Chapter 3 - The Aftermath of Duty
The silence that returned to the pier was heavy, almost suffocating.
The civilian engineering contractors stood a few yards away, whispering nervously among themselves, clearly stunned by the sudden, dramatic escalation of what was supposed to be a routine infrastructure review.
Master Chief Daugherty stepped up beside me, gazing out at the dark water where my briefcase had vanished.
“I’m sorry about that, Commander,” Daugherty said quietly, his tone softening just a fraction from its usual ironclad military cadence. “Family can be the hardest deployment a sailor ever has to face.”
“Duty doesn't stop because family shows up, Master Chief,” I replied, my eyes fixed on the water. “You know that better than anyone.”
“Aye, ma’am,” he nodded respectfully. “Harbor patrol’s dive team is already launching from the slip two piers down. They’ll sweep the sector and retrieve the case. Those encryption keys are double-sealed in titanium housing; they shouldn't be compromised, but we’ll need to run a full diagnostic as soon as it’s on deck.”
“Good. Coordinate with the IT detachment to prepare a clean terminal for the hardware check the moment it’s pulled,” I ordered, turning away from the railing. “Let’s get the civilian contractors back on schedule. We have two more sector evaluations to complete before sunset.”
“Right away, Commander.”
For the next four hours, I forced every ounce of my focus back onto the job. We walked the length of the pier, inspected the structural integrity of the moorings, reviewed stress logs with the civilian engineers, and logged every technical metric required by the Department of Defense.
Not once did my mind wander back to the back of that security cruiser. In the Navy, you learn early that hesitation gets people killed, and distraction ruins missions. Whether you are dealing with a hostile vessel in international waters or a chaotic family member throwing federal property into a river, the rule remains the same: assess, adapt, execute.
By the time the sun began to dip below the horizon, painting the Jacksonville sky in bruised shades of purple and orange, I was sitting in my sterile, minimalist office at the base command headquarters.
The recovered briefcase—dripping wet, covered in river silt, but structurally intact—sat on a stainless-steel examination table in the center of the room.
A sharp knock echoed at my office door.
“Enter,” I said.
The door pushed open, and Lieutenant Commander Marcus Vance—no relation, despite the shared surname, though we had joked about it through three deployments—walked in, holding a clip with an NCIS preliminary incident report.
“Commander,” Marcus said, tossing the file onto my desk. “Harbor patrol successfully retrieved the asset. Tech security ran the encryption keys through the isolation chamber—zero data leakage. The titanium housing held.”
“Good,” I breathed out, leaning back in my leather chair for the first time all day. “And the civilian?”
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Marcus hesitated for a fraction of a second, his expression tightening.
“She’s currently being processed at the NCIS holding facility on base,” Marcus reported. “Federal charges have officially been filed: destruction of government property, trespassing on a military installation, and interfering with a federal official in the performance of official duties. Because the briefcase contained classified base security schematics, the magistrate isn’t taking it lightly. She’s looking at federal time, Commander.”
