Rogue Justice (42 page)

Rosekrans thought about that. "You know something, Cloyd. I just don't get it. How does someone like Chandler, with all that money of his, get mixed up in a crazy blackmail scheme like this? Why not just admit the whale's dying, play the sympathy card, and ride out the storm? Instead, three people are dead and here we are wondering what the hell is going to happen next."

"Like I said before, Scott, guys like Mitchell Chandler don't think the same as you and me." Steiger remembered reading about Chandler's approach to business, his belief that investments were to be dominated, not owned. He wondered if any of that mattered to him now.

Then they heard it—the low rumble of a helicopter approaching from the south. The flying tank swept into view above Port Townsend's ferry dock. She was one mean machine, a battleship gray Bell UH-1. Its original designation, HU-1, had led to the popular nickname,
Huey
. The chopper landed softly on the front lawn of the Courthouse then revved down its turbines. Steiger hustled to the open doors, ducking low. In addition to the two-man crew, he could see the unit consisted of the sergeant and seven SWAT officers. They were all wearing heavy body armor and carrying an arsenal of weapons: submachine guns, assault rifles, breaching shotguns, stun grenades, and sniper rifles.

One of the officers jumped down, grabbed him by the arm. "Welcome aboard, sir. We'll get you suited up right away." Steiger was not surprised to hear a female voice. For most of its existence, Seattle's Special Weapons and Tactics Team had been an all-male bastion. The unit now included four women among its elite thirty-member force, half of them part of this mission. After helping him into the bulletproof gear, the officer motioned to an empty seat, then crouched down on the floor.

"What's our 10-20, sir?" she asked.

"North Beach," Steiger shouted. "The good guys are driving a black pickup."

"Roger that, sir."

Seconds later, the pilot pulled back on the control stick and the big Huey slowly lifted up, hovering about twenty feet above the lawn. He then dropped the nose five degrees and banked off over the Courthouse into a threatening sky.

Steiger stared out the open door. He was in the middle of a shitstorm and there was no turning back.

Jesus, I hope we're not too late.

Chapter 45

4 April, 2:40 PM PDT

Port Townsend, Washington

Zora and Mickey had been pinned down for close to twenty minutes now, nearly out of ammo, and playing a dangerous waiting game. Their eyes beamed across sixty feet of bedlam with nowhere to go. That's when they heard the thundering roar of the helicopter, flying low and moving fast. The chopper swooped in from the east, dropping below the tree line over Fort Worden State Park. It hit the dirt in a military-style landing behind a grassy knoll a hundred yards from Mickey's truck, creating a powerful downdraft.

The SWAT unit rolled out loaded for war, weapons at the ready, taking heavy fire from Chandler's muscle-men. Using hand signals, the officers moved into position on the backside of the hill, careful not put Zora and Mickey between them and their adversaries.

Holy shit!
Zora thought.
They're intimidating as hell just to look at.

The officers hit with full automatic fire, riddling one of their targets with so many rounds he danced like a puppet. He was dead before he hit the ground. Everything was noise and confusion, the barrage relentless. The other two goons came up shooting and dove into the SUV. The big engine surged, spinning the vehicle around in a tire-ripping turn, spitting gravel thirty feet into the air. It then went careening down an embankment in a hail of bullets before crashing violently into a drainage ditch. The muscle staggered out, hands raised, soaked in blood.

The SWAT team moved in swiftly on full alert. Two officers flanked right, three took the center, and two flanked left. The sergeant shouted, "On the ground, now! Spread 'em. Hands behind your heads, fingers interlocked."

Zora watched in amazement, momentarily stunned. She then turned to Mickey and grabbed his arm. "Listen, I need your phone, okay? I don't have time to explain."

"Okay, sure." He pulled his cell from a jacket pocket, handed it to her.

Zora then leaped to her feet and ran full tilt for the beach. She skidded to a stop, her eyes darting in both directions. She spotted Chandler sprinting across a minefield of rocks and driftwood toward the lighthouse at Point Wilson. Zora screamed his name, fired a warning shot into the air, and tore off after him,

Chandler glanced back over his shoulder, hesitated for a brief moment, but kept on running.

The chase continued for another minute or so, then Zora heard the intense
whomp-whomp-whomping
of the chopper. She looked up and did a double-take. Steiger was at the controls, Mickey in the copilot's seat. The big bird circled out over the strait, banked hard, and soon landed on the shore about twenty yards from Chandler. He pulled up, frantically looking for an escape route that did not exist. There was water on his right, a soaring bluff on his left, and a menacing machine behind him.

Zora turned on the afterburners, running flat-out until she was nearly on top of him. She held the weapon six inches from his head. "Get on your knees, numb-nuts."

Chandler stood stone cold, breathing hard. He knelt down slowly, raising his arms in mock surrender. "Whatever you say, captain."

Steiger then came hustling along the beach toward them, Mickey at his side. "Okay, I need everybody to cool their jets here," Steiger said, spreading his hands apart. "We're gonna do this the right way."

"Who the hell are you?" Chandler shouted, craning his neck.

"Detective Cloyd Steiger, Seattle PD."

