Chapter 17
Jerry settled back against his chair in the promenade lounge, listening to Fisher grumble into his laptop. Sanders nudged his elbow. “What’s he doing?”
Jerry pointed at the Cybertruck sitting in front of the casino, about fifty yards down the promenade. Apparently, it could be won by signing up for an unwanted membership in the casino. “Some guy he knows from a hacking course he went to a few months ago dared him. Said he couldn’t hack into it.”
Fisher paused and looked at him, narrowing his eyes. “Certified Ethical Hacker course. He was the class leader, and I was the senior NCO. He’s never outdone me. He’s not going to this time.”
“Memaw never did say I was the smartest person in the room,” Sanders said, opening the lid of his soda. “Certified, eh? Hysterical.”
“You say that now,” Fisher said, “but assume your infrastructure goes down—because some bad actor got into the system—and those of us with training don’t exist. You’d be the first to complain about your warm soda pop.
” With that, Fisher hit the ENTER key and raised an eyebrow as the lights on the truck turned on.
“Well, heck yeah, I would be.” He shuddered. “Who’d want to drink a warm soda? Heaven forbid.”
A ship-wide announcement interrupted their jovial conversation.
“Hello, passengers, this is your Activities Coordinator! Ready for some fun? Join us at 1:00 PM for a comedy juggling act on the Lido Deck, or test your skills at our 4:00 PM trivia challenge in the Starlight Lounge. Shuffleboard fans, meet us on Deck 12 at 5:30 PM!”
“Shuffleboard, anyone?” Jerry chuckled and shook his head. He popped a peanut into his mouth, its salty, roasted crunch grounding him amid the sprawl of stories, chased by the faint, caramel fizz of his soda.
Swanson arrived and grabbed a chair from an empty table. “Pot Pie,” Sanders said, “What’s the good word, brother?”
“Daddy and Pena will be here momentarily. Ozzy too. He’s meeting with the chaplain’s assistant right now.” The waitress appeared, and he ordered a sparkling water before directing his attention back to the group.
“Found a skeet shooting game in the arcade,” Jerry said. “Sites are way off, though.”
Yet another announcement interrupted them. “Hello again, passengers. Just a friendly reminder: on day 4, everyone must disembark between 7:00 AM and 11:00 AM for our private island visit while the crew completes essential drills and maintenance. See your newsletter for more. Have a fantastic day!”
Sanders said, “If they keep doing that every few minutes, I will find it mighty tedious.”
“You know, there was a time,” Brock said, “when you could shoot actual skeet with an actual firearm right from the deck.”
“No kidding?” Jerry shook his head. “The way security screened us when we boarded, I can’t imagine them allowing that these days.”
Sanders said, “I think it was more on account of the broken skeet and buckshot littering the ocean could hurt the fish and such.”
Jerry said, “So, not an issue that people would have live ammo and firearms then?”
“Whatever. But there’s ways they could have done it. Just like ranges, you know? Laser shots instead of birdshot. Skeet made of fish food.” Sanders rubbed his chin. “I mean, if it hasn’t been invented yet…”
“Get on that in all your spare time, partner,” Swanson said. “Don’t you worry about a thing. I’ll handle our caseload.”
Daniel Swanson and Bill Sanders had formed a private security company, utilizing the many skills they’d acquired during their time in the Special Forces. Brock chuckled. “You guys busy?”
“Dude. The second y’all get out, you need to come see us. We have so much work, and there are just some things that we can’t handle.” He gestured at Fisher. “Like our boy here. I could use him nine ways to Sunday and still have work piled up.”
Jerry shook his head. “Not getting out any time soon.”
Swanson said, “Going for that third rocker, are you?”
“I want it. I need it,” Jerry grinned. “The SFC rank is just so unbalanced with three up and two down. Now, the Master Sergeant rank… that three up three down? The only thing more perfect is to slap a diamond right in the bullseye.”
Fisher glanced up from his screen only briefly. “Private sector is on my list in seven more years. Oh, you little…” he started typing furiously. “Ah-ha!” He ripped his hat off and pointed at someone across the wide promenade. “Got you, Heisman!”
A dark-haired and very tall, very blond, and very muscular man stood and strolled across the carpeted floor, laughing. He looked like a bodybuilder or a linebacker. When he got to their table, Jerry had to crane his neck to look up at him. How tall was he? Six-seven? “Well done, Trout.”
Jerry looked at the Cybertruck. It had rolled forward about two feet. “Did you just—?”
“I did. Lights are too easy. Automated self-driving system? That takes actual skill.” Two ship security guards approached the Cybertruck, clearly expecting to find someone inside. The tall man twitched his chin in their direction and observed, “They look so confused.”
