Death Echo

some former State Department types who have online blogs.”
    â€œWhat does the gossip side of research say?” Emma asked.
    â€œTwice divorced, various lovers at various times, never married a third time, three children, eight grandchildren, career government in departments whose names mean nothing and whose funding isn’t questioned by Congress. Retired nine years ago.”
    â€œSomeone’s file needs updating.”
    â€œSomeone didn’t retire,” Faroe agreed.
    â€œWhat did Steele tell you?”
    â€œThat she’s one of the shining ones still left playing a tarnished game.”
    â€œHuh.”
    â€œYeah, huh. Grace thinks that any ambitions Alara has are related to making sure her grandchildren don’t inherit a world where every balcony has a dictator with a suitcase full of secondhand nukes.”
    Emma let out a slow breath. “Then we have the same goal.”
    â€œNow pray that you have the same path to that goal.”

41
    DAY FOUR
STRAIT OF GEORGIA
1:45 P.M .
    L ina Fredric, who wanted very much to forget that she had started life as Galina Federova, watched Taras Demidov from the corner of her eye. Though the water was choppy, headed toward outright rough, the motion didn’t appear to bother his stomach.
    But of course, Lina thought. Nothing short of a nuclear blast would upset that man.
    At least he is paying me well. Quite well.
    It could have been much worse. Whether in the “free world” or the FSU, money and violence talked very clearly. She preferred money. So far, Demidov seemed to share her preference. If that changed…
    Mentally Lina shrugged. Even though she had learned that he carried a knife rather than a gun, she didn’t fancy her chances against Demidov in physical combat. She’d grown soft over the years. He hadn’t.
    The static and snatches of words from the VHF radio made a familiar background for her thoughts.
    â€œâ€¦Sun Raider.”
    â€œSun Raider to XTSea 4EVR, switch to channel…”
    The only good news about the shifting weather was that theclouds were being blown out by the northwest wind. Clear skies were nice but the price was wind, which meant rougher water, especially when the tide changed and the wind pushed against the flooding water.
    A gust of wind, a small trough, and the Redhead II lurched beneath Demidov. Though he was sitting down, the sudden motion jerked him like a puppet. He muttered a Russian curse, lowered the binoculars, and rubbed his eyes. With barely veiled impatience, he switched his attention from binoculars to his special cell phone. Relieved not to be viewing a world that jumped about like water drops in a hot skillet, he keyed in a number.
    After a few moments, two sets of latitude and longitude numbers appeared on the small screen. A cold, thin smile stretched his lips as he checked, then checked the lower numbers again.
    Blackbird was out of Canadian customs and working her way north from Nanaimo.
    North, where Demidov lay in wait.

42
    DAY FOUR
STRAIT OF GEORGIA
2:03 P.M .
    W hen Emma glanced up from making a late lunch in the galley, she was glad she’d ditched the eye-candy look. The waters north of Nanaimo were colder somehow, even though the temperature reading on Blackbird’ s many gauges had shifted only a few degrees down after leaving the harbor.
    â€œBrrrr,” she said.
    Mac gave her a fast look. “Brrrr? The temperature inside the cabin hasn’t changed that much.” He half-smiled. “I’ll turn up the heat if you go back to the tube top.”
    She shook her head. “Men.”
    â€œThat would be me.”
    She laughed and sliced cheese. “It’s just that the water seems different out here. Like the whole world is colder.”
    â€œUntil now, we’ve been pretty much sheltered by either the San Juan Islands or Canada’s Gulf Islands. The Strait of Georgia is long enough and wide enough for the wind to work the water. It’s a good fetch from Campbell River to the Gulf Islands. The wind is free to play. So it does.”
    Emma measured the increasingly choppy water. The whitecaps that had looked so tiny from the harbor weren’t all that small—theywere riding the backs of steep-sided, wind-stacked waves that looked to be three feet high.
    â€œIs it always like this?” she asked.
    â€œIt can be calm as a cup of tea. It can be six-foot razor waves. It can be like now, two or three