LIKE IT WAS MEANT TO BE
Chapter 7
The cruiser's bows dived into another steep trough and, then, on the up-roll, even with the poor visibility from the torrential rain, a monster of a wave loomed before them, like a solid wall of water. The NCIS agents' eyes, however, with the exception of the youngest who still lay totally out in his bunk, were transfixed as, dead ahead, they caught sight of the spectre of a small craft. Dismasted and adrift, it was wallowing in the surging water and, right now, they were almost on top of it as they had inadvertently been on a collision course.
Despite the skipper's split second decision of steering hard to starboard, it still came as no big surprise when, 10 seconds later – it could be even less – there was the most horrendous sound of metal crunching into a GRP hull as their boat crashed into the heeling yacht's beam. Capsizing would've been nigh impossible with the weighted keel. Now, however, any chance of the smaller sailing yacht righting itself, had vanished as the larger motorboat crashed into it, damaging both vessels at the same time.
The captain hastened down, taking two steps at a time, his hands sliding along the rails. In the salon, he stooped to open a trapdoor. A groggy and harassed looking agent hung on for dear life to the door frame of the forward cabin and stared with horror at the water that had now flooded the engine compartment. He blinked a few times as if to clear his eyes. It could have been just that, too, as he vigorously rubbed at a colored patch on his forehead. In all probability, he'd tumbled out of his berth and hit something which explained the bump already forming just above his brow.
Both men's eyes locked and then the captain took in McGee's state, wondering, not for the first time, why the hell they had taken this useless lubber on board.
However, time was pretty precious now, and without further preamble he barked: "Put your life jacket back on! We may have to abandon ship! I want everybody topside!" The suddenly widening green eyes had him wondering if he was dealing with a frightened, if big, kid instead of a seasoned federal agent.
Without bothering if the young agent had grasped his instructions, he turned back to mount the stairs.
McGee gulped as a wave of panic washed over him, making his stomach contract. He spun around on unsteady legs and was lucky to land, butt first, on the U-shaped settee. Tim quickly got up and scampered back into the cabin to retrieve his shoes. Even if it didn't prove easy to put the shoes back on, they still might serve in keeping him from cooling down too fast. The cruiser rocked violently, causing him to lose his balance and connect hard with the door as it slammed shut. Keeping one hand to the bunk, he hastily wriggled into the life jacket, turned the knob to open the door again, and stumbled through the salon, heading for the companionway.
Meanwhile, the captain bolted back into the cockpit. He knew the pumps were still working, but it would be of little or no use – the water was rising steadily but surely. It was only a matter of time before his boat would go down to Davy Jones' locker. If only he could keep those landlubbery morons alive through this.
"We're taking water!" The skipper yelled above the raging ocean as he opened the lid of a storage locker under a seat and started lifting out a first aid kit and a rather conspicuously colored backpack.
Slinging the backpack over his shoulder and tucking the medical kit under his arm, he regarded the agents, who soon found themselves set to work as deckhands as he rattled off instructions of how best they could help those on board the small yacht, equally in distress, and launching the canister holding the inflatable life raft. In the meantime, he transmitted a distress signal on the MF band of 2182 kHz, providing his vessel's name and call letters, number of people aboard,...whatever information might help locate them for rescuing.
As he deftly unfastened the EPIRB – a device transmitting signals via satellite giving their current position - from it's cockpit holder to take it with him in the life boat, his thoughts went to the young people on board the little sailing yacht. What had they been thinking? What drove them out on the Atlantic? Whom were they running from? He'd already deduced the Feds were showing more concern for their wellbeing than they would ever consider offering a perp of some horrible crime.
Down below, McGee struggled hard – very hard – to keep a hold on himself. The nausea had come back with a vengeance. It was so overwhelming that he felt like his stomach was making somersaults, in pace with the rolling, stomping, pitching motion of the boat. He genuinely wished he'd flip over and die. Such was his abject misery.
He clutched the rail and set to mount the companion ladder when a hand appeared in his field of vision. Looking up, panting and trying hard to control his breathing, he was relieved to see a rather serious Tony who was about to come down in search of him, with Ziva craning her neck to stare down from beside the senior agent.
"Tim! Hurry up, man! We've got to get into the life boat real fast!"
McGee nearly laughed, albeit hysterically, thinking it quite the joke as, right now, he was standing in about three inches of sloshing water still bubbling up from below his rather wet feet.
Tony reached out for him to help him up the companionway as the boat listed more with every passing second. Tim quickly took a hold of Tony's extended hand to let him be pulled up on deck. Another rogue wave caught the boat and it tossed violently about like some living creature – leading its own life.
