“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.
CHAPTER FIVE
I’m telling you, he’s innocent!” Lyle Whittaker roared into the phone. “I’ve been working these cruise lines for twenty years, and I’ve seen tens of thousands of people from all over the world of every shape, size, age, and color. I’ve sat at dinner with most of them, and I can tell the fakes, the cheats, and the liars in a heartbeat. I sat with Mr. Justice for over an hour grilling him. He’s no more a terrorist than my dead mum, bless her soul.”
Jeremy sat, coffee cup in hand, watching the captain pace. His boss’s breakfast lay uneaten on the table, which was a sign he was clearly agitated, since it was his favorite meal of the day.
“What did they say?” Jeremy asked after the captain hung up.
“They said they still have to proceed as if he’s lying until they have proof otherwise. The crew of the USS Alaska is on their way to get Rory Justice now and arrest him for alleged terrorist threats or some other such nonsense.”
The captain paced, his brows drawn together in frustration. He stopped suddenly and looked at his second in command. “Well, I’m going to call them back and tell them I’m the captain of this ship, and as such, they have no jurisdiction over me or my passengers.”
“But, Captain ….” Jeremy was silenced by his superior’s glare.
A minute later, the captain was talking to an FBI official once more. Jeremy excused himself to get more coffee for them both. When he returned, the captain was shouting again. “Just try to block our way! I’ll show you who’s in charge!” And with that, he slammed down the phone receiver.
Jeremy almost dropped the two cups and saucers, which rattled as he shakily set them on the coffee table. He looked questioningly at the captain, not daring to ask anything out loud.
“Would you believe that these guys are threatening to block us from coming into port in Cozumel?” the captain boomed, pacing again.
“Wow.” Jeremy shook his head in disbelief. “This guy is causing quite a stir.”
“Well, I for one am not going to sacrifice Mr. Justice’s rights and throw him off the ship just because
I’m afraid of a little conflict with the American government, not to mention ruin the vacation plans of four thousand passengers under my watch.”
“So what are you, um, proposing we do?” the boyish second in command asked hesitantly.
“I suggest we go the opposite direction to the port in Grand Cayman so that these folks on board can do what they paid good money to do—have some fun.” The captain looked at Jeremy squarely. “Do you concur, Mr. Styles?”
“Yes sir, Captain.”
“Good, because I’ll need your support as well as that of the rest of the crew. We’ll just announce throughout the day starting at lunch that the ship had to change direction due to the storm and we’ll be reversing the itinerary but still keeping to the agenda so they can enjoy all of the port excursions they’re counting on doing. We’ll use the storm as an excuse.”
“Sounds like a plan. What do we do with Mr. Justice?”
“Where is he now?”
“Still in the brig, sir, where he spent the night per your orders. The night watch reported he apparently slept through the night, awoke at 0800 hours, ate his breakfast, and is now reading a magazine. I believe it’s called Ad Week. He seems to be in fairly good spirits, all things considered.”
“Good. Go tell the guard to release him.”
Jeremy looked at his captain, baffled. “But sir, don’t you want to question him again and…”
“No.” The captain emphatically cut him off. “There’s no need. I know all I need to know. It’s bad enough we locked him up for one night. Tell him we have no reason to detain him further. He is free to go about his normal activities.”
Rory had just finished breakfast and was sitting on his bed in the brig, the ship’s holding cell in the lowest level for those who allegedly committed crimes onboard or otherwise needed to be detained, when the news came that he was being freed.
The room, if you wanted to call it that, was a far cry from his premium cabin. This one had no window, a steel toilet and sink, and a small cot with a vinyl-covered mattress and pillow. There was no lock on the inside of the door, and he could not get out on his own since the door was kept locked from the outside.
Although he hadn’t been arrested or handcuffed, Rory had been led here the night before by two security guards after Jeremy Styles had informed him, following his interrogation, that the FBI had ordered that the captain detain him at least overnight until they had a chance to investigate the matter further.
Rory realized it would have been folly to resist; he was no match for the two big, strong security guards who had each firmly held one of his upper arms as they brusquely walked him from the captain’s quarters to the brig.
But once he was left alone, he had started to feel angry. I can’t believe I’m being held against my will despite the fact I’ve done nothing wrong, he’d ruminated, sitting on the sparse cot. I paid good money to escape work for a week and enjoy a little rest and relaxation, and here I am sitting in what amounts to a jail cell.
I’m definitely going to get a refund, he thought before falling into a fitful sleep. When I get home, someone at the head of this cruise line is going to be hearing from me, and it isn’t going to be pretty.
His anger didn’t have much of a chance to resurface that morning. Soon after he awoke, he was given a tray with a fairly decent breakfast—scrambled eggs, bacon and toast with coffee—and only minutes after he finished eating, one of the guards unlocked his room and told him the staff captain had given him orders to release him.
Rory stood up from his cot, waiting for some type of apology, but when it didn’t come, he decided it was best to move on and deal with all of this after the trip was over.
