The Emperor's Revenge (Oregon Files 11)

“He said that he was a sailor on the Narwhal and that it blew up and sank. He and his friend jumped overboard and were lucky to find a floating container to climb aboard until they were rescued.”

“But you said the Narwhal was here. It left last night.”

“That’s exactly why they thought this man was raving mad. He told this fantastical story that the ship had been replaced with a replica that sailed right by him. Does that make any sense to you?”

Linda stood abruptly and Eric followed suit. “We’ll look into all the possibilities, of course, Mr. Alessi,” she said. “We thank you for your time.”

When they were out of earshot, Eric said, “You think that’s the one?”

“I wouldn’t bet against it. Whoever stole the column wouldn’t want to take the chance that it would get lost among a thousand other containers. They’d want to know exactly where it was.”

“Or they’d even want to control the ship itself. If the Narwhal is the one with the column on board, they already have an eight-hour head start. They could be more than a hundred miles away from Malta by now.”

“Then we better get back to the Oregon and begin our search. We’ll just have to hope they haven’t already dumped it overboard.”

The only problem was where to start looking.

TWENTY-NINE

VLADIVOSTOK

A polished black limousine pulled up to the luxurious Villa Arte Hotel at eight o’clock at night, ready to take Juan, Gretchen, Eddie, and Linc to the Primorskiy Kray Naval Base. Admiral Zakharin thought it would be best to show them the facilities in the evening when fewer sailors would be around to ask questions about the guests. Juan agreed that the timing was prudent.

His phone rang as they were getting ready to leave the lobby. It was Max. Juan told the rest of them to get in the limo and he’d be out in a minute.

“I hope you’re bringing me back some pirozhkis,” Max said. He had fallen in love with the meat pies when he’d visited the city during the Oregon’s refit. “Is that little place still there? What was it called?”

“Vostok,” Juan said. “We stopped there on the way from the airport. I got you two fish and two mushroom.”

“Only four?”

“I got more, but we ate the rest. I had to fight Linc to save the last ones from him. What’s the news on the Narwhal?” Max had emailed him about Linda’s investigation a few hours ago.

“We’re fairly confident it’s the ship we’re looking for. The owners of the shipping line, two brothers named Dijkstra, were killed in a plane crash on Gibraltar just a few days ago.”

“You know how I love coincidences.”

“About as much as I love my ex-wives’ divorce lawyers.”

“How’s the search going?”

“Thanks to the bank debacle in France last night, the CIA made our request top priority. They retasked a satellite just like we asked and scanned a hundred-and-fifty-mile radius around Malta for any ships fitting the Narwhal’s description. Jackpot.”

“You found it?”

“Steaming northwest at twelve knots. Looks like they’re heading toward Barcelona. They’ve been in the main shipping lanes for a while, then veered away about an hour ago. Maybe hoping to dump the cargo once they’re sure no one will see them. We’re on a pursuit course now. Should be in sight within the hour.”

“Nice work.”

“The port interview was Linda’s idea. I’m just steering the ship.”

“When you catch up, keep them under surveillance until they reach port. We’ll have Spanish

customs confiscate the container, provided they haven’t ditched it already. I’m sure Interpol will give us a chance to examine the column as thanks for finding it.”

They could easily stop the Narwhal and seize the container themselves, but high-seas piracy was frowned upon by the maritime authorities. And if it turned out the column wasn’t aboard, they’d be in even deeper trouble.

Gretchen was waving to Juan.