CHAPTER FOUR

After a quick taxi ride down to Galveston and a relatively short wait to get his ticket and boarding pass, Rory was standing on the top deck of the Voyager, giddily waving along with several other passengers at nobody in particular. He was grinning like a fool as conga party music blared from the ship’s loudspeaker.

He had purchased a few summer outfits and a swimsuit in one of the gift shops at the airport along with some sunscreen, a hat, sunglasses, and a pair of flip-flops. I’m on vacation! Rory marveled, feeling more alive and free than he had in a long, long time.

It had all been so easy, it must have been meant to be, he had reasoned along the way, going from airport to taxi to cruise ship embarkation to setting sail. A twinge of guilt pestered him for a few moments as the Galveston skyline disappeared from view, but then he walked it off along the length of the ship. He approached the ship’s bow and joined a large cluster of passengers peering out at the horizon where a glorious sunset lit up the sky.

Moments later, it was time to get dressed for his six o’clock dinner seating in the main dining room.

Rory was seated at a table with seven strangers: two were sisters from Alabama, one widowed and one divorced, both vivacious, giggly blondes in their forties. There was a single man in his sixties—a stoic and well-spoken professor from Texas A&M University on fall break, a married couple around his age celebrating their twenty-fifth wedding anniversary, and another young couple on their honeymoon.

Dinner that night consisted of lobster bisque, hearts of palm, a choice of braised duckling, veal chops or lobster tail, and an assortment of breads and desserts.

Rory had a glass of wine with dinner, noticing that the blonde sisters drank down an aperitif, three glasses of wine, and an afterdinner Irish coffee, their voices and laughter becoming louder with each drink.

At least the professor was an intelligent and interesting dinner companion, although Rory felt like he had to work at keeping the conversation going, which was a bit of a strain despite his career background. The anniversary couple was friendly, although a little too pompous, and the honeymooners seemed to be madly in love with each other and ignored the rest of them for the most part.

Rory was glad when dinner was over and he could retire to his room. He had splurged on a suite with a balcony and enjoyed the warm breeze riffling through his hair. It was exhilarating to see the indigo blue water rushing by the ship’s hull as a full moon rose over the Gulf of Mexico. There was a fuzzy, orange-red glow around the moon, and Rory recalled one of his father’s old adages: “Ring around the moon, rain around noon.” Clouds were forming across the sky and Rory noticed the sea seemed a little choppy and rough.

Maybe a storm is coming, he thought, and he withdrew inside, lying on his bed and flipping on the television.

“Although it’s just a small storm right now, Hurricane Lola looks like it could pick up force over the Caribbean Sea just south of the coast of the Bahamas if it continues on its path…” the weather reporter said.

Guess the little airport travel agency that sold me the cruise ticket wasn’t about to give me the weather forecast, Rory thought sarcastically. To take his mind off of the rough seas and impending bad weather, he shut off the TV and picked up a copy of the trip’s itinerary that had been laid out on his bed. Tomorrow would be a “fun day at sea.” Activities were scheduled every half hour: ping-pong and shuffleboard games, trivia contests, dance, yoga and aerobics classes, cooking and mixology sessions, pool parties, shopping seminars and “so much more!” And that was just the daytime schedule. At night, Rory could choose to go to dinner and a show, listen to a variety of bands, go dancing or sing karaoke, drink at one of several bars, or, of course, do some gambling in the ship’s casino.

During the next few days, the ship would stop at various ports of call: Cozumel, Mexico, Grand Cayman in the Cayman Islands and Montego Bay, Jamaica. Rory had signed up for a few adventures including snorkeling in Cozumel and a hike to Dunns River Falls in Jamaica.

After that, he would have another two “fun days at sea” before returning to Galveston then Columbus and his job at AdExecs. May as well make the most of my time away from work and responsibility, he thought, turning out the light.

Suddenly the cruise ship was tilting sideways, and water rushed over the side, gushing into the restaurant, the casino, the auditorium. The big boat was capsizing, sinking.

Rory startled awake and saw his father sitting at the foot of his bed, speaking to him.

“You weren’t supposed to be on this cruise ship, Rory. I hope you know that. You let your fear take over. I’m very disappointed in you.”

Rory gawked as water seeped under his cabin door and rose up along the sides of the bed where he huddled under the covers, afraid to move.

“This storm wouldn’t be happening if you hadn’t gotten on board,” Howard Justice, or apparently his ghost, continued in a steady, chastising voice, the water around the bed rising slowly. His father appeared lifelike, although about ten years younger and healthy, the way he looked before his lung disease destroyed him. He was still dressed in the suit in which he was buried, but he didn’t seem to feel the water as it pooled around his ankles, covering his shiny black shoes and soaking the hems of his pants.

