The Raft (22 page)

“What's that?”

“To give Kid Galahad Meerkat's murderer.”

“You know who killed Meerkat?” Rachael gasped
in shock.

“No,” Maggie said. “But the dryfoots don't
know that. If we can sit down and parley. Maybe there's some sort
of deal that we can work out. Some sort of compromise that will get
the Coast Guard to back down.”

“You want to sell the Feds a pig in a poke?”
Rachael chuckled.

“In my defense, I have every hope that I'll
find the pig to put in the poke before delivery of said poke is
demanded. I just need to buy some time – somehow get Orac's Armada
through to the Freaky Kon-Tikis.”

“If I can help, Maggie, you know I will.”

“Can you call Galahad? Set up a meeting?”

“I can certainly try. But he'll be aboard the
blockade by now. I'll need a lift. Where are you?”

“At the
Kalakala
,” Maggie
answered.

“Then Alki again in an hour?”

“Sure, but...”

“But?”

“Thanks, Rachael.”

“Don't thank me. It's your plan.”

“But... tell Peter I'm guaranteeing your
safety.”

“I'm sure he'll be thrilled.”

“One hour then.”

“Just like yesterday.”

“And Rachael?”

“Yes?”

“Do you own a gun?”

“Of course not.”

“No, I didn't think you would.”

Chapter 24

Maggie's toes curled in the cold as she
piloted her launch towards Alki Beach.

The fog was still thick, though it didn't
feel like any rain was falling. It was hard to tell, with a cold
dankness to the air that felt something close to moving through a
rainstorm.

Maggie shivered, her nerves were making her
shake. Yesterday she'd been so panicked to see Rachael again after
five years; today she knew she wouldn't feel like herself until
Rachael was sitting in the launch with her. How one day could make
all the difference, Maggie thought.

How a person's nice, safe world could come
toppling down so quickly.

Maggie's plan was a terrible plan, even she
had to admit it. If Kid Galahad didn't quickly see through its thin
tissue of lies over the phone, then he'd surely cotton on to the
con the moment he looked into Maggie's face. But at least the phone
call Maggie had delegated to Rachael. Maggie didn't have to attempt
to lie to a policemen over the phone. If anyone could pull off the
deception, it would be Rachael.

After all, telling people half-truths was
what being a reporter was all about, giving just enough information
to let the audience assume what they wanted. If Galahad wanted to
catch Meerkat's killer, Rachael would let him infer, without
actually stating flat out, that Maggie had the identity of the
killer to offer.

Nevertheless, the information would be
transferred, the idea planted firmly in the Special Agent's brain.
She was almost sorry she'd missed the exchange, but Maggie had her
part to play, too.

Maggie huddled down deeper into her jacket,
against the cold, thick, wet air. The shadow of Alki Beach was
resolving through the fog before her, the outlines of few die-hard
joggers moving along its shore. Maggie strained to make out any
sign of Rachael against the gloom. Maggie's small electric outboard
purred faithfully behind her, pushing her against the tide.

As the prow of the launch dug into the sand,
Maggie stepped out into the surf. She dared not take a step up the
beach, though perhaps her twenty-four hours of immunity was still
good. She didn't want to test it, standing in the frigid cold water
of the rocky beach. She searched the gray fog all around her,
looking for any sign of Rachael. Cars moved by, shadows on the
waterfront road.

Maggie was hit by a sudden pang for a cup of
coffee. An espresso, from a machine. A latte or an Americano. It
was silly the cravings that hit you the second you set foot off the
Raft, it wasn't like life aboard was completely off from
civilization. There was
Geoduck
and other ships serving food
and drink. But standing with her feet in cold water, Maggie
hungered for a freshly made cup of shade-grown, fair trade coffee,
the sort she'd served in her own café all those years ago.

There had to be an espresso machine aboard
the Raft, there just had to be, but until that moment, Maggie had
never felt any need to seek it out. She'd been perfectly happy with
the Mr. Coffee aboard the
Soft Cell
. It was crazy what
returning to shore reminded you of, Maggie thought, what you'd left
behind. All the sweet, intricate details of life. Maggie
smiled.

