"Arctic Wind, this is the Canadian Coast Guard vesselGriffon," the radio crackled with theGriffon's commanding officer."You are ordered to maintain your current position and prepare for boarding.Failure to comply will be considered resistance to lawful authority."
No response.TheArctic Wind's anchor chain was coming up fast, her bow swinging as she prepared to make way.Isla could see smoke rising from her stack now—they were firing up the engines, preparing to run.
"They're not going to stop," she said, lowering her binoculars.The cold certainty in her voice surprised even her."Callahan's going to run."
James turned to Frank."Can we catch them?"
"Depends on what kind of engines he's running.That trawler looks like she's been modified—probably souped up for exactly this situation.But between us and theGriffon, we should be able to box him in."
TheArctic Wind's engines roared to life with a sound that carried across the water, deep and powerful.The vessel leaped forward, her stern digging into the waves as she accelerated with surprising speed.Callahan had definitely invested in his boat's capabilities—this wasn't a typical fishing trawler's acceleration.This was a smuggler's vessel, built for exactly this kind of situation.
"All ahead full," Frank ordered."Helm, intercept course.Don't let him get past us toward the shipping lanes."
TheResolutesurged forward, and Isla grabbed the rail to steady herself as the deck tilted beneath her feet.The wind cut through her inadequate jacket like knives of ice, but she barely noticed.Her entire focus was on the fleeing vessel, watching as the distance between them fluctuated—closing, then holding, then closing again as both boats pushed their engines to the limit.
TheGriffonwas coming in from the northeast, cutting off theArctic Wind's most obvious escape route toward Canadian waters.Callahan's options were narrowing by the second—he could try to outrun them toward the open lake, head for the shipping lanes where the larger vessels might provide cover, or turn back toward US waters and face immediate boarding by the Coast Guard.
The first gunshot cracked across the water like a whip, the sound unmistakable even over the roar of engines and the crash of waves against the hull.Isla instinctively ducked, years of training taking over before her conscious mind could process what was happening.A second shot followed, then a third, the reports echoing across the lake's surface in a staccato rhythm that spoke of automatic fire.
"Contact!"someone shouted from the bridge."They're firing on theGriffon!"
Isla raised her head enough to see muzzle flashes from theArctic Wind's stern—two shooters, maybe three, laying down suppressive fire toward the Canadian cutter.The range was still long for accurate shooting from a moving platform, but that wouldn't matter if they got closer.These weren't warning shots.This was a desperate attempt to fight their way out of a closing trap.
"Jurisdiction just went out the window," James said, his voice hard as he drew his service weapon."They're engaging law enforcement vessels with deadly force.That makes this our fight."
Frank was already on the radio, her voice sharp and professional despite the chaos erupting around them."Griffon,Resolute—we are moving to support.Confirm you are taking fire."
"Resolute,Griffonconfirms—automatic weapons fire from target vessel.We have no casualties but are breaking off direct approach.Request coordinated pursuit."
TheArctic Windwas turning now, using theGriffon's momentary hesitation to change course.She was heading southwest, toward the shipping lanes, toward the maze of commercial traffic that might provide cover for escape.The shooters on her stern kept up their fire, not aiming for accuracy but for intimidation, trying to keep both pursuing vessels at bay while Callahan made his run.
Isla pulled her Glock from its holster, though she knew the range was still too great for effective pistol fire.The weight of the weapon in her hand was reassuring nonetheless—a tangible connection to her training, her purpose, the job she'd sworn to do.Four men were dead on theNorthern Dawn, and the people responsible might be shooting their way to freedom right in front of her eyes.
"Close the distance," she heard herself saying."We need to get closer."
Frank shot her a look that mixed respect with concern."We're outgunned, Agent Rivers.Those are automatic weapons.We've got sidearms and maybe a shotgun."
"They're also shooting from a moving platform in heavy seas," Isla countered."Their accuracy is going to be terrible.We get close enough, we can force them to make a choice."
Another burst of gunfire raked across the water, but this time the shots were wilder, more panicked.Something was wrong aboard theArctic Wind—Isla could see figures scrambling near the wheelhouse, hear shouting even over the distance and the wind.
"She's slowing," James said, his binoculars fixed on the target."Look at her wake—she's losing speed."
He was right.TheArctic Wind's bow was settling, her engines sputtering with a sound that carried across the water like a mechanical cough.Smoke was rising from somewhere near her stern—not the clean gray of exhaust, but the darker, oilier black of something burning that shouldn't be.
"Engine failure," Frank said, a note of grim satisfaction in her voice."Looks like all those modifications didn't include proper maintenance.She's dead in the water."
The gunfire from theArctic Windhad stopped.Through her binoculars, Isla could see Callahan's crew abandoning their positions at the stern, rushing toward the engine compartment with the desperate urgency of men who understood that their escape had just evaporated.TheGriffonwas closing from the north, theResolutefrom the south, and theArctic Windsat between them like a wounded animal waiting for the inevitable.
"Arctic Wind, this is the United States Coast Guard," Frank broadcast, her voice carrying the authority of someone who knew she'd won."Your vessel is disabled.You will stand down, drop all weapons, and prepare to be boarded.Any further resistance will be met with deadly force."
For a long moment, nothing happened.The three vessels rode the swells in a strange tableau—the two Coast Guard cutters closing slowly, the smuggler's boat drifting with smoke still rising from her engine compartment.Lake Superior stretched around them in every direction, gray and cold and utterly indifferent to the human drama playing out on her surface.
Then, one by one, weapons began appearing over theArctic Wind's rail—rifles and pistols tossed into the water with splashes that seemed almost anticlimactic after the violence of the chase.Figures emerged from cover with their hands raised, faces tight with the particular combination of fear and resignation that came with understanding that the game was finally over.
"They're surrendering," James said, lowering his weapon but keeping it ready."Looks like Callahan decided he'd rather face prosecution than drown."
Isla watched as the last of the weapons went over the side, her heart still pounding from the chase, but her mind already shifting to what came next.Derek Callahan knew something about theNorthern Dawnmassacre—she was certain of it.The question was whether he'd talk, and what he'd say when he did.
