Death Echo

one was sweet.
    He checked forward and aft. The anchor mounted on the overhanging bowsprit of the powerboat ahead of him would whittle his margin for error down to inches, so he pushed the joystick toward six o’clock. Blackbird slid a few feet out from under the threat. He pushed toward nine again, twice. Each time the boat moved sideways, against the current, as though on rails.
    â€œReally sweet,” he said, loud enough for the men on the dock to hear.
    Amanar and Lovich laughed.
    The stranger showed the emotions of a cement slab.
    Mac nudged the black hull closer and closer until he felt the fenders touch the rail of the dock.
    â€œJust punch the button that says ‘Maintain,’” Amanar called.
    Mac did. The twin propellers took over automatically. Blackbird held nearly motionless against the dock.
    Amanar took the bowline, then the stern line, and secured Blackbird to the dock.
    Mac leaned on the rail and looked down. “You’re going to put me out of business. Nobody will need a captain anymore. A baby could do it.”
    â€œHave to be a damn rich baby,” Amanar said. “Pod drives ain’t cheap. Shut it down. You’re good.”
    Mac stepped back to the helm long enough to shut down the big engines.
    Lovich said something to the stranger.
    Mac watched the third man, a heavy-set male with a wide Slavic face, black eyes, shoulder-length brown hair, and a well-combed mustache. He looked a lot younger than Lovich and Amanar, who were well advanced on the downhill slide to fifty. All in all, despite the longer hair, the stranger could have been Lovich’s nephew.
    And he was colder and more confident than anyone Mac had ever met outside of a sniper reunion.
    He caught a word or two of a language that could have been Eastern European or even Russian. Mac couldn’t be sure. Languages hadn’t been a specialty of his. He had been the backup medic and sniper for his team.
    Memories stirred in him, black and red, screaming. He shoved them down and bolted the hatch.
    Lose the replay, he told himself roughly. Long ago, far away, and nobody cares about it but you.
    Mac shoved a line through one of the midship hawseholes and leaped onto the dock. As he bent to tie the line to a dock cleat, he deliberately brushed against the stranger.
    Beneath the soft brown leather jacket there was solid muscle.
    â€œSorry,” Mac said. “Just need to get this line.”
    The man stared at him with blank, black eyes.
    Lovich murmured something in the stranger’s language.
    The man watched Mac.
    Suddenly the night was quiet, only the gentle lapping of water against the boats and the faint ringing sound of a loose stay hitting the mast on a nearby sailboat.
    The third man said something.
    Lovich nodded. “Let’s go aboard,” Amanar said, looking at his partner.
    Mac watched the third man move. Though he had an athlete’s coordination, slight hesitations and adjustments in balance told Mac that the man wasn’t used to the transition between land and water. Yet his confidence was superb. He catalogued his surroundings with a few sweeping glances.
    â€œYou’re working late,” Mac said, glancing at his watch. He still had plenty of time to go to Tommy’s place for the promised drink.
    Unfortunately.
    Drinking and talking about the good old days weren’t Mac’s favorite ways to spend time.
    Amanar hesitated, then said quickly, “We want to get a good look at her tonight. There’s going to be a rigging crew all over her soon. We have to turn her around fast.”
    Mac nodded toward the dark stranger. “Is this your new owner?” Amanar didn’t answer. “If he is, tell him I know how he might double his money overnight,” Mac added.
    The stranger stared at him rudely. He was a few inches under Mac’s height and perhaps forty pounds heavier. Muscle, not fat. He seemed to resent the English conversation.
    Lovich quickly translated.
    The stranger squinted at Mac, as though weighing him. “There’s a woman who got all wet and bothered over Blackbird the first time she saw the boat,” Mac explained casually, talking tothe third man while Lovich translated. “She’s a qualified buyer with money sizzling in the pockets of her very tight jeans.”
    Lovich was a good translator. He accompanied his words with hand gestures that outlined a shapely female butt.
    The third man answered with a