The Mountains Bow Down Read Free Page A

years at sea. “That circumstance brings some rather complicated jurisdictional issues to this situation. Are you aware of that, Agent Harmon?”
    â€œYes, sir.” I felt another ladder-drop of emotion. Either nautical laws were simple—such as MOB, turn around —or they were as tangled as beach kelp. Suddenly I could smell the seaweed. If a person went missing within three miles of the US coastline, the case went to that state’s trooper division. But within one mile of the Canadian coast, the Mounties rode in. The FBI was supposed to investigate any missing Americans, whether in foreign or domestic waters, but our field offices were known to squabble over which city the case belonged to—port of departure; port nearest the disappearance; or the city where the missing passenger claimed residency.
    And over all of it, the ship’s captain had ultimate and absolute authority. He even had authority over the United States government.
    Staring at the bright flashing sea, I felt a headache coming on. “Which state is the woman from?” I asked.
    Geert said, “Caw-lee-for-knee-ya.”
    California sounded no better than “woman.” Worse than “American.”
    â€œLos Angeles, specifically,” the captain said. “She’s the wife of a rather famous movie star. Milo Carpenter.”
    My blood went cold.
    â€œHe’s on board shooting a movie,” the captain continued. “Are you familiar with his films?”
    I nodded. More than familiar. Milo Carpenter was my ticket on this ship because my aunt was hired by . . . oh, Lord, no . . . Mrs. Carpenter hired my aunt. The woman. The MOB.
    I turned to the captain, preparing to unravel the complications one at a time, but the bridge suddenly erupted with a loud squawk. It came from near the computer consoles.
    â€œAll stations, all stations, all stations! This is the Alaska Coast Guard, come in, Spirit of Odysseus . Over.”
    The captain lurched, yanking a radio from the computer counter and squeezing the side button. “This is the captain of the Spirit of Odysseus . Over.”
    â€œCaptain, we see your MOB.”
    â€œStop the engines!” the captain yelled.
    The crewman grabbed the black phone again.
    The captain squeezed the radio button. “Coast Guard, exact location please. Over.”
    I stepped closer to the picture window and felt the engines losing power until the sound dropped to a low growl, almost inaudible. Down below, to the port side, the Coast Guard tugs bobbed in our wake. A guardsman stood on the snout-nosed deck wearing an orange search-and-rescue suit. He held a set of binoculars to his eyes, then turned, yelling toward the tug’s small cab.
    The radio crackled.
    â€œCaptain,” the Coast Guard said. “The MOB is not in the water. Over.”
    â€œSay again? Over,” the captain said.
    â€œI say again, MOB is not in the water. Over.”
    The captain frowned. “Specify, over.”
    â€œThe MOB is hanging off the top rail, Captain,” the voice said. “And she’s in a noose. Over.”

Chapter Two
    G eert burst through the steel door to the top deck and I raced behind him. Sea air slapped my face as we ran under the bridge toward the aft, following the directions the Coast Guard had given.
    All three tugs had come around port side and the guardsmen crowded the prows, their search-and-rescue uniforms bright as burning flames. They waved their arms and pointed, and the Dutchman gazed around the deck, taking in the painted steel rail, the teak, the back deck leading into the ship.
    I glanced down at the tugs again. The sailors seemed to want us to move across the deck, their gestures like some horrible version of the game of “warm, warmer—no, now colder.”
    Suddenly Geert bolted toward a small alcove that extended over the water like a princess balcony. A thin chain blocked entrance to the short platform, and a small sign