Fisher gestured at him. “Captain Chase Anderson, meet my team. Swanson, McBride, Sanders, and Brock.”
Anderson shook hands with each one. “Nice to meet you all. Heard some stories.”
Fisher gestured at him. “Chase’s with 11th Cyber at Schofield Barracks.”
“Nice,” Jerry said. “My dad was stationed there when I was a kid.” A memory surfaced of Sunday services at the beach, waves crashing against jagged rocks as the preacher’s voice carried over the breeze.
Mabel giggling as she played in the sand with her Beach Barbie.
A wave of warm nostalgia hit him, tinged with a sudden pang of missing his mother.
“We enjoy it. I’m ready to get back to the lower forty-eight, though.” He pointed across the promenade. “My wife is hoping for Meade next.”
“Busy area,” Swanson said. “Baltimore isn’t Northern Virginia, but it’s close. I think I’d choose somewhere else.”
“Well, some things have to be experienced to fully understand,” Anderson said. “And Vi likes the easy trip to Manhattan from there. She regularly goes.”
Brock pushed his hat back on his head and scratched his temple. “I’m from the Bronx. I’m happy to be stationed in Kentucky.”
“I bet,” Anderson said, a grin stretching across his face. “But I’m looking forward to not having to fly six hours just to get started on a trip.”
“Fair enough.” Jerry gestured at a chair. “Would you like to join us?”
He shook his head. “I’m with my wife. But we’d love to get together.”
“Violet’s with you?” Fisher asked. “How is the world’s most famous novelist these days?”
Anderson grinned. “I don’t know about all that, but this is her trip. She’s here on a writing retreat with a bunch of other authors.”
Fisher laughed. “So you’re just strap-hanging?”
Anderson nodded, “I’m Mr. Violet Pearl, so yeah. Free cruise? I’m in. Maybe we can do lunch?”
Jerry glanced at Swanson, who knew the schedule for the wedding events. The way his friend could keep those kinds of details straight should be considered a superpower. Swanson nodded, so Jerry said, “Lunch is perfect.”
After Anderson rejoined his wife, Fisher shut the lid of his laptop. “Solid man there. His wife is Violet Pearl. She writes those Mandalyn Clementine mysteries.”
Jerry mentally pictured the book Olive read on the plane. “Olive reads those.”
“I’ve read every one of them,” Swanson said. “Chase Anderson. I recognize the name. Didn’t he play for A&M?”
Jerry shook his head. “Everything I know about college football is nothing.”
“Communist,” Sanders teased.
Jerry raised an eyebrow. “Since everyone knows baseball is America’s pastime, remind me, Drumstick. Who won the World Series last year?”
Sanders shrugged. “If it ain’t the Braves, who cares?”
Jerry shrugged. “Braves are my favorite team whenever they play the Yankees. Actually, my favorite team is whoever plays the Yankees.”
Brock said, “So you like all the losing teams, Maguire?”
Swanson persisted, “Anderson was a legacy player, right?”
“I think so,” Sanders said. “I think he played the same years I did. We never played against each other, but he always made the news because his father played for the Eagles in the Super Bowl, so they made a big deal of him.”
“He’s brilliant behind a keyboard,” Fisher said. “He’s probably forgotten more than I’ve ever learned about hacking. Guy can subnet in his head. Probably dreams in code.”
Swanson snorted. “Since you’re just about the smartest guy I’ve ever met, that’s saying a lot.”
Fisher’s cheeks turned red, but he was saved from replying by Pena and Norton’s arrival. “Ozzy will be here in a minute,” Pena said. “Then we can decide what we want to do next.”
“I’m good with doing this,” Sanders said, sticking his legs out and tossing a peanut into the air, which he caught in his open mouth. “There’s worse ways to spend an afternoon.”
“It’s good to just sit and be able to talk guy talk,” Brock agreed. “Seems like there’s always business getting in the way.”
The group spent the next hour catching up. Osbourne and his father joined them, and the conversation turned to the Category 5 hurricane that hit Miami during Thanksgiving a year ago. “It was pretty bad,” Osbourne said. “I’ve been in some storms, but cat five is something special.”
“Well, you were busy, too,” Norton said.
Osbourne nodded and smiled sheepishly. “That I was.”
Osbourne spent the night the hurricane hit Miami protecting the shelter Melissa ran for battered men and women from a drug cartel that took an interest in one of her tenants.
In the middle of the hurricane, the cartel bore down on them, leaving Osbourne alone to defend it.
He used his honed Special Forces skills to single-handedly protect Melissa and her sister from eight other men.
“With salt shot, no less,” Jerry said. “I’m sure it would have been nice to have actual buckshot or, you know, anything better. Anything at all.”