Death Echo

wearing one of her old-school dark suits, dark pumps, dark blouse against dark-toast skin. If her straight, short hair hadn’t been silver, she would have been a study in darkness.
    â€œCoffee, tea, water, soda, something stronger?” Dwayne asked.
    â€œWater, thank you. And privacy.”
    â€œWe’ve been through this before,” Steele said. “Unless you know something about Dwayne that I don’t—and have proof—he stays.”
    In silence, Alara took a seat across from Steele’s desk and waited until he wheeled into place opposite her. Dwayne put a bottle of water in front of her, refreshed Steele’s water supply, and went back to his own office, which was an extension of the main office whose heavy doors could be shut if Steele required privacy. Steele had made it clear that he didn’t.
    Two of the five phones in front of Dwayne showed calls on hold. All three of his computer screens showed message alerts. He put on his headset and went back to work.
    Alara listened to the low murmur of Dwayne’s voice and the muted, hollow clicks of his computer keyboard.
    â€œIt is a dangerous luxury,” Alara said.
    â€œWhat is?”
    â€œTrusting your assistant.”
    â€œAgain, we have had this conversation before. If you have nothing new to add, I have calls waiting.”
    She raised her eyebrows at Steele’s unusually curt manner. She almost asked if he was in pain, then stopped herself. The bullet that had taken Steele’s legs so long ago still echoed through other lives.
    So many things that might have been.
    But are not.
    â€œDo you have anything new for me?” Alara asked.
    â€œDid I call you?” Steele countered.
    She nodded once, conceding the point. “Like pulling hen’s teeth.”
    â€œTo pull teeth, there must be teeth to pull.”
    â€œExactly. Shurik Temuri is a member of Georgia’s most secret government security agency,” she said evenly. “A very high-ranking member.”
    â€œIs his trade in death and destruction private and personal, or an aspect of state business?”
    â€œUnknown. However, most men in his position within the Russian Federation have lucrative quasi-personal sidelines—drugs, extortion, human traffic, and so on.”
    â€œThat would complicate, rather than simplify, this matter,” Steele said. “At the very least, it adds a layer of deniability to Temuri’s employer if its employee is caught with his hand in the wrong cookie jar.”
    â€œI noted the same thing.”
    â€œAnd?” Steele asked.
    â€œNothing. Just one more piece added to the puzzle we must solve.”
    â€œDelightful. No wonder I anticipate your visits.” He drank from his water glass. “Anything else?”
    â€œWhere is Blackbird ?”
    â€œIn Canadian customs, being vetted.”
    She hissed with impatience. “Idiots.”
    Steele didn’t ask if she was referring to Canadian customs, the crew of Blackbird, or the FBI agent who had whispered suspicions into an international ear. There was more than enough idiocy to go around.
    â€œTime is wasting,” she said.
    â€œTell me something I don’t know.”
    â€œI loved you once.”
    In the sudden silence, the hollow tapping coming from Dwayne’s office sounded like ghostly Morse code.
    Alara stood, her smile caught between sorrow and amusement, and said huskily, “It was a long time ago. Call me when Blackbird sails again. We must find those teeth to pull.”

40
    DAY FOUR
NANAIMO
1:20 P.M .
    T he northwest wind had gone from gusty to full-time blow. The only clouds left were those clinging to the mountain peaks on Vancouver Island and the mainland. The radio in Blackbird ’s cockpit spit static and a small-craft wind warning. Ten to twenty knots with occasional gusts up to twenty-five.
    Emma looked outside doubtfully. If the wind got much worse, the Strait of Georgia was going to be more white than blue or gray.
    Mac listened to the radio, looked at the computer, measured the state of the water beyond the sheltered marina, sensed the muscular rumble of big diesels beneath his feet, and remembered Amanar’s confidence that Blackbird could take anything the Inside Passage could dish out.
    Easy to say when you aren’t on deck.
    But it would be much better to find out in twenty-five-knot winds than in forty-five.
    â€œStand by, Emma,” he said through the