"It's about time. Listen, you need to—"

"Shut the fuck up," Zora barked before Steiger could respond. She waved the gun menacingly in Chandler's face.

"C'mon now, Ms. Flynn," Steiger said with a deadeye stare. "You need to turn him over to me. Right now. There'll be a full investigation, no more of this SIU bullshit. I promise you I'll nail this guy, send him away for a nice long stay in Walla Walla."

"I believe you mean it, too. But you know damn well he'll skate. You said so yourself."

"Look, I understand what you're doing here. If this lizard was responsible for killing my mother, I'd probably do the same thing. I wouldn't be wearing a badge, though, would I? So this needs to stop. Vigilante justice is not the answer."

"Well, I got news for you, detective," Zora snapped. "It is today." She pulled Mickey's phone from her pocket, and punched in a number she'd committed to memory.

* * *

A mile to the northeast, just beyond the Coast Guard complex, Houdini answered the call. He hadn't been able to discuss the plan with Zora in any detail, but he knew it was time to pull the trigger. Confirming his position, he snapped the phone shut and engaged the motor on the twelve foot Zodiac. After leaving the
Northern Star,
he had kayaked down to Kala Point where a trusted friend had loaned him the rugged, inflatable boat. He'd then come to this spot to wait for further instructions. He had them now. Picking up speed, Houdini maneuvered the craft through choppy seas, the shifting tides an ever-changing mosaic of new color schemes. He glanced up at the sky. Threatening dark clouds had moved on and the drizzle had stopped.

A good sign,
he thought.
The weather is cooperating.

From this vantage point, the rugged cliffs bordering the strait looked wild and unsettled. Houdini imagined this was how the land had looked four thousand years ago when his People first arrived on the shores of Neah Bay. Long before there was a United States of America. Long before the white man destroyed the Makah's way of life. As he motored on, his mind was a jumble of dark thoughts. He remembered his sad goodbye to Samson, and the cruel act of betrayal he'd been forced to deploy in capturing its replacement. But then his thoughts quickly shifted to the rogue whales. How glorious it must have been to see them free the captive orca from its temporary prison. He only wished he could've been there.

Houdini contemplated all of this, along with many unanswered questions. Where had the mighty rogues come from? Why were they here? And were they truly envoys of fate as the Old One had predicted? His words came to Houdini now:
There are forces at work in nature beyond our understanding, yet all of us are related to everything else, to the elements, to the earth and seas, to all animal life. It is the Native way. When the time is right, my son, you will know, through dreams and visions, powers all shamans receive from their ties with the spirit world.

Near the lighthouse at Point Wilson, Houdini motored through a patch of calm water. He slowed the boat, and took the engine out of gear. On shore, just around the bend, he could see Zora and three men. Men he assumed to be Mickey Kincaid, the detective from Seattle, and Mitchell Chandler. The thought had barely registered when the wind picked up, gusting from the west, blowing ocean cold in his face. In that same moment he saw it, a glossy black dorsal fin, arched slightly forward, and rising slowly out of the water. It was massive, more than three stories high. An instant later, the pitch of the boat shifted and the whale disappeared.

Houdini peered over the side, searching the dark waters below. His breath was now coming in short bursts. He felt a sudden chill as the elegant body appeared again. This time the whale was some forty feet down, its ghostly image suspended in a liquid state of limbo.

Donning his distinctive red cloak and headpiece, Houdini reached for the rattle lying beside him in the rubber hull. He then began the familiar chant, channeling his ancestors as he'd done the day before. The clock was ticking, just as it had been then, and he felt a sharp sense of relief when the gigantic creature began its ascent. The sleek black shape slowly emerged in a swirling cloud of white foam, sending a plume of water fifty feet into the air. The spray cascaded down onto the boat with a loud, whooshing sound, like a cold mountain waterfall. Houdini shook off the deluge with a surge of adrenaline.

Seconds later, a series of disturbing images began slinging through his head like an art-house film in fast-forward—some in black and white, others in vibrant colors, all remarkably vivid. Houdini felt his entire body begin to shake, his senses heightened. It wasn't a feeling of fear, but rather a magnetic attraction fueled by wonder. He reached into the numbing water and gently stroked the whale's rubbery rostrum. The creature responded at once, rotating a quarter turn to reveal a fiery copper slash that ran half the length of its body. Shivering with energy, Houdini squeezed the rattle tightly and looked squarely into its penetrating black eye. He couldn't say for sure what he saw—recognition, acceptance, understanding—but he was certain of one thing: the colossal blackfish was staring back, with a great and mysterious intelligence.

As Houdini resumed the chant, something even more astounding happened, something so completely unexpected it shook him to the bone.

The whale began mimicking the sounds it had just heard.

And the replay was pitch perfect.

Chapter 46

4 April, 2:55 PM PDT

Port Townsend, Washington

Back on the rocky shore, Zora and Steiger continued their standoff, staring at one another across a thirty foot expanse of sand, rocks, and boulders. Zora glanced out to sea, caught a glimpse of Houdini, then turned back to the detective. "Okay," she said. "It's showtime."