Death Echo

to the aviation section of the fuel docks. The pilot went to work filling the plane’s tank and cleaning the windshield just like a ground-based gas jockey.
    Emma called Faroe as soon as her hearing returned to normal.
    â€œWe’re refueling in Port Hardy,” she said quietly, relieved to be free of the hammering engine sounds. “No joy so far.”
    â€œFrack,” Faroe muttered savagely.
    â€œFrack?”
    â€œI’m holding Annalise. No F-bombs allowed.”
    Emma smiled, reaching for the sane and normal. “Someday soon, she’s going to ask her mommy what ‘F-bomb’ means.”
    â€œYeah, and by then her big brother will probably have taught her ten other nasty words, right, sweetie?”
    Annalise cooed.
    â€œShe’s the only joy on my end,” Faroe said. “If Harrow’s searchers have had any more luck than St. Kilda has, he’s sitting on it.”
    â€œI hope he gets hemorrhoids. Mac says we’ve covered all the back ways up to the Queen Charlotte Sound and back down to twenty miles below Campbell River.”
    Mac reached for the phone.
    Emma gave it to him.
    â€œMac, here,” he said. “I gather you’ve come up as empty as we have.”
    â€œDouble handful of F-bombs.”
    Mac shook his head. “As far as we can tell, no Blackbird twin has turned off through the Thurlows or gone sneaking around the back side of Quadra. Do you have any contacts other than Harrow and Alara?”
    â€œSteele knows Harrow’s boss.”
    â€œTwist his nuts,” Mac said.
    â€œAlready done. No go. Until everyone at the top of the feeding chain is dead-solid certain that Harrow can’t get the job done before the bad news sails into Seattle, we’re stuck up north sucking the Devil’s, uh, thumb.”
    Annalise burbled in the background.
    Mac smiled despite the anger, fear, and sheer frustration raging beneath his calm surface.
    â€œIf the Agency lets it all hang out in public,” Emma said impatiently, reclaiming the phone, “everyone’s lifetime of experience, decades of effort, overt and covert contacts, and international knowledge in general is in the sewer or dead by execution. If the top of the food chain keeps a lid on Blackbird, they might survive, and with them whatever ops and covert sources they have running outside this one particular op. For them, it’s not just careers at stake. It’s actual human lives overseas. Until they’re certain there’s no other way out, they’ll zip it and keep it zipped. This can’t be news to anyone with the IQ of a pile worm.”
    â€œDoesn’t mean I have to like it,” Faroe shot back.
    â€œDid somebody ask you to?”
    Faroe said something Annalise wasn’t supposed to hear. Then, “You sound like Grace.”
    â€œThank you.”
    There was the rush of Faroe releasing a long breath. “Sorry. Last few hours, my AQ is off the charts.”
    â€œAQ?”
    â€œAsshole Quotient.”
    He disconnected.
    Emma looked at the phone with a bemused expression.
    â€œWhat?” Mac asked.
    â€œMy boss just apologized. To me.”
    â€œSavor it,” he said absently.
    She followed his glance. He was watching the fuel dock where boats orbited like moths waiting for their chance in the flames.
    â€œWhat?” she asked.
    â€œHaving a ‘duh’ moment,” he said.
    â€œSpeak.”
    â€œAssume Swan came off a compliant containership somewhere between Southeast Alaska and the northern tip of Vancouver Island.”
    â€œWhere we are now.”
    Mac nodded. “When I picked up Blackbird, she had about enough fuel to make Rosario, if I trusted the sight gauges.”
    Emma cocked her head and listened.
    â€œBut I know better than to trust anything coming right off a containership,” Mac said, “so I got some reliable fuel aboard before I ran to Rosario.”
    â€œThat’s where I met you. At the fuel dock.”
    He turned and smiled. “Sometimes a man gets lucky. Real lucky.”
    â€œSo does a woman. Which leaves us with a probably thirsty Swan somewhere between way north and here.”
    â€œPort Hardy is a magnet.”
    â€œWhy?” she asked, looking around at the unassuming little harbor.
    â€œFirst reliable fuel—”
    â€œYou keep mentioning ‘reliable,’” she interrupted.
    â€œSome places don’t sell enough fuel to keep