Death Echo

power structure. Low-level smugglers, usually.”
    â€œYou were one of them, weren’t you?” Emma guessed.
    â€œI ran away when I was seventeen,” Mac said. “Hated the ever-stinking guts of this place. One of my best friends died in a ‘fishing accident’ after I left. The body was never found. He was moving cigarettes north and weed south in a small, hell-fast boat. Tommy was, too, but he survived. Until last night.”
    â€œThe rez is the third faction?” Grace asked.
    â€œYeah. There’s some pushing and shoving at the smuggling trough between the rez and the clan, but nothing like between the Sicilians or the Asian tongs or the Russian mafiyas in our big cities.”
    â€œWhere do the Mexicans come in?” Grace asked. “I’ve seen more than a few since we got here.”
    â€œThe ones who are illegal keep their head down,” Mac said. “The legal ones invest in Mexican food joints, the mayor, and the city council.”
    â€œIn other words, the Mexicans are pretty much ignored, except to be milked,” Grace said.
    â€œThey came too late to the Pacific Northwest to have much traction in local crime,” Mac pointed out.
    â€œUnlike the southern border states,” Grace said wearily. “Nice to know that the Pacific Northwest is holding up its end of the twenty percent of world Gross Domestic Product that is the result of crime.”
    â€œAlso known as the shadow economy,” Emma said. “Does anything ever change?”
    â€œI can’t fix the world,” Grace said. “But I can fix what I trip over.” Or what is shoved down my throat.
    Faroe passed the dinette, stroking Grace’s cheek on the way by. Annalise was blissfully slack in his arms. Laughing one minute, sleeping deep the next. A look passed between man and wife. He shook his head in answer to the unspoken question and vanished into Annalise’s room.
    Grace looked at Mac. “You’ve given me a general picture. What about Bob Lovich and Stan Amanar in particular?”
    â€œFirst cousins,” Mac said. “Closer than most brothers. When their ancestors emigrated, it was from the part of Russia we call Georgia, with a lot of Ukrainian cousins thrown in. Close cousins.”
    â€œNo love for Russia,” Grace said.
    â€œNot as tsarist Russia, the U.S.S.R., or the new Russia,” Mac agreed. “Don’t get me wrong. Rosario’s immigrant community isn’t awash in old-country nationalists. They wear the ancestral costumes and cook the food and speak a dialect of the home languages, but all they really care about is the clan here and now in America.”
    â€œSo they don’t have much contact with the Old World?” Emma asked him.
    â€œThey’re still bringing over cousins and cousins of cousins, especially after the Wall fell, but if there are dodgy business contacts in the Old World, I don’t know about them.”
    At the back of her mind Grace listened to the soft sound of the door to the other room closing. When Faroe’s big hands settled on her shoulders and began to work on knots, she sighed in relief. She hadn’t realized how tight she’d become.
    But nothing showed on her face when she said to Mac, “Tommy was Blackbird’ s transit captain. What are your chances of being tapped as his replacement?”
    â€œPretty good,” Mac said. “I do a lot of work for Blue Water Marine. So do a few other captains. I don’t know who’s in port now.”
    â€œIf they go with someone else, are you ready to follow Blackbird right now?” Faroe asked quietly.
    Mac went through a mental checklist in his head. “ Blackbird is fast for her size. If they run above fourteen knots, I’ll have to make it up at night.”
    â€œIf it comes to that, we’ll rent you a faster boat,” Grace said.
    â€œFuel tanks are full on my boat,” Mac continued. “Water tank is full. Engine is good. Oil is good. Electrical is solid. So is the generator. Rations are adequate for a week. I was going out if no new job turned up.”
    â€œAdequate for two?” Emma asked.
    â€œIt won’t be fancy,” he said, looking at her.
    â€œAnd here I was dreaming of fresh prawns and champagne.”
    Grace smiled tiredly. “Emma will check out of her room immediately and move aboard. Joe will organize our watch times.”
    Faroe stroked his hand