Part 29 (1/2)

Trevor gave her a quizzical look.

”We got sidetracked and couldn't prove it, but Dirk and I both thought the tanker might be taking on CO2 rather than unloading it.”

”Doesn't make much sense, unless they are transporting it to another sequestration facility. Or are dumping it at sea.”

”Before trailing a tanker halfway around the world, I think we need to take another look at the site where we measured the extreme water acidity,” Summer said, ”and that's Hecate Strait. We've got the gear to investigate,” she added, motioning toward the NUMA boat.

”Right,” Dirk agreed. ”We need to look at the seabed off Gil Island. The answer has to lie there.”

”Can you stay and conduct a survey?” Trevor asked with a hopeful tone.

Dirk looked at Summer. ”I received a call from the Seattle office. They need the boat back by the end of the week for some work in Puget Sound. We can stay two more days, then we'll have to hit the road.”

”That will allow us time to examine a good chunk of territory off Gil Island,” Summer said. ”Let's plan for an early start tomorrow. Will you be able to join us, Trevor?” It was her turn to give a hopeful look.

”I wouldn't miss it,” he replied happily.

As they were leaving the dock together, the brown Jeep with a rental-agency sticker on its b.u.mper cruised slowly along the adjacent roadway. The driver stopped briefly at a clearing, which gave an un.o.bstructed view of the munic.i.p.al dock and harbor. Behind the wheel, Clay Zak gazed out the winds.h.i.+eld, studying the two boats at the end of the dock tied up one behind the other. He nodded to himself, then continued driving slowly down the road.

36

WHEN TREVOR ARRIVED AT THE DOCK AROUND seven the next morning, Dirk and Summer were already laying out their sonar equipment on the stern deck. He gave Summer a quick peck while Dirk was occupied coiling a tow cable, then he pulled a small cooler onto the boat.

”Hope everyone can stomach some fresh smoked salmon for lunch,” he said.

”I'd say that's a vast improvement over Dirk's stockpile of peanut b.u.t.ter and dill pickles,” Summer replied.

”Never have to worry about it going bad,” Dirk defended. He walked into the wheelhouse and started the boat's motor, then returned to the stern deck.

”I'll need to refuel before we head out,” he announced.

”There's a fuel dock just around the bend,” Trevor replied. ”It's a little cheaper than the gas at the city marina.” He thought for a moment. ”I'm a little low myself. Why don't you follow me over, and we can drop off my boat on the way out of the channel.”

Dirk nodded in agreement, and Trevor hopped onto the deck and strolled down to his boat moored just behind the NUMA vessel. He unlocked the door to the wheelhouse, then fired up the inboard diesel, listening to its deep throaty idle. Checking his fuel gauge, he noted a pair of sungla.s.ses on the dashboard that Summer had left behind. Looking up, he saw her untying the dock lines to the NUMA boat. Grabbing the gla.s.ses, he hopped off the boat and jogged down the dock.

”Some protection for those pretty gray eyes?” he asked.

Summer tossed the bow line aboard, then looked up to see Trevor standing with her sungla.s.ses in an outstretched hand. She gazed skyward for a moment, taking in a thick layer of rain clouds overhead, before locking eyes with him.

”A tad overkill for today, but thanks for proving you are not a thief.”

She reached over and grabbed the sungla.s.ses as a sharp crack suddenly erupted behind them. The report was followed by a thunderous blast that flung them to the dock, a shower of splinters tearing over their heads. Trevor fell forward and onto Summer, protecting her from the debris, as several small chunks of wood and fibergla.s.s struck him in the back.

A simple five-minute timed safety fuse, attached to four cartridges of nitroglycerin dynamite and wired to the ignition switch of Trevor's boat, had initiated the inferno. The blast nearly ripped the entire stern section off the Canadian boat, while flattening most of the wheelhouse. The stern quickly sank from sight while the mangled bow clung stubbornly to the surface, dangling at a grotesque angle by the attached dock line.