Chapter 6

They had set of for Virginia Beach early in the morning.

As it turned out to be: the evidence collected from the DOD, webcams and security feeds from Rudee's had already been a great help, but a call to the harbor authorities had been the most conclusive, which was why they found themselves on board of a motor yacht they'd 'commandeered'.

The situation meritted some inauspicious handling, as they still were unsure of what the young couples reactions would be if caught.

It was a bright, sunny morning when they slowly motored out of the calm waters of the marina, but as soon as they were on the open sea, the swell became more pronounced, white caps topping the waves.

One agent had popped one Dramamine after the other to quelch the rising nausea. However, it was a losing battle. Oh, it wasn't so much the nausea being the real problem, now. No. The drug was making him so drowsy and unstable that he had the others on board sigh in desperation as he stumbled about, making himself more of a liability than any help on the case.

The yacht plunged into one more trough, sending spray over the bows, the refracted light displaying shimmering rainbow sparkles, the ethereal effect lasting only a fraction.

However, none on board had an eye for this.

By now, the skipper had had enough of the tall ungainly man who bumped into almost everything with every move he made. At some point, McGee had lost his balance and tipped over the skipper's mug, spilling its contents all over his papers. The skipper was not amused. To the team, with the exception of a barely cognizant McGee, it would therefore come to no surprise at all if the captain had every intention of putting McGee over the side, little caring if they were leagues aways from the nearest land.

So Tony had quickly stepped in and, with a cheesy grin on his face, he had taken Tim by his sleeve and steered him belowdecks to lie down in one of the bunks, thus effectively putting McGee out of harm's way.

There was a general sigh of relief when that obstacle had been effectively removed and the skipper breathed more easily as he didn't have to keep a constant eye on that poor excuse of a federal agent. i]Naval[/] Criminal Investigative Service indeed! What an abomination. He snorted and shook his head derisively. Landlubbers.

Before soon, though, they noticed a change in the weather. The occasional glance directed at the skipper showed he was beginning to worry, too.

The Navtex rattled and he ripped off the incoming message.

His face stood grim as he turned to address Gibbs, showing him the slip of paper from KB3MXL Base - Reisterstown, Maryland.

GALE WARNING TUESDAY 28 SEPTEMBER 1538UTC

"A meteorological warning that we'll be in the dead center of a squall sooner than expected. Be ready to hold fast, boys! We're in for some rough time, soon."

Gibbs gazed over the blue expanse of ocean. The horizon did indeed seem darker than when they'd embarked upon this voyage.

The two young people had set sail three days ago and a Coastguard helicopter had had a first sighting of the small vessel as it was on a southbound course. As not to alert those on board, the Coastguards had merely reported the position to the agency and that's where they were now heading to.

The boat, that was put at the agents' disposal, could easily top speeds of over 30 knots and definitely made a much faster boat than the sailing yacht, but it would still take time to overhaul them.

The worsening weather conditions, however, were an absolute killjoy.

Ziva, becoming increasingly worried for her teammate, to whom this forthcoming ordeal would soon turn into sheer hell, hurried belowdecks to check on him.

She found him in the gloom of the small cabin, on his back with one arm flung over his brow, his one leg more or less stretched out for as far as he could (bunks weren't exactly built for tall people), the other bent with the knee leaning against the wall. He'd discarded his shoes, the standard issued NCIS jacket and his tie – or maybe Tony had helped him out of those. The top buttons of his shirt were undone and a blanket was spread over the lower half of his body. What little she saw of his face was not encouraging. His cheeks were pasty-colored and his lips were compressed and livid. She noticed his suprasternal notch was displayed to advantage. Her gaze shifted slightly to the side of his neck where a vein throbbed.

Her breath hitched. She'd never looked at him – really 'looked'. She just stood there, rooted, her legs unwilling to propel her back out and topside.

His chest rose and sank with uneven breaths. So he was awake.

He still managed to startle her when he spoke, even if his voice was no more than a whisper.

"What is it, Ziva? Did Gibbs send you to get me?"

"Did I wake you up, McGee?"

He laughed bitterly when he replied: "No, Ziva, you didn't. Wished I could sleep. I'm so freaking tired but I... My body, my mind... they have other ideas it seems. Can't switch them off." Still in a languid voice and a little slurred, whether from the drugs or for want of sleep, she couldn't tell.

He shifted his hand from across his eyes to drape it over his stomach and gazed at her by only moving his eyes, still waiting for an answer.

