Death Echo

away from the container docks. He purely loved the first instants of freedom, of being responsible only for himself. Grinning, he glanced over his shoulder to check the wake.
    The black Zodiac was moving with him. No faster. No slower. Same direction. Same angle.
    The hair on Mac’s neck stirred again in silent warning.
    This time he didn’t ignore it. He got his binoculars out of the small duffel he always carried, and took a good, long look from the cover of the cabin.
    You’re being paranoid, the civilian part of himself said.
    The part of him that had been honed to a killing edge years ago just kept memorizing faces, features, and boat registration numbers.

3
    DAY ONE
BELLTOWN MARINA
AFTERNOON
    P ut me ashore there,” Emma said, pointing at the dock next to the Belltown Marina.
    â€œIsn’t your car back at—”
    â€œMy problem, not yours,” she cut in.
    While Josh headed for the dock, she stripped off the red Mustang suit and secured the camera in her backpack. They had wallowed behind in Blackbird’ s wake for fifteen minutes, long enough for Emma to realize that solo surveillance on the water was even trickier than on city streets. Joe Faroe would be flying in as soon as he could, disguised as a tourist. Any more obvious backup for what was supposed to be an insurance investigation would send off warning bells in the wrong places.
    All she could do was pray that Alara had some trustworthy people on the ground.
    Or not.
    Leaks were something Emma didn’t want to share.
    Josh brought the Zodiac up to the hotel dock, cutting his speed at the last moment and killing all momentum with a short burst of reverse power. Emma stood poised, one foot on the black rubbergunwale, and stepped off just a second before the Zodiac touched the dock.
    â€œCall me if you want a different kind of tour,” Josh said, watching her hips.
    With a cheerful wave, Emma went quickly up the ramp that led to Western Avenue. As she walked, she pulled out St. Kilda’s version of a sat/cell phone. The parts she most appreciated were the long-lived battery and built-in scrambler.
    When she hit speed dial, she glanced over her shoulder. The Zodiac had backed out into open water and was now heading south, toward its dock next to the ferry terminal.
    Blackbird had turned into the marina four hundred yards to the north and disappeared.
    â€œWhere are you and what are you doing?” her cell phone demanded.
    It had become Faroe’s standard greeting when one of his operators called in. As operations director of St. Kilda Consulting, he had a lot to do and no time to waste doing it.
    â€œBlackbird is on the wing,” she said, “headed for Belltown Marina.”
    â€œFor the night?”
    â€œThat’s what I’m going to find out.”
    â€œGet aboard somehow. Before our guy in Singapore vanished, he left a scratch on the inside of the electrical panel cupboard. Given the dither factor on the satellite beacon, it’s a low-tech way to be certain that we’re talking about the same boat.”
    Emma called up the interior of Blackbird from her mental file, located the panel, and said, “Will do.”
    â€œAny bogies?” Faroe asked.
    â€œSo far, so good.”
    â€œSaid the skydiver as he reached for the ripcord.”
    Weaving her way through herds of tourists, Emma half-smiled at the gallows humor. Vintage Faroe.
    â€œIf Blackbird is what we’re told it is,” he continued, “somebody is keeping tabs on her. Could be the man running her. Could be the man behind the tree. Find out.”
    â€œStill getting the pings?” she asked.
    Faroe covered the phone and said something she couldn’t hear.
    Holding on to her backpack strap, Emma checked over her shoulder as she walked north. Old professional habits. She’d thought that quitting the Agency would strip away her professional paranoia.
    It hadn’t. Maybe just being a woman alone in modern cities kept the reflexes alive. Maybe it was simply who she’d become. Whatever. It was part of her now, like dark hair and light green eyes.
    Faroe’s voice came back to her ear. “Lane says the locator beacons are still coming through. The government dither must be turned way up on the satellites, because the beacon on the container ship and the one on Blackbird aren’t showing enough separation to set off our alarms.”
    â€œThe yacht is getting farther and farther