Darkside

by P. T. Deutermann

  He tried yelling at her, but she couldn’t hear him in the sea noise. He swam right up to her and grabbed the same line she was holding. She opened her eyes, and he yelled at her to hold on, to stay still, while he worked to fit a life jacket onto her. He was barely conscious that the Not Guilty was close by, but it took all his concentration to fasten a jacket onto her upper body and then pass her the life ring. She put her arm through it but then gripped the boat line again. Her eyes were partially unfocused, and Ev realized he was going to have to do everything for her. The child was obviously terrified, but in no danger of sinking. The line back to the boat was alternating between being slack and then taut as the yacht’s bow bounced around in the waves, but Liz was maintaining perfect position.

  “You hang on,” he yelled. “I’ll take the child back to the boat, then come back for you.”

  The woman just stared at him, and then there was a glimmer of understanding. A big wave washed over all three of them, and he said it again twice more, until he was sure she understood. He tied the bitter end of the small boat line to the life ring and made her put her head and one shoulder through it. That’ll make it easier for her to hold on, he thought. As long as their boat doesn’t sink. He let go of the remaining life jacket, reached his arm through one of the straps on the child’s jacket, and then pulled them both through the water back toward the Not Guilty. Liz, of course, couldn’t help, because she had to keep the yacht in position, as that light nylon line would never hold the two boats together. When he got alongside the boat, he realized there was no way to get up the high sides of the bow. He let go of the line and drifted back with the waves down the starboard side, the child held close alongside, until he banged up against the bottom of the folded-up sea ladder. He grabbed the ladder, extended it, and hoisted himself and the child up on deck. He took the child down below to the main salon and put her-a little girl, he realized-down on the deck and forcefully told her to stay there. Her lower lip popped out and she began to cry, but she obeyed.

  Ev raced back on deck and got himself back up to the bow. The light line was still attached to the overturned boat, although he could no longer see the woman. Liz nodded and pointed, and he dived over the side this time and swam directly to the downwind side of the capsized boat. The woman was still there, her head thrown back in the life ring, both arms holding on to it, with only the small boat line holding her to the gunwale of the wrecked boat. Ev came alongside of her, touched her back, and got her to open one eye. Then they rode through a set of three big waves, which submerged them each time, and Ev felt something happen underwater. The boat was finally going down, and he didn’t have a knife. The woman was oblivious, but Ev felt the suction beginning under his legs and realized she was tied to the sinking boat. There was no way he was going to be able to get that line untied, or the ring untied in time. Without warning her, he went underwater and simply pulled her out of the life ring and away from the dark shape that was settling into the depths below. Holding on to her life jacket, he pulled her away and up to the surface in a gasping thrust.

  The Not Guilty was no longer close, and the light nylon line from her bow cleat to the submerging life ring was now taut as a wire; then it parted with a vicious crack, its end lashing the Not Guilty ’s pilothouse window hard enough to crack it from top to bottom. The woman was limp in his arms, which was probably a good thing, he realized. He did the sidestroke again, aiming for the starboard quarter of the Not Guilty and that ladder, very grateful for the life jackets, which took a lot of the work out of it. Liz saw what he was doing and kicked the stern around to provide a momentary lee. A few seconds later, he was at the ladder and so was Liz, helping to pull the nearly unconscious woman up on deck, where they deposited her like a wet sack of potatoes.

  “Is she breathing?” Liz asked.

  As if in reply, the woman turned sideways, vomited a huge amount of water all over the deck, and then went into a paroxysm of coughing and heaving while they both held her. She was a small woman, fully dressed in slacks, a blouse, and flat tennis shoes. She was very pretty, Ev realized, even though she was barely on the plus side of a drowning equation. The Not Guilty, with no one at the helm, began to wallow as her head fell off into the seaway.