“You’re saying this is my fault?” Rory’s voice was shrill in his own ears. His shocked brain didn’t register that he was talking to a man who had just died days ago. It was truly as if his father was actually present.

“Yes, Rory. God is angry that you didn’t go do what I sent you to do, so he sent this storm to let you know.”

“But why would he endanger all of these other people?” Rory was getting hysterical, and yet he still felt a semblance of rationality, and surprised himself by his own statement and his feeling of concern for the other passengers.

“God works in mysterious ways, son.”

“Dad, what am I supposed to do? It’s too late now.” The water had been rising as they spoke, and its surface was now just a foot from the top of the bed, just below his dad’s knees.

“It’s never too late, Rory. I think you know what you need to do.” And with that, his father disappeared, and the water sloshed over the bed, soaking him.

Rory woke with a start, seemingly in a cold sweat. He looked up and saw water dripping from the ceiling of his cabin onto his bed.

He had mistakenly left the air conditioning set at too cold a temperature, and beads of cool water had condensed on the ceiling and were now dripping down on him.

It was only a dream, Rory realized, gulping in a big breath of air. Dad wasn’t here. The ship isn’t sinking.

He got up to turn off the A/C, take a shower, and try to forget that the nightmare ever occurred.

Nearly everything planned for the “fun day at sea” was cancelled the next day as the impending storm escalated, sending slashing rain and wind across the decks of the ship, forcing everyone indoors. The captain had announced earlier in the morning that reports showed there was nothing to worry about at this point. Lola was predicted to veer off course and lose strength in the next few days, and they were traveling ahead of the hurricane.

But that afternoon proved those predictions wrong as the sea swelled with gale-force winds, rocking the huge cruise ship and sending everyone below deck to the bars and casino.

Rory decided to have a drink and even try his hand at roulette to keep his anxiety and seasickness at bay, as well as the dream from the night before, which still haunted him.

He had to admit that when the little ball rolled around the big wheel and hit his number, it was a thrill. Then it hit again two spins later, and Rory felt ecstatic. He ordered another scotch and soda from one of the passing waitresses to celebrate.

He didn’t have too much time to gloat or even finish his second drink. Minutes after he raked in his chips for a fourth time, a tall, broad-shouldered man wearing a black suit stepped up behind him flashing a security guard badge.

“Rory Justice? I need you to come with me. The captain has asked to see you.”

Oh no, they think I cheated. Rory felt perspiration dampen his forehead. I knew this was too good to be true.

As he got up off his stool, Rory suddenly felt the floor heave up beneath him, and he stumbled into the huge security officer, who caught him and set him back on his feet. The ship sounded almost like it was creaking or groaning, and a few cries of panic erupted from the casino crowd.

Suddenly more officers filled the casino, and the captain’s voice boomed over the public address system warning everyone to return to their rooms and await further instruction.

The guard firmly wrapped his beefy hand around Rory’s upper arm and guided him down a long corridor, then up four flights of narrow steps.

Rory found himself standing in the foyer of the captain’s quarters.

“Did you contact the FBI and ask what the captain of the Voyager has done so far?” Las Vegas Sheriff Ned Thomas spit a mouthful of tobacco juice into a coffee cup, stood, and wiped his mouth with his uniform sleeve, glaring down at the scrawny young deputy seated before him.

“Yes, sir, they just called and said they’ve got Rory Justice in the captain’s quarters for questioning.” The deputy sat stick straight in his chair, staring ahead.

“Good. Let me know when they contact you again after questioning him. I know they’re taking it from here, but we need to stay on top of this.”

“What’s the FBI going to do with him?” The deputy asked in a high-pitched nasal voice pushing a lock of hair out of his wide, brown doe eyes.

“That’s none of your business, son.” Ned Thomas stood looking out of the small, dingy window of his office with his back to the deputy. He couldn’t see the color rising in the young man’s face as he continued. “I do happen to know that they plan to take him off that ship and bring him back here, whatever it takes.”

Sheriff Thomas turned around and held his chin up with pride, looking down his nose at his intimidated underling. The fact that the deputy’s face was beet red from shame and embarrassment only made him feel prouder, more superior. This was how Ned liked it. He knew he wasn’t supposed to be releasing any information to his staff just yet, but he wanted to let his deputies know that he was a man to be reckoned with—and that he needed to be kept in the know on important matters, despite being new in the position. He still couldn’t believe his luck when the letter from Rory Justice, addressed to John Dade, arrived at the Las Vegas Metropolitan Police Department’s headquarters the very day after he had become the new sheriff.