There was Rachael, moving across the beach
towards Maggie. Her tall, thin, feminine silhouette haloed by a
windswept head of red hair. She was carrying something in each
hand. As she neared, Maggie realized it was two large to-go
cups.

“Coffee?” Rachael said as she stepped up to
the bow of Maggie's launch. She handed the two cups to Maggie and
hopped quickly into the dinghy.

Mind reader, Maggie thought, cold and
shivering in the surf. She handed back the cups, pulled the launch
free of the beach, and climbed in as the boat floated on the waves.
She kicked the motor to life and brought the launch around,
gratefully accepting the offered cup of coffee from Rachael.

“So, what's the news?” Maggie asked after
taking a sip of the warm drink.

“Galahad was shocked, but intrigued,” Rachael
replied. “He pressed me to tell him the killer's identity over the
phone, but I was able to tell him, truthfully, that I was just as
ignorant as he was.”

“Ah,” Maggie smiled. “Good.”

“He'll expect answers, however, if you plan
on going through with this charade. You're going to have to tell
him something, even if it's a boldfaced lie.”

“Mmm,” Maggie murmured as she steered the
small boat and sipped her coffee.

“Mmm?” Rachael raised an eyebrow. “I never
liked your mmm's. They mean someone's dead, someone's lying, or
someone's in a whole hell of a lot of shit.”

“Mmm,” Maggie said again.

“Well, which one is it?”

“It just doesn't make any sense...”

“No, if the Senator is off the hook, and even
Horus. There's just no one -”

“No, not Meerkat. I mean, yes, that doesn't
make a lick of sense, either. But Galahad. And the Coast Guard.
Yesterday, when we left them at the County Jail. They seemed happy
with Horus's confession. Satisfied. But today, they're floating in
a fleet to blockade the Kon-Tiki races? Going out of their way to
stick a finger in the eye of the Raft? Why stir the hornet's nest
more when the bees are already agitated?”

“Maybe they didn't like the confession you
extracted from Horus?” Rachael offered.

“Mmm,” was Maggie's only reply.

“It did seriously implicate the Senator.
Perhaps too much. And there is the fact that you stole a pair of
his loafers. Perhaps he's sending in the Coast Guard to look for
them?”

“Don't joke around,” Maggie scolded, looking
at her coffee cup.

“Sorry.”

“It's...” Maggie started, then stopped.

“What?”

“Well, have you ever known a cop who can't
spot a fake ID?”

Rachael perked up in surprise. “No, of course
not. Peter can tell a real ID just by the feel of the plastic.”

“Right. This whole new identity for Meerkat
is sticking in my throat and I can't cough it out. If Meerkat's
real name was Rebbecca, then the Joanna ID was obviously a fake.
But SPD initially identified her as Joanna, so the ID they
recovered from her wallet must have fooled one or two professional
policemen.”

“When I mentioned Meerkat's true identity to
Galahad,” Rachael remembered. “After he'd dropped the bomb about
the blockade. He was surprised, or pissed off. One or the
other.”

“So, what about Meerkat's fake ID was so
convincing that it fooled all of those cops?” Maggie mused. The
Soft Cell
was nearing, she cut the outboard and brought the
launch alongside the stern of the yacht.

“Well, I guess 'cause it wasn't a fake ID at
all,” Rachael replied, taking a coffee cup as Maggie pulled herself
to her feet. Maggie caught the larger ship's grab rail and held
firm.

“Exactly,” Maggie said as she leapt spryly up
and into the cockpit of the
Soft Cell
, holding the small
dinghy's bow line.

Chapter 25

They were going to need Gandalf if the ruse
was going to have even the slightest chance of success.

The dryfoots would be just as ignorant to his
sudden loss of position as they were to any of the other aspects of
the inner workings of the Raft. As far it concerned the FBI,
Gandalf was as close to an elected leader of the Raft is they would
get. He spoke for his people, and should it became apparent that
Maggie did not, in fact, have the identity of Meerkat's murderer in
hand, she'd need Gandalf at her side to attempt to negotiate some
sort of peace between the blockade and Orac's Armada.

