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The men in the cockpit reached for the handholds placed around the cabin. Then, the captain pulled the throttles back, and the boat surged forward. At 25 knots, they rapidly closed to within four hundred yards of the boat. Then the captain activated the ship’s powerful lights and airhorns. The noise was deafening. Mike couldn’t imagine how loud it would have been on the Korean boat.
“This is the Canadian Coast Guard, heave to and prepare to be boarded,” the captain spoke aggressively into a handset. Loudhailers on the Coast Guard boat’s radar tower amplified him to a deafening level.
Two figures appeared on the rear deck of the boat, shielding their eyes from the intense glare of the spotlight.
“Gun!” shouted Mike as one of the men lifted a weapon.
The muzzle flashed, and spouts of water peppered the ocean off the bow. A bullet struck the bridge’s laminated windshield but didn’t penetrate. The captain responded swiftly, blowing the air horn again and angling the boat away from the threat. Then he killed the lights, and they disappeared into the darkness.
“Fuck,” said Rick. “They called our bluff.”
“Team, I can’t in good faith take us in again. These guys have shown hostile intent, and I’m not in the business of putting my crew and passengers at risk.”
“Understood,” said Mike, his voice laced with disappointment.
“I’m going to sweep around behind the merchant ship. We can sit a mile off and use the FLIR to ID her.”
“Are we in international waters?” asked the cop, Thomas.
The captain checked his navigation charts. “We’re not, but the ship is. She’s sitting about a mile out.”
“RCMP’s jurisdiction ends at twelve nautical miles.” Thomas turned to Mike. “I’m sorry, guys, but there’s nothing we can do. Even if we could drum up a chopper and a tactical team.”
“More good news,” murmured Rick.
It took them another fifteen minutes to maneuver into a position where they could see the stern of the ship. By that time, the boat had come alongside and was transferring its cargo.
“She’s Panama-flagged, the Ocean Dancer,” reported the chief from the flybridge. “Small bulk carrier in pretty average condition.”
“Roger, running her details now,” replied the captain as he peeled the rescue boat away and set her on an auto course for Victoria. He typed the details into a laptop on the bridge, querying the Lloyds shipping register. “I’ve got all her details. She looks somewhat legit.”
“I’ll radio through to BC and see if they’ve got anything else on her,” said Thomas.
Mike and Rick returned to the survivors’ cabin, where the others were waiting.
“They’ve loaded the dogs onto a Panama vessel called the Ocean Dancer,” said Mike. “They’re in international waters now, and the Canadians don’t have jurisdiction.”
“So, what now?” asked Maria.
“We’re heading back to port. We’ll try to come up with a plan there,” Mike continued.
“I’ll update TJ and Ernie,” said Ali. “When it looked like you guys were still on that boat, they were coming up with a recovery plan.”
“They would have been too late.” Rick’s voice was grim. “The Koreans were about to deep-six both of us.”
“We might be able to leverage that plan,” said Jenny. “Surely the CIA or Canadian equivalent has some dirt on the Ocean Dancer.”
“Well, she’s going to take some time to cross the North Atlantic,” said Mike. “If we can find an excuse to board her, we will.”
Fourteen miles north-east of the Ocean Dancer, Kane made landfall in his collapsible kayak. Hauling it up the beach into the tree line, he collapsed the craft, folded it, and packed it into a vinyl backpack. The GPS built into his watch led him along an animal trail to a cache that he’d prepared earlier. Working mostly by feel, he uncovered a backpack containing personal belongings and dry clothes. He changed, then dumped the kayak in the empty hole and covered it with branches and leaves. It had cost him a few thousand dollars, but that didn’t bother him, considering how much money he now had.
Using a headlamp to navigate the darkness, he followed the track for another hundred yards until it intercepted a logging trail. There, he found his means of extraction. A powerful enduro bike with panniers was parked in the thick bush with a camouflage net slung over it. Uncovering the bike, he stuffed the cash-filled backpack into one pannier and his personal effects into the other. A jacket and helmet were under the bike, and it took him a moment to don them.
The bike made short work of the logging trails, and within minutes, he’d reached a rise that overlooked the logging camp. Killing the engine, he took a night-vision scope from his jacket and scanned the facility. It was abandoned, the cops had searched the place and moved on. He grinned; the crispy bikies and the burnt-out boat were a great diversion.
Gunning the bike, he boxed around the camp and made his way along the coastal road to Victoria. He had tickets for the midday ferry across to Vancouver. From there he’d head east, before crossing into Washington state, where he had a cabin. Then, he’d finish planning his next move. The payout from the dogs was lucrative, but it wasn’t retirement money. His next gig had to put real money in the bank.
By the time he reached Victoria, it was dawn. He rode his bike down to a cafe he knew opened early, ordered a coffee, and sat watching the harbor. As the first rays of sunshine hit the water, he spotted a Coast Guard vessel heading into port.
