Chapter 4 #2
“Very well,” Tate said. “Engine room, bridge. Please stand by thrusters.”
The first mate pressed the talkback and repeated the order.
“Engine room reports bow and stern thrusters available,” a young man said.
“Thank you. Keep thrusters on standby,” Tate said.
The VHF crackled, then the first mate keyed the mic. “VTS Prince William Sound, VTS Prince William Sound, cruise ship Nordic Anthem, outbound from Redemption, pilot aboard, proceeding southbound for Hinchinbrook Entrance. Monitoring one-six and one-two. Over.”
“Nordic Anthem, VTS Prince William Sound. Radar contact,” a man responded, his voice calm. “Report when abeam Strawberry Point. Traffic includes two seiners hauling gear starboard bow, speed two knots, and one sport vessel crossing port to starboard. Recommend working channel one-two. Over.”
“VTS Prince William Sound, Nordic Anthem, roger. Working one-two. We’ll report abeam Strawberry Point. Over.”
Tate didn’t have time to get distracted, but thoughts of Scottie infiltrated as he tried to juggle watching the radar with monitoring the communication system. If he didn’t pilot the ship properly, someone could get hurt. He had to get the Nordic Anthem safely out to sea.
As he’d suspected would happen, time had done nothing to weaken his attraction toward her.
She was older, of course, since the last time he’d seen her.
They’d both turned thirty this year. But there was something in her eyes.
Something simmering beneath her guarded expression.
She was afraid. He could sense it. Probably because he wrestled with fear a lot.
Still, he wouldn’t let anything happen to her.
Somehow he had to reassure her. But what was he going to do?
Spend his off days camped out at Port Frisco?
Hardly. Besides, she wouldn’t want him hovering.
She might have relied on him in high school, and he’d let her, but they were adults now.
Had spent more than a decade living their own lives. He couldn’t just swoop in.
“Traffic report,” Tate said, forcing himself to refocus on the task at hand.
The first mate scanned the horizon. “Target bearing zero-eight-five, range approximately one mile, speed eight knots. Seiners on starboard bow, speed two, gear in the water.”
“Very well. Helm, come right to one-eight-seven to counter set.”
“Right to one-eight-seven, aye.” The first mate paused. “Steady one-eight-seven.”
“Thank you. Maintain,” Tate said.
“All stations, Nordic Anthem departing Redemption southbound, pilot aboard. Intend to pass astern of the seiner fleet off Esther Passage, then steer two-one-zero. Monitoring one-two,” the first mate called on the working channel.
Radio chatter crackled across the bridge speaker. “Yeah, headed out there now…Right? They just can’t catch a break. First a guy with a broken leg and now this?—”
Tate’s adrenaline spiked. “‘Now this’ what?”
Krister’s piercing blue eyes met his. “I am always listening to the radio conversations.” He gestured to the speaker.
“This many boats in the water—cruise ship, oil tankers, commercial and sport fishermen—there is a lot to keep up with. And that special show filming nearby, yes? Very exciting. Alaska will be ‘on the map,’ as they say.”
“You’re right,” Tate said. “More publicity benefits Redemption, but not if it comes at a cost.”
“A cost?”
“People getting injured.” Tate pointed to the radio. “Sounds like something serious may have happened.”
A man’s voice broke through on the speaker. “Yeah. Pretty severe hand injury. PA from the clinic in Redemption en route…”
The skin on the back of Tate’s neck tingled. There was more than one PA at the clinic in Redemption, but his sister Caroline happened to be one of them. Was she on her way to treat the injured?
“VTS Prince William Sound, Nordic Anthem abeam Strawberry Point,” the first mate reported. “Speed one-two knots, course one-eight-seven. Seiners in sight to starboard.”
“Nordic Anthem, VTS acknowledges. After clearing seiners, steer as required for outbound. Report pilot disembarking. Over.”
“Roger, VTS,” the first mate said.
Tate banished all thoughts of Scottie and someone getting hurt. He had to do his job. “Helm, ease right to two-one-zero.”
“Ease right for two-one-zero, aye.”
“Maintain speed one-two,” Tate said. “Keep a sharp eye on that sport boat crossing.”
Krister moved closer, hands behind his back. “I have the conn when you are ready to disembark.”
“Copy that, Captain,” Tate said. He checked the pilot ladder icon and the pilot boat’s AIS popping on the starboard side. “All right. Here’s where we part ways. Good to see you again, sir. May you enjoy fair winds, following seas.”
Krister shook his hand. “And you as well, Tate. Thank you. Your expertise and your professionalism are much appreciated.”
“Thank you very much. Take good care.” Then he shook hands with the first mate. “Hope to see you again.”
“Likewise.” The first mate nodded to the helmsman. “Helm, maintain two-one-zero.” Then he turned to the captain. “Pilot disembarking starboard.”
“Very well,” Krister said. “I have the conn.”
Tate turned and left the bridge. The wing door hissed behind him, and he squinted as the wind hit him. Cold and refreshing. Below, the pilot boat’s diesels barked as it bobbed in the water.
A uniformed member of the cruise ship’s staff greeted him. “Right this way.”
Tate pulled out his phone, logged his departure time from the bridge in an app, and tucked it safely into his waterproof pocket.
Then he grabbed his life jacket from the hook where he’d left it.
The staff member slung the Jacob’s ladder over the side, and its orange fiberglass frame thumped the ship’s hull.
Tate slid his sunglasses into place. It was a beautiful day.
The wind tussled his hair and buffeted his jacket sleeves as he double-checked his life vest. Then he descended the ladder.
When he reached the last rung, he turned and leaped onto the deck of the pilot boat.
Jesse, his new coworker, greeted him with a smile.
“Hey, man. Welcome back.”
“Thanks,” Tate said. He followed him along the starboard side of the boat, holding on to the railing as they picked up speed and eased away from the massive cruise ship. Its white bow sliced through the water, churning up frothy white waves in its wake.
He slipped inside the cabin, where Anthony stood at the wheel. Grinning, Anthony tipped his chin up. “How’s it going, Tate?”
“Good. Hey, you’ve been listening to the chatter? Somebody at Port Frisco injured?”
“Yeah. I heard about that. I think someone’s on the way. Maybe your sister’s on board to help?”
“Any word on the injured party?”
Anthony shook his head. “Sounds like a knife wound, maybe?”
Tate stifled a groan. It wasn’t his job, not his responsibility. Besides, what were the chances that Scottie had gotten involved in a knife situation?
As they made their way past Port Frisco and Strawberry Point, he wasn’t going to look. He silently repeated the same reminder. Not his job to worry. It wasn’t. Scottie could take care of herself.
He grabbed a seat and pulled out his phone. Couldn’t resist texting Caroline though. Wouldn’t hurt to ask her if she knew what was going on.
Tate typed the text with cold fingers. Because he wouldn’t be able to relax until he knew for sure that Scottie was all right.