BERMUDA TRIANGLE MEET THE JAMAICAN LOVE TRIANGLE
Just shy of three weeks after her cozy rendezvous with Royal Navy Lieutenant Theodore Groves, EITC Director for West Africa Cutlena Beckett stepped out on the town for dinner with Commodore James Norrington at 1700 Ocean. The restaurant, long favored for romantic dinners and emotional proposals, treated the couple right with wine, seafood dinners, and sunset views over the ocean. The commodore was the picture of polished class in his pristine uniform, while Beckett looked professional and breezy in a flared navy skirt with a sleeveless, yellow blouse.
Conversation looked easy between the couple, sharp at times but always undercut by mutual respect. After dining, the couple drove away together and Norrington promptly returned Beckett to her hotel. Ever the gentleman, he brushed a kiss to Beckett's hand before parting and offered a small wave to onlooking reporters.
Norrington was last seen publicly stepping out with then-fiancée Elizabeth Swann, the only child of current Governor Weatherby Swann, shortly before her abduction by pirates. After being rescued by the commodore, she broke off their engagement, instead choosing to follow her heart and wed William Turner.
While this dinner may have been nothing but a professional meeting of colleagues, the setting begs the question if the commodore is trying to sway the results of Beckett's investigation. As previously reported, Beckett is in the Caribbean for an indeterminate amount of time to help the Royal Navy combat the piracy threat in these waters. There has been no official news on the progress of the investigation or the future of the commodore's career.
Groves, the commodore's second in command, could not be reached for comment.
This is a developing story.
Comment, indeed. What did they really expect Groves to say? There was nothing to comment on.
She did chuckle, though, recalling Norrington's parting words about meeting Groves at dawn with pistols. Wouldn't the press just eat that up if they did indeed meet? With a shake of her head, she minimized the browser on her phone and glanced back to her laptop.
The email had come together better than she thought. Kraken's lack of progress was not tolerable. She could only surmise that he needed a reminder of the stakes at hand. Again. She hit send just as her phone buzzed, indicative of a text.
You needn't engage in such shameless displays, Cutlena.
She could hear her father's voice, stern and unforgiving, as she re-read the text. Surprisingly, he had let the first articles about her night out with Groves slide. But really, she'd been living on borrowed time. Especially with the added speculation that she could be compromised in her investigation of the commodore's fitness for command.
She typed out a quick response.
You needn't believe everything you see in print
That probably wouldn't sit well with him, but he should know better than to bother her over such trifle matters. Her phone vibrated in short order, once, then twice.
I do not appreciate your tone. If you insist on making headlines, then keep your official duties out of the discussion. Small ripples grow to big waves if left
Unchecked. Chase Groves if you must, but be wary of the commodore.
Her father never really had grasped the concept of texting. His full sentences with complete spelling and punctuation often resulted in a flurry of messages. But nothing less would do for a man in his position.
She grit her teeth, exhaling as she debated whether to fight him or let it go. Honestly, she had more important things to think about.
Understood, sir.
She hit send, hoping that would be the end of it. At the very least, it reminded her that people in London were watching. Powerful, important people who could pull the plug on her work here and compromise her position in the ETIC with one fell swoop.
All the more reason to focus on the task at hand. And, at least, Kraken was timely in his responses. She opened the unread email.
We are proceeding. Can't move too quickly without risking exposure. I'm sure you understand. Just as I understand that your patience is not inexhaustible. You keep to your word, and I'll keep to mine. -Kraken
Oh, was he getting frustrated? She smirked to herself as she read over the email again. Yes, the frustration was most certainly there. Concern, too. Perhaps even worry? No matter really. As long as Plan B remained in motion, then she could keep her focus on Plan A.
Which admittedly wasn't proceeding as fast as she would like. The reshuffled shipping lanes weren't panning out yet, and no rumors that the goods from the Persephone had made a splash on the black market. She wanted to call bullshit on that, though. Those goods were likely selling high and fast, no thanks to all the press surrounding the ship's sinking and her presence in the Caribbean.
As much as this modern age of readily available information was a boon to business, it also proved hurtful.
She started typing an email to her boss. It took some thought, but she began to craft a report that spoke to progress without any real production. In-process. Ongoing. Underway. Investigating. All good words that indicated they were working with nothing really to show for it yet. But it was still the beginning of her tenure in this assignment. This was just a slow start. Rome wasn't built in a day, after all.