If Gandalf could return to the Raft with
something tangible to show – some sort of compromise with the
powers that be – perhaps he'd be able to re-exert his old influence
over the Rafters. He was still Gandalf after all, Web Master of the
Exchange, the man who backed the money that filled each and every
one of the Rafter's pockets. If Maggie could position him as the
voice of reason to Orac's pie-in-the-sky idealism, there might be a
chance that the Armada could be turned around.

Yes, Maggie was going to need Gandalf along
for the ride.

And even with him aboard, the chances of
getting any kind of concession out of the Feds was slim. But it was
Maggie's only shot. She had to try before guns started getting
waved around.

The
Kalakala
was missing from the
coastline of Bainbridge Island as Maggie sailed back through the
fog to its former moorage. The whole Raft was gone, not a styrofoam
cup or a slick of oil was left to indicate that anyone or anything
had ever occupied those fathoms of water.

Maggie was late. Throughout this whole murder
investigation, she'd been one step behind the crowd. But the wind
from the south was strong. Unfurling the sails of the
Soft
Cell
, Maggie quickly turned the bow northerly, and soon the
whitecaps were slapping at the stern.

Like a crew of a dozen, Maggie scrambled back
and forth over the deck of the
Soft Cell,
adjusting this
stay, cleating off that halyard. Soon, the sails were full and by,
and the
Soft Cell
was heeling under the power of the
breeze.

Inevitability, seasickness overcame Rachael.
Luckily, her stomach was full of nothing but coffee and the good
intention to eat as soon as she found time.

An hour passed into two and the morning fog
began to give way. Kingston was to the port in the haze as Maggie
began to overtake the first stragglers of the Raft. If Rachael had
known no better, she'd have assumed that the crews of the small
ships were on their way to a party. The impending collision with
the Coast Guard's blockade had dampened none of the festival spirit
of the Rafters. They were treating the day exactly like it was: the
first day of the Freaky Kon-Tikis. The ships all had a Mardi Gras
float feel to them, decked out in streamers and bunting. Despite
the cold, men in Polynesian grass skirts and women sporting coconut
bikinis were already celebrating on the decks. Pre-noon beers were
open. Confidence was running high.

Rafters cheered as Maggie sailed by, standing
grimly at the helm of the
Soft Cell,
trying to milk every
last knot out of the tailwind. She ignored them as they hooted,
urging her on. She kept her eyes firmly fixed on the horizon,
hoping to catch a glimpse of the
Kalakala's
stern.

They were running out of time, Rachael could
feel the tension building in Maggie. If they couldn't reach the
blockade before the mass of the Raft attempted to run it... Maggie
sailed for all her worth, letting the plodding Rafters fall off in
her wake.

“I want your pistol, Maggie,” Rachael said
out of the blue.

Maggie stole a quick glance of surprise over
to the seasick Rachael, then returned her attention to the task at
hand. “What?”

“Your gun, that small black revolver, I want
you to leave it on the boat.” Rachael's stomach churned. If she'd
had anything left to throw up, she would have.

“Are you serious?” Maggie kept her eyes
forward.

“Yes, I don't want you meeting Kid Galahad
carrying that gun.”

“I'm not going to -”

“Maggie,” Rachael scolded, as motherly as her
green complexion would allow. “You've been out here on the Raft too
long, you've forgotten. You had the pistol with you the whole time
we were onshore, didn't you? When we met Senator Hadian? When you
were in the cell with Horus?”

“Yes, but -”

“You can't do that Maggie! You've lot sight
of dryland. You've been out here so long you've forgotten how
regular people think. You can't just carry a gun around a Senator,
Maggie! You can't take one into a jail. What if Horus had gotten it
off you?”

“He wouldn't.”

“But what if he did? You're lucky they
extended you the courtesy of skipping the perfunctory pat down, or
you'd been in a cell right alongside Horus. No, Maggie, maybe I
can't talk you out of this plan to scam the US government, but I
can make sure you don't try to do it armed.”

“Rachael,” Maggie sighed.

“They'll kill you, Maggie. One glimpse of the
butt of that gun, and they'll shoot you dead. No questions asked.
People just don't carry around revolvers, not on dryland, not
anymore. Not without the intent to shoot someone. You've got to
keep that fact forefront in your mind, Maggie. This is how the
people you're dealing with think. They're not Rafters, they don't
expect everyone to be armed. Carrying a gun is an act of
provocation.”