. Cole was wielding a wrench, grappling to stem fuel pouring from a broken pipe. His clothes were soaked; the floor was awash.
“What the hell now?” Vanessa shouted. “What happened to the engines?”