  “I put the little girl down below,” he told Liz, who immediately went down into the main salon. She appeared back on deck a moment later with the little girl still swaddled in that huge life jacket. The girl tottered over to her mother, shouting, “Mommy, Mommy,” and Ev helped the woman to sit up and embrace her daughter. The boat began to roll heavily as she came fully sideways to the running seaway, and Liz hurried back up to the pilothouse to straighten her out and ease the ride. The woman was getting some color back in her face and had begun to breathe more normally as she realized she was finally safe.

  “My husband,” she began, but then stopped, staring at her daughter’s wet head, and bit her lip as if she’d said something wrong.

  “Let’s get you below where you can dry off,” he said. “We’ll stay in the area and look for him.” But even as he said it, he knew whose life jacket the child had been wearing. The woman gave him a long, bleak look that told him she knew, too, but she didn’t say anything. He took them below and into the master cabin. He made them both lie down, wet clothes and all, right on the rumpled bedclothes where he and Liz had made love only a few hours ago.

  “Just rest for a few minutes,” he said. “We need to contact the Coast Guard, let them know we have you, and set up a search. What was the name of your boat?”

  “Windsong,” she said, her voice low. She said it again, louder. “Just the three of us on board.”

  She had anticipated his next question. He pulled a blanket over them both, told them to sit tight, and went back topside to the pilothouse. Liz had the boat pointed in toward Annapolis harbor.

  “There was a man on board,” he announced. “I think the kid had his life jacket. We need to tell the Coast Guard.”

  “I marked the position,” she said, pointing to an X in grease pencil on the chart. “But I didn’t see him.”

  “I told her we’d do a search,” he said, feeling suddenly a little weak as his adrenaline began to crash. Liz glanced at his face.

  “Okay, now you sit down. We’ll hang around the area until they show up. Although it’s pretty hopeless.”

  “Are we okay in this shit?” he asked, looking at the solid green waves coming at them like white-capped infantry, angry at losing their prey.

  “Hell yes,” she said. “This is nothing. This is a trawler hull, basically. Tarted up inside, but she’s a pretty tough sea-keeper. You did quite a job out there today. You okay?”

  “A little winded, but, yeah, I’m fine. It was the sex that wore my ass out, I think.”

  She grinned and gave him a thumbs-up, then brought the yacht around to head back to the area where the boat had sunk. Ev saw the flashing lights of a Coast Guard boat behind them. It was banging through the waves, sending up dramatic V ’s of spray. Liz switched over to the emergency band and checked in with the approaching boat. Ev was content just to sit there in a corner of the pilothouse. And Sundays used to be such quiet, peaceful days, he thought. Then he remembered that there were a woman and child down below, a child who had probably just lost her daddy. He heaved himself upright and went below decks.

  Down in the master cabin, the survivors were huddled together under all the blankets and sheets on the bed. Ev wondered if he should find the air-conditioning thermostat and turn it off, but they were probably experiencing the cold of exhaustion. The little girl appeared to be asleep, but her mother was staring fixedly at nothing when he came in. He sat down gently on one corner of the bed.

  “Can I get you anything? Some water? Coffee? A drink?”

  She shook her head. The boat was corkscrewing now as Liz took her across the seas toward the sinking datum. Being inside wasn’t pleasant.

  “The Coast Guard boat is almost here,” he said. “We’re staying in the area fo
r a search. They’ll probably send a helo out, too.”

  The woman reached down and put her hand over her daughter’s upturned ear. “He’s gone,” she whispered. “I saw him go down. He put his jacket on Lily. Then the mast hit him, right on the head. Hard. His eyes rolled up and he was gone. I couldn’t reach him and still hang on to her.”

  He sighed and nodded. “How long were you in the water?” he asked.

  “Forever,” she said, still speaking softly, not wanting to wake the child. “I didn’t thank you, did I?”

  “No need. It was Liz who saw the sail. Liz DeWinter. This is her boat. We almost went right on by.”

  “Several boats did. They couldn’t see us, I suppose.”

  “I couldn’t see you until we were damn near on top of you.” The boat began to roll again as Liz slowed and turned parallel to the seas. Ev could hear the deep-throated engines of another boat close by. “Get some rest,” he said. “There’s no point in transferring you to the Coast Guard boat. We’ll take you in. I’m sorry about your husband.”

