STORM
Grandpa used to tell me...
"The ocean never lies."
"People do."
The Pacific had settled into an easy rhythm.
Gentle swells lifted Sea Whisper beneath a blanket of stars.
Most of our guests had finally gone below.
Frank and Rose wished everyone goodnight.
Rose hugged each of us as though we'd known each other for years.
"I expect coffee together in the morning."
Willow laughed.
"You have my word."
Frank smiled.
"And pancakes."
Willow grinned.
"I can do pancakes."
They disappeared below deck, still holding hands.
Storm smiled.
"I hope Ben and Scott make it to breakfast."
Ben looked offended.
"I've never missed breakfast."
Scott raised an eyebrow.
"You've been late."
"I was strategically delayed."
The laughter eased the tension.
Only for a moment.
We can talk more easily now that Frank and Rose are not here. I didn't want to upset them any more than we had to.
The SEALS, Nathan, my sister, and I sat around the large table.
Nathan carefully opened Grandpa's logbook.
"I think James wanted us to read this differently."
Hazel frowned.
"Differently?"
Nathan nodded.
"He never wasted words."
He slowly turned the pages.
"Look."
Every sunrise entry began the same way.
Wind.
Current.
Weather.
Every single one.
Until...
Six weeks before his death.
Ben leaned closer.
"They're gone."
Nathan nodded.
"The weather disappeared."
Storm blinked.
"Why would Grandpa stop writing about the weather?"
Ward quietly smiled.
"He didn't."
Everyone looked at him.
Ward picked up the logbook.
"He changed the code."
Silence settled over the bridge.
Nathan slowly looked up.
"You think he was writing in code?"
Ward nodded.
"I don't think."
"I know."
Scott stepped beside him.
"What do you see?"
Ward pointed to the entries.
"Read the first word of every day's journal."
Storm did.
North.
West.
Southwest.
East.
South.
Northwest.
Hazel frowned.
"Those are directions."
Ben smiled.
"No."
"They're instructions."
Nathan's heart seemed to stop.
"Oh..."
"My..."
"...God."
Storm looked from one face to another.
"What?"
Nathan's eyes filled with tears.
"James wasn't recording where he'd been."
"He was telling someone where to go."
No one breathed.
Ward carefully turned another page.
The directions continued.
Then...
Without warning...
The code changed again.
One word.
Wait.
Another page.
Fog.
Another.
Moon.
Ben stared.
"This isn't navigation,"
Nathan whispered...
"It's timing."
Storm slowly looked toward the black Pacific outside the bridge windows.
Grandpa had never stopped writing his journal.
He'd been leaving a trail.
One only the right person would recognize.
Far behind them...
The lights aboard Mariner's Crown glowed softly against the darkness.
Someone else was hunting the same trail.
They simply didn't know...
James Sinclair had written it twenty years earlier.