“We obviously did our job informing the FBI,” the burly new sheriff said, hands on his hips. “But I’d like to stay in the loop, since I assume we will be called in to help when Mr. Justice gets here.”

He strode around his beat-up desk and across the room where he towered over the slim deputy who stood staring straight ahead. “I do not want you to breathe a word of this to anyone once you walk out that door, is that understood?”

It was all the deputy could do to nod and stammer out, “Yuh … yes, sir.”

“That will be all.”

Once the deputy left his office, Sheriff Thomas sat back down in his worn leather chair and ruminated on how he could parlay his part in the Rory Justice affair into a promotion or even a raise.

He could kick himself that he had even called the FBI in the first place, even though he knew he had little choice since the ship was in international waters.

At least he had gotten the opportunity to read the letter and get involved. The timing of his promotion yesterday couldn’t have been any better.

It had been announced at the Mayor’s press conference.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I would like to announce that John Dade has chosen to take an early retirement from his position as sheriff,” Las Vegas Mayor Stanley Isaac Cooper had announced matter-of-factly into the microphone before the thirty or so members of the press gathered before him.

The mayor was perched behind the podium in the seventh-floor press room of the behemoth, glass-ensconced City Hall, dressed impeccably in a custom-made Italian dark gray suit, his white cuffs bearing his stitched initials, SIC, his thick, silver-blonde hair perfectly coiffed.

“I’m sorry Mr. Dade could not be here today,” the Mayor continued, looking down somberly at his notes. “He has come down with some type of cold or flu. But we would absolutely like to extend our sincerest gratitude for his many years of service to our fair city.” The tall, handsome mayor looked seriously into the cameras pointing his way. He was a consummate politician who thrived in the media spotlight, and like an actor, could portray a wide range of emotions at will. “John was always a man of humility and integrity, and he will be missed.” Stanley Cooper smiled and flashed his brilliant white teeth, which were a stark contrast in the midst of his suntanned face. “Of course, with all that hard work serving a city like Las Vegas, who can blame the man for wanting to retire a year early? I only hope he feels better soon so he can start enjoying it.”

Mayor Cooper’s expression became earnest again, but the smile remained. “Now it is my pleasure to introduce you to our new sheriff, former Assistant Deputy Ned Thomas.”

Not so comfortable in the harsh media glare and much less polished in his appearance and manners than the mayor, Ned Thomas brusquely sidled up to his new boss behind the podium and forced a smile for the reporters as flashes popped. Mayor Cooper shook his hand and motioned for him to speak into the microphone. Ned had already been warned by the mayor to be very brief.

“Thank you, Mayor Cooper. On behalf of the Las Vegas Police Department, I would also like to thank John Dade for his leadership and service, and say that I am honored to take the position as your next sheriff. Thank you.”

Ned waved a hand at the media and was beginning to turn away from the microphone when a female television news reporter shouted a question to him. “Was Sheriff Dade forced to take an early retirement?”

Ned looked helplessly at Mayor Cooper, who practically pushed him aside to reclaim the microphone before the new sheriff could botch his press conference.

“Absolutely not,” the mayor said, successfully hiding his disdain for the young woman who asked such a bold question. He explained, offering typical verbose platitudes. “It was strictly his choice. Within the ramifications of budgetary discussions, the city council discussed with Sheriff Dade various strategies to reshape a variety of expenditures within the department, viewing all possible remediation, and an early retirement package was proffered in conjunction with those conversations.”

“So this has nothing to do with the fact that there has been a sharp increase in crime lately and that there are rumors circling about a new mafia in town?” barked a sharply dressed young man in the back of the crowd. “There have been reports that Sheriff Dade was working on uncovering a radical Islamic organization possibly running some of the casinos, and that he was coerced into early retirement for snooping into these affairs?”

Mayor Cooper cleared his throat but remained stern and unflustered. “Young man, I wish to quell once and for all any rumor of an alleged new mafia,” he rebuked. “And we are not opposed to any new business entities no matter what their race or religion. Our goal is to provide more jobs and opportunities in this city. Need I remind you that the city is an equal opportunity employer?”

“Can we hear from our new sheriff on this subject?” the young man bravely countered.

Stanley Cooper shot a quick look of warning at Ned, who stiffly took the microphone, standing tall despite his five-foot-six frame. “I would like to reiterate what the mayor just said,” Ned commented, and then his pride took over and he puffed out his chest, not seeing Stanley Cooper glaring at him. “I have no knowledge that Sheriff Dade was working on any such operation. All I know was that he was simply getting older and ready for retirement, and the city decided I was the man for the job. I believe all of this hype about a new mafia is strictly rumor, but let me just state for the record that if any such crime organization were to form, I would be the first to put them in their place and squash them. Thank you.” Ned forced another smile before walking away from the podium.

