Chapter 8 - THE LOCKED BERTH
Naomi heard the key turn outside the storage berth.
She kept thinking of her seven-year-old son, Eli, who still made her promise to call before bedtime whenever she sailed. Tonight he would stare at his tablet and wonder why she hadn't answered.
Ortega slipped through the door. "You've got three minutes," he whispered. "I told the guard the power breaker in here was smoking."
"Where's my phone?"
"Safe. The recording's intact."
Naomi grabbed his sleeve. "Did anyone get Mara?"
"We don't know. Ward told the crew she's dead."
Naomi pictured Mara's fingers slipping from the rail. She had reached too late, and that half-second replayed every time she closed her eyes.
"I should've grabbed her," Naomi said.
"You shouted. You threw the ring. None of this is on you."
"Ward ordered me to stop the retrieval line. I didn't. He had it cut."
Ortega touched the pocket holding a folded paper. "I have the name of the man who cut it. He's ready to talk if we get him off this ship."
"Who?"
"Seaman Davis. Nineteen years old. Ward told him it was part of a safety drill. The kid hasn't stopped crying."
Heavy footsteps sounded outside.
Ortega pushed the folded paper into Naomi's hand. "If we get separated, give this to NCIS. Don't give it to anyone else."
"Senior Chief—"
"Listen to me. The ship's emergency recorder will reset after docking. We have to preserve it before then."
The door slammed open. Ward stood there, holding a phone.
"Interesting," he said. "I just received proof that your boy is alone at home."
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Naomi felt every drop of blood drain from her face.
On Ward's screen was a photograph of Eli standing at their front door.
