Rogue Justice (2 page)

"MAYDAY-MAYDAY-MAYDAY! This is the fishing vessel
Diamond Lil
. Repeat—this is the fishing vessel
Diamond Lil
. Rogue wave... boat going down... crew abandoned ship. Repeat—crew abandoned ship... wearing life jackets... four of us... please hurry." The captain radioed position, speed, and bearing, repeated the coordinates, then he, too, plunged into the abyss.

Five miles away—anchored off the east coast of Alaska's Aleutian Islands—a statuesque, thirty-something woman stood at the helm of the
Dawn Quixote,
her torch-red hair glowing in the ethereal light of the radar screen. Captain Zora Flynn was no stranger to rogue waves, had faced their destructive power before. They were stealthy and struck without warning, like dreadful aftershocks rebounding through time. She listened to the distress call through a screech of static, and immediately notified Coast Guard authorities. Seconds later, she anchored up, steering her rugged long-liner on a southwesterly course. Less than forty minutes later, she arrived, first on the scene, the deck lights and portals all that were visible on the stricken vessel.

Zora and her three-man crew wasted no time. They rapidly scooped all but one of the half-frozen men from the icy Bering Sea waters, waters that could kill in under an hour. But the fourth man had suffered deep cuts on both hands, making it impossible for him to grasp the life ring. A posse of great whites cruising in the area homed in on his blood, their small, primitive brains instantly recognizing prey. Driven by instinct and an easy meal, the hungry predators closed fast, their dorsal fins breaking the water, tails thrashing violently back and forth.

Paralyzed by fear, the man was moments away from an unimaginable death when Zora did the unthinkable, seemingly
without
thinking: she grabbed a pistol from under her bunk, peeled off her poncho, and dove in after him. One of the sharks hastily changed course, hurtling past her just below the surface. The big fish made a sudden, sweeping turn, and, with one powerful thrust of its tail, was upon her. Seconds later, she took a bone-jarring hit from the big conical head, throwing her up and out of the water. Landing hard, she absorbed some of the impact with a nifty tuck and roll, but she was completely disoriented, not sure which way was up. Her eyes were burning like hot coals from the salt, the metallic smell of blood overpowering. Several panicky moments passed before she found her bearings. She kicked her way to daylight, gasping for air and coughing up seawater. Somehow she'd managed to hold onto the weapon.

Then... a frightening surge of pressure.

The shark was barreling straight toward her again, jaws agape, its big teeth fixed in a savage grin. In that instant, she locked eyes with nature's most perfect killing machine, felt the intensity of its cold, dead, expressionless stare. It was only for an instant, but time enough for everything to slow down. Time enough for Zora's
highly
advanced brain to comprehend the inevitable—she had just seconds to live.

The mind-numbing thought instantly galvanized her will.

In a desperate now-or-never move, she raised the weapon, lunged toward her aggressor, and fired off three quick rounds. The bullets traveled only a few feet, but her aim was remarkably straight and true, striking the shark directly between its eyes. Stunned by the unexpected volley, the big fish banked hard right, then disappeared into the inky darkness. The other sharks, confused and disoriented, began zigzagging in strange crossing patterns, running everywhere at once. Soon they too dropped below the surface and vanished from sight.

When it was all over and the terrified man safely on board, Zora collapsed in a heap on the aft deck. The harrowing rescue had taken less than ten minutes, but she had a dark premonition the consequences would last the rest of her life.

Chapter 1

SIX MONTHS LATER

28 March, 2:40 PM PDT

Puget Sound, Washington

The sleek white cruiser was a custom-built Hatteras—and she was a beauty.

More like a floating palace than a yacht, the powerful vessel stretched a full sixty feet from bow to stern and could comfortably accommodate eight indulgent souls on the cruise of a lifetime. The Skye Deck, located aft of the high-tech flybridge, was equipped with a Bose sound system, hydrotherapy Jacuzzi, and plush lounge seating. Down below, the luxurious cabin was all leather and mahogany, with a full-beam master suite the size of a small vacation villa.

The big boat was anchored off the southern tip of Lopez Island, one of four large islands that made up the spectacular archipelago known as the San Juans. And the handsome couple on board could not have asked for a more pristine day. A high pressure system had parked over Puget Sound two days earlier, bringing light winds and unseasonably warm temperatures. The sky was brilliant blue and a bronze sun reflected off water that gleamed like polished steel.

The luxury motor yacht had cost Jason Taylor a bundle, but there was plenty more where that came from. Jason's small Seattle law firm had become rather infamous in legal circles after he and his wily partner had outsmarted and out-lawyered an army of silk-stocking Wall Street attorneys in a massive corporate fraud case. The "Big One"—as it was known in the tort world—involved thousands of duped employees, many of whom had lost their entire life savings. The company eventually agreed to pay more than $100 million to settle the class-action lawsuit.

After expenses, Taylor & Associates pocketed a cool $26 million.

Not bad for a thirty-one-year-old greenhorn from the sticks of Minnesota.

Jason had purchased the craft with a portion of the spoils, then enrolled in an intensive, hands-on training course. The only license required, it turned out, was for the VHF radio. He had christened her
Lois Lane
in honor of his fiancée, the lovely Jia-li Han. Her name meant "good and beautiful" and, of course, she was both of those things. She had high cheek bones, sparkling dark brown eyes, and flawless skin. She was also Seattle's most popular news anchor. And like the intrepid
Daily Planet
reporter who tamed Superman, Jia-li came with all the bells and whistles: Ivy League smarts, a marvelous pedigree, and talent to burn. She was a tenacious journalist too, with a Midas touch for digging up compelling stories. It had taken Jason some time to win her over—she called him the "blue-eyed lady killer"—but eventually his good heart and first-class mind had carried the day.