More questions were hurled, but Mayor Cooper simply said, “That will be all for today. Thank you again for your time.”

Ned Thomas knew his job would be anything but easy. With several recessions over the years, tourism had dropped significantly and Las Vegas had suffered, having the highest unemployment and foreclosure rates in the nation.

Although he was aware of the ISM reports, he refused to believe the rumors that some of the highest-ranking government leaders, mostly incumbent politicians, had been so desperate for support in the midst of the city’s impending financial ruin that they had given in to their requests. Some rumors circulating hinted that when the crime bosses came knocking at the beleaguered leaders’ doors promising to invest millions to restore the city and, in turn, their reputations, they bargained with them even though they knew their new partners were possibly Islamic terrorists. Some rumormongers on social media claimed a few of the more corrupt politicians had even struck deals with the ISM to get kickbacks.

On its face, the city hadn’t changed much: the Bellagio fountains and strippers still danced, the lights on the Strip and big name stars still dazzled, and liquor and money still flowed through the nightclubs and casinos.

For frequent tourists, the city may have appeared to grow a little seedier lately. But local business owners and residents blamed the latest recession, and figured that as soon as the economy improved, Vegas would reconstruct itself yet again like a gaudy glamour girl getting a fresh makeup job.

Ned Thomas was up for the challenge to move the city forward. He figured if there was such a thing as a secret Islamic mafia running the casinos, he was just the man to turn things around. Not only was he several years younger than the former sheriff; he considered himself to be smarter and more powerful. He had confidence he could handle anything or anyone that crossed his doorstep.

So the new sheriff didn’t even question his sudden promotion.

Ned had opened the mail that morning as he did any other day. When he read the letter from Howard Justice, his mouth had dropped open. Since it was signed by an FBI agent, albeit a retired one, he had little choice but to follow protocol and place a call into the Bureau office in Las Vegas, even though he thought the claims in the letter seemed outrageous.

That had set off an immediate chain reaction that had left him out in the cold.

He scowled, regretting his decision to call the FBI.

He decided not to wait for his deputy and to call the Voyager captain himself to find out what was going on.

“Mr. Justice is not in custody; he is merely being questioned by the captain. It has not been decided yet whether he will remain on the ship, but at this point, we do not have reason to call in the Coast Guard to have him removed. We know the FBI has been notified, and we will report to them in due time. Yes, that’s all we can report so far.” Staff Captain Jeremy Styles grimaced as he hung up the phone and turned around in the captain’s quarters to face his commander. “That was the sheriff in Vegas,” the red-haired young deputy said in his typical Australian accent. “A real piece of work. Acts like he’s got some kind of authority over us. We’re out at sea for God’s sake.”

“Just ignore it,” Captain Lyle Whittaker addressed his second-in-command. “We’ve got bigger fish to fry I’m afraid.”

The captain gazed out of his window at the rolling gray clouds that grew darker with the dusk. Lightning flashed in the distance.

“The storm, Captain?”

“Yes, Jeremy.” The fifty-seven-year-old captain spoke gruffly with a slight trace of a German accent. He had migrated as a teenager to America with his family from Berlin and had been on the seas ever since, working his way up the ladder of cruise ship jobs. Thus, he hadn’t had much of an opportunity, or inclination really, to Americanize himself or his dialect. “And our passenger, Rory Justice, whoever he is—the FBI is claiming he may be a terrorist, or at the very least seems to know something about some nuclear bomb being built in the United States, possibly in Las Vegas. They are saying we need to interrogate him, and if he confesses to anything, get him off the ship. They even said they have a submarine already deployed from the naval port in Corpus Christi should we find any of this to be true. It will be on standby in the Gulf awaiting my command to get Mr. Justice off our ship should he pose any threat. They said they need to ensure he arrives back on shore without any danger coming to anyone else or to him, for that matter, just in case he is being watched by other terrorists. The sub apparently will keep him covert. Can you believe that? They don’t even trust this guy to go with the Coast Guard!”

“Where is he now?”

“I had two of our best security guards bring him up for questioning. Right now he’s on the other side of that door.” Captain Whittaker pointed to his private cabin entry. Rory was seated on the other side in a mini-foyer, flanked by the guards. “They say he’s playing nice, even seems a little shook up—not at all the terrorist type. So let’s see for ourselves.”

He motioned toward the door, and Jeremy Styles walked over and opened it.

Rory was brought to his feet and firmly shown into the captain’s chambers.

