Death Echo

“We don’t need to be strangers.”
    Emma pretended to be listening to her earphones. “Babe, I can’t follow two people at once,” she complained. Then she glanced at Demidov. “I didn’t mean you. I’m listening to Captain Babe.”
    A strangled sound came through her earphones—Mac trying not to laugh out loud.
    â€œAll right, all right, I’ll ask him,” she said with a whiny edge in her voice. A few seconds later she looked back to Demidov. “Captain Babe wants to know if coming aboard is, uh, required.” Then she held up her hand before Demidov could answer. “Captain Babe says he’ll waste some fuel out of curiosity, but he won’t risk the boat.”
    Demidov thought about it for two seconds. “Shurik Temuri may be a covert actor, but he is not one of ours.”
    Talk about cutting to the chase, Emma thought, but she kept her game face on. “Is that supposed to mean something?”
    â€œTo you?” Demidov’s upper lip almost curled. “No. To your Captain Babe, yes.”
    She looked blank. “Uh, he wants to know who ‘ours’ is.” She shook her head and asked Demidov, “Does that make sense?”
    This time the Russian didn’t bother to conceal his contempt. “I work for the Russian Federation. Shurik Temuri is Georgian.”
    â€œGeorgia?” she asked. “As in really yummy peaches? Shurik doesn’t sound like a Southern name. I’m getting confused, here.”
    Mac made another strangled sound in her ear.
    â€œWhat?” she whined into her microphone. “Everyone knows about Georgia peaches.”
    â€œQuit teasing him or he’ll demand to come aboard,” Mac said.
    â€œCan your captain hear me?” Demidov asked impatiently.
    â€œCan you?” she asked the mic.
    â€œYes.”
    â€œHe says he can.” Her voice was doubtful.
    â€œExcellent,” Demidov said. “Then you will shut up and let us talk.”
    â€œWell, that’s just rude,” she said.
    â€œEmma,” came through her headphones.
    â€œOh, fine, just see if I handle your lines again,” she said into the microphone. Then she waved at Demidov. “Talk. Captain Babe is listening.”
    Demidov looked past her and pitched his voice to carry into Blackbird ’s cabin. “Temuri was once a citizen of Russia. Now he is its enemy.”
    â€œAnd the captain cares…because?” she muttered.
    â€œGood question. Why do I care?”
    Demidov waited.
    Emma pushed. “He said, why should he care?”
    â€œThat is something he shouldn’t discuss through an intermediary,” Demidov said.
    His expression told her that he had a much less polite word than intermediary in mind. Whore, probably. Or worse. Temuri certainly had been creative.
    She turned to Mac, silently questioning.
    â€œI want to get to Campbell River tonight,” he said, covering his mic.
    â€œHe says—”
    â€œI heard him,” Demidov cut in. “Shurik Temuri is a relative of Stan Amanar and Bob Lovich.”
    Very quickly Mac came out on deck, holding the joystick. Emma gave him a look and stepped back, well out of the way.
    â€œKeep talking,” Mac said. “Tell me why I wasted fuel on you.”
    â€œHave you told your so-called first mate that she is a party to smuggling?”
    Emma let her eyes go wide. “Über kewl! What kind?”
    Both men ignored her.
    â€œNo contraband is on board,” Mac said. “I made sure of it. The Canadians double-checked.”
    â€œYou are only on the first leg of the smuggling trip.”
    Mac waited, watching the Russian with no expression.
    â€œI hadn’t taken you for a fool.” Demidov glanced toward Emma. “But that would account for your companion.”
    â€œI don’t screw her brain,” Mac said. “What am I supposed to be smuggling if the owner doesn’t show up—”
    â€œHe won’t,” Demidov cut in.
    â€œâ€”and I take Blackbird back to the States?”
    â€œYou’ll be smuggling death,” Demidov said.
    â€œIn what form?” Mac shot back.
    â€œTemuri trades in weapons, whether biological, nuclear, or conventional.”
    Mac shrugged.
    â€œYou don’t care about your country?” Demidov asked sharply.
    â€œWhy do you?” Mac asked.
    â€œTemuri is a traitor.”
    â€œTo Georgia?”
    â€œIf he