Death Echo

brain and gonads.
    At the starboard rail, Mac straightened a little and ran, head low, to the bow.
    Emma glanced again through the stainless hawsehole toward the fuel dock. Her breath stopped when she saw Lovich glance in the direction of Blackbird .
    If he saw anything out of place, he didn’t point it out to Amanar.
    Mac looked at the bowline and wanted to curse along with the cousins. I knew this was too easy.
    Unlike the stern line, which led directly from the inside cleat through a hawsehole and from there to the dock, the bowline had been looped back on itself through the hawsehole. It was under too much tension to work free.
    Mac needed the knife he’d given to Emma.
    From the stern, she watched as he grabbed the line with both hands. She could sense the effort as he tried to pull in enough slack to back the twisted loop off one horn of the cleat.
    No good.
    The shouts from the fuel dock were getting fewer and further between.
    They’re winding up, she thought. Time to go.
    She crouched low and duck-walked toward the shelter of the salon. Once there she straightened enough to move fast. Within seconds she was crouched beside Mac in the shelter of the bow. She passed over the knife handle first.
    Swiftly he laid the blade to a taut portion of the mooring line. The braided nylon was under strain, holding the yacht to the fuel dock. The knife passed through the heavy line like it was cold butter. When there were only a few threads left, he handed the knife back to Emma.
    â€œSame for the stern?” she breathed.
    â€œNo. Clean through. I’ll signal.”
    There wasn’t time to argue about a cut line splashing into the water near the dock or sawing a boat free before the engines came on. Emma just scuttled back to the stern the fastest way she could.
    Mac followed as far as the pilot house door. He stayed out of sight of the dock as he checked the electrical switches in the panel next to the wheel.
    Emma went back to her position at the stern hawsehole and watched through the glass door of the salon toward the pilot house. Wind swirled, shifting, pressing Blackbird against the dock rather than pushing her away.
    Mac raised his head long enough to check the settings at the helm. “Cut,” he said.
    She started cutting, only to find out that it wasn’t as easy as the bowline.
    The stern tie was slack.
    Mac stood up behind the wheel, knowing that the motion would betray him to anyone watching. If nothing else, the computer screen was bright enough to backlight him. He glanced over his shoulder to see how Emma was doing. The lazy curve of the stern line told him what was wrong.
    Desperately she tried to take up the slack in the line with one hand and cut with the other. It worked, but she was barely halfway through the thick line.
    â€œHey!” Lovich bellowed across the dock to Blackbird . “What do you think you’re doing?”
    Time’s up.

71
    DAY SIX
TOFINO
7:08 P.M.
    Y ou need us!” Lovich shouted. “You can’t just—”
    Blackbird’ s engines roared to life, drowning out Lovich.
    He started to run toward the boat, but the fuel attendant grabbed him and demanded to be paid. When Lovich struggled, other men ran from nearby tie-ups to help the dockhand. Blackbird ’s boat-tossing arrival hadn’t won Lovich any friends in the harbor.
    â€œStop cutting,” Mac said. “Wait for my signal.”
    Emma yanked back the knife.
    It was the only warning she had before Blackbird ’s stern swung hard away from the dock, only to slam up against the restraint of the stern line. The braided line vibrated with tension.
    â€œNow,” Mac said.
    Emma laid the serrated knife against the shivering line. It leaped apart beneath the blade.
    â€œGo!” she said before the cut line splashed into the water.
    As Amanar ran past Lovich and the angry dock attendant, the underwater side-thruster growled. The stern of the Blackbird jumped sideways a few feet, then yards.
    â€œClear,” she said. “Go. Go. Go.”
    Amanar stared at Emma, shook his head sharply in disbelief. “You!”
    He started to lunge for her, then realized that the stern swim step was already too far away from the dock. If he tried to leap for the boat, he’d be swimming real quick. He windmilled for balance, found it, and saw his best chance.
    Blackbird ’s bow was still held to the dock.
    The aft side-thruster snarled while Mac slammed as