  “Thank you,” she said almost mechanically. “I don’t think it’s really penetrated yet.”

  “I lost my wife two years ago,” he said. “To a drunk driver.”

  “And this Liz DeWinter? Who is she?”

  Ev looked down at her, startled by the question and the vaguely disapproving expression on the woman’s face. The yacht hit a large wave and shuddered.

  “Right now, she’s saving my life,” he said. “Now get some rest.”

  He got up and turned out the lights. As he was shutting the cabin door, he thought he heard her say she was sorry. You don’t know the half of it, he thought. But you will.

  9

  Jim Hall wrote a quick note at his desk, sealed it into an official envelope, marked it “Eyes only, personal-for RADM-Select Robbins,” and asked a secretary to give it to the commandant’s admin assistant. Then he went to meet Oberst-sturmbannfuhrer Branner over in Mother B.

  Branner was waiting for him in the rotunda. She was wearing another tight short skirt outfit, and she was tapping one high-heeled foot impatiently. There was a fat briefcase sitting on the marble floor beside her. Two firsties walking by gave her an unabashed once-over until she looked back at them, at which point they found an urgent reason to pick up the pace.

  “We have a development,” she said without preamble when he joined her. “It seems that Midshipman Markham turned up having some of Dell’s clothes in her room.”

  “And how did we find that out?” he asked. He was conscious of the fact that their voices were echoing around the cavernous room.

  “Room inspection,” she said. “Apparently one of those random things. Markham was in charge of the room for last week. She was placed on report for having nonregulation gear in the room. They called me this morning just before I left to come over here.”

  “Was it truly random, or did you put a word in to the Exec Department?”

  “Moi?” she asked sweetly. “Actually, no. Fortuitous, but random. We’re meeting with Dell’s roommate in five minutes.”

  She picked up the briefcase and they headed for the commandant’s conference room. “What do you want me to do in there this time?” he asked.

  “I’ll ask the questions. If you think of something, chime in. This kid’s not a suspect. I’m going to concentrate on what he knew about Dell, not the incident. I will tape it, so you’ll need to ID yourself at the appropriate time. Otherwise, follow my lead.”

  “Anywhere,” he quipped as they stepped behind the partition. She ignored the remark. They went into the commandant’s outer office and the secretary led them into the conference room, where Midshipman Antonelli was waiting nervously. He stood up to attention and sounded off when they entered the room. He was a tall, rangy kid with heavy shoulders, a bony face, crooked nose, acne, and the regulation buzz-cut hair of a plebe. Jim guessed he played sprint ball.

  “Midshipman Fourth Class Antonelli, sir!” the plebe shouted. Then he realized that one of them was a woman. “Uh, ma’am. Sir!” He blushed furiously, staring straight ahead, hands pressed flat to his sides, tucking his chin in even harder.

  “Please sit down, Midshipman Antonelli,” Branner said.

  “Yes, ma’am!” Antonelli all but shouted.

  “And carry on, plebe,” Jim said in a calm voice.

  “Sir, aye aye, sir!” the boy replied. He sat down in one of the side chairs and folded his hands in his lap. He still sat semirigidly. Branner took the chair at the head of the table, and Jim sat down next to her. They brushed knees for an instant, and Jim moved his chair, trying to ignore those shiny stockings. Branner fished the tape recorder out of the big briefcase and set it up.

  “Midshipman Antonelli, I need you to relax, please,” she said. “We’re here to talk about Midshipman Dell, but not about what happened to him, understand? You are not a suspect or even a formal witness. We’re just trying to find out more about Dell as a person. What kind of a roommate he was. What kind of guy. How you two got along. Like that, okay?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” the plebe said, lowering the volume just slightly and giving Jim a sideways look.

  “And this is Mr. Hall, the Academy security officer; he’s helping me with my inquiries. Now, I’m going to tape this, so we’ll do the introductions all over again for the tape.” She saw him frown and moved to reassure him. “The tape’s no big deal-it just keeps me from having to take a bunch of notes, okay?”

