Charon's Landing (63 page)

“
Arctica
? Is this the Petromax vessel?” Mercer asked, and Aggie looked at him sharply when she heard the name of her father’s company.

“Yes. No. Well, it was. The ship was just sold, but that’s not important right now,” Hauser persisted. “We’ve got to stop them.”

“You’re goddamned right we’ve got to stop them.” Pieces were falling into place, frightful conclusions that Mercer really didn’t want to explore. “Captain, I need to make some calls and then get back to you, but I want you in Seattle as fast as you can make it. Chartering a plane is your best option. But for now, give me your telephone number and stay close by. I’ll be in touch within ten minutes.” Mercer was about to hang up when he remembered something critical. “Captain, the name of the company that bought your ship is SC&L, right?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll call right back.” Mercer cut the connection and dialed Dick Henna’s cellular phone.

As he waited for the connection to be made, Aggie approached, her face lined with concern. “What’s that about Petromax?”

“It’s one of your father’s tankers that was hijacked.”

“But he sold them.”

“Maybe,” Mercer said, then turned away brusquely as the director of the FBI came on the line. “Dick, it’s Mercer, no time for bullshitting. Get a pen and write this down. I need to know if a company called Southern Coasting and Lightering has filed a flight plan for one of their corporate jets from either Sea-Tac Airport or the one in Vancouver, British Columbia, destination someplace in Louisiana. There’s a tanker in Puget Sound that’s been taken by some of Kerikov’s people, and whoever seized it will be needing a quick getaway after they scuttle her. I also need you to arrange some special forces troops, SEALs preferably, to stand by in Seattle. We’ve got just a few hours at the outside.”

Henna tried to interrupt, but Mercer cut him off before he managed more than a syllable. “Dick, no questions, just do it. I’m sure you’ve already heard what’s happened up here. Kerikov warned me that the action against the pipeline was just a distraction. Seattle is about to become a toxic waste dump if we don’t get moving. Call me here when you find out about that plane.” Mercer gave the number taped to the phone and hung up.

“Mercer, what was that all about?” Aggie sank into a chair next to him. He noticed that she had showered and changed into loose-fitting coveralls, the heavy denim cuffed at wrist and ankle and belted tightly around her narrow waist. She looked lost in the baggy outfit.

“Kerikov is dead, but his plan is still in effect. He told me that destroying the pipeline was only a feint. I have a feeling that sinking a tanker is also another piece of his sleight of hand, misdirection to cover something even worse.”

“Like what? And what does this have to do with my father?”

“I don’t know Kerikov’s true aim, nor do I know what your father’s involvement may be, but prepare yourself, because I’m sure he’s part of this in some way.”

“How can that be? He’s in the oil business. Destroying the pipeline or sinking a tanker is the last thing he would want, especially one of his own.”

“You may not believe this, but the very ship now in the control of terrorists is the same one that transported the liquid nitrogen used to freeze the Alaska Pipeline. I suspect your father’s involvement may go even deeper than that. Remember, that was your father’s oil rig we were held on last night, and I didn’t see any evidence that Kerikov had taken it by force.”

She sat silently, her gaze drawing inward as though she did not want to see what Mercer presented. Her body, already appearing fragile in the big coveralls, looked even more delicate, like porcelain.

He turned away from her again, giving her room to think, to believe what could be true. Mercer dialed Dave Saulman’s office in Miami and was told that the lawyer had gone home for the day. He was about to try Saulman’s home number when the phone shrilled.

“Yes, Dick, what have you got?”

“Southern Coasting and Lightering has a charter plane under contract and it filed a flight plan yesterday from Vancouver to Baton Rouge, a Gulfstream IV. The plane is already there, arriving last night from—”

“San Francisco,” Mercer finished for Henna.

“How the hell did you know that?”

“Because that was where Kerikov had intended sinking the tanker, but the captain, who managed to escape, sabotaged the ship. His action forced them to change their plans and target Puget Sound instead of San Francisco Bay. The plane had been on standby in California and was then moved north to Vancouver when the tanker couldn’t make it that far south.”

“What do you know about the ship itself?”

