Donovans 01 - Amber Beach

military. The twenty-two-foot Bayliner hanging on to your wake—the one with the blue canvas—is owned by a navy captain based at Whidbey.”
    “Was he driving it?”
    “Couldn’t tell. The kid at the helm looked too young to be a captain.”
    “Maybe we’re just getting old.”
    Conroy blew out smoke. “Hell of a thought.”
    “Or the boat could be on loan to the suit brigade,” Jake said, “complete with an enlisted navy driver.”
    Abruptly Conroy stubbed out his cigarette, as though impatient with himself for being addicted. “The second boat, the beat-up little Bayliner driven by an amateur, is a local rental. I didn’t get the name of the renter, but I can.”
    “Don’t stick your neck out. Tomorrow I’ll make sure I get close enough to look over the competition. I may recognize him.”
    “A local boy, huh?”
    “I hope so, but I wouldn’t bet a ruble on it.”
    Conroy said something under his breath and looked at the dead cigarette with a combination of irritation and regret.
    “If you have to board the non-navy Bayliner,” Jake added softly, “don’t take anything for granted. The corpse with the Third World dental work was a Russian killer. Where there’s one, there’s usually at least two.”
    “Nice folks you run around with.”
    “It’s a brave new world over there. You work with the survivors. The other people aren’t buying and selling anything anymore.”
    Conroy shook his head. “I can’t wait to find out who was driving the third boat.”
    Jake sat up straighter. “What third boat?”
    “The Olympic with the big black dip net hanging next to the radar and the name Tidal Wave on the side. It could have been just a fisherman curious about who else was chasing salmon, but he looked you over with the binoculars real good. He looked over both Bayliners, too.”
    “Who was the boat registered to?”
    “I don’t think you’re going to like this.”
    “Try me.”
    “One of the Russian immigrants who settled around here two years ago. Vasily Baskov. I’ve checked Vasi’s seiner before. I know what he looks like. He wasn’t driving the Olympic.”
    “You’re right. I don’t like it.”
    Conroy picked up the half-smoked cigarette, lit it, and made a face at the taste. Even so, he kept on smoking.
    “What did the driver of the Olympic look like?” Jake asked.
    “Male, about my height and weight, more blond than I am. He had a line in the water but never checked it.”
    “Then he wasn’t a fisherman. Anything else?”
    “There was at least one other person inside the cabin. He was too coy for me to get a good look at and I had orders to keep you in sight.”
    “Anything else?”
    “The guy’s an okay boat driver, but nothing special. He hasn’t figured out how to handle Puget Sound’s short chop yet.”
    “I’ll keep it in mind.”
    “You’re going to shake his fillings loose, aren’t you?” Conroy asked, smiling thinly.
    Jake’s smile wasn’t the one that comforted people. “Did you see anyone else who might have been too interested in me for my own good?”
    “Just the pretty lady. Is she really Kyle Donovan’s sister?”
    “She really is.”
    “Does she know why you’re interested in her brother?”
    “No.”
    Conroy shook his head. “Well, shit happens, I guess. She looked like a decent person.”
    “Stubborn, too.”
    “She likes you.”
    Jake looked at his beer. It was as flat and sour as he felt. “She’ll get over it as soon as she finds out why I signed on to help her.”
    “Yeah, I’ll just bet she will. Does she have a temper?”
    “Amen.”
    “Should be interesting.”
    “Not for me.”
    Smiling faintly, Conroy picked up his glass, drank until a swallow or two remained, then set the glass down with a thud. His cigarette hissed when it hit the flat beer.
    “If I hear anything that might help,” he said, standing up, “I’ll give you a call.”
    “Don’t say anything over my phone that you don’t want your superiors to know.”
    For the first time Conroy looked shocked. “Is it that bad?”
    “If it isn’t already, it will be.”
    “Seems like a lot of trouble to go to for a million bucks worth of amber.”
    “Half a million, plus change, is what I turned over to Donovan International’s rep—Kyle Donovan.”
    “Would that much amber fit in the Tomorrow?”
    “Not comfortably. Why?”
    “My orders are to board you once a day, or whenever the goddamn suit grabs his phone and says the word. It sounds to me