Inside is a different story.
I tie Second Watch's tender to the floating dock and climb the stairs to the glassed-in ops loft Cal calls the Bridge. He's alreadythere, which doesn't surprise me. Cal Hayes has never slept past 0500 in his life.
"Ford." He doesn't look up from the tactical display on his desk. "Heard you've got company."
"Captain Sunday talks too much."
"Captain Sunday keeps me informed." Now he does look up, pale blue eyes assessing. "Interesting charter you've picked up. Young woman, arrived by private plane, no record of the flight on any manifest I can access. Want to tell me what's going on?"
I've known Cal for fifteen years. Served with him, bled with him, watched him carry a dying teammate three miles through hostile territory when extraction went sideways. There are maybe four people on earth I trust without reservation, and he's one of them.
"Debt's being called in."
Cal's expression doesn't change, but I see the understanding sharpen in his eyes. He knows about the marker. Knows about Priest and the buried evidence and the twelve years I've spent waiting for the other shoe to drop.
"Who's the woman?"
"Enzo Mancini's daughter."
He exhales slowly. "Jesus, Ford."
"Yeah."
"The Sicilian Mancini? The one who's been fighting a turf war with the Veroni family for the past eighteen months?"
"That's the one."
Cal stands, moving to the window that overlooks the harbor. His posture is military straight despite the early hour and whatever weight he's carrying from his own past.
"You've got a mafia princess on your boat while her father's enemies are actively hunting leverage."
"Two weeks. Then someone picks her up and we're square."
"And you believe that?"
I don't answer, which is answer enough.
"That unfamiliar boat Sunday mentioned." Cal turns back to face me. "I had Rhea run the registration. Boston ownership, shell company that traces back to an investment firm with ties to Rhode Island politics."
"Veroni territory."
"Could be coincidence. Could be advance reconnaissance. Either way, it's been sitting at anchor for two days now without anyone going ashore or making contact with the marina."
"Which means they're watching something."
"Or someone." Cal crosses his arms. "I can put a team on standby. Rhea's got contacts at the Coast Guard station who could make the boat's life difficult if we need a distraction. But Ford, if this goes hot, it's not just your problem anymore. It's Tidehaven's problem. My town, my people."
"I know."
"Do you?" His voice hardens. "Because I've spent six years building something here. Employing veterans who need a second chance. Protecting people who can't protect themselves. If the Mancini-Veroni war spills into my harbor?—"
"It won't."
"You can't guarantee that."
"No. But I can guarantee that if it does, I'll handle it myself before it touches anything of yours." I meet his eyes steadily. "Two weeks, Cal. Maybe less. I keep her breathing, I pay my debt, and this whole thing becomes somebody else's problem."
Cal studies me for a long moment. Whatever he sees apparently satisfies him, because he nods.