“Not much. You’ll have to get her particulars from the Coast Guard, but, Dick, this is the ship that originally transported the liquid nitrogen that I discovered aboard the
Jenny IV
. According to a friend of mine, she was just sold to a small tanker company called SC&L but she had been part of Max Johnston’s fleet. She’s filled to the gunwales with North Slope crude, and if they burst her in Puget Sound, it’s going to make what’s happened to the Alaska Pipeline look like spilled milk. How are you coming with those SEALs?”

“I haven’t even started yet. I can’t just order them up like eggs, for Christ’s sake.”

“Don’t get bureaucratic on me. Get hold of Admiral Morrison and tell him you need those men. Lean on the President if you have to — he owes you enough favors.”

“I’ll do what I can,” Henna replied, suddenly catching on to the urgency of the situation.

“We’re probably going to have to launch our assault on the tanker from Victoria. You’ll have to clear this with the Canadian government. I know that they’re our neighbors and all, but they get real touchy about sovereignty issues like this.”

“I’ve already thought about that. You and I need to stay in touch. You’re closest to what’s going on. Are you going to be near this phone for the duration?”

“No, I’m going down to Puget Sound. It’s about a five-hour flight from here, but if I’m to coordinate this, I need to be right on top of it. As soon as I’ve got communications set up, I’ll get back to you.”

“All right,” Henna agreed. “Is this the last we’re going to hear from Kerikov?”

“I wish to God I could say yes, but I doubt it.” Mercer cut Henna off, then dialed Captain Hauser. “Captain, this is Philip Mercer. Have you made arrangements to get to Seattle yet?”

“Yes, I’ve hired a floatplane. The pilot says he can get me there in about two hours.”

“Good. But you’ve got to change your destination to the city of Victoria. That’s where the terrorists will have a boat ready to take them off the ship.”

“Are you sure?”

“SC&L has a jet on standby in Vancouver to take their people back to Louisiana. Once they scuttle the tanker, they’ll want to clear out of the region as fast as possible. I’m looking at the map on the wall in front of me, and the quickest way is a boat from the
Arctica
to Victoria, then a short helicopter hop from Victoria to Vancouver, and they’re home free.”

Hauser couldn’t fault Mercer’s logic. “Okay, then what?”

“I’m leaving Valdez in a minute, but you’ll get to Victoria about three hours before I do. Wait in the airport’s main terminal. I’ll have you paged when I’ve got more for you.” Even as Mercer was talking with Hauser, he mouthed to one of the office workers to go and get Andy Lindstrom. “I’ve already alerted the director of the FBI about what’s happened so far. Wheels are in motion, Captain. Don’t worry. They won’t hurt your ship if I can do anything about it.”

“Mr. Mercer, it’s not the ship I care about. It’s Puget Sound.”

Aggie grabbed Mercer’s wrist as he was about to dial again. “What are you doing? You can’t go to Vancouver.”

“Aggie, I’ve got to,” he said, knowing that she wouldn’t understand.

“You’re dead on your feet. You’ve done enough already. Let someone else handle this.”

“Don’t you think I want to? But this is who and what I am; this is what I’ve always done. When people say, ‘Let someone else do it,’ Aggie, I’m that someone else.”

“The world isn’t your responsibility,” she snorted.

“You’re right, but that little part I can do something about is.” More than anything in his life, Mercer wanted to walk away from this mess, go someplace far away with Aggie and forget everything. For an instant, he wished he was one of those people who blindly hoped that there were others to fix all those things wrong with our world. He spoke with a tired resignation. “Aggie, I have to go and take care of this, see it through to whatever end there may be.”

She loved him for his dedication but realized that no matter how much that love might one day be reciprocated, he could never be there for her. There would always be something else in his life, some challenge or crisis that would lure him away the way other men were lured away by affairs. Though she wasn’t the type of woman who wanted to possess the man in her life, she knew she wanted more than Philip Mercer could give. And if he became what she wanted, the change would mean he would no longer be the man she had fallen in love with. It was a Catch-22 whose only resolution was to end it now before she became more hurt than she was at this moment. The very thought of stopping their relationship before it even began created a void in her chest, a physical ache that felt as though it could never be filled.

“I understand,” she lied.

