Disclaimer: I don't own NCIS: New Orleans or its characters…
Author's note: Um… yeah. Probably shouldn't have rewatched like ALL of the episodes this past weekend. So horribly addicted to these characters. I think because their rapport seems so much more genuine than in some of the other NCIS series where they go for the cheap shot, not considering how that reflects on the relationship of the characters. You get the teasing in the NOLA team, but it's not as derogatory. At any rate, little idea for an action-adventure fic popped into my head.
ballast: n. Something that gives stability.
"Look what we got here."
Christopher LaSalle shined his light on the black waterproof case sitting in the few inches of water. He heard the slogging footfalls of his senior agent as the man came up behind him, shining his own light on the container. LaSalle crouched down, flipped the latches on the container and opened it, feeling sort of like John Travolta looking into the briefcase in Pulp Fiction. Especially since the light reflected off its contents no doubt bathed his face in a golden glow.
"Bet that's about equivalent to half a dozen stolen Sumerian artifacts?" Agent Dwayne Pride asked.
"Shame those bastard looters melted down an invaluable piece of history for greed," LaSalle said.
"Never took you for an amateur archaeologist, Christopher."
"I'm a complex man, King."
Pride laughed, a full infectious sort of sound that put a grin on LaSalle's face, who was about to comment further about the complicated nature of his intellectual interests when a loud boom echoed through the dark compartment. He exchanged a concerned glance with his boss.
"I thought we were clear about them holdin' off on unloadin' until we were through with our search," Pride said, the grimace informing LaSalle precisely what the older man thought. Not good.
"That was no cargo container bein' moved."
The two agents hastily made their way back to the ladder they'd had to climb down into the ballast hold, hefting the case of gold along. Looking up, they simultaneously swore aloud.
The loud clang had been the sound of the solid metal porthole slamming shut. LaSalle holstered his sidearm and began climbing up the metal rungs, until he was able to reach up and push against the heavy steel door.
"No dice," he called down to the man who was now apparently his cellmate. "We're locked in. Think I should try hammerin' down the door?"
"You can try, but seein' as the only ones out there are likely those who locked us in..."
LaSalle sighed.
"Damn. What are we gonna do?"
The more experienced agent's silence was less than reassuring. Things were looking grim, but they could be- oh shit.
"That's not what I think it is?"
"If you think it's the sound of water being pumped into the ballast tank," Pride said in a voice loud enough to cover the din. "Then I'll have to give you credit for maritime knowledge as well as an archaeological penchant."
"An' let me guess," Chris said. "We're in the ballast tank."
He hammered on the metal of the sealed bulkhead, calling out for anyone that could hear... just in case a Good Samaritan rather than a bad guy happened to be outside.
Far below, the water began to rise...
A/N: I obviously don't have intimate knowledge of the workings of cargo vessels, but I did attempt to do a little research, so hopefully this isn't going to be distractingly wrong as to ruin the purely fictional fun.
