Finn began scouring the deck, moving as quickly as he could, still looking for anything that didn’t fit.
In a moment the crew’s vanguard line would catch up and pass him in their aftward sweep. Maybe they’d find whatever it was he was looking for, if it existed at all. Or miss it altogether. Or trample it.
He moved farther astern, looking, moving, looking, moving.
Something.
He bent down to peer close. A small bit of foreign object debris.
Could mean nothing.
He took out his Navy Cash card, then reached into another pocket and fished out a small plastic bag. Using the card, he coaxed the tiny object into the bag.
Straightened and looked across the deck.
The CMC was gazing directly at him.
Finn walked across until he stood face-to-face with the big man, then extended his hand and without a word placed the little bag and its contents in the master chief’s open palm.
The master chief looked down and frowned. A thin, nondescript bit of rigid plastic tube, maybe an inch and a half long. Closed on one end, open on the other.
Cap to a hypodermic needle.
The big man glanced up at Finn, the question on his face mirroring Finn’s thoughts exactly. How the hell did that get up here?
The 1MC abruptly scratched to life with five urgent tones on the bosun’s pipe.
“Man overboard, man over——hands to mus—all hands to muster.”