Exactly six months after meeting, they were engaged.

As they cuddled together in a lounge chair on the Skye Deck, Jason reached for her hand, an engagement ring the size of Rhode Island sparkling in the brilliant sunshine. "Okay," he said. "'Fess up, babe. Something's been bugging you all afternoon."

"It's nothing," Jia-li replied.

"C'mon, is it the yacht? I know you hate it. I'll unload the damn thing as soon as I can find a buyer."

"I don't hate it, Jason. It's just so...
pretentious
, that's all." He knew Jia-li was being coy, that in her mind, the big boat was much more than that. In fact, she saw it as downright obnoxious, not at all in line with the values of a small town girl from Castine, Maine.

"What then?" Jason asked.

"Oh, no biggie, just a little dust-up with Ned. We squared off in his office yesterday after that massive pile-up on I-5 I told you about."

"The police chase. Three people died, right?"

"Four. It was awful, looked like a war zone out there. Anyway... after the accident I talked with one of the victims' mothers. She seemed okay at first, then she suddenly freaked out, went absolutely ballistic. After I calmed her down a bit, she begged me not to broadcast the interview. I gave her my word I'd cut it from the piece, but Ned aired it anyway. He can be a real pain in the ass sometimes."

Ned Calkins was Jia-li's news director and Jason agreed—he
was
a pain in the ass. "If it bleeds, it leads, right?"

"Yeah, only that's
so
wrong
, Jason. This ratings-at-all-cost mentality is nuts and I told him so." Jia-li took a deep breath, stretched her arms, and calmed down a bit. "Sorry for being such a slug."

"Hey, it's okay. Look, let's chill a bit longer before we head back to base, soak up a few more rays. You know what they say about people from Seattle, 'they don't tan, they rust.'"

Jia-li leaned in, smiled, kissed him on the cheek. "You know what, sweetie? You're right. It's absolutely heavenly out here."

And it was.

Brilliant sunshine cast two-tone hues on the Cascades and Olympics, the muscular, snowcapped mountain ranges that flanked Puget Sound. Mt. Rainier and Mt. Baker were both visible in the distance. Closer in, gnarled, ochre-colored madrona trees hugged the rocky shoreline of Lopez Island. The air smelled clean and ocean-fresh.

They lay that way for several minutes without speaking. Then, glancing at her watch, Jia-li said, "Listen, captain, we need to haul anchor soon. This landlubber reports for duty at 1800 hours, remember?"

"Sure. Another half hour, okay, babe?"

"Yeah, but that's it."

Jason hugged her tenderly, closed his eyes, and soon drifted off to sleep.

* * *

Jia-li eased her arm from under Jason's neck, slid off the lounge chair, and tiptoed over to the entertainment center. A pile of CDs sat on top. She shuffled through the stack until she found her favorite Mozart concerto—
The Marriage of Figaro
—and slipped the CD into the bottom slot. Knowing her fiancé could sleep through a Category 5 hurricane, she hit the play button, cranked up the volume, and stretched out on another chair.

Held in the embrace of soaring violins, Jia-li soon nodded off herself, oblivious to the muffled sound of twin Mercury engines approaching on the starboard side of the
Lois Lane
. Had the music been a little softer, maybe she would have felt the tiny hairs on the back of her neck stand up, a million years of evolution telling her to pay attention. Maybe she would have said something to Jason. And just maybe they would have smelled trouble and come up with a plan.

But none of that happened.

Instead, the twenty-six-foot Sundancer eased closer until the bow rested alongside the much larger vessel. A wiry, small-boned woman in her late twenties stood at the helm. She had wavy, surfer-white hair and wore baggy shorts, a pink T-shirt, and floppy socks. Whitey throttled down and pushed the handle into neutral. "Ahoy there," she hollered.

Jia-li woke with a start, jumped to her feet. She turned down the music then hurried to the rail. "Ahoy back. What's up? You need some help?"

The woman flashed a dazzling smile. "I'm afraid so. This is going to sound really stupid, but I completely lost track of time. Radio says there's a big storm rollin' in."

Jia-li glanced up, saw only big fluffy clouds soft as cotton floating across a sapphire blue sky. "Really?" she said. Then she caught the name on the side of the boat. It appeared to be freshly painted in big, bold, black letters:
Queen Anne's Revenge
. It nagged at her—that name—but she couldn't quite pin down why.

"Yeah, she's comin' on strong, they say. Listen, we could really use some fuel."

Jia-li scanned the cockpit of the boat. There appeared to be no one else on board. "We?" she said smiling. "You got a mouse in your pocket?"

"Nope," Whitey shouted, the charm now a million miles gone. "Just me and my rowdy friends."

A loud bang!

Seconds later, two behemoths burst from the shadows and scrambled aboard the
Lois Lane
, scaling the ladder to the Skye Deck like hungry mountain cats. Jia-li froze. She tried to cry out, but the words would not come, only hysterical thoughts. One of the bruisers sported a Mohawk. The other had a nasty, zipper-like scar on the left side of his face that arched from cheek bone to chin. Both men were dressed head-to-toe in combat black. Scarface moved quick and sure, grabbing Jia-li from behind in a paralyzing chokehold.

Jason, startled awake by the commotion, leaped to his feet. Mohawk charged at him, ramming a knee into his rib cage, sending him reeling across the deck. He landed hard, gasping for air. The next shot, an iron-like fist to the jaw, was paralyzing. Jason's head hit the deck hard, blood oozing from a gash on the bridge of his nose. He struggled to his knees, fell backwards with a heavy thud, and lost consciousness.