And in the back of his mind, he felt a small measure of unease, the kind of emotional hangover that comes from a mix of regret and remorse for making a bad choice, or failing to make a good one. It had hung like a fog in his head since his father had visited him in his dream. I guess what happened last night wasn’t too awful, since I probably wasn’t supposed to be on the ship in the first place, he thought, his resentment dissipating.
As Rory walked back up the stairwell to the ship’s main floor to take the elevator to the seventh deck where his room was located, he felt the floor shift beneath his feet, and he stumbled sideways like a drunk.
When he heard a distant scream, he hurried up the steps to the main lobby and quickly walked onto the main deck to look out to sea. Despite the hard slashing rain, a handful of passengers were huddled together in raincoats holding onto the rail, gazing at the horizon. The sky was slate gray and filled with dark storm clouds. The waves slapped against the sides of the massive cruise ship, which churned through the choppy sea, dipping and rising against wave after wave.
Rory hustled back into the lobby, took the elevator, and went to his room. Nice to be back, he thought. He was thankful to lie once again on his larger, much more comfortable bed and read a few pages of the paperback he had bought in the ship’s gift shop, but found it hard to concentrate and started to feel nauseous.
Rory put the book down and flipped on the news to the Weather Channel. He watched with surprise as the meteorologist forecast that Hurricane Lola was predicted to decrease from a Category 2 to a Category 1 storm by nightfall as it made its way east from its position between the Bahamas and Cuba. You certainly couldn’t tell that aboard this ship, he thought.
The weather report was interrupted by a message from the captain:
“Greetings, Royal Caribbean cruise passengers! We wish to inform you that the Voyager of the Seas has changed its course due to the path of Hurricane Lola. We will be reversing our order of ports of call and docking tonight in Grand Cayman instead of Cozumel, Mexico. We will still honor all paid excursions, weather permitting. The ship will arrive at port at eighteen hundred hours. Meanwhile, have a fun day at sea—and check with the front desk for changes in itinerary aboard the ship due to inclement weather.”
Inclement weather! That’s an understatement. They’ll say anything to keep us happy, Rory thought dismally, turning off the television.
He was afraid to go to the casino again, but felt claustrophobic all of a sudden, even though his stateroom seemed roomy now compared to the holding cell. Although he wasn’t hungry, he decided to go for an early lunch in the main dining room.
As he stood in the buffet line waiting to fix a salad, he spotted the blonde sisters from dinner the evening before at a window table. He quickly returned his gaze back to the buffet and filled his plate with whatever was in front of him, hoping they would ignore him. But one of them was suddenly standing next to him.
“Hey, Rory, you must be hungry!”
He looked up to see the one sister cheerfully beaming a pink-lipstick smile at him.
“Uh … yeah, I guess I am.” Rory looked down at his plate. He hadn’t even realized how much food he had plopped there in his attempt not to be noticed. It was filled with fried chicken, mashed potatoes, salad, macaroni and cheese, baked beans, and a scoop of red Jell-O and banana mold. Rory sighed, feeling sick again.
“Why don’t you come sit with Linda and me?”
Rory stared at her blankly. He had forgotten their names.
“You do remember my sister and me from last night’s dinner, right? I know I had a lot to drink, but at least I remember you!” The blonde laughed in her high-pitched way. He did remember that. “C’mon, sit with us!” And before he had a chance to object, she was pulling him by his shirt sleeve toward their table.
“Hey, Rory!” Linda stood and gave him a hug, nearly toppling his plate of food to the ground. “What happened to you last night? Mindy and I were all over the ship and didn’t see you anywhere!”
I bet you were, Rory said silently in his mind. “I, um, ran into the captain, and we chatted for a while.” Not a lie, he thought, reluctantly sitting at the table and digging in to his massive plate of food. He noticed the women only had two large Bloody Marys sitting in front of them and concluded they were probabl
y nursing a hangover.
“The captain! He’s such a hunk!” Linda vivaciously cooed.
“He is quite fascinating ….” Rory was interrupted by an equally excited Mindy.
“Wow, no fair! We’ve been trying to run into him ever since we came on board, right sis? So what did you talk about?”
Rory realized if he did all of the talking, he would never finish his plate and get away from these two, so he turned the conversation around. “Not much, it was brief. So what did you two do last night?” Rory smiled and winked, and his trick worked. The two sisters talked rapidly, nearly in unison, about their adventures in the pool, in the disco, at the casino …. Meanwhile, he wolfed down his food nodding and smiling.
“Well, ladies, sorry I have to go, but I sort of have a headache and want to get some rest for our big day tomorrow in Grand Cayman.” Also not a lie. His head did hurt after hearing these two women prattle on. He stood, gave each a hug, and said his goodbyes, fighting down his indigestion.
By the time he got back to his room, his head was throbbing. Rory took some aspirin and lay down to rest his eyes. Not realizing how exhausted he was from the night before, he was soon fast asleep.
The Runaway Prophet Page 6