  The plebe nodded and then Branner took him through the audio ID process. “So, Mr. Antonelli, tell us about Brian Dell. What kind of guy was he?”

  “We got along,” Antonelli said after first licking his lips. He was obviously very nervous. Jim wondered how much of it was due to having to do an interview in the commandant’s office with NCIS, and how much of it was due to what had happened to his roommate. Branner looked over at Jim as if to say, You take it.

  “Tell us about your plebe year,” Jim said.

  “We were getting through it,” the plebe said. “I mean, like, there were three of us in the room at the beginning of plebe year. Frankie Browning dropped out at Christmas, so then it was just the two of us. That made it a little tougher.”

  “I understand,” Jim said. “I graduated in ’93. Went Marine option and then got out. So I understand what plebe year’s all about and what you’ve been going through. What was Dell’s plebe year like?”

  Antonelli shrugged. “Tough, I guess. He wasn’t very big. Kinda quiet. Kept his head down and his mouth shut, like most of us.”

  “You go out for sprint ball, by any chance?”

  “Yes, sir,” Antonelli said with obvious pride.

  “But Dell-he wasn’t a big jock, was he?”

  “No, sir. Kinda small. He had some trouble with that. I mean, with all the phys ed classes. Boxing. Wrestling. Hand to gland.” He reddened when he realized what he’d just called the self-defense course, but Branner just gave him a neutral smile. “But swimming, that he could do. Actually, he was a competition diver. He even went out for the varsity swim team. Got cut but stayed on as a manager.”

  “How about academics?”

  “Brian was a math geek,” Antonelli replied. “Otherwise, he kept a two-nine, three-oh QPR. He saved my ass in math.”

  Jim nodded. “Did you ever get the impression that the upperclassmen were actively singling Dell out when they ran the plebes in your company? You know what I mean? Like when they really come down on a guy? Hound his ass until he puts his chit in?”

  Antonelli hesitated but then nodded. “I know what you mean, sir,” he said. “Brian had to go roaming for a coupla weeks, during dark ages.”

  “What’s that mean, ‘roaming,’ ‘dark ages’?” Branner asked Jim.

  “Plebes are assigned to company tables in the mess hall,” he explained. “They rotate once a week to a new table, but always within the company. That way, the upperclassmen get a shot at all the plebes. When you go roaming, you report to a new table
for every meal, and these are tables outside your company area.”

  “So?”

  “Well, every meal means hitting the wall with hostile strangers, who all know that you had to be something of a screwup to get sent around the world in the first place. That’s what it was called when I went through. Trust me, it’s very unpleasant.”

  “I see. And ‘dark ages’ refers to the time right after Christmas leave?”

  “Right,” Jim said. “January and February in Annapolis. Dark and dreary. When it seems like plebe year will never, ever end, right, Antonelli?”

  “Seems that way still,” the plebe said, relaxing a bit when he heard Jim speaking in familiar terms.

  “How many days till you climb Herndon, then?”

  “Ten and a wake-up, sir!” Antonelli replied, the volume back up.

  “And was there anyone in the company who was especially hard on Dell?” Branner asked.

  The plebe thought about it for a moment. He shook his head.

  “That mean all the upperclassmen ran him the same as everyone else?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Who was his squad leader for this striper set?” Jim asked.

  “Mr. Edwards,” Antonelli said.

  “He and Dell get along?”

  “Um. Not that good, sir.”

  “You’re saying that Dell’s own squad leader disliked him?” Branner asked.

  The plebe was obviously uncomfortable with the question. “Well, ma’am, Mr. Edwards, he’s kinda hard-core.”

  “What did Dell do on hundredth night?” Jim asked.

  “I was kinda busy on that night, sir. But I doubt Brian would have done much at all. Especially to Mr. Edwards. Like I said, Edwards is hard-core. He’s going Marines.” The expression on his face said that that explained everything.

  “You going Marines, Antonelli?” Jim asked.