Tim couldn't help but think this was one hell of a roller coaster – rather a cross with a cake walk on a fancy fair. But then he was roughly jolted back to this urgent reality and he tightened his grip on Tony's hand and the rail. It became increasingly difficult to keep his balance as the boat was now on it's beams and the water was all around him. He slipped and he was submerged but then his feet found some purchase and, spluttering and gasping, he emerged and looked up at his partner. His arms were shaking with the strain and the cold, frigid water. His hands were freezing and his teeth were chattering.
To his utmost horror, Tony felt Tim's fingers ever so slowly, but surely, slip between his own. He gritted his teeth and his eyes sought his partner's as he endeavored to re-establish his grip on Tim's slender fingers. Tim's eyes were imploring his friend, silently begging him not to give up, to get him out of this – soon to become his watery grave – and there was such understanding in Tony's. He would never give up on his friend and co-worker. How could he ever explain this weird bond he shared with Tim? This surrogate brother he couldn't help but tease, badger, intimidate,... Deep down, he cared. He really did – a lot. No way would he let Tim down.
One more good, hearty pull and he would have McGee up on deck and...relative safety. Of course they would still be far from safe, but, hey, they stood a better chance to get in the life boat and survival!
"Tim! C'mon! Hold tight, man!" He shouted and growled at the same time, urging the younger man to rally. He sensed his teammate's strength was waning fast and that the water had a stronger pull on him.
All of a sudden, something crashed and Tim was struck in the side by an object making him let go of his hold on Tony's hand. Tony watched Tim's eyes widen in terror and yet his mouth was set in determination, unwilling to give up so easily.
Tony lost sight of his friend as the water had now flooded the whole below decks, trapping McGee. He made to descend the companionway to get closer so that he could thrust his arm in the water and grope for his friend, when somebody pulled him from behind.
"Let's go!"
"No! McGee..." Tony fought against whoever dragged him by his arm.
"He's gone! No time to loose! We must go! NOW! She's going deep six - fast!"
It was the captain, Tony dully observed as he very – very! - reluctantly let himself be pushed towards the gunnel and the little life raft.
***
Still inside, McGee knew he was lost if he couldn't get rid of the PFD. Its buoyancy was all fine when in open water. Inside a sinking vessel, however... He was pushed upwards against the ceiling and because of the angle of the boat at this point, there was no way he could get fast enough to the stairs and drag himself by the rail to the deck. Besides, he was fast running out of oxygen. He'd barely managed a quick intake of air before he was engulfed by the water.
Tim, his fingers becoming more uncooperative, finally succeeded in unbuckling the PFD and he kicked his legs to propulse himself towards the light filtering in from the companionway. His left leg hurt. He must have hit it against something and he had somehow banged his head against the ceiling...He wasn't sure any longer.
His lungs were bursting and little stars darted in his vision. He didn't know how much longer he could keep his breath, but eventually he made it out.
The others were now yards away from the cruiser and the distance was steadily growing.
McGee crawled on the slanting deck to the side and heaved himself over the gunnel, to land rather unceremoniously in the water.
With his dwindling strength, he swam towards the life raft, waves crashing over his head, making him splutter. He was so tired and his muscles were stiffening with cold, making his movements sluggish. He knew he would be lost, if he gave up now.
Nearly there. It was only a matter of feet and Ziva and Tony were already reaching out for him, readying themselves to grab him and pull him aboard.
"Tim! C'm-Ooonnnn!" Tony cheered him on.
"Swim, McGee! You can do it!" Gibbs called out from somewhere under the canopy, hidden behind his senior agent.
"C'mon-common-commonnnnn..." Ziva was praying, fingering her star of David necklace nervously.
McGee's teeth chattered. There was no way he could stop them from doing that. Another wave rolled over him. He choked when he got a mouthful of water as he took a deep breath. It was too much effort, so exhausting and he knew that his strength was dwindling fast. More water found a way into his open mouth, making him cough harshly – his body's reaction to expel the fluids from his lungs. He found it harder and harder to fight the pull towards the deep... His movements became slower and sluggish, erratic... His breaths were irregular, short and shallow with the occasional deeper one to feed his lungs with oxygen...if he could manage that much. He was getting closer to being disoriented, barely moving anymore.
One last time, he locked desperate eyes with Tony before he blacked out and slipped beneath the waves.
A trail of blood and air bubbles followed McGee down as the ocean closed above him, obliterating any sign of him. Like a pall...
There was a stunned silence in the little raft, as a horrible realization hit them that this could be the last the NCIS team had seen of their friend. It was even more tangible as the clouds were dissipating. The storm, that had been battering them with heavy seas and finally engulfed their boat, continued its path to wreck havoc elsewhere, closing in on the distant coast. The anthracite dark clouds, which had previously blotted out the blue sky, had, just as suddenly dissolved. It felt all so unreal. This calm after the squall.
Even the captain was humbled by such a natural phenomenon, not having experienced the likes of it before. At least, never when on a trip with his small yacht.