Death Echo

didn’t change course.
    The waves were all too real, too threatening. She didn’t need to search the radar for more trouble.
    Behind her the hatch door slammed down.
    â€œMac?” she asked.
    â€œMinute.”
    His voice was harsh. He limped heavily back to Temuri’s body and began an awkward, one-handed search. When he was finished, he hadn’t discovered anything more sinister than money and an old black comb. The passport was Canadian, in a name that wasn’t Shurik Temuri.
    With a long, relieved breath, Mac pulled himself to his feet and limped heavily toward the stairs leading down to the staterooms and head. He paused only to check Blackbird ’s speed, direction, and radar. The freighter was coming along nicely, soon to provide a moving screen.
    A bit of orange flashed at the most distant radar ring. Hanging on to the console, he stared at it.
    â€œDeath echo,” he said.
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œOne of my team…used to say that. Shouldn’t…be there.” Emma took one look at Mac’s face and said, “Lie down before you fall down. I can run Blackbird .”
    â€œGotta search rooms.”
    She started to ask a question, then bit her lip. “There are small duffels in the cabins. Take the wheel. What am I searching for?”
    Instead of answering, Mac eased himself down the stairs. It wasn’t pretty, but he didn’t add to his injuries. He went through empty drawers like a kid looking for Christmas. Then he emptied out the small duffels. His breath hissed at a flash of silver in the dim light. Very delicately he began to take apart the small package.
    A ham sandwich.
    Wrapped in tinfoil.
    He didn’t know whether to laugh or swear, but he did start breathing again. He sorted through the rest of the belongings. Like Temuri, the cousins hadn’t brought anything aboard that would raise a border guard’s interest.
    The effort made his hands clammy with sweat, but he climbed back into the salon. He tossed the partially unwrapped sandwich on the pilot seat.
    â€œAt least we have food,” he said, breathing hard. “Lovich’s wife doesn’t believe in plastic.”
    â€œYou’re weaving on your feet,” Emma said. “Lie down.”
    He tossed the ear protectors on the pilot seat and repositioned his headset. “Got a puzzle.”
    Her hands flexed hard on the wheel. Neither of them could afford to waste energy arguing. She concentrated on keeping Blackbird on the compass course he had given her.
    The freighter took up an unnerving amount of the radar screen.
    Mac leaned against the pilot seat. “The port fuel tank is bogus. Whatever is inside isn’t paper. Too heavy.”
    She didn’t question his conclusions. Ships were his expertise, not hers.
    â€œTwo choices,” he said. “Solid gold. Lead shielding.”
    A chill swept over her, making goose flesh rise.
    â€œI’d like to go for gold,” he said, spacing his words for breath, “but I found some heavy wire cabling inside a fake fuel hose.”
    â€œJesus,” she breathed. “A bomb. It’s already wired?”
    â€œYeah.” Mac braced himself and frowned at the compass. Still on course, and too rough. The wind must be shifting.
    He started to fade, then felt the chemicals kick in again. They wouldn’t keep him on his feet much longer.
    â€œThe good news,” he said, “is that I didn’t find a timer or a radio trigger. This could be a fancy head-fake. Show how easy it is. Humiliate Uncle Sam and the Georgians at the same time, and raise terrorist aspirations around the world.”
    â€œOr not.” Her voice was clipped.
    â€œOr not. I’d give my left nut for a Geiger counter. Until we know if the guts are in place, we can’t—”
    â€œTake the wheel.” She grabbed the med kit.
    Automatically Mac began steering. “What are you doing?”
    â€œThat sandwich gave me an idea. Do you have a comb?”
    â€œTemuri does. Left rear pocket.”
    Emma grimaced. A minute later she came back with Temuri’s comb and a bundle of long, dark hairs clenched in her fist.
    Mac started to ask about the hair, then shut up. Sure as hell, Temuri didn’t have any more use for it.
    â€œI need your serrated knife,” she said.
    â€œBackpack.”
    She fished the knife out one-handed, snagged the foil-wrapped sandwich, and went the few steps to the galley.