Captain Whittaker was seated in a stuffed leather chair, a tumbler of bourbon and ice sitting on the coffee table in front of him. Jeremy closed the cabin door once Rory was inside and sat in a couch opposite his boss, then motioned for Rory to be seated on the other end.

Rory obeyed, nervously fidgeting and tapping his foot.

“Why do you think you were called here to speak with me tonight?” the captain asked coolly.

Rory could feel the eyes of Staff Captain Styles boring into the side of his head and dared not look sideways. He realized he was at a strategic disadvantage: if he looked at one man he couldn’t see the other, yet both of them could simultaneously stare directly at him.

“I have no idea, sir. I was gambling like the other passengers to wait out the storm. I think it’s only the second—no, the third time I’ve ever gambled in my life. I’m definitely not a gambler. I was having dumb luck I guess.”

Shut up, you moron, he told himself. Don’t dig your grave deeper.

“Well, this has nothing to do with that.” The captain spoke slowly, deliberately.

As if he’s toying with me, Rory thought. “Well, honestly then, I have no idea.”

“Why are you on this ship, Mr. Justice?”

“The same reason as anyone else, I guess.” Rory was confused. He couldn’t imagine what the captain was getting at now. “For a little vacation.”

The captain grew agitated, his stern features becoming even harsher as he frowned in frustration. He sat forward in his chair, poured himself another drink, and reclined back to sip it. Finally, he took a deep breath then let it out slowly.

“Why don’t you tell me a little bit about yourself? Where are you from, where do you work, and where are you headed after this?”

Rory looked down at the coffee table and saw a copy of his passport. Surely, he knows all of this already, he thought. But better answer him straight. This man doesn’t look like someone I should mess with.

“I am originally from a little town in Maryland, and now live in Columbus, Ohio. I work at AdExecs, an advertising agency, as an account executive. Uh oh. Maybe my boss somehow contacted the ship in an effort to find me, Rory thought, his heart beating fast. “I’m headed back to work as soon as the trip is over. Why, am I in trouble with work?”

“No.” The captain stood and paced before resuming the interrogation. He stopped and bent down, his face just inches away, his steel gray eyes boring into Rory’s.

“Did you recently mail a letter to someone in Las Vegas?” The captain’s voice was just above a whisper.

Rory was silent for a moment. How did they find that out? It had been less than forty-eight hours! He could picture his dad shaking his head in shame and frustration, and he instantly knew he had made a huge mistake mailing the letter and getting on the cruise ship instead of going to the sheriff in person as his father had instructed.

“Mr. Justice? I suggest you answer the captain’s questions,” Staff Captain Styles warned.

Rory snuck a glance over at the captain’s second in command. Although he was in his thirties, Jeremy Styles didn’t look a day over eighteen and reminded Rory of Richie in the seventies show Happy Days played by a very young Ron Howard. With his Australian accent and such a youthful voice, his sharp tone seemed a bit ludicrous. Rory stifled an urge to laugh at the absurdity of it all, and bit the inside of his mouth to keep from smiling.

“Yes, I did.”

The captain stood up, a look of barely concealed surprise that Rory had told the truth registering in his features. He paused for a moment, his eyes narrowed in disbelief, and then he recovered his controlled composure and sat back down. “Please tell us what that letter entailed.”

“I’m afraid I can’t sir. It was a letter from my father, who is … was retired from the FBI.” Rory sighed. “He just passed away last week. He asked me to deliver it to a Sheriff John Dade in Las Vegas. It was sealed, for his eyes only.” Rory paused, hanging his head in shame. “I mailed it instead, deciding I wanted to take this cruise to get away for a little while.”

“Do you know what the letter says?”

“I have an idea. But I haven’t read it. I only read the letter my father wrote to me telling me to meet with Sheriff Dade.”

“And that was your only job—to deliver it to Sheriff Dade?”

“Yes, and I guess I failed at that.”

A sharp rap on the door to the captain’s quarters interrupted the conversation. Jeremy Styles stood and opened it, motioning the uniformed guard to come in.

The captain stood waiting. “Did you find anything?”

“Nothing, sir.”

“And you did a thorough check of Mr. Justice’s compartment?”

“Yes, sir.”

Rory felt his mouth hang open in astonishment. They were searching his room!

“Thank you. That will be all.”

Jeremy opened the door again, and the guard left as quickly and unceremoniously as he had entered.

Rory stood indignantly, facing the captain. “Do you think I’m a terrorist or something?”

The captain smirked. “Well, Mr. Justice, you tell me. Are you?”

“Of course not! I’m a Christian!”

“Prove it.”

Rory slumped back down onto the couch, dejected. He couldn’t fathom a way to do that.