Rogue Justice (21 page)

And the Makah had a rich, vibrant history.

For centuries, the Tribe had adapted, survived, and flourished, ever serving as faithful guardians to both land and sea. As mariners they had few equals, their navigational skills the envy of fishermen the world over. Yet the Tribe's greatest source of pride was its long tradition of whaling. The hunt was considered life-affirming and spiritual. Prayers were offered to both whalers and whale with thanks given to the animal for its sacrifice and to free its spirit for passage to the other side.

"I hear a lot of talk around town," Houdini said. "People are divided on many issues."

"Yes, my son, it is true. There are those among us determined to return to the old ways. They fail to understand that life is a river that flows in both directions at once. Language and culture—they define us in so many ways, and it is important that we honor our past. Yet we must also look to the future. We must build new schools, libraries, museums, and other places of community. Our survival depends on such things, not on some long-ago treaty that stole our land and destroyed our identity."

It was known as the Treaty of Neah Bay, ratified by Congress in 1859. In exchange for the right to continue hunting gray whales, the Makah had ceded title to thousands of acres of land to the U.S. government, land they had called home for centuries. Some sixty years later, however, commercial whalers had all but annihilated the gray whale population, and the Tribe had voluntarily agreed to suspend its whaling rights.

There had been only one exception—in the spring of 1999—a controversial hunt that took place just off the coast of Neah Bay. Houdini had been recruited to participate, a decision he later regretted with all his heart and soul. Just twenty at the time, he'd been trained to use a uniquely designed .50 caliber rifle to fire the fatal shot. The vet had assured him it was far more humane than the traditional 'killing lance,' which usually took several blows to bring down the whale. In this case, a forty
ton
whale. But Houdini could not pull the trigger. One of the other whalers did.

Houdini sighed. "When he fired that gun, a part of me died, too, Old One."

"A tough lesson, my son, but one you learned well. I am proud of you. It is why I called you here today. You see, I have a story of my own to tell... a very
personal
story."

Houdini hiked an eyebrow. The Old One had rarely shared anything about himself. In fact no one even knew his real name, or his age. "Older than the hills" was all he would ever say. Rumor had it he'd been born on April 15, 1912, the same date the unsinkable RMS
Titanic
sank, but it remained just that... a rumor.

The Old One slowly sipped his tea before speaking. "When I was a young buck, I lived for a time with the Haida, a proud and fierce people who settled many centuries ago on the northern coast of British Columbia. The Tribal Chief was named Raven Claw. He was much older than me and very wise. He communed often with the orcas, blackfish, he called them. He spoke to them and they spoke back, with their eyes. It was as if he could see into their souls and they into his. Sometimes he took me with him. He taught me to open my heart to these sacred animals, to feel the very essence of life that flows through each of us from the wild. It is something we cannot see, or measure, or explain, but it is the very essence of who and what we are."

Houdini leaned in close. "And the blackfish knew this."

"Yes, my son, for they are blessed with a level of intelligence far superior and infinitely more enduring than our own. They hear our every thought, understand our every word. They do not speak our language, but they communicate with something far stronger: their spirit."

A long pause, then, "I think I get it now," Houdini said.

"What is that, my son?"

"Why you taught me such respect for the orcas."

"Yes, it is true. Allow me to explain. In his final days, Raven Claw had fallen ill, but before becoming bedridden, he paddled out one last time to greet a pod of blackfish, to say his goodbyes. But they did not come. Instead he was surrounded by a family of
immense
creatures, creatures the likes of which he had never before seen. And he sensed in their thoughts a great sadness for they came bearing a message, one of unspeakable evil about to befall mankind."

"What kind of evil?" Houdini asked.

"I cannot say, my son. These things you must discover on your own, as Raven Claw did from his ancestors and I from mine. You must remember that we are all related to everything else, to the elements, to the earth and seas, to all animal life. It is the Native way, the way of the Great Spirit. When the time is right, you will know, through dreams and visions, powers all shamans receive from their ties with the spirit world."

"Chief Raven Claw must have
done
something, right?"

"Yes. He tried to warn the white man, but his words fell on deaf ears. A crazy old Indian who drank too much and told tall tales, at least that's what they thought. In truth, the great Chief had never touched a drop of alcohol in his life."

"Did he ever see the creatures again?"

"No, he did not. But I was with him when he passed on, when he reunited with the Great Spirit. And before he breathed his final breath, something extraordinary passed between us."

Houdini could feel his heart beating wildly, sensing that something extraordinary was about to pass between him and his mentor too. "He gave you his special powers, didn't he?"

"Yes. And soon those powers will be yours, my son. But I must tell you the rest of the story, so you will understand." The Old One paused for a long moment before continuing. "You see many years later, after I too had become an old man, the blackfish returned. This time they brought another warning, in many ways more frightening than the last. And like Raven Claw, I attempted to communicate with people in power, people in Washington, D.C. I even traveled there. I spoke of the mighty creatures, my visions, and those of Raven Claw before me."

Houdini swept a hand through his long hair. "And no one listened to another crazy old Indian, right?"

"
One
man did," the Old One said, his voice now a whisper. "He understood Native culture and he asked many good questions. But sadly, the result was the same. He could not convince his superiors of the horrors that lay ahead."

There was a prolonged silence.