It was all rather masterful, in her opinion. The art to create something from nothing if the situation called for it.
A knock on the door interrupted her and she looked up, poised. "Yes?"
The door opened to reveal the commodore, cool as ever in his heavy uniform despite the day's warmth. "Good afternoon. We received word of an attack that took place twenty minutes ago and a credible source on berth, not far from one of your revised lanes. I will be setting sail on theProvidence within the hour to mount a response."
Her ears perked on his words. "An attack? On an EITC ship?"
"Details are still forthcoming as we make speedy preparations."
"Hmm. What time exactly do we set sail?"
His brow furrowed ever so imperceptibly. "Your pardon, ma'am, but it sounded like you said 'we'."
"Yes, I did." She saved her email, exiting Outlook. "A pirate attack occurs, and I'm just supposed to sit here and wait for word? Real-time decisions cannot be made if I stay here."
"You mistake my concern."
She cocked a sardonic brow. "Oh? Are women not allowed on your military vessel?"
"Nothing is farther from the truth. I wouldn't want to see you inconvenienced or hurt should we fall under attack."
"I'm at no more risk than any of your men or yourself." She looked up from powering down her laptop. "What time do we shove off."
Displeasure flashed in his gaze even as the rest of his face remained pleasantly neutral. "Arrive on the dock at 1450 hours and we'll get you situated in your cabin. I want to make it understood here and now that the Providence is not an EITC vessel, nor a charter vessel. She is under my command until we return to port, and no order short of the Admiralty will countermand mine. Do we understand each other?"
She smirked. "My dear commodore, it is not my intention to interfere with the command of your vessel. That is still your job. But if the need does arise, then it's a good thing I have a direct line to the Admiralty."
His tipped his head, acknowledging with stiff politeness. She watched his gaze drop down the length of her legs, the height of her heels. "I do hope you brought a more sensible pair of shoes."
She met his cheeky smirk as he turned for the door.
At least now she would have something much more interesting to write about in her email.
xxx
It didn't take long to change and pack. She wasn't much of one for spreading out, and her usual office attire wouldn't be suitable for life at sea. His parting words still rankled her even though she knew they shouldn't. His opinion of her shouldn't matter in the slightest.
The sun shone bright overhead when her car pulled up on the far edge of the dock and she begged the driver off, slinging her duffle bag over one shoulder. Dressed in light gray capris and a white and blue striped shirt – she was going sailing, after all – and non-descript lace-up shoes, she stood out from the navy blue clad sailors scurrying about making preparations.
The HMS Providence gleamed proudly in the afternoon light. Every appointment on her from stem to stern was of the finest caliber the Royal Navy had to offer. The long gun barrels stationed on her decks spoke to the formidable force that the ship could unleash.
The sailor on guard at the gangway took her name and sent a lesser rank up to the bridge. She tried to keep a neutral face as she stood in the hot sun and waited. It wasn't this sailor's fault that his superiors hadn't informed him of her arrival. But then again, it was 1442 hours, so perhaps they just weren't ready for her yet.
A bead of sweat ran down the back of her neck and she allowed herself a smile as she spotted Theodore, walking along the ship's quarterdeck before coming down the gangway. With the arrival of First Officer Groves, the issue of her clearance on board evaporated and she followed him onto the ship and through a gray-painted labyrinth.
He explained the situation as he led her through another stairway, the air stiff and stale with the smell of motor oil and metal. Her cabin was located on B Deck with the officers, in the corridor reserved for visiting dignitaries. She would take her meals in the officer's mess unless explicitly invited to dine with the commodore. Her cabin came outfitted with a private head, and instructions for accessing sickbay, laundry services, and a general map of the accessible decks.
She dropped her bag in the cabin without a second thought and followed Theodore back out into the corridor. He was needed on the bridge for the impending departure, and she was welcome to oversee if she preferred. She most certainly did.
The submarine door concealing the last set of steps up to the bridge opened with a dull clank under his hand. "Your access to the bridge is at the discretion and permission of either myself or the commodore. No other crewman is authorized to escort you up."
"I suppose that's fair."
"More than fair." He returned as she followed him up. "The majority of onboard guests are not permitted access to the bridge. But these are not normal circumstances."
"No, they're not." She crossed the threshold behind him, taking in the bridge teeming with officers at their stations and the warm air tinged with sweat.
There was no observation post on the bridge, so Theodore installed her behind the captain's chair with strict instructions to stay put and not interfere. Despite feeling like a little kid sitting in the corner, she gave her word. There was simply too much to observe right now to argue.
