Debris Line (Gibson Vaughn)

by Matthew Fitzsimmons

  Not a word had been spoken, but there had been a conversation nonetheless. It reminded João of his crew. How the men could pass long nights working the nets without speaking more than a dozen words between them. Everything communicated through a glance or a gesture or a simple action.

  Such an understanding didn’t come without a price, João knew. It took years on the open ocean. Far out beyond the edge of the world. It was closer than anyone wanted to believe. That place where no help would come in time. When you were on your own with only your crew to watch your back for that wave that would drag you overboard. Knowing the person to your left and to your right better even than their own families because all your lives depended on it. There wasn’t always time for words out there in the dark. João had always thought it was unique to sailors, but he realized that was naïve. There were other oceans, other kinds of waves.

  Daniel went up the gangway to the dock, where the third man waited. He stood looking down the dock toward the roadway, a red baseball cap pulled low over his eyes. Unmoving. No acknowledgment that Daniel was standing beside him. The two men stood there together and stared down the dock.

  Daniel said something under his breath that caused his companion to laugh. The kind of laugh that’s like a pipe bursting. It faded as quickly as it had come, and once again the two men stood in silence.

  Despite the flecks of gray in his thick beard, the man in the cap was the youngest of the three. The closest in age to João, yet he had a feeling they would not have much in common. There was something haunted in the man’s face that João was only too happy to know nothing about. The man had been almost superstitious about keeping his distance from the Alexandria. Some people were afraid of the ocean, but João didn’t believe that was it.

  The only reason they hadn’t departed for Tangier was because the Americans were waiting for the woman. The fourth member of their crew. João hoped she came so that he could thank her personally for saving his life. However, there seemed to be disagreement about whether she would show up at all. The Americans had already argued once. João only spoke a few words of English but got the sense that the man on the dock was the lone holdout. He wouldn’t come aboard because that would be admitting she wasn’t coming.

  Up on the dock, the argument began anew.

  Daniel remained calmer this time and pointed repeatedly to the time. That only made the third man angrier. He gestured down the dock.

  They both froze.

  At the end of the dock, a blue sports car skidded to a stop, throwing up a scrim of dust. A woman with dark hair got out. Daniel looked back at George. João couldn’t tell what it meant. He wasn’t a part of them.

  The bearded man took off his red cap and held it straight up in the air as if she might not see him otherwise.

  George turned to João with a smile equal parts relief and regret. “We’re all here now. We can go.”

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Until Debris Line, all of my books have been set in the familiar, comfortable confines of the American Northeast. It’s my home; I know it. Relocating the setting to Portugal was necessary, but it came with no small amount of trepidation. I would never claim to have insight into Portuguese life, but it was important to me that I represent it accurately to the best of my ability. To that end, I want to thank my father, Tom FitzSimmons, who drove me back and forth across Portugal during the summer of ’17 so that I could visit the towns that figure in the story and meet a few of the people who call the Algarve home. Hopefully, I have not made too much of a hash of it.

  I also want to thank my mother, Marcia Feldhaus, and stepfather, Steve Feldhaus, for giving me a respite from a gloomy DC February to take up residency on their Florida patio. I’ve finished three of my four books at that table, and it doesn’t feel like a book is well and truly complete until I type “The End” and throw myself into your pool.

  And if anyone is starting to get the impression that I’m never actually at home, a hearty thanks to Jaz, Laura, and Ishmael at Jacob’s Coffee for giving me an office away from office and for never thinking it weird (or at least never saying it was weird) that a guy who doesn’t drink coffee could spend so much time working at a coffee shop.

  My thanks to author Kate Moretti (The Blackbird Season, The Vanishing Year) for putting me in contact with Anabela Araujo, who cleaned up my clunky Portuguese. Angela Hofmann for her insights into the modern-day face of slavery and the especially terrible toll it takes on children. Nathan and Patrick Hughes for always steering me straight on all things USMC. Drew Hughes for answering my annual creepy medical questions without once calling the cops. Eric Schwerin and Katherine Manougian for reading bits and pieces of Debris Line and listening while I improvised plotlines that never made it to the page.

  To say that Gibson Vaughn and his stories would have turned out differently without my friend Mike Tyner is a feckless understatement. I can’t count the number of times I have sat down to dinner with him, scratching my head, and left with a notebook full of new ideas. Debris Line is no exception to the rule. Thank you.

  The same is true of Vanessa Brimner—my first reader, my sounding board, and canary in the coal mine for every lunatic idea that comes into my head. She probably reads these books more than I do, and during the inevitable period in each book when I think I’ve lost my way, she points me in the right direction.

  Ed Stackler has edited all of the Gibson Vaughn novels and somehow keeps coming back for more. It’s been a great relationship since book one, but to work with someone who knows the characters as well as I do is a real gift.

  As is my partnership with the Glorious DHS—David Hale Smith. A great agent, a better friend, and an all-around great night on the town.

  My eternal thanks to the wonderful team at Thomas & Mercer who work tirelessly to bring these books into the world. I have to begin with my editor, Gracie Doyle, who has always been a champion of Gibson Vaughn. But, I also need to thank Dennelle Catlett and Ashley Vanicek, who spearhead PR; Gabrielle Guarnero, Kyla Pigoni, and Laura Costantino in marketing; Sarah Shaw, who takes such good care of all the authors; Oisin O’Malley, Thomas & Mercer’s art director; Rex Bonomelli, who has designed all of the wonderful covers for the series; and Laura Barrett, the production manager. Finally, I want to thank Jeff Belle, Mikyla Bruder, and Galen Maynard, who have done a world-class job building Amazon Publishing and making it such a wonderful home for authors such as myself.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Photo © 2017 Douglas Sonders

  Matthew FitzSimmons is the author of the Wall Street Journal bestselling Gibson Vaughn series, which includes The Short Drop, Poisonfeather, and Cold Harbor. Born in Illinois and raised in London, England, he now lives in Washington, DC, where he taught English literature and theater at a private high school for more than a decade. Visit him at www.matthewfitzsimmons.com.