21 #2
Disembarking at the Naples pier is a whirlwind of noise, beeps, and heat.
As soon as I cross the walkway checkpoint with my handheld radio and high-visibility vest, I feel an uncomfortable sense of vulnerability.
From the control center, the chaos is visible in high definition.
Down here, passengers are crowding against the barriers: some lost with their backpacks, others shouting for solutions, all with the tense expression of someone whose vacation has been cut short by someone else’s labor dispute.
The pier is hostile territory. And ten meters away from me is Maika.
She moves through the crowd with enviable ease, always flanked by her team. Leo, Lara, Iván, and Nico are organizing the lines by color with her and reassuring a group that surely fears missing their trip to Pompeii.
I watch her for a moment as she gives instructions through a megaphone. She turns her head and holds my gaze from a distance. Just one delightful second.
During the first hour, the port pushes us to the limit. As if that weren’t enough, the police change the bus drop-off zone twice, and one of the local drivers veers into the oncoming lane.
“Control, this is dock security. Requesting authorization to open a secondary lane in the north zone for the ship’s excursion passengers,” I ask over the radio. “If we mix them with the cancellations, we’ll block the terminal exit in ten minutes.”
“Copy that, Security. North lane authorized,” the ship’s security officer replies.
Maika appears at my side shortly after, her cheeks flushed from the midday sun and the passenger list rolled up in her hand.
“I’ve got 120 passengers rebooked on the shuttle schedules. Thirty-six have agreed to the walking tour through the historic district. Twenty-two are ready to fill out complaint forms, but at least they’ve lowered their fists and don’t seem ready to lynch my assistant,” she explains with a smile.
“Good work,” I reply, keeping my cool. “I’ve managed to get them to give us the side dock for emergency boarding, but they’re only giving us a thirty-minute window. We need to move them now.”
“I can group them by disembarkation order. Families and strollers first, then passengers with reduced mobility, and we’ll leave the alternative tours for last.”
“That would overload the first vehicle,” I object.
“Not if I send Leo to coordinate the families boarding and have Lara organize the line for the elderly. Iván can keep the complaints group occupied by offering them cold water and the official forms. Angry people calm down as soon as you give them a letterhead and a pen; they feel like they’re causing official trouble,” she explains.
I stare at her, narrowing my eyes. Damn, she’s so sexy when she steps into my territory.
“That’s disturbingly efficient.”
“Naval bureaucracy is the best sedative there is,” she replies, winking at me.
A smile escapes me, a real one. Maika catches it immediately, but she’s gracious enough not to press the issue. Thank God.
Over the next two hours, we become a true team. And amid the clamor of the Neapolitan port, I understand exactly what Julianne meant when she spoke of complementary profiles.
We’re not alike. And that’s exactly why we work well together.
Once we manage to channel the bulk of the passengers, the tension in the air drops suddenly.
The shipping company’s buses move in and out smoothly, and the stragglers move forward with clear instructions.
The port authorities have put away their ticket books and look at us with well-deserved respect.
Maika approaches, taking a sip from an almost empty water bottle.
“No casualties,” she says, exhaling all the air.
“There’s still the afternoon shift,” I remind her.
“You’re so attached to protocols,” she jokes, wiping the sweat from her forehead with her arm.
“I try to maintain operational standards,” I reply, allowing myself another smile.
“It could have been an absolute disaster. We handled it well.”
Maika’s walkie-talkie interrupts the moment with Nico’s voice, and she listens to the report intently.
“Roger that, I’m heading to dock two.”
She cuts the communication and turns to me.
“I have to go down to the second checkpoint. The group on the walking tour is ready to leave.”
I nod.
“Your team has done very well.”
“I know,” she replies, a gleam of pride in her eyes.
“And so have you.”
Maika stops short. Her expression changes, softening in a split second.
“Thank you.”
“Be careful out there,” I add, and the words slip out before I can stop them.
She tilts her head, and for a moment, the Maika from our previous contracts returns.
“Is that point three of your plan or a safety suggestion?” she teases me.
“It’s a mixed order.”
“I’ll take the human part,” she replies.
Maika smiles broadly, turns around, and raises her arms to summon her people.
“Tour group, follow me! We’re going to show Naples how to organize a march—they’ve already got the traffic figured out.”
Several passengers laugh, relieved. I follow her with my eyes until the group crosses the terminal’s outer gate. As I turn to return to my checkpoint, I spot Arturo a few meters away. He’s wearing his ID around his neck and watching me with an indecipherable expression.
He scans the empty pier, watches the shuttles operating in order and the steady flow on the walkway. Finally, he fixes his eyes on me and nods with slow, firm approval.
“Good work, Officer.”