Houdini stood and slowly paced the floor, dancing flames from the roaring fire mirroring his inner thoughts. Another minute passed, then two. He walked back to the Old One, bent down on one knee, gazed deeply into his expressive eyes. "The mighty blackfish, Old One, they are back."

The old man leaned forward in his chair, taking hold of his young protégé's hands. Houdini winced at the still powerful grip, felt a charge of electricity shoot through his body. "Yes, I sense their presence. But it is up to you, my son, to figure out why they have come."

Chapter 23

31 March, 7:00 PM PDT

Port Angeles, Washington

The blue metal building on North Cedar Street loomed large, six stories tall, with more than thirty thousand square feet of production floor space. The facility was owned by Platypus Marine and included full mechanical, paint, and fabrication shops, radiant heated floors, five webcams, and a fifty-ton mobile crane. A gigantic Travelift, used to transport large vessels from dock to shop, sat like a giant albatross on the property's fenced-in back lot.

At the moment, inside crews were working overtime to complete routine maintenance and driveline repairs—shafts, props, and bearings—on a commercial fishing rig called the
Northern Star
. She was a 58-foot Delta, arguably the toughest class of boats ever built. The big seiner had made her first run in 1984 and had continually been in service ever since. Over the years, she'd been meticulously maintained, undergoing a major retrofitting program in the late 1990's, then again in 2003, with rolling chocks added in 2009 for better stability.

It was tricky work, making the new fit with the old and having everything match, but the experienced team at Platypus had carved out a profitable niche doing exactly that. Elevated on heavy steel davits, the boat now sat ghost-like, shrouded in heavy plastic awaiting a long-delayed paint job.

Zora drove down a gravel road that ran along the east side of the building and stopped next to an aging, gun-metal gray maintenance building. As she sat there thinking, a sharp tap on the window made her jump. She forced a smile, stepped out of the sporty rental car, and gave the captain of the
Northern Star
a big hug. MacKenzie "Mack" Bowen was a throwback to wooden boats and iron men. He was powerfully built with barn-broad shoulders, a square head, and a neck like a bull. His arms were as big as most men's thighs.

Mack's wife had befriended Zora soon after she arrived in Sitka. Most everyone else in town had given her the cold shoulder, or were downright nasty. The really superstitious fishermen said she was nothing but bad luck—a Jonah—while a hornet's nest of gossipy wives tossed around labels like "Vixen" and "Evil Seductress." But that had all changed following Zora's encounter with the great white sharks. Turned out the man she'd rescued from the hungry predators was married to one of the catty women, and she was pregnant with their first child.

Mack Bowen was something of a legend in Sitka, but lately life had not been so kind to him. His lovely wife was battling breast cancer, his teenage daughter had run off with a local rapper, and he'd had a string of bad runs. The result was a woeful lack of fish and way too many bills.

Zora and Mack sat down on a work bench in front of the maintenance building. She could hear the pounding of the ocean just over the rise and smell the salt water, but, other than a flock of squawking seabirds, they were alone. "Listen, Mack," she said. "Sorry for the cloak and dagger stuff last night, but I couldn't go into this over the phone.

"Okay, no problem. You sounded really stressed, though. What the hell's going on?"

Zora turned to face him, her hands tightly clasped together. "Yeah, like I said when we spoke I need your absolute discretion on this, okay? Not a word to anyone."

Mack placed an iron grip on her wrist and nodded. He barely moved in the twenty minutes it took Zora to tell her incredible tale, though she purposely left out the part about KOS and Samson. Information he did not need to know. When she'd finished, he looked at her like he'd just been jabbed with a cattle prod. "So you're saying they'll kill your mother if you don't play ball, is that the bottom line?"

"Yeah, that's the bottom line."

Mack took a deep breath, stared off into space. "I'm really sorry, Zora. And I sympathize, I really do. Look, my mother's eighty-four, lives in Oakland. I call her every Sunday, but..."

"But
what
, Mack?"

"You're shadowboxing with the devil here. I'd like to help, believe me I would, but, to be perfectly honest with you, I'm not sure I—"

Zora shifted uncomfortably. She tried to think of all the things that must be running through his head.
Why not use her own boat?
There wasn't time. Even running hard, it would have taken her four days to make the trip from Sitka to Port Angeles.
What about damage to his boat?
Seiners were practically bullet proof, but she would pull back if things got too crazy.
What if things go to shit and the Coast Guard rolls in?

Mack answered the last question himself. "Look, if things go south, I'll be looking at a big fine, maybe even jail time. I'm too damn old to be making license plates, Zora."

"I understand," Zora said. "And in that case, this conversation never happened. You met with another fisherman who wanted to lease your boat. We agreed on a price and signed the papers, end of story. It happens all the time. I have a draft contract in the car, pulled it off a legal website last night. We can make it all official with the stroke of a pen. No matter how this goes down, Mack, you stay clean and pocket the money."

"I don't know. What's your time frame?"

"Day after tomorrow... I think."

Bowen stroked his chin and thought about that. "Damn, that soon, huh? Well, I'd have to postpone the paint job for now, but that's no biggie. And I'd be lying through my teeth if I said I didn't need the cash. Believe it or not, I've been thinking about selling the old girl. She'd probably fetch seven hundred grand, maybe more. But what on God's good earth would I do then? Fishing is all I know."