“When this is over, I want to… I mean if you and I…” He stammered to silence. “I think you know what I mean. I’ll get in touch with you.”

“Of course,” she said, her emotions in such a turmoil that she couldn’t look him in the eye. But she steeled herself, and when she looked up to tell Mercer that she did not want to see him again, he was gone.

Mercer met Andy Lindstrom just outside of the Operations Director’s office. Without preamble he said, “I need a jet to get me to Victoria, British Columbia, as fast as possible.”

“What’s happened?”

“As I figure it, Kerikov planned to destroy the pipeline and then have some more of his people scuttle a supertanker off the coast of San Francisco. The tanker’s captain sabotaged the vessel so she couldn’t make it that far south. The terrorists are now poised to sink her in Puget Sound. This is Kerikov’s second front. All along, his intentions have been to stop the flow of oil from Prudhoe Bay and then make it impossible to transport it along the West Coast. Following the
Exxon Valdez
accident, the sinking of a tanker in Puget Sound will end crude movement to California forever. The EPA and the environmental groups would never allow it again. Even if you managed to get the pipeline back in operation, your oil would have no place to go. The destruction of the pipe and scuttling a tanker go hand in hand to block America’s newest and potentially largest domestic source of crude oil.”

Andy nodded. “But what’s the final result? I mean, what is he after?”

“Was after. Kerikov’s dead, but I have no clue what he wanted to accomplish,” Mercer admitted. “For now, all we can do is head off his tactical attacks and hope the final strategy becomes clear when we’re successful. Do you have a plane?”

“Yeah, sure. And you’re in luck. It’s here in Valdez. Alyeska usually keeps it in Anchorage.”

“Call the airport and tell them to get ready for a flight to Victoria International Airport at the best possible speed. Tell them to pick up some food for me too. I haven’t eaten in God knows how long.” He turned to go.

“What’s your plan?”

At the doorway, Mercer glanced at Lindstrom. “As soon as I make one up, you’ll be the first to know.”

Thirty minutes later, Alyeska’s corporate jet, a recently purchased Citation, hurled itself off the runway and turned south for the journey to the greater Seattle/Vancouver area. While heading for the airport, Mercer had managed to grab a change of clothes from his hotel and pack a small bag for himself, including Ivan Kerikov’s pistol. Not knowing how long he would be gone, he’d told the hotel to store the rest of his belongings and check him out of the room. Someone at Alyeska could take care of his rented Blazer.

Pressed back in the supple leather seat of the aircraft, Mercer worked at something Andy Lindstrom had asked him, something about Kerikov’s final outcome. What could be so big that the Russian would consider destroying the Trans-Alaska Pipeline and sinking a tanker as nothing more than mild diversions. There was something he was after, something related to oil obviously, but something that would require America to stop using her own resources.

The answer was so evident he cursed himself for not realizing it sooner. He put it off to his own exhaustion and reached for the phone, checking his watch to see what number he should call. It was eleven in the morning Alaska time, which made it just four in the afternoon in Washington, D.C. Taking a quick gamble he dialed his home number and was about to give up after three rings.

“Hello.” Harry White sounded as though his vocal cords had been filed raw with sandpaper.

“What the hell are you doing at my place, drinking my booze, when you just stole a couple of cases from the Willard Hotel?”

“Tiny was charging me four bucks for a glass of ginger ale. Besides, your pretzels are fresher.”

“I hope you’ve got a huge life insurance policy and I’m the beneficiary, you old bastard.”

“Funny, I think the same about you,” Harry replied.

“Are you on the portable phone?”

“Yeah, why?”

“Go down to my office. I need you to do something for me.” Mercer remembered Dave Saulman saying Petromax had sold two other tankers to Southern Coasting and Lightering, one of them near Japan and the other off the coast of the United Arab Emirates.

“I’m in your office,” Harry finally said after creaking down the stairs from Mercer’s home bar.

“Okay, turn on my computer and scroll through the menus until you come to the electronic Rolodex.”

Mercer waited a few minutes, listening to Harry curse as he fumbled with the powerful computer. The jet engines of the Alyeska plane were a droning whine.

“Son of a bitch. How do you do it?” Harry finally asked disgustedly.

“Use the mouse,” Mercer said.