“We changed destination yesterday.”
“Who ordered that?”
He looked at me.
“Thomas Cole.”
My pulse jumped.
“He has no authority on this vessel.”
“I told him that.”
“And?”
“He produced a signed operational directive.”
“Signed by whom?”
“You.”
I stared.
“I never signed anything.”
The captain opened another drawer.
Found a document.
My electronic signature appeared at the bottom.
The directive authorized Thomas Cole to act as temporary voyage liaison if I became medically incapacitated.
I laughed.
A single sharp sound.
“They planned this before we boarded.”
The captain said nothing.
I did.
“Greyhaven Cay.”
I knew the place.
Remote.
Privately leased docks.
Minimal customs presence.
A handful of luxury villas.
And one private airstrip.
Perfect if someone needed to move money.
Or a person.
I looked at the captain.
“What happens when we arrive?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then we find out.”
He shook his head.
“No.”
“You need to be removed from this vessel.”