Lights flashed on consoles and phones sounded at various stations as the different decks rang in. Theodore rattled off quick orders into his phone before dropping it to the cradle and accepting a clipboard from a lead seaman. He scanned it effortlessly, picking up the conversation and ending it with a decisive tone as a green light lit on his console. He made calm, organized work of the first officer position, taking reports and processing the information to provide efficient direction. It made her wonder how much longer it would be until he got a ship of his own.
Her gaze darted amongst the other men moving about on the bridge with well-practiced movements, surprised and just now realizing that the commodore was not among them. Should he not be here by now? She glanced down at her watch. 1456 hours. Four minutes until official departure. Were they off schedule perhaps? She fought the urge to pluck at her shirt as another bead of sweat ran down the length of her back. The paltry fans in the corners of the room were doing little to cool the warm, humid Caribbean air.
"Captain on the bridge!" The call rang out and the officers who weren't standing rushed to their feet, snapping off salutes as Norrington ducked in out of the sun. He radiated calm cool despite the temperature as his sharp green eyes swept the bridge.
"As you were." He brushed by her, solely focused on his duty to the ship as he approached Theodore. They spoke in low, crisp tones, reviewing ship and station status. From there, he moved through the other stations, the aura of authority about him truly unmistakable. It was breathtaking to watch him command his vessel.
As the last of the stations rang in, and he took up position in the captain's chair, ordering the lines to be cast and the helm to take them out, she'd never before seen a man so suited to the calling. Everything about him as the ship left port – taking reports, giving orders, making decisions, directing course – she couldn't deny why he was the youngest commodore in all the colonies.
If the Admiralty could see this right now, they'd kick themselves for ever even considering this man's termination.
He made it look easy. And he made it look good. If the heat phased him at all, he didn't let it show. He may have traded his office dress uniform for the navy blue operational uniform ensemble, but it looked equally ill-suited to the hot temperatures. His hair held its neat styling as the open sea breeze blew through the cracked windows once the ship left port and made for the attacker's last known position at top speed. He had yet to pay her any mind, and for once, that suited her just fine.
She was thoroughly enjoying the show. It was unbelievably sexy to watch him act with such confident, complete control. A warm thrum sang in her body as she fought back visions of that authoritative power focused on her. Would it be more pleasurable to melt and submit to him, or to push him to the breaking point?
She could feel faint heat rising to her cheeks and she subtly cleared her throat to shake the thoughts away. Those would be better explored in the confines of her cabin. She'd have to remember to be quiet, though. No way of telling how thin the walls were. Or who she shared walls with.
"Now, Ms. Beckett." Norrington's gaze met hers as he swiveled in his chair. "I trust Groves got you settled?"
"Yes, he did. In the corridor for visiting dignitaries. Very swanky." She flashed a teasing grin. "One would almost think my onboard presence had been planned before our conversation this afternoon."
He flashed an answering grin of his own, though nothing else in his face supported it. "Perceptive, as usual. In truth, preparations for your cabin were ordered when the command to make ready for sail was given."
"I'm flattered you thought of me."
"It wasn't flattery, Ms. Beckett." He turned to face forward, tapping something on his console. "If these waters hold, we're a little over eight hours out from the last reported position as of ten minutes ago. You are free to roam the ship within reason. My officers have been given strict instructions as to your presence here and the purview of your authority."
"I have it but it's second only to your command?"
"Precisely. There can only be one captain." The man had stated as much on land, and she really couldn't begrudge him for it. Not until he gave her a reason, at any rate.
The ship lurched forward on a deep wave swell and she felt the familiar, wrenching tug in her gut.
Fucking hell. Not this again. And not this soon.
The last time on a yacht, it had taken three days for seasickness to catch up to her. The Dramamine had helped for the rest of the voyage, but still. She'd gone her entire childhood without issues only to start being plagued with motion sickness at 30 years old.
With a ship this large, she would have thought the ocean waves wouldn't have that much of an effect. But as the ship rolled again through a wave, the answering roll in her stomach didn't give her hope.
She took the opening to excuse herself from the bridge. Hell, the commodore's words were a dismissal in of themselves. He'd probably be glad to have her removed for a short while.
Finding Dr. Powell and securing Dramamine from sickbay was easy enough. It was even easier to retire to her cabin and wait for the drug to settle her system.
