We were standing on a floating crime scene in the middle of a tempest, with a dead man who refused to stay lost. I looked out at the black horizon. Somewhere out there, in the dark, I knew there was another boat. And they were likely listening for us.
I looked at the USB drive. It was the only thing on him that looked like it belonged to the world of the living. we hooked up a marine
"No," I said. I pointed to the Sergeant's wrist. Pinned under the tangle of netting was a watch. It wasn't military issue. It was an old mechanical diver's watch, the glass cracked, the hands frozen at 04:12. We were standing on a floating crime scene
We lowered him gently. The body thudded onto the deck with a wet, heavy sound. He was a big man, tall, even curled in the rigidity of death. Marine Corps dress blues, I realized, seeing the stripes on the sleeve. Or what was left of them. And they were likely listening for us