Death Echo

woman.
    â€œWe’ll be crossing over the international line in an hour,” Mac said, looking at the computer.
    â€œWhat’s our border protocol?”
    â€œIn the old days, we’d call Canadian customs, give them our stats, and hope the waterhole theory holds.”
    â€œMeaning?” she asked.
    â€œMeaning they would log Blackbird into their computers, give us an entry number to stick in the window by the pilot seat downstairs, and we would sail on without a pause.”
    â€œOld days, huh? Would that be pre-9/11?”
    â€œPretty much.”
    â€œAnd today?” she asked.
    â€œThe lion always pounces.”
    â€œMeaning?”
    â€œTechnically we probably should go through the closest customs,” he said. “But what we’re going to do is take the protected run through the Gulf Islands to Nanaimo, and get inspected there. For going to Campbell River, it’s quicker.”
    It definitely was a smoother ride. Until he knew more about how Emma’s stomach took rough water, he’d stick to the easy route.
    â€œHow detailed is the inspection?” she asked.
    â€œDepends on how nice the U.S. is feeling toward Canada, and vice versa. If we’ve been giving Canadian yachties a special look-see at our border, we get the same in return. Or if the Canadians are miffed about a U.S. import tax on their lumber, they squeeze tourists. Same for our side. There can be any number of reasons for dicking with border crossings that have zero to do with anyone’s security—except the politicians’.”
    â€œHow unsurprising,” she said.
    â€œYeah. Humans.”
    In silence Mac watched Emma handling the boat, altering course on instruction, entering waypoints into the plotter, checking tides in Nanaimo at various possible arrival times, watching gauges for problems, and doing all the other things that added up to driving a boat.
    In return, Mac watched the radar screen that overlaid the charts, his eyes alert for anything that followed their course, random alterations included.
    â€œAnd?” she asked after he had studied the radar a particularly long time.
    â€œNothing that makes my neck tingle.”
    She watched Blackbird cut through blue water to the imaginary but very real international line in the water. When their radar showed the boat entering Canadian territory, Emma looked at Mac.
    â€œHow long does inspection take?” she asked.
    â€œNormally it’s just a courtesy,” Mac said. “You show passports, get a number, put the number on both sides of the front cabin, throw out whatever fruits are in season, and you’re good to go. Fifteen minutes on a busy day.”
    â€œFriendly, in a word.”
    â€œAnything to grease the flow of commerce and tourism—as long as someone isn’t suffering from short dick syndrome.”
    She nodded. “Okay. I’ll go back to learning to drive.”
    To get a feel for manually steering the boat under different water conditions, Emma took off the automatic navigation and guided Blackbird through the choppy waters that marked the fluid boundary between sovereign nations. The motion of the boat changed and the speed dropped.
    Tidal line, she thought, remembering Mac’s explanations. Or currents. Maybe both together.
    Gently she nudged the throttles up until they were making about nineteen knots again.
    Mac watched for a few moments, then said, “Push it to the max. Let’s find out what these big engines are really made of.”
    And how Emma’s stomach was.

35
    DAY FOUR
MANHATTAN
1:15 P.M .
    A mbassador Steele rolled his chair from one workstation to another, talking through his headset the whole time. He stopped rolling long enough for his fingers to fly over a computer keyboard. One of the wall screens blinked and showed a close-up of a dirty village whose open sewers festered among glorious mountain peaks.
    Dwayne glanced over. The name on the bottom of the screen was Ecuador. But for that, the village could have been in any mountainous country where poverty and villages prevailed.
    â€œThe op is compromised,” Steele said. “Evac is on the way to primary location. You have less than ninety minutes to extraction.” He paused. “Good. And if you see that lying toad on the way out, step on him.”
    Dwayne winced. Steele was at his most lethal when his voice was neutral. A click told Dwayne that his boss had