Fortunately, when the invitation to dine with the captain arrived, she was fit enough to accept.
Unsurprisingly, Norrington's quarters were the largest and finest on the ship. But they still had a fairly stark, military appearance, despite the few personal touches scattered around. A door lead off from the sitting room – presumably to the bedroom - but the sitting room contained a couch set, and a small table arranged with a dinner service for two, including gleaming metal lids.
She took her seat opposite him, lifting up the lid to a puff of steam and savory smells. "Mm, all that's missing are glasses of wine."
The corner of his mouth raised in mild amusement. "I hope you're not disappointed to learn that there's not a single bottle on board."
"Not a one? Even for visiting dignitaries?"
"No. Even they must face a sober sea journey like the rest of us."
She took a bite of food, posture perfect and manners impeccable. This was, after all, another business dinner. Surprisingly, the first bite wasn't half bad. "But surely – surely, as captain, you keep a bottle stashed."
He dabbed with his napkin. "No doubt. As does every other honest sailor."
She cocked a brow. "And you allow that?"
"Without an unfounded search of the sailors' lockers – and even then, there are always creative places to hide contraband – there are few avenues that don't lead to a riotous crew."
"Even in the Royal Navy? With the weight of naval discipline hanging heavy?"
"Even with."
She chewed, musing on her assumption that sailors always followed the rules for fear of punishment – but then again, they probably needed something to make life in the service bearable.
He took a bite, chewing fully. "I trust you're feeling better?"
Of course, he would know about her visit to sickbay, but it surprised her that he mentioned it. She knew better than to let it show on her face. "Yes, thank you. Dr. Powell was able to see me situated."
"I'm pleased. Though, please allow me to suggest on future voyages – earlier disclosure could prevent symptoms from even manifesting."
"Do you suffer from seasickness?"
"No."
"Then allow me to suggest that I will take my medical consult from Dr. Powell. I am relieved of my symptoms, and while not all of us have the digestive fortitude to withstand life at sea, no one is perfect at everything."
He set his fork down, the corner of his mouth ticking up slyly. "But you would like everyone to believe that you are."
"Of course. No one likes having other people know their weaknesses. It just invites exploitation."
He lifted a sardonic brow. "You have trust issues."
She scoffed, reaching for her napkin. "And you don't, Mr. Jilted-Fiancé?"
The former tease in his face fell away, darkened by her reference. "Touché."
Silence lapsed as they continued to eat. It was indeed a cruel barb, but she didn't see the need to apologize for it. It wouldn't be a sincere gesture, and he didn't look too upset by it. The man always did maintain a certain air of distant detachment, but maybe that was the reason why.
She glanced around his sitting room, chewing another bite. An elegant sword mounted on a plaque stopped her wandering gaze. The blade was long and tapered, the handle a black grip with inlaid gold filigree.
She nodded towards it. "That's quite a beautiful sword."
He followed her gaze, nothing in his expression changing. "Thank you."
"Do you know how to use it?"
"Yes. I've always rather enjoyed the art of fencing and swordplay."
She chuckled softly, finishing off the last bite. "Quite the true swashbuckler, indeed. I never would have guessed. Have you ever had to use the knowledge in your line of work?"
His answering smirk just borders on playful. "Not yet."
"A man who doesn't rule out his options. Respectable."
Jack never sat still. It just weren't in his nature. Even as a young'un, his mum always told him to be a good lad and stop fiddlin' about.
And now that he was captain of his own freedom? Well, he didn't have to listen to dear ol' mum anymore if he didn't want to.
His own freedom. Which would resume once this infuriating banana...stopped...interfering!
It was simple. He only wanted to eat the banana. Nothing sinister. Nothing dishonest. But this peel was proving quite the ruthless foe. He'd already thoroughly mushed the top half of the banana, just trying to get the stem to open and yield the deliciousness within.
Of course, he remembered Anamaria telling him that it wasn't ripe, but he refused to back down from the challenge.
He pulled the inelastic stem again, banana goo ooshing out through a small crack in the peel right onto his fingers. Well, that simply wouldn't do. He glanced around his bridge with a pensive brow raised.
"And that, lads," Mr. Gibbs had a reminiscent smile on his face as he stood at the helm, "is how I outlived death on the night that I drank with the living dead. "
"Oi, that's a load of poppycock, that is." Pintel sneered over a laugh, dramatically rolling his eyes as he loafed about, unwilling to return to the galley quite yet. "It weren't you that drank w'the living dead. I've heard that story tens of times."
"It t'were, too!" Gibbs insisted, glaring at the shorter man, gesturing wildly. "The man – if he could be called that – smelt of a hundred years of dead rot. And his eyes – burning bright with the devil's hellfire. And skin – t'were so grotesque –"
Ragetti, looked up from his phone, interrupting without mercy. "You sure he weren't just sick? The king's evil or morphew? Or somethin' from a lady?"
Pintell sniggered with a flash of unsightly teeth. "They ain't no ladies, zat's a fact!"
Gibbs scowled. "Don't believe me – but at your own peril! Don't say I didn't warn ye when those devil eyes find you deep in your cups at the dead of night."
Jack approached the unhappy man at the helm, his hand outstretched in disgust. He swiped it quickly across Gibb's shoulder, leaving a smudge of the offending banana mush. He wiped again quickly, grimacing as the rest of it – finally! – came off.
Gibbs turned with a confused, defensive glare at the sudden touch. "What the – hey! Er, cap'n."
"You'd a fly." Jack quickly said, holding up his hands about the width of Gibbs' head. "That big – about bit yer head off."
"Oh, well-hmm, thank ye, cap'n." Gibbs' tone was dubious, but he wasn't about to question his captain.
A disgusted, feminine guffaw sounded from the bridge doorway. "Idiots and assholes. All of you."
"Anamaria." Jack turned with a smile that was all warm sugary syrup. "Good morning to you, too."
She glared at her captain, arms crossed against her chest. "Not yet. But someday soon, yes – it will be." Her accent punctuated the sharp words.
He did his best to offer an honest, reassuring smile. "Yes! Yes, it will. But until we have a good take and I can rightly fulfill my promise to you – I'll thank ye kindly not to take your ill humors out on me crew."
She flipped him the bird as she crossed to the navigation console without another word.
Gibbs shook his head with a knowing sigh. He cast a glance over his shoulder at Jack, mouthing silently. BAD LUCK TO HAVE A WOMAN ABOARD.
Jack sent him a pleading look in response, followed by a quick shrug. He knew it would be far worse not to have her here.
Anamaria shook her head with a lethal glare. "I can see you, cabrón !"
Pintel scratched at his ear. "Speakin' of which – 'ave ye heard the latest what'wif Jones?"
Ragetti sniggered, eyes flashing with the giddy joy of knowing a secret. "Had the heart cut right of 'im, they say!"
Pintel smacked the taller man across the shoulder. "I'm tellin' the story!"
"Heart cut out." Gibbs said with a dismissive shake of his head. "Now of all the tall tales – "
"No! It were true!" PIntel defended. "He ran afoul of the naval fleet in Singaporean waters. And they caught him - seized his ship and his crew. A dark fate loomed for Jones, indeed. Blacker'n this ship's hull! But he made a trade, they say. His heart for his freedom."
Gibbs scoffed. "What an utter crock! They's no way Jones made that trade of his own accord."
"A man'll promise anythin' when he's starin' death right in the face." Pintel argued, glancing at Jack. "Ain't that right, cap'n?"
Gibbs barreled ahead, paying his quietly-eating-a-banana captain no mind. "E'ryone knows the tale of Jones and his lady love. How she spurned him. Sentenced him to life on the sea 'cause she took all the islands in the divorce. Yet, he remains a lovesick octopus with a bitter, blackheart. And ye say – that we're supposed to believe – the he'd just give her up. Like that."
Ragetti's brow furrowed. "Stories ain't that specific. Just that his heart has been cut right out, and he's back out there. Rovin' the high seas. Ensnarin' ships in those tentacles of his."
Pintel sniffed indignantly. "Well, why wouldn't he give'er up? The woman that stomped all over his heart? Serves'er right, if ye ask me. He should be happier'n a clam to see her served her comeuppance."
Anamaria shook her head, scoffing with wry amusement. "And ye wonder why you're still single."
Pintel shook his head with a smirk. "Ain't no woman ever gonna pull one over on me like Jonesy suffered. Ain't no woman worth it!"
Ragetti looked over, almost forlorn. "Oh, now don't be sayin' that. Surely, there's a fish out in the sea, out there just for you."
Gibbs roared with laughter. "Probably with a tail, gills'n all!
Jack stuffed the rest of the banana in his mouth, deforming his words. "Alright, you scabrous dogs. Quit loafin' on me bridge. I'm sure ye've….things to do."