Ryan's forearms bulged, muscles taut as he heaved the line. Whatever he'd hooked wasn't a fish—it was heavy. Really heavy.
Then it breached the surface.
A massive black plastic-wrapped cube, glistening in seawater, attached to a thick industrial tie strap.
Taylor's jaw dropped. "Is that… a body?!"
Elizabeth gasped and instinctively clung to Ryan's arm.
But Ryan, calm and focused, narrowed his eyes. "Not a body. Too square. Too clean."
He grabbed a gaff hook, dragged it closer, and hauled it aboard. The package hit the deck with a heavy thud.
"God," Elizabeth whispered. "What the hell is this?"
Ryan slit the wrap carefully.
Inside?
Dozens of bricks. White. Powdery. Tightly vacuum-sealed.
It hit them instantly.
"…That's not flour," Taylor muttered, voice dropping an octave.
Elizabeth took a step back. "Is that what I think it is?"
Ryan nodded once, slowly. "Pure. Uncut. Coke."
Taylor's face went pale. "How much…?"
Ryan didn't even need to guess.
"Ballpark? Five hundred kilos."
Elizabeth's hand flew to her mouth.
Taylor swore under her breath. "That's like—millions, right?"
"Easily nine or ten million dollars on the street," Ryan said. "And none of it's legal."
Silence fell.
Because they all knew:
This wasn't some random lost shipment.
Someone—likely a very dangerous someone—was missing a massive payload. And that someone wasn't going to just let it go.
"So… we toss it back?" Elizabeth offered weakly.
Ryan shook his head. "Nope. Can't toss it. Can't sell it. And we sure as hell don't want it on this boat long."
He pulled out his phone and called his direct superior, Sergeant Benjamin.
The second the call connected, Benjamin groaned. "Ryan, what did you do now? If this is another shootout, call Alexander."
"Easy, Sarge," Ryan said. "I'm not in trouble this time."
"…That's a first."
"I'm calling from international waters. Just reeled in a drug shipment. Estimated weight—500 kilos of cocaine. Repeat: five. Hundred. Kilos."
Dead silence.
Then: "Mother of God."
"Sending my location now. We need an official handoff. Fast."
"Don't move. Don't touch it. I'll escalate this straight to command."
Ten minutes later, Commander Alicia called personally.
"Officer Ryan. I've been briefed. You caught how much?"
"Half a ton, ma'am."
"You're not to move the boat. SWAT boats and Coast Guard are being dispatched. Your location is now a federal crime scene."
"Yes, ma'am."
Ryan hung up, then turned to Taylor. "Do we have any guns on board?"
Taylor nodded quickly. "There's a Remington M870 shotgun in the cabin safe."
Ryan gave her a look. "Loaded?"
"Always."
Elizabeth's eyes widened. "Wait. Are you expecting trouble?"
Ryan said nothing—but stepped to the helm and zoomed in the radar.
There. Faint. But there.
Three boats. Fast. Off-course. And heading their way.
They weren't Coast Guard.
They weren't tourists.
They were coming to reclaim what was theirs.