Ah, those beautiful green eyes... But they looked tired and she wondered if, maybe, he hadn't yet fully recovered from his recent illness.

"I just came to check on you, Tim, no more. Please try to catch some sleep. We still haven't caught up with them, ... and it doesn't look like we will very soon, anyway. We're all of us waiting. So you see, you don't miss anything. Except the beautiful vista of the surrounding ocean." She added with a wide grin. She did, however, refrain from telling him the bad news... that of the approaching gale. News that she knew would get him doubled over the side of his cot in no time.

She patted his shoulder – she had never done such thing before, she realized with a slight shock.

"Just... you just rest. Give a yell when you need anything."

She turned to leave and had her foot on the first step of the stairs when she heard his mumbled reply.

"Yeah... as if I'd do that..."

She smiled inwardly and continued her ascend.

***

One hour later.

The wind was picking up something big and massive rollers were all around them, assaulting them. The sky had darkened to such an extent that it seemed they had leaped a couple of hours, making it much later in the day than it actually was.

Gibbs' thoughts went out to the young couple in the sailing yacht and how they were doing some real extreme sailing now. From reading the files, he knew Pellowe was more than just the average yachtsman, but this storm with windspeeds of at around 40-55 knots would become quite the challenge even for someone with his experience.

He braced himself as the boat went into a motion pretty much resembling a corkscrew.

There was a clatter, a thump, a surprised shout and a curse coming from the stairs and they all turned towards the origin of this racket. The faces showed little surprise when they saw a dishevelled and pale McGee make his rather theatrical appearance.

The skipper rolled his eyes before turning his full attention back at the helm, instantly dismissing that landlubber of a Fed.

McGee went hand over hand to the nearest seat and gratefully sank down on it with a plop.

Tony and Ziva stared at him, their mouths agape.

Gibbs was not impressed and gave his agent a hard look.

"What d'you think you're doing?" He yelled above the roaring storm.

"Ah..."

Gibbs didn't wait for an answer and motioned McGee away with his head.

"Go back to your bunk and stay there! There's nothing for you to do here apart from being in danger of going overboard!"

Tim acquiesced mutely, and, like a dog with his tail tucked between his legs, he tottered back down with such exagerated care it was almost comical. Tony followed from behind wanting to make sure his partner got there without any mishaps.

***

Another hour later.

"I see something! Ah... u'mmm... at 2 o'clock!" Tony yelled, lowering the binoculars to look at the skipper and Gibbs. He staggered a little and leaned against the side of the cabin, spreading his legs for a better balance.

He wasn't used to the 'points' system even if the captain had explained it to them, earlier on, after a distress call was emitted on the VHF, presumably by the craft they were after.

It was vital, the captain had lectured them briefly as he checked their current position on the electronic chart, that they kept a look-out and that the person in charge be concise in his or her assessing any situation.

The fact they had received the distress call was an excellent clue the estimated reception range was at least within 14 miles, which meant the yacht was to be found withing this radius, as well as still on the same course.

For a long time, Tony couldn't make out anything but the vast mass of churling water, but then he saw it. It was no more than a pinprick, really. The masthead light was a mere white fleck that was only visible when the motor yacht was on a wave crest before plunging down again in the trough that followed it.

Now, they knew for certain that they were a lot closer with visuals 5 points on the starboard bow – or 2 o'clock as Tony preferred.

The skipper passed the wheel to Ziva as he went over to Tony and grabbed a second pair of binoculars to peer in the general direction of where Tony's finger was still pointing, as instructed.

The skipper leaned into Tony as he shouted. "Keep it in sight, agent DiNozzo! Don't loose her!"

He went back to the wheel, and adjusted his course.

More static on the radio and then the message: "Mayday-mayday-mayday! This is the Andromeda..."

And the message was broken off abruptly.

Tony gazed intently through his binoculars, then moved them left and right, blinked, searched again and finally turned around to admit he'd lost sight of the sail.

The skipper checked his radar but he couldn't make out a thing through the showers and waves. He knew it was futile. Reducing the rain clutter had little or no effect... He knew from experience that it didn't make any difference at all, since small vessels were filtered away just the same, provided they made it on the radar anyway.

All he could do was keep his course and an excellent pair of eyes... like Tony's. Sooner, rather than later, they would be on top of the small yacht.

A flash of lightning illuminated the boiling ocean and his eyes went wide before he steered hard to port.

That's when all hell broke loose – if such